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It snowed Saturday, but not much stuck. And then this morning it was 27 degrees in my car when I left for work. Tomorrow it will be 59 degrees. WTF weather? Seriously.

In other news, I learned that Britney Spears and I have almost exactly the same birthday. (Hers was last week, mine is this week.) That made me start to think (a lot) about how different my life could have been if I’d made different decisions. I don’t mean I would be famous and talented and rich, just that things could be different. I could have kids and an ex-husband by now. I could live in California. I could look good naked. I could have an overbearing stage parent. I could have my nails done. I could have dyed blonde hair. So many things could be different, but I guess I’m okay with them being how they are. Well, except how I didn’t marry Stephen Malkmus. But neither did Britney.

Flew to S.C. Friday to surprise my mom’s mom for her birthday. It worked—I almost gave her a heart attack. Surprises on your 75th are probably a little dangerous.

Got home tonight and a 45 RPM record was tucked neatly in my mailbox. A few months back, on WFMU’s Downtown Soulville with Mr. Finewine, I heard this song I just couldn’t get out of my head. I played it over and over, saved the playlist, and vowed to find the record. I finally tracked it down on Gemm, and someone mailed it to me all the way from the UK. I’ve had it in my house for less than an hour and I’ve already played it 10 times. (It’s called “Keep Me In Mind,” and it’s the B-Side of “I Ain’t No Fool” by Samson and Delilah. I don’t know what year it was recorded, but it’s on the ABC label, release 11018.)

Anyway, thanks to Mr. Finewine for playing it, and for the shop in Essex that had it and sold it to me. Rare soul 45s live on!

Today I bought a big external hard drive. My laptop told me it was full, so it was time. I have a few other smaller external hard drives, but they’re all  too small to completely back up my whole computer. So I have them all out on my desk and they’re all named random rob0t-related stuff (robot, little robot, firewirebot), and I realize, hey, I have three of these, plus my laptop. I should name them something that goes together.

So now they’re Cambot, Gypsy, Tom Servo and Crow.

In other news, I’m going to die alone. A big ole nerdy alone loser.

In the current iGoogle tour, you can view an example email from a “Phil Farnsworth” with “hikingfan” and “bakescakes.” Clever allusion to the guy that (sort of) invented television.

At least I hope that’s what it is.

So yesterday, I went to this bookshop in my neighborhood called Capitol Hill Books. It’s used and new books, and they’re stacked to the ceiling. They line every wall. Shelves are filled, and then books are stacked on top, wedged in between. Books line the staircases. It feels claustrophobic and wonderful at the same time. I picked up a big dictionary, Adrian Tomine’s “Shortcomings” and a copy of “Wonder Boys.” I was on my way to the DMV, so I knew I needed something to read. I’m working my way through “The Yiddish Policeman’s Union,” but I decided to take a break from it for something a little lighter to clear my head.

Arrival at the DMV. They have my title, but I don’t have a valid inspection. Granted, nobody told me I needed one. So I drive off to the inspection plant. And my car fails inspection. Apparently, my windows are tinted too dark for 48 states and the district. I have to get the tint removed, go back and pass inspection, then go back to the DMV. I have an appointment for later today at a tint shop in Alexandria.

But when I get home, I still have the books, so I get in bed and start reading “Wonder Boys,” for maybe the fifth time.

Michael Chabon  makes me sick to read sometimes. Everything is perfect, and some of the sentences are like being punched in the gut they’re so good. For example, this exchange between the narrator (a writer and professor guy) and one of his students (a pretty girl) in a bar. She’s dialing songs on this phone-jukebox service for them to dance to:

” ‘Just My Imagination,’ ” she told the operator, without consulting the tattered playlist. ” ‘When a Man Loves a Woman.’ That’s right. And ‘Get It While You Can. ‘ ”

“Uh oh,” I said. “I’m in trouble.”

“Hush now,” said Hannah, as she reached up and put her arms around my neck.

“I’m going to regret this tomorrow,” I said.

“That’s nice,” she said. “Everybody ought to have a hobby.”

Gut-punched.

It’s sickening because it’s so good, and it’s sickening because I know that even if I work very, very hard, I may never write anything this good.

I am so tired. I haven’t been this tired in a long time. The movers delivered my stuff on Thursday, which took all day, and my apartment was filled with boxes. Yesterday, as I started to dig myself out, I realized I’d never make it. I rented a storage room in SW DC, near the Nationals park. You can see the Capitol from it. Interesting that there’s a better view from my storage place than from my apartment, but I digress.

Today I made three trips there, and was able to get about 90% finished on the living room/kitchen. The bedroom is still stacked with boxes, but I’m making progress. I’m just exhausted. Too tired to go meet people. Too tired to cook dinner. But just tired enough to lay on the couch and watch a DVD (I unpacked the TiVO and stuff today too.

And, just for fun, here’s a blurry, poorly-lit picture of my mostly-unpacked living room.

So, today I went to my local police precinct substation to get signs to block the parking spaces for my moving truck, to Eastern Market to walk around, to a post office and then to Chinatown. Chinatown here is weird. It’s really gentrified, but there’s some sort of law that says all signs must be in Chinese and English. So they are. At the Starbucks, the Hooters, the CVS and even at the Chipotle where I had lunch. And, weirdest of all, in the three or four Irish pubs I saw around there. An Irish-theme pub in a Chinatown neighborhood in an English-speaking country.

This place just keeps getting better.

i’m almost done packing. almost. the last odds and ends go into boxes in the morning and then i go to lunch with people from history and then i’m, well, history.

the feelings i was prepared for: anxiety, excitement, tiredness. the feeling i wasn’t prepared for that kind of slammed me yesterday: overwhelming sadness. lonely, miserable sadness. i mean, i was prepared to be lonely (and alone, of course), but i wasn’t really prepared to be so sad about it. i drove around yesterday (it was so nice outside), all the way to tybee island and back for the last time, listening to the Who really loud, and it was really nice and pretty soon i’ll have to find somewhere else to drive and think about loneliness. maybe Baltimore. or Delaware.

I signed a lease yesterday for an apartment in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. Let the frantic packing/selling/giving-stuff-away phase begin. Maybe I’ll love it, maybe I’ll hate it—we’ll see. I am psyched about going to the Newseum when I get all moved. And the Oct. 4 Okkervil River show in Richmond.

Also, this Natalie Dee reaffirms my friend Matt’s theory I’m secretly living a double life and I’m actually Natalie Dee.

After living in the southern coastal region for most of my life, I’m almost ashamed to admit I’ve really only been through one major hurricane: Hurricane Hugo in 1989 which forced me and my family into a shelter when we were forced to evacuate. Lucky for us, the hotel my mom worked at, just over the bridge across the intercoastal waterway from the beach, was a designated shelter site. So we were there, with a ton of other people who brought their semi-exotic pets and livestock with them. There were giant parrots, dogs and cats, huge iguanas and at least one goat. I don’t really remember much except sleeping in the concrete stairwells and being stuck there for days after the hurricane was over.

So now, looking at the National Hurricane Center Web site, I’m realizing I may have the chance in my semi-adult life, to be in Savannah for two or three possible hurricanes in the next few weeks. Typically, Savannah is rather unaffected by hurricanes because of how it is situated in a curve, at the near-westernmost point on the east coast.

Anyway—here I am, blah blah blah.

magazines (esquire, the new yorker, entertainment weekly, cosmo)
phone bill
rejection letter from a literary agency
extensive instructions on how to get my paycheck from working at the hotel off this special card thing
a jury summons for somebody who doesn’t live here

also, while i was gone, my tivo filled up with Ace of Cakes episodes and some made-for-tv movie with Joshua Malina and John Stamos. totally awesome.

Hi there. We’ve been together for seven months now and so far, I think our relationship is going pretty well. I love that sometimes you know me so well. I love that you remember I love “Wings” and Matthew Perry and “MythBusters.” And you record all the late-night talk shows so I can go to bed early if I want and not miss anything funny that Conan says.

It’s just that I feel like lately we’re not communicating very well.

I don’t need to see every episode of “Friends” or “Seinfeld.” I’ve already seen them. Thanks. I don’t like “That ’70s Show.” I know you think I need to see everything that Paul Rudd is in, but I don’t. Really. I know  you like to fill yourself up with the old re-runs of “Jeopardy!” from the Game Show channel, but really, I don’t care what were the final Jeopardy questions in 1992. I also am really, really tired of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” Everybody doesn’t love Raymond. Specifically, TiVo, I do not love Raymond. Please stop.

Don’t let this hurt your feelings, baby. I’m so happy with so many parts of our relationship so far. We’re just still getting to know each other, and I wanted to be honest and open with you. You’re so special to me, and I never want us to be apart.

Oh, and I know you’re trying to tell me something by recording all of the “Mad About You,” but I don’t really like it. I know you care about me, and I’m mad about you too cookie, but I can’t stomach the Paul Reiser.

Kisses,
-Jessica

4. Visit every state.

12. Learn to make fondant frosting.

14. Coach someone learning to speak English.

23. Teach someone to drive.

28. Save someone from drowning.

30. Be a guest on a WFMU radio show.

31. Have something published in the NY Times.

36. Move somewhere alone where I don’t know anybody.

37. Drive the entire Pacific Coast Highway alone in a fast car.

So, Ira Glass has this tremendous series of video advice on storytelling. The part on killing stuff that sucks and the part on closing the gap between your abilities and taste levels are especially rewarding. If I taught writing, this would be a class day for sure.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

So I went out of town early Saturday morning after my last day of work on Friday. I spent Saturday-yesterday cooking and running errands and helping out my mom at the beach, and then came back last night. Today, though, feels like a Saturday.

I got up kind of early, like I do on normal Saturdays, and went to get a coffee at the wacky independent place. I came home, took a shower, made a list of errands to run and then ran them. (Bought new hanging plants for my porch, ink cartridges for my fountain pen, got my alumni ID so I can still use the college library, bought stamps, got some groceries, did some laundry.) I made a list of stuff to do later, like rearrange the furniture in my office and maybe go look for a small bookshelf for my kitchen to keep all my small appliances on (coffee maker, rice cooker, blender, electric kettle, microwave, toaster oven, mixer).

But it still feels like I’m trying to do all this today or tomorrow, because it’s a Saturday, and I have to get my stuff together for the upcoming week of work. Maybe in a few days it’ll sink in.