If a cow ever got the chance...

The move went fine. It was a week and a half ago now, which means that people have started e-mailing me to say "I assume you're all unpacked by now", which frightens me. We are like 3/4 unpacked, which paradoxically looks much, much worse than 3/4 packed. Finishing the process requires a number of decisions I seem to be totally incapable of making (you decide where the stupid cookie cutters should go...) So mostly I have been drinking beer and watching Bush say things on national television like "I've been a good steward of the land" (that statement called for a lot more beer, applied very fast) and struggling with my crappy white Ikea furniture. The apartment is just beautiful--so much so that I kind of hate to defile it with the crappy furniture--but that's not a bad problem to have. Am alternating between nicknaming it "The Island" after my friend's former apartment on the same street (it feels very similar to hers in terms of layout, views, and overall vintage-ness), and "The Secret Yuppie Playground" (because my Chicago Symphony Orchestra subscription and desire for non-particle-board furniture make me a giant yuppie, according to my best friend from college. We used to fight a lot, but it's all okay now).

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