Meh.

Welp, it's official. My old boss emailed the kiddles today, which I guess means that I can make a big announcement about it myself.

I no longer work for Yale's Student Technology Collaborative. I am now working for Academic Computing Resources (which used to be Academic Computing Services, which used to be Cluster Support), as the Asst Manager of Student Support. From what I've been told, the Power That Be (PTB) decided to have a reorg of ITS, and that STC was going to be categorized as Client Support. The media program really isn't support, it's more of a resource. So the media program would be moved, as well as its student workers, and me (rather than training an entirely new person to work with the program that I've been uber involved with for the last year). I've known about this since late June, and I have one giant impression of the whole thing.

Yale is going corporate. And it sucks.
(Ok, I guess that's actually one impression and one opinion, but whatever.)

To be brutally honest, the whole thing was handled poorly. I do not appreciate being told that a major, sudden, painful transition is going to take place on the last day of the ResNet Symposium, before my 4 days of vacation with my aunt and uncle and cousin, the latter two whom I've not seen for something like 6 years. I don't appreciate that this shit was pulled right before school started, leaving STC sans a much needed pair of hands for Fall Training and the Freshman Invasion. Yeah, I get WHY it was done, and it all objectively makes sense, but you know what?

It still sucks. And I still feel like crying after reading my old boss' email to the students today. But I'm gonna pull it together (for about the millionth time), pull on the Big Girl Pants, and go learn some more stuff on Lynda.com about Final Cut Pro Studio 7. Because I can't change what the PTB thinks or does. I can only control how I react and how I go on from here.

So let's make the most of this. Let's do this. Let's start a new journey. I have a LOT to learn about media and editors and all the fun gadgets that come with it. I'll have new Clusters-ish responsibilities soon enough, besides the Bass Media stuff, so I might as well embrace the challenges I've been handed.

Meanwhile, I'm planning on drinking plum-basil-vodka smoothies tonight while picking out a TV online, so if anyone would like to commiserate hang out later tonight, you know how to get a hold of me. Nothing salves a wound like booze and new toys.

The best defense is a good offense

I have an offensive kitchen. (And The Landlord isn't far behind.)

Boxes, boxes, everywhere!

It has 2 upper cabinets, 4 lower cabinets and one large "under the sink" space. And four drawers.

Dude, seriously, there's half of my storage/organization space. RIGHT THERE.

Then there's the issue of The Wall.

Yes, this wall.

Now, walls themselves don't bother me. It's when walls are in weird places and serve only to take up space that would be better used as say, cabinets and counter space, that I get upset.

Seriously, WHERE am I supposed to work in this kitchen?

So I asked The Landlord if I could put some shelves on The Wall, a cabinet being a poor idea due to the fact that the floor is slanted and Parker's ball likes to move in mysterious patterns over it. (I think that the floor should have been leveled when the kitchen was being remodeled, but hey, what do I know? I just sit at a computer all day, right?) I also asked if I could stencil a border at the top of the walls, for some color. This border, to be exact. And, oh yeah, I said that we wanted to install a pots-and-pans rack above the stove. (You caught the "we need storage solutions!" vibe? Good.)

The Landlord says that he thinks that the shelving would make the kitchen too crowded. But if I really feel that I need the shelving, as long as I patch'n'paint over it, he doesn't care. And that we shouldn't repaint the whole kitchen because he just had that done. And ps, you guys have a lot of stuff, and should maybe consider getting rid of some of it. (He did not mention the pots-and-pans rack.)

In my email, I stated that a) I would patch'n'paint as needed when we moved out, b) that we really need more storage space and c) that it was a border I wanted to paint. I did not ask for c) his opinion on how cluttered the kitchen would look or d) how cluttered the rest of the apartment is. He tried to temper it with some statement about a fatherly opinion. But let's get a few things straight here.

We have a business arrangement. I ask questions, and I want answers. I do not need - nor desire - long rambling statements that have very little to do with the answer I actually need. It was a seriously weird, rambling answer.

We do not have a familial relationship. Nor are we friends. When I want someone's opinion on something, I ask. (Really, I do. I ask lots of people for lots of opinions, all the time.) If I wanted "fatherly advice," I would call my dad. Or Le Boyfriend's dad. Or any number of my uncles. Or some of my friends' dads. I would not ask my landlord.

Unfortunately, I have this weird desire for people in positions of authority to all see me as a happy, perky, pleasant person, so I'll never write and send something as passive aggressive as the following faux-mail, but my Midwestern soul burns with the fire of a thousand suns and wishes it could.

Dear Landlord,

It's my opinion that sometimes, you're bat-shit insane and can't plan anything in a timely manner. Please refer to the fiasco that was refinishing the two bathrooms on State St and the fact that my kitchen wasn't completely operable until Tuesday. Also, the rest of my floors could use a refinishing, and we'd all appreciate it if you'd stop referring to Caesar as "my Mexican." He is not "yours" and do you even know if he's actually from Mexico? We have a lot of Ecuadorians around here, you know. I'm just saying this as a culturally sensitive member of society, so try not to take it too personally.

Love,
Us

PS, Most of the boxes in the living room are BOOKS. Because I READ a LOT and have an education in the liberal arts and we like to compulsively keep our books. And I have several boxes of winter stuff, because the stupid state of Connecticut is going through some ridiculous schizophrenic stage where the winters are make-your-boobs-hurt cold and summers are in the please-everyone-I-know-it's-hot-but-no-one-wants-to-see-that-much-skin category. So, yeah, I have a lot of clothes, I know, but it's not really your problem. I also play two instruments and sing, which is why there's so much music stuff. I'm so sorry that I'm a person of diverse talents.

PPS, You didn't tell me that one of the downstairs neighbors is an infant. Would have been nice to know before I started banging on shit when we moved in. Some of us try to be considerate neighbors, which is easier when we know what's going on. Just sayin'.

Home Sweet Home?

We have too much shit.

We are never moving again. We will grow old and die on Pleasant St.

The previous tenants had terrible taste. My landlord can't get anything done on time.

I have no patience, can't explain the diagrams in my head, and should never have children.

John can't prioritize the well-being of a toddler (aka Parker) and should never have children.


These are the revelations that Le Boyfriend and I have reached in the past 48 hours. Yet, we've managed to not kill each other, the landlord, or Parker, we've gotten just about everything into the apt and approximately the right room, and we even wrestled a mattress up the stairs. "It's like the door gave birth to the mattress - squishing, resizing, pushing, pulling..." we commented when we finally got it up the 2 flights of Stairs from Hell and into the kitchen.

It's a good thing we know how to have a spat and move on. It's also a good thing that we only have a full-sized bed and not a queen.

I've been moving around in a sea of boxes, and I look around and have a 30-second panic attack. omgtherearesomanyboxeswherethehellarewegoingtoputallthisstuff? is the usual thought process. Occasionally it's also something like holyshitwedidit or where'sthedog? (Parker has a tendency to hide when he doesn't like what's going on.)

Here, let's review some of the panic-inducing views from my apartment....

This is my kitchen. It doesn't look so bad, does it?

Well, you should know that the counter on the right hand side isn't attached to the cabinets, I'm going to have to loop a power cord from behind the metal shelving in the middle over the door, behind the stove, and up the wall so that I'll have a power outlet where I'll actually do a lot of the food prep.

This is our living room. Ooooh yeah, there's the first million of the boxes.

This room is filled with expensive electronic equipment and musical instruments. But not the Mac Mini or the 1TB HDD yet. Those are living at the office until the contractors are officially, finally, absolutely finished. Because I didn't spend $700 on shiny shit for some guy to steal it. I'm sure he's perfectly trustworthy, but I'm not taking any chances.

This would be the bedroom. Part two of the million boxes. And Parker.

Parker would be that black blob on the bed. He's not thrilled with this moving thing. "Moooooom, just hold me all day!!" is pretty much all he says right now. That, and "What's that new smell?" The weird door in the middle of the wall is the door to the fire escape. Yeah, I have a fire escape attached to my bedroom. Yay.
(Note: I did some unpacking post pictures, and I'm pleased to report that 3 of the boxes are gone. And the bed is now made, Mom.)

Now we leave my bedroom and go towards the small hallway that runs between the pantry/office, kitchen, bathroom and ends at my bedroom.

There be boxes in the pantry.



Looooots of boxes.



And dog food. Parker's gotta eat, too! Also, I am lobbying that we get rid of the ugly blue 1982 lamp. Don't get me started on the lava lamp....

Welcome to the Only Room That Is Done:
The Bathroom

At least I can shower and attend to all of my bodily needs in peace and the knowledge that SOMETHING has been put to rights. Coordinating colors make my little OCD heart very happy.

So, that's the grand tour of the Kurzawa-Scott-(Corona) residence. No pictures of Adriana's room, since it's her room and not mine. When she leaves in the winter, I think the general idea is to put the living room in her room, and turn that room into a guest room/storage place.

Moving: Day Million

I would just like to state, loud and clear, that moving sucks ass and I'm never doing it again. We're going to live in 41 Pleasant St. until the day we die.

HUGE thank yous go out to:
John, for his never-ending patience with me
Heather, Assistant Packer, Chief Direction Giver and Bringer of Sushi
Roommate Michelle, Chief State St. Dog Comforter
"Grandpa" Dave, Friday Dog Watcher
Chris and Mara, Saturday Dog Watchers
John, for not killing me yet (I am NOT the easiest person to deal with when moving)
Heather and Mara (again) for potentially not making me look at boxes for a couple of hours on Sunday while we eat delicious dimsum and possibly go get manicures. The mere possibility is making me giddy with delight.

Now, it is time to (finally) go to sleep so that we can do MORE packing and moving and sweating and cursing tomorrow. UGH.

New Project: Bottles on a Budget!

As if I don't have enough to do these days, we're starting a new blog. (Well, hopefully "we." I'm trying to convince Roommate Michelle and Le Boyfriend to pitch in.)

I am proud to introduce... Bottles on a Budget! A blog about wines under $20 and beers under $10. We're going to focus on laymen's reviews of wine and beer, and less on the "there were oak undertones, with a hint of lavender and citrus." I'm more of a "Did it taste good? Yes/No." and "Was it affordable?" person, so that's what we're gonna do. We'll probably throw some stuff about New Haven, Connecticut vineyards, food, Connecticut breweries, and local merchants in there, too.

So mosey on over and check out Bottles on a Budget. "Magical beer, magical wine...tasty, delicious and best when it's mine!"

Material Girl?

In the process of packing, I have once again come to an uncomfortable conclusion:

I have way too much crap.

Now, I could rationalize it by saying that I am the one bringing a bedroom set, the majority of the kitchen stuff, and the majority of the entertainment system, which of course means that I have a lot of stuff.

But let's face it, I don't need 16 kinds of bowls and 3 teapots.

I could also attempt to excuse myself from the situation with the concept that a lot of this stuff is childhood/college/art projects/whatever, and that they aren't living at my parent's house because my parents live 800 miles away. And that I'm saving my parents some space in their basement. And saving them work when they someday move.

But let's face it, am I ever going to actually display the giant painted ostrich egg from some high school project that I don't even remember the purpose of? (I do remember the class, teacher, and how much goofing off we all did in that class, though.) And what the heck am I actually going to do with all of my notes and papers from college?

Then there's the excuse that I buy things in bulk and on sale, because it's better to have 6 boxes of pasta when they're on sale than buy them one at a time at full price.

But let's face it, that's such a Midwestern mentality: stock up and wait the bad times out. And I a) no longer live in the Midwest and b) have a pretty solid knowledge that my job isn't going anywhere (though I did move departments, but they can't run the Bass Media program without me).

Oh wait! I have all of these collectibles and vintage things and antiques! And I have family heirlooms! And stuff from those years that my grandparents lived in Africa/Turkey/Europe! And it must be kept safe and cherished and maybe some of it is special enough to be displayed!

But let's face it, that's just a socially acceptable form of hoarding.

And don't get me started on the sheer number of books that I have...

I don't know how to deal with the art and the artifacts and the antiques and the pasta and the books and the 16 bowls and 3 teapots at this time. Actually, thinking about reducing my number of possessions is sort of scary. We're programmed to show our worth and personality through the amount and type of stuff that we have. I'm an educated, cultured, 20-something female with many talents, my stuff says. I can put together a kick-ass entertainment system just as easily as I can do some crazy 16th note runs in Bach, but don't forget that I'm a cook and a book worm, too. I can build a Hackintosh and I can sew buttons back on shirts. (I...am...Renaissance Woman!)

So let's face what I can deal with. After the dust settles from the move, I am going to digitize all of the college notes. Scan it in, label it, file it, recycle the paper. That should get rid of some of the stuff I have, without getting rid of the thoughts and ideas and millions of hours I spent agonizing over the lives of dead people in 17th century Italy. Maybe I'll convince Le Boyfriend to do the same, and we'll both get rid of some dead weight.

If Walls Could Talk...

If my walls could talk, right now the new ones would be exclaiming about how much of my vocabulary is uncouth and downright awful.

Right now, I'm working on moving from one apartment in New Haven to another. Nothing's wrong with the current apartment; I've spent 16 great months here. I'm moving in with Le Boyfriend, an event which I think my parents are pretending isn't happening and the rest of my social circle wishes was just done already, so I'd stop bitching talking about it.

But in my defense, this is turning into a Nightmare. That's right, with a capital N. We were told that the kitchen would be done before we moved in. Well, we technically move in Aug. 1, but they still haven't laid tile in the kitchen. Which means that there's no cabinetry and no appliances in there, either. In fact, the wooden padding that goes between the tile and the old linoleum isn't finished yet. I know this because I have a key to the apartment already, so that we can move some stuff in before this weekend.

Now, I normally wouldn't be so concerned, but for two issues:
1: The bathroom renovation in my current apartment that was supposed to take 2 weeks to complete took 3.5
2: R, the new tenant taking my room, has a move date of Saturday, that we're trying really hard to accommodate. If the kitchen isn't done, I can't finish moving in. I'm not "living" in a place that I can't even safely store my breakfast cereal and soy milk.
Experience tells me that it may very well take longer than the original estimate, and then I've got a concerned R in the other ear.

R and I had the conversation about how long it would take me to move out my stuff while the landlord was standing there with us in my kitchen. So it's not like he doesn't know of all the concerns/issues. I'm beginning to think that moving in with my grandmother might be a simpler solution. The fact that she lives in Indiana? Minor detail. We'll invent teleportation to get around that problem.

I may have neglected to mention the annoyance of a heat wave. Packing while breathing in what feels like soup is painful. Seriously. Le Boyfriend almost gave himself a case of heat exhaustion on Sunday when we moved the first truckload of stuff over. (I made him sit his ass down and drink half a Gatorade. "You can't 'power through' in this heat. Mostly because I can't 'power through' getting you to the hospital because you're being a stubborn dumb ass," I told him. Guilt: perfect for all those time you need to "help" someone make a decision!)

Moving apartments during the last week of July during a heat wave? Not the best idea ever. Le Boyfriend has been informed that we are never ever ever moving again because I can't deal with the thought of it (he laughed, but agreed).

I'm moving some more stuff tomorrow, with a friend that I helped move several weeks ago. I'm desperately hoping that maybe, maybe the tile will be down on the kitchen floor when I walk in the door?

Well, a girl can dream, right?