It's Savannah. I start with my new employer on 10/16/2006. I am fucking terrified.

Now, those of you that know me may be thinking: "Chris may be unable to pay bills/taxes/traffic tickets/whatever on time, lives in constant fear of many, many things, and doesn't bathe regularly/punched me in the face that one time/broke my heart/stole my car/still owes me ten bucks/called me an asshole, but he usually has his shit together when he's turning wrenches."

You'd be right. However, it's not the job I'm worried about. It's this damned house. Here's a scene from two years ago:

Me: "You know, honey, since we're planning on staying for a while, we should stop paying rent and get in on some of this gi-friggin-gantic Northern Virginia real estate boom, you know?"
Her: "That's retarded. Do you have (a very, very large number of dollars) to buy a house with?"
Me: "No, but we could save a little, and they have these creatively structured mortgages now that allow first-time home buyers like us to afford places."
Her: "Well, I don't really want to get something expensive. Let's just buy the cheapest place available that dosen't have an ongoing tuberculosis outbreak in it, and see how that goes. Let us call a real estate agent."
Real Estate Agent: "Did someone call me?"
Us (in unison): "We'd like to buy a tidy and inexpensive apartment. We would prefer it to not smell like dog, curry, or gunpowder. Actually, it should not smell like anything."
R.E.A.: "Here are several to choose from."
Us: "We'll take the least expensive."
R.E.A. "That will be (a number of dollars which I had previously thought to be made up; something like "eleventy billion" or "infinity time infinity"). See you later."
Me: "What a beautiful home we've made, darling. I hope a combination of economic factors, job dissatisfaction, and personal distaste for the Mid-Atlantic region in general don't come together to screw us later on."
(Ominous music swells)

I want a do-over. I feel like a complete moron. I've finally been trained to start acting more or less like an adult, and I completely fuck up the one big decision that I lobbied so hard for. Yay for me.

Must be time to post again.

Item: Looking for a new job/venue
Status: Ongoing
Details: Interview next week for Gulfstream in Savannah (Pros- Large, well-run company. Good products. Near the beach. Cheap. Closer to friends/family. Cons- No nearby schools for Mel. Hot. Closer to family.)
Chicago station opening up (Pros- Post is with current employer. Schools available for Mel. Cheaper than D.C. Living near some cool stuff would be a good change. Cons- Don't know anyone there. Cold in winter. Work may suck ass. )
Plenty of work in Greensboro (Pros- Cheap. Some friends live there. Cons- No schools for Mel. Not near anything. Work may suck ass.)

Item: Installing A/C on the Miata
Status: Ongoing
Details: Vagaries of metric standard hardware initially impeded progress. Now need condenser fan. Suck.

Item: Getting rid of the Acura
Status: Under Consideration
Details: Initial problems (No goddamned ipod adapter on a car manufactured in 2006? Screw you.) overcome by installing new headunit (Thanks, Mel!). It is now the perfect car. Except for the payment.

Item: Selling the House
Status: Terrifying
Details: I don't even want to discuss how this might screw us for the next thirty years.

Item: Trip to ATL
Status: Under Consideration
Details: Maybe for my birthday.

"Let's go out and buy a statistically average meal from a large multinational restaurant chain. That usually fixes about seventy-five percent of life's problems."

I never know when the newest Douglas Coupland book is coming out. Actually that's not true: the newest book comes out after I stop checking to see when the newest book comes out. It usually comes out about a week before I wander into a bookshop and randomly look in the "C" section. The only exception to this is when I sent Mel transatlantic to get me a copy of Eleanor Rigby, because it wasn't scheduled to come out soon anywhere around here.

See you in hell, 2001 and 2002 tax seasons!

A crushing burden has finally been lifted, and it would not be possible without the help of my lovely girlfriend.

If we move to Savannah, will any of you visit us?

A dream of mine:

That Guy vs. That Other Guy

Brought to you courtesy of my having watched Lebowski last night and Batman today.

P.S.- Dear Christopher Nolan: Alfred the Butler is supposed to speak in Recieved Pronunciation. I love Michael Caine too, but he's strictly working-class in the accent department.

My friend and collague, DF, while listening to Aldo Nova's Fantasy:
"When I was twelve, I thought nothing could ever be more metal than this song. Maybe some sort of song written by robots. Robots with laser guitars. But this song already kind of sounds like that, so I guess I was right in the first place."

I am honored to work with the finest.

Also, [belated] birthday wishes to my [slightly-older-than-me-but-much-much-cooler] main man, b!

I only ever think of this thing when I'm reading other people's (vastly cooler)writings. Then I sometimes click on the link to see if I wrote anything. I didn't.

Wednesday, 0530 local- Body temperature: 100.1F, chowing down on a delicious salad at Amphora Diner. Feeling euphoric for having snuck out of work early. Knowing sickness is imminent. Not caring.

Wednesday, 1520 local- Body temperature: 101.2F, calling in sick to work. Driving to the doctor, knowing that diagnosis will surely be H5N1 strain of influenza. Thinking of how much gravity that will lend to blogging and general demeanor.

Thursday, 0230 local- Body temperature: unknown, weeping with pride in having set personal best by coughing uninterrupted for past fifteen hours. Without inhaling.

Thursday, 0550 local- Body temperature: 312K, mentally composing vicious rant about total inadequacy of alleged "cough supressant" products offered by modern medicine.

Thursday, 0640 local- Body temperature: Spicy Cajun, rant now includes scathing indictment of entire heathcare and pharmaceutical industries. Contains allusions to Restless Leg Syndrome (...my leg is restless to head straight up all their asses!) and Viagra (...some fat, pasty, millionaire in his erect-penis-shaped pool diverting cough-supressant research dollars into boners for Social Security recipients.).

Thursday, 0900 local- Body temperature: not funny anymore, girlfriend employed in healthcare industry offers comfort, drugs. Rant scrapped as juvenile, nonsensical. Blessed sleep.

Thursday, 1300 local- Commence Chapter 1134 of "Shogun". Another first: enough pills to actually fill stomach! No room or desire to eat other meals today!

Friday, more of the same...

Friday, 2130 local- unveiling of new Mel hairstyle. Fetching. Actually, pretty damned sexy. Temporarily forget about badger in chest gnawing on lungs.

Saturday, 1300 local- against better judgement, attend local beer festival with locals. Imbibe.

Saturday, 1430 local- monsoon season begins. Search in vain for shelter for new $500 digital camera. Endure endless witticisms concerning shirt color and desire for female companinons to have worn instead. Imbibe.

Saturday, 1800 local- aimlessly noodle on guitar while naked and semi-dressed women meander around condo.

Saturday, 2100 local- eat Mexican food while being entertained by band whose singer sounds disturbingly like Natalie Merchant.

Sunday, 1300 local- back to work

Monday, 0230 local- decide to compose rambling, disjointed, poorly written post due to lack of broken aircraft, reading material, and nocturnal associates.

Advanced Global Personality Test Results Extraversion 63% Stability 40% Orderliness 46% Accommodation 36% Interdependence 76% Intellectual 76% Mystical 23% Artistic 43% Religious 10% Hedonism 76% Materialism 36% Narcissism 56% Adventurousness 56% Work ethic 63% Self absorbed 30% Conflict seeking 43% Need to dominate 50% Romantic 63% Avoidant 16% Anti-authority 36% Wealth 30% Dependency 36% Change averse 23% Cautiousness 50% Individuality 36% Sexuality 90% Peter pan complex 43% Physical security 83% Physical Fitness 17% Histrionic 23% Paranoia 30% Vanity 43% Hypersensitivity 70% Female cliche 16%

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I am waiting for parts for a thrust reverser.

nor do I understand why you would want to waste the time and money rounding up eleven million people who obviously want to be here quite badly.
I work with a guy named John. He's retired from the British Navy, and retired from United Airlines. Imagine that. Two fucking pensions. I wonder what I'll get when I retire.
"I worked my ass off for thirty years and all I got was this stupid fucking t-shirt."