nude highway driving

Q:

What’s the best way to waste away a perfectly beautiful day?

A:

Sit around your apartment waiting for movers who said they’d be there “sometime around noon” and still aren’t here yet as of 4:47.

Around 4 the moving company dispatch guy called with the truck driver on a three-way. They were lost. The truck driver said he saw my street but didn’t see my place. I asked him if he was in Southeast. He said he was in Northwest.

Then, I swear to God, he said “I thought there was only a Northwest and a Southwest.”

I calmly explained that there is, in fact, a Southeast … as well as a Northeast. I tried to explain where this mysterious neighborhood was, then said “Just go behind the Capitol. Act like you’re going toward RFK.” The dispatcher dude asked him if he understood, and he said “yes” in the same way you tell your mother “yes” when you’re a kid when you haven’t been paying attention to a word she’s been saying but you want her to stop talking.

I just called back to make sure they were OK, and now they’re stuck in traffic because they tried to cut through the middle of town. At the beginning of rush hour. Neighborhood cars are circling my stretch of “emergency parking only” like hawks waiting for the clock to hit 5. I have no idea where a 24-foot truck is going to park once it gets here. Thank God I still have several bottles of beer in the fridge from my 2002 Super Bowl party.

The bright side of this is, as you can tell from the picture, I made some mighty progress importing CDs into my hard drive. Raaar! I just got done ripping Zamfir, so I’m almost done with everything. (Yes, I really do own a Zamfir CD … my grandparents like to buy music “not sold in stores,” and one year they thought I would like some, too.)

The first of three spirit movers has visited me to remind me of the meaning of Christmas …

I mean, uh, the first of three sets of movers has begun cleaning out the Best One-bedroom Deal in D.C. Today was the smallest shipment, stuff that will get flown to Tokyo (allegedly to arrive there sooner). Three mover dudes wrapped, packed and loaded 350 pounds into a crate on a truck in one hour. Kinda freaky.

I studied them well. Here’s the plan for a fast, effective move:

• Movers arrive a little late.

• Mover #1 assures Sid that he is within the weight guidelines and orders the boxes brought up.
• Mover #2 asks to use the bathroom, pees, then gets the boxes.
• Mover #3 shows up with packing materials.
• Mover #1 and #2 start packing.
• Mover #3 asks to use the bathroom, then returns and heads to the kitchen.
• Sid smells something horrible in the kitchen, then quickly realizes it isn’t coming from the kitchen, so he pretends to go check on something in the bedroom, then stops by the bathroom to turn on the fan.
• Mover #3 packs designated kitchen stuff in about 15 minutes.
• Movers #1 & #2 engage in wacky banter about who can kick whose ass.
• Mover #2 and Sid throw out some “Scarface” lines.
• Sid signs a bunch of shit.
• Movers leave.
• Annoying-ass lady in a minivan honks nonstop at movers because they turned their truck around in the street.

How I’ve celebrated my birthday so far …

Played a lot with my kick-ass new toy, thanks to the generosity of de vogel.

Dumped a bunch of stuff off at Goodwill, changed my e-mail and postal addresses with credit cards, PayPal and other assorted places that need to know where I’m going.

Treated myself to a pair of the most comfortable shoes in the world (and my first pair of slip-ons, perfect for U.S. airport security absurdity and Japanese homes & restaurants).

Ate num num lunch on the roof of 1700 Pennsylvania Avenue, watching military dudes spy on tourists from the roof of the New Executive Office Building and wondering with de vogel what secret stuff they are installing under the street in front of the White House.

Mailed off a bag of Mother’s Day gifts that I got at the new neighborhood gay-owned wacky-stuff store.

Got a haircut.

Continued in my effort to give away furniture and a painting (people e-mail you right away when you offer free shit on Craigslist, but getting them to commit is a bitch … anyone want a free dresser or desk?).

Stared at my living room and sighed heavily … then moved things into piles for the movers.

Keep your fingers crossed — now I shall attempt to transfer all my files from my G4 tower to my groovy little iBook and finish loading CDs onto the external hard drive. (Once again, I have Tom to thank for technical help. When I called the Apple Store and asked them what files I should make sure I transfer, the guy replied that when they do file transfers they just copy whatever the user stuck in a folder on the desktop for them. Thanks, geniuses!)

Went to a new cleaners today (my longtime place of preference, run by a freaky-in-a-good-way Korean family, was sadly empty and out of business over the weekend) to drop off some stuff before the trip. The Southwest Asian (maybe Middle Eastern) lady is writing down my name as I spell it for her.

She looks up and says “Sid?” I say “yes.” She says “Oh … are you Muslim?”

I’m not that well-versed in Muslim history, but I don’t know of any Sids popping up in the culture.

But I have decided to call myself Siddulah the Great when I ascend to the Afghan throne.

Remember in grade school when your teachers told you the stuff you were learning, such as spelling, would be necessary in the real world, no matter what vocation you chose?