Astoria to Rome, NY

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I rolled into New York last night at around 6:00 pm. I wasn't emotionally prepared for the $8.00 toll to cross into Manhattan, but I will manage somehow.

I picked up my friend Matthew from his place in Inwood and the two of us drove to the other end of the island. My girlfriend had picked up a shift playing at Marie's in the West Village and we joined here there. Erin, a friend of Matt and Franca's, was also at the bar, and ended up joining us for the evening.

The night started to pick up around 8:00 and a crowd was starting to form in the bar. Among the crowd was my friend Patrick, with whom I went to college. In fact, Matt and Patrick were in the production of Hair that I directed back then. The three of us got together and sang "Big Ass Rock" from The Full Monty. As we were getting ready to start, a woman sitting right near the piano said, "You went to Butler? I went to Butler!" We asked one of the other patrons to take our picture, which I will add in a little while.

When Franca's shift was over at 10pm, Matt, Erin, Franca and I decided to get something to eat. We went to the local diner and had a lovely time, talking and enjoying one another's company. Then, right near the end of our meal, an argument broke out at a pair of tables right behind us. As soon as the voices started to raise, I paid very close attention to what was being said. Unfortunately, all I could make out was that someone needed to better respect someone else's mother. In fact, I could only hear one person yelling in this entire argument, but his yelling did encourage the two people at whom he was yelling to stand up and move closer to him. The management and a couple of waiters came over and got between the warring parties. The manager told everyone to pay their checks and leave, which unfortunately didn't convince the yelling dude to throw the first punch. Tables were knocked over, four or five guys were punching and wrestling while five or six restaurant employees tried to break it up. The police were called, most of the active participants in the fight dispersed, leaving yelling dude to answer for everything, which seemed about right. After the fight, the four of us got ice cream.

Franca and I are off to Rome, NY this morning. She has offered to buy breakfast. I have to take advantage of the situation. Read the rest of this entry >>

Pittsburgh, continued

I lived in Pittsburgh (the 'burgh, Picksburg, PGH) from October of 1997 until December of 1998. The resaons why I lived in Pittsburgh are irrelevant at this time: let's just say that it involved a woman and leave it there. I lived near the top of a hill in Swissvale, a neighborhood on the east side of town. The parking lot of my apartment complex was on a very steep incline and my apartment was right on the corner of the building, the first one you would come to as you entered the complex. In fact, if a car were to lose control down the hill while entering the complex, my bedroom would have been the first thing they would have hit.

My friend John's apartment is in Regent Square, about three miles down the road from where I used to live. He works in the same shopping plaza where I used to buy my groceries at the Giant Eagle (pronounced Jahnt Iggel) and in the building where the Blockbuster used to be (apparently, the locals also refer to it this way).

In the other direction from his apartment less than a mile away is the improv comedy troupe/children's theatre I worked with. I was really more interested in the Friday night shows for the adults than the Saturday matinees for the kiddies. However, the one children's production I did do was Alice in Wonderland as either Tweedle Dum or Tweedle Dee. My opposite was about 8 inches shorter than me, 50 pounds lighter than me and with a bushy mustache, which pretty much killed the whole "twins" thing the Tweedles are generally going for. I only worked with the improv troupe for about four months. The first show I did was about 90 minutes and hysterically funny; the last show was well over two hours and dreadful. I sensed that things were starting to go the wrong direction and bowed out.

The theatre shared office space with an indoor playground, complete with a room full of plastic balls to jump in. I used to jump into the balls on rehearsal breaks until my friend Mollie pointed out to me that children with runny noses and less-than-perfect bladder control had been occupying the same space a few hours previously. I never found the ball room quite as relaxing after that.

Next door to the theatre was a food co-op where we would go for the least junky junk food in town on break. But just down the block was a 24-hour train-car diner with decidedly less wholesome fare. Scrambled eggs, homefries and various shades of breakfast meat stood out to me on their menu. If they served anything else, I'm pretty sure I never tried it. I spent many nights after rehearsal or just nights when I couldn't sleep in their booths that were just the perfect size for you and three close friends - not a lot of elbow room, but you didn't mind - to huddle over the one ashtray, drink your midnight coffee and talk about that evening's rehearsal.

To the east of Pittsburgh along I-376 and US-22 sits the stripmall town of Monroeville. When I first moved here I worked as a server at TGI Friday's. I had worked at the Friday's on Indianapolis' north side just prior to my move and transferred out here. However, I quickly found out that there just was not enough money to be made in Pittsburgh at a casual dining eatery with junk stapled to the walls. A typical lunch shift would net me about three tables and $20. I quickly decided to search for other employment when I noticed that Music-Go-Round was hiring across the street.

Music-Go-Round is a franchise that specializes in selling used musical instruments and gear. Paul, the owner, was a great boss to work for, and I was actually using knowledge of a topic I was interested in. The base pay wasn't stellar, but it was certainly better than the $2.85 + no tips I was making for wearing clown stripes and flair, and the commissions would occasionally double my income for a given week. Although I was hired specifically because of my knowledge of band and orchestra instruments, I began to pick up a lot of useful information about guitars, amps and PA equipment. Before I left that job - and Pittsburgh - in December of 1998, Paul was kind enough to let me really capitalize on my employee discount. I bought a ton of instruments and gear before I left, most of which I still have today. Now, the Music-Go-Round where I worked is an empty storefront: Paul moved the business to a larger location a bit off the main drag about a mile away.

I have stopped through all of these places I have mentioned on previous trips to Pittsburgh in the last year and don't have time to visit today. I have a more pressing schedule to keep than I hope will be typical for the rest of this trip. My friend Matt asked me to drive some boxes of books from Indy to New York for him. He lives all the way up in Inwood, Franca lives in Queens. I want to get to Matt's early enough that I can drop off the boxes and hopefully have enough time so Franca, Matt and I can catch a show or do something fun before Franca and I head upstate tomorrow.

John is getting ready for work, once he's gone I'll get cleaned up and dressed, head down to his office and hopefully join him for a cup of coffee before I head out for New York. Read the rest of this entry >>

Pittsburgh to Queens

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I have arrived safely in Pittsburgh. I am at John's house for the night and Anna just came over a few minutes ago. I will add more interesting tidbits about Pittsburgh in a while. Tomorrow, New York City.

My gracious hosts in Pittsburgh, John and Anna

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Indianapolis to Pittsburgh

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The first leg of the trip starts tomorrow. I am heading back to Pittsburgh, which is roughly the halfway point between Indy and New York. I'll be staying with my friend John who was kind enough to loan me a couch the other day when I had a full truck. Now, it's off to do laundry and pack. Read the rest of this entry >>

I just want to put tags on my car, is that so wrong?

WARNING: This post addresses issues I have encountered with motor vehicle registration in two states. Please do not attempt to operate a motor vehicle while reading this post.

I did not accomplish anything that I expected to yesterday; however, I did experience something that truly altered my perception of bureaucracy. I took a trip to the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles.

I had to get a driver's license and begin the process of registering my car in Indiana. The required documents to complete these tasks are listed on the Indiana's BMV website. When I had to go through this process in DC, the requirements to show proof of residence and identity are roughly the same: a US passport, out-of-state license, Social Security card and a piece of mail with your current address on it such as a utility bill or a bank statement. The first three were a snap, but since I've only lived here for three days and don't have any utilities in my name, the proof of residence was a bit of a problem. I was able to scrounge up three official-looking envelopes that showed I had changed my address recently: one from my bank, one from my former insurance company and my change-of-address confirmation from the US Postal Service.

None of my envelopes were official-looking enough for the BMV, officially. The nice woman behind the counter told me that the USPS change-of-address wouldn't do since "you can put any old address on there," which I guess is true. However, in light of the fact that I had three pieces of mail from three different sources, each with the same new address, and a proof-of-insurance for my car with my new address, she felt that there was enough evidence to take my word for it.

I had the exact same issue come up both times I had to get a DC license. Each time required multiple trips to the DMV to sort it out. The first time I went with about seven different envelopes, each with my new address. One was from my bank and I brought in a copy of the lease for my apartment. The conversations went something like this:

DC DMV Bureaucrat: These won't work.

Me: But, they're all I have. I just moved in a few days ago and haven't gotten a utility bill yet.

DCDMVB: [shrug]

Me: So what can we do about this?

DCDMVB: [shrug] Next!

a few days later with a utility bill in my hand

DCDMVB: I can't take this bill. You've opened it and may have altered the address.

Me: How was I supposed to know not to open it?

DCDMVB: [shrug] Next!

a few days even later, now with a different, unopened utility bill in my hand

DCDMVB: I can't take a closed envelope.

Unfortunately, even though I live 600 miles away, the DC DMV still has its clutches on me. I bought my car from a dealership in Tyson's, which they financd for me through Chevy Chase. I used my DC address to obtain the financing. Since I knew that I would be moving to Indiana in a few weeks, I decided it would be best to skip the swirling eddy of suck which is the DC DMV and just jump through the hoops one time in Indiana.

I called up Chevy Chase and told them what I was planning to do. Since my loan wasn't in the system yet, they couldn't look my specific circumstances, but the CSR that spoke to me said that, in general, that sort of thing wouldn't be a problem. I called the Indiana BMV and told them my plan. Again, no problem. Then I called the dealership...

The finance guy P. told me that despite what Chevy Chase had already told me, I couldn't register the car for the first time in Indiana, I would have to register the car to my address in DC - at this point, the address I would only have for about eight more days. However, the good news was that I wouldn't have to spend my entire day at the DC DMV, I would just have to get my car inspected and they would do the rest. It seems that they have a guy, or multiple guys, who take care of running the registration paperwork to the various local DMVs for all their customers. Te car tags conveniently appear in your mailbox one day, saving their customers time and worry.

After two trips to the inspection station (of course the car failed the first time, this is the DC DMV we're talking about; and no, I didn't get anything repaired before it passed the second time) I sent the delership my paperwork so they could start the process. Yesterday, which is over a week after I passed the inspection, I still hadn't heard anything from the DC DMV or the dealership, so I called the dealership to find out what was going on.

I spoke to P. once again to find out what the status was on my registration. He told me that they had taken in my paperwork a week earlier, but they wouldn't know anything from the DMV until it was completed. I reminded him that I don't live in DC anymore and the temporary tags they provided me will run out in a few days. He replied that the DC DMV is probably just waiting until the last minute. He said that he could call and ask them to put a rush on my registration, but then suggested that doing so could actually encourage them to take even more time to get me my tags.

I called Chevy Chase to see if there was anything they could do to help me get my car registered in Indiana and skip all of the DC DMV BS. Unfortunately, they don't have the title yet. Whoever owns the car has the title; however when you finance your car, the bank holds onto the title until you pay it off. Effectively, the bank owns your car and lets you use it in exchange for so many monthly payments. When the delaership owned the car, they had the title. When I got my inspection, they sent the car to the DC DMV to get it registered. The dealership will get the title back and send it to Chevy Chase, who will then send it to the Indiana BMV so I can get the car registered here. So now, I am at the mercy of the US Postal Service (remember them? the folks who will take any old address for your change-of-address form) to whisk my tags and title around the country in a timely fashion so I don't have a car with expired temporary tags.

Fortunately, the Indiana BMV saved the day. Once I got my shiny, new Indiana Driver's License (with a shiny, new pink border across the top) I asked them for help on the whole title/registration/tags issue. They gave me a form to fill out, I gave them the form and $16.75, and they gave me a 2" x 4" slip of paper that allows me to drive without tags for the next 30 days.

Altogether yesterday, I dealt with five different people at the Indiana BMV. Of the five, the worst of them that I had deal with I would describe as being "polite." A couple of folks were downright nice, all of them were extremely helpful, competent, and pleasant to work with; unlike at the DC DMV, where I had one encounter with someone so rude that I had to speak over him to explain that he had not answered my questions because he kept interrupting me before I asked them. I will have to go back to the Indiana BMV in a couple of weeks to pick up my Indiana tags, but I am not overwhelmed with the same fear and dread I used to ecounter in Washington, DC.

I am not Avery Sample

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Look at my new layout!

Isn't it pretty? And look at the map. Isn't it cool? HTML is totally awesome!

Right, so... I paid a couple of big, strong guys to come over and unpack the trailer this afternoon. I started packing at about 5:00 Thursday and finished at 2:15 Saturday afternoon. Minus sleep and meal breaks, let's just say it took me about 20 hours to pack the trailer and my car.
They unloaded it in 26 minutes. That includes the three minutes I took trying to unstick the door, so really more like 23 minutes. I guess the contents of the trailer shifted over roughly 600 miles of driving up and down hills and on rough pavement, wedging some of my belongings against the door and making it extremely tricky to open.

Now all of my stuff is in two piles that we'll call "Mom's garage" and "Mom's living room." I'll start the sorting, unpacking, and general dealing-with-it tomorrow. Read the rest of this entry >>

Cracker Barrel Musings

8:40 AM - Sitting in the Cracker Barrel at exit 10 on I-70 in West Virginia, on Cabela Drive. This is a relatively new exit, built in the last couple of years to accommodate the enormous Cabela’s superstore across the way. I sat down at my table to the sounds of “Stand By Your Man” by Tammy Wynette

The departure from DC was delayed a little over 24 hours. With the exception of my couch and coffee table (thanks, Nick!) I loaded the entire car and trailer by myself.

Every. Single. Box.

By the time I was done loading, the car sat noticeably lower in the rear. The trailer is packed airtight. I think I could slide a folder in somewhere. I have a funny feeling I have exceeded the weight restrictions on the trailer, the hitch, my car, and perhaps the highway. I feel a pang of guilt for not pulling in at each weigh station I pass along the interstate.

As I left my apartment for the last time, I encountered my new neighbor, Jessica, once again. Jessica was kind enough to take some of my groceries off my hands before I left. She just moved in a little over a month ago, and we didn’t cross paths until two weeks before I left. In the couple of times we chatted, she seems a lovely person and I hope that the permanent-transients that I would find passed out on the floor of the apartment building’s mailroom and stairwells give her less trouble than they did me.

I figured that driving with such a heavily laden vehicle, I should stick to side roads and smaller two-lane highways. I was planning only to drive as far as Pittsburgh on my first day, but I realized as I pulled away from Mt. Pleasant that I had no idea how to get there without the interstate. I decided to purchase a GPS unit from the Radio Shack in Rockville to guide me along. As I worked my way up MD-355, my GPS guide “Samantha” kept directing me to I-270. But I stayed strong in my resolve, refusing to succumb to her feminine computer-generated charms and stuck to my stop-and-go path.

Until I got in the wrong lane.

The trailer has a label plastered on the driver’s-side wheel well in reverse lettering so that it is readable every time I glance into my side mirror. The label states “Speed Limit 45.”* It is a friendly reminder that when pulling the trailer, one should not exceed that speed or risk injury, death, dismemberment, rickets, gout, the heartbreak of psoriasis, and erectile dysfunction. After about five minutes on 270, I realized that I was pretty comfortable with slightly higher speeds** and that the other drivers could just pass me if I was going too slowly.

I made it into Pittsburgh at about 10 pm Saturday night and was fortunate enough to find four consecutive parking spaces on the street about 100 yards from John’s apartment. I called him up and asked him to come outside to give me a hand with parallel parking. However, by the time he had his shoes on and was standing alongside my car, I was resting gently against the curb.



I brought in my overnight pack and laptop bag and sat on the couch across from John and Anna. John is also in the middle of packing up his apartment so that he and his lovely girlfriend can move into a house together. We talked, had a few beers (which went to my exhausted head waaaaaay too quickly) and turned in shortly after midnight.

At roughly 6:30 this morning, I woke up. I tried for about an hour to get back to sleep, but to no avail. I decided it was best to get on the road and back to Indy so I can unload the trailer and return it by tomorrow. Speaking of, it’s time for me to get back on the road. Check in later.

Ohio

*In all fairness, the label doesn't specify 45 whats. Miles per hour? Furlongs per century? Leagues under the sea? For all I know, I was nowhere close to exceeding the 45 units of somethings per something else that the designers had in mind.

**This statement is not intended to negate any claims made by U-Haul or any of there subsidiaries. Any instances of injury, death, dismemberment, rickets, gout, the heartbreak of psoriasis, or erectile dysfunction that you should experience due to your failure to heed their recommended speed limit are your own damn fault. Read the rest of this entry >>

48 hours and counting

Hello, and welcome to my blog. I will be updating on a semi-regular basis, occasionally lumping several days' entries into a single post.

I am currently sitting on a folding chair in the living room of my apartment in Mt. Pleasant, Washington, DC, as I write this. I am surrounded by debris, boxes full of stuff, organized and not so organized. I have a plastic bag from Pollo Sabroso around the corner with my usual - 1/4 chicken, white meat, side of fried yucca and a small salad. The price of this bachelor's special recently went up from an affordable $5.25 to just shy of the seven-dollar mark thanks to a premium for the white meat and a sudden market increase in yucca futures.

After my brief lunch, I will furiously pack a few more boxes, then head off to Silver Spring to see a couple of friends before my Friday afternoon departure.

Food's getting cold. Check in from time to time. Read the rest of this entry >>