Logistics & Panic

I’m moving next month. There is so much to do and I have to orchestrate everything because my new landlords are away for the summer and I am about to collapse into a heap. I have to get mold dealt with, walls painted, carpet laid, two burners on the stove fixed (that is probably going to have to wait until they get back here), drapes taken down, cleaned, and rehung, figure out how to route the cable into a room without a hookup because there’s no good TV spot in the living room, and get a whole bunch of things done at the new place like the hanging of pot racks and shower massages and the new magnetic knife rack (I am not handy and am having a friend do it).

If I had a bunch of money and could just get it done and get reimbursed, that would be great, but I don’t at the moment and so I need to make sure the landpeople are reachable, which is really difficult considering they are not always in a place with phone service.

I will be glad when it’s, say, September 1.



I am so peeved at John Paul Stevens — I need to search out the entire interview because the excerpt I heard on NPR the other day has me livid.  He said he thinks the Social Security age should be raised (again) because with longer life spans, you shouldn’t think of age 65 as the end of your working life.

Perhaps if you’re a Supreme Court Justice or other highly compensated person in a high-prestige and/or high-satisfaction job, that sounds great. What about desk jockeys (hello!)? People who do difficult manual labor? People with demeaning or depressing jobs? People who have awful work conditions? Just how old do these folks have to be before they can relax and enjoy life?

I have probably mentioned before that when I was in high school, as I schlepped off to class I passed a retired couple drinking coffee and reading the paper in their bathrobes at their kitchen table; their apartment was right by the elevator and their kitchen window looked out onto the walkway. I’ve wanted to be retired since I was 17 years old.

My Social Security full retirement age is already 67. My father died two years before he would have reached that age and my mom passed it by only five years. Gee thanks, Mr. Stevens; in your ideal world I might not live to retire, or maybe have a scant few years to enjoy it. Thanks God for two pensions I will have plus a 457(b) and some other investments. Because, God willing and the creek don’t rise, I will retire from my current employer in 15 years, 11 months, and 23 days.

“As long as there are tests

there will be prayer in schools” is one bumper sticker that makes me headdesk violently. I want to grab the driver by the scruff of the neck and say, “Yeah, duh? That’s the point — anyone can pray in school, so forcing people to pray communally in a secular environment is superfluous!” [ETA: Of course, someone who agrees with me might be sporting that sticker to make that very point, but somehow I don’t think that’s often the case.]

Then again, I also think the “If you can’t trust me with a choice, how can you trust me with a child?” stickers are just as dumb. People who are against a woman’s right to choose aren’t saying they don’t trust you to make a choice; they’re saying that choice is immoral and should not be an option. I think the only time this is apropos is if you’re talking about teenagers and parental notification; then you are saying that you don’t think the young woman is mature enough to decide to terminate her pregnancy, but she is mature enough to be a mother. Otherwise, though, it’s just as annoying to me.

While I’m kvetching — that Verizon commercial where the guy says his old, confusing, phone bill is “the white elephant in the room” also drives me nuts. “Elephant in the room” ≠ “white elephant.” The guy rambling might not have known that, but didn’t someone at Verizon’s ad agency?