Today’s protip is brought to you by a guy wearing $200 designer jeans and a hipster trucker cap:
In the Home Depot parking lot, the day laborers will come up to you and offer to work. Don’t just walk up to the first Mexican you see and ask him to come pour some concrete. Especially if that guy is holding two cans of paint and a receipt.
They say it’s where your heart is, but they’re wrong, as they so often are.
I learned this in college. In college, you move 4 times a year, or at least I did. You move in at the beginning of the semester, you move home for the month long winter break, you move back at the beginning of the 2nd semester, and then you move again at the end of the year. When I was in college, I’d pack my entire music & computer rig wherever I was going. This alone taught me this truth: home is where your stuff is.
Our stuff gets a bad rap. The problem is that we Americans typically have too much stuff, and that tends to overshadow all the good stuff that we do have and use. Your stuff is not just shallow material possessions. You use your stuff to slice bread and cook meals. Your sit on your stuff. You have large pieces of stuff where you can organize smaller stuff. Some people need their stuff to earn a living. Your stuff is the very fabric of your everyday life.
I could not help but ponder this as I helped Mike and Gretchen with the middle to ending stages of their move yesterday. I say middle to ending, because it’s often tough to gauge exactly where you are in a move. Just when you think you have all your stuff accounted for and put on the truck, you realize that there’s more stuff hiding behind it. My contribution to the Lee family move was not going to be made in the fixer-upper department. I’m more of a breaker-downer when it comes to tools, so I volunteered to be a grunt on truck day. I still managed to put an edge-of-a-filing-cabinet-drawer sized ding in a freshly painted wall, because that’s how I roll.
Now, I know Mike and Gretchen pretty well. We have over a decade of history together, and we consider them good, close friends… good enough friends for me to schlep through L.A. traffic on a rainy Wednesday with work gloves, anyways. And I tell ya, I put my work-gloved hands all over their stuff yesterday. For example, I carried a dresser drawer full of Mike’s shirts up a flight of stairs. I’ve seen him wear these shirts, but never given them much thought, and yet, because of a move, here I am staring at what is essentially one of the most private places in his life. Not private in a titillating or scandalous way, just private. There are but a few situations where a man need examine another man’s shirt drawer. But yesterday several of us, friends and family, were manhandling the fabric of Mike and Gretchen’s everyday existence, meaning well, and sometimes dinging the freshly painted walls.
Moving is messy, dirty business. Hiding behind and underneath the appliances and dresser drawers is dirt and dust that we never see until we pack everything into a box and pull our stuff away from the walls. Cherrios and toys and grime and unknown funk are wily things, sneaking off to the corners of your world, trying to evade your disinfectant wielding hands. I remembered so clearly yesterday, from when we moved two years ago, thinking, “How can we live with all this filth in here just inches away from our sight and thoughts?” Mike and Gretchen maintain a perfectly clean and sanitary household, so this is not any sort of reflection on them. Life is just… messy. Life with young children is especially messy.
I hadn’t seen the new house yet. For all the excellent decisions that Mike and Gretchen have made over the years, I must again level my protest at their choice to add twelve whole miles to the distance we must travel to visit them. Twelve miles on an L.A. freeway is no small matter. Anyways… I hadn’t seen the new house.
It’s a great place. You’ve seen pictures, but it’s really quite a special house once you’re actually there. My first thought was, “They’re gonna spend a long time here.” This is a family raising house, with character and possibility. It’s in a great neighborhood, close to work and play, safe and quiet, with lots of street parking, unlike Burbank.
There’s something so appealing about an empty house, all fresh paint, open space, and the smell of possibility. In an instant, you leave behind the dust and junk from your old existence, and you get a new chance to organize your life, hopefully with a little bit more square footage. Of course, all your worldly stuff is in a truck parked out front, and it wants in.
But that’s ok. Home is where your stuff is, after all.
Preach it, preacher man.
Addison Road proudly presents today’s Real Estate ProTip:
The day you put an offer on a house, gather up every dollar you have, in every account, including any money you can possibly borrow from family and friends, and withdraw it all as cash. Then, for the duration of your escrow, simply carry around a large bag full of cash, and when people ask you for money, reach into the bag and hand them a fistful of sweaty bills. Don’t even bother asking them what the money is for, just give it to them.
This way, you avoid nasty snags like your local bank (where you have had your accounts for over 10 years) (oh, and which holds many tens of thousands of dollars of your own money) placing a hold on all incoming funds, thus delaying your ability to wire money directly into the escrow account, and moving your close date back by another week.
Wells Fargo, you are dead to me. From now on, all of my financial transaction will be handled by a brown bag full of sweaty bills. At least the bag doesn’t charge me a transaction fee every time I open it.
Finally, somebody released the recording of what the infamous quartet actually played at the Inauguration.
What the daughter turned in:
The next day, the teacher received this note:
Dear Mrs. Jones,
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer.
I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it. Her picture doesn’t show me dancing around a pole. It’s supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot.
From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.
So, swears are funny, right? Of course! And swears are more funny the more dignified the person is who is swearing, right? Well, obviously. Zack swearing = funny. My mother-in-law swearing = hilarious (or terrifying, depending on the context).
So what would be the funniest of all possible swears ever? The President of the United States, dropping f-bombs and the N-word all up in the hizzy! What’s that you say? You’d like to hear such a thing? Well, scoot on over to April Winchell’s site, and take a listen. I would give the preemptive NSFW warning, but that’s kind of the point, right?
Now, I give you all exactly 4 days, and then I expect to hear some phat jam remixes going on up in here!
Now I see why some people just love jazz.
(FYI – there’s an f-bomb or two in this video. Not like anyone here has a corporate job, but. You know what I’m sayin’)
If you complain, you’ll be killed by snakes. Or possibly a death angel.
“Jazz teaches us to listen.” And, in the end, to get a little silly.
If you’re wondering what to buy your 4-year-old and 6-year-old nephews, allow me to highly recommend getting them a toy chainsaw that makes real chainsaw noises, and also has a spinning beaded metal “chain” that causes burn marks when they slam it against their brother’s shin and pull the trigger.
Who wins this round of Christmas? Uncle Michael, that’s who.
So, this is our little family Christmas Miracle for 2008. We’ve done this for the past few years, but this year we felt like we were only going to have time for one track, instead of the 2-3 we’ve done before. So… we decided to get the whole family involved. I have perhaps the most hilarious video ever of Zion, our almost three year old, tracking vocals on this one. It’s priceless. I’ll YouTube it and get it embedded here ASAP.
In the meantime, Merry Christmas from Chad, Erica, Ella, and Zion Reisserjinglebells_mix.mp3
Part 1 in a 587 part series:
STUDENT: “Hey Dr. Lee?”
ME: “It’s not Doctor, just Professor.”
STUDENTS: “Why don’t you have a doctorate yet?”
ME: “They don’t have a doctorate for awesome.”
Well, it’s that time of year again, when I grade thesis papers and final projects, and students begin the equally arduous task of protesting their final grade. To make the whole process flow a bit more smoothly, this year I will be using a universal grade change petition. Students may fill in the appropriate blanks and submit the petition to the Dean, Provost, or University President, saving everyone a lot of time and hassle.
—————— copy and paste from below —————–
I think my grade in your course,_________________, should be changed from___to___for the following reasons:
- ___ The person whose paper I copied got a higher grade than I did.
- ___ The person who copied my paper got a higher grade than I did.
- ___ This grade will lower my GPA, and I won’t get into (__) Medical School, (__) Dental School, (__) Chiropractic School, (__) Graduate Program, (__) Starbucks Managerial Training.
- ___ I need an “A” in this class to balance out my “F” in ___________ .
- ___ I’ll lose my scholarship.
- ___ I’m on a varsity sports team, and my coach couldn’t find a copy of your exam.
- ___ I didn’t come to class, and the person whose notes I copied did not cover the material asked for on the final exam.
- ___ I studied the basic principles, but the exam wanted every little fact and vocabulary term.
- ___ I studied every little fact and vocabulary term, but the exam asked for general principles.
- ___ I understood the material, I just couldn’t do the problems on the exam.
- ___ I can do all the problems, but the exam expected us to understand the material.
- ___ You are just prejudiced against (__) Males, (__) Females, (__) Jews, (__) Catholics, (__) Muslims, (__) Atheists, (__) Blacks, (__) Whites, (__) Asians, (__) Jocks, (__) Adult Learners, (__) Young People, (__) Progressive Thinkers, (__) Libertarians, (__) People.
- ___ If I don’t pass, my father will stop sending me beer money.
- ___ I have a learning disability that prevents me from (__) understanding new ideas, (__) writing, (__) following directions, (__) applying concepts, (__) doing research, (__) critical thinking.
- ___ You told us to be creative, but you didn’t tell us exactly how you wanted that done.
- ___ I tried to finish the paper but my computer doesn’t like me.
- ___ Your former students all said the class was easy; it was totally unfair for you to suddenly give a hard exam.
- ___ The lectures (__) were too detailed to pick out the important points, (__) did not give sufficient detail, (__) too boring, (__) all jokes and no substance.
- ___ All my other profs have agreed to raise my grades.
- ___ This course was (__) too early, I wasn’t awake, (__) too late, I was always tired, (__) at lunchtime, I was too hungry to think.
- ___ You never said we couldn’t do our thesis paper in groups.
- ___ My (boyfriend / girlfriend / sibling / grandmother / roommate) was (ill / dead / sleeping around / going through a hard time) and I (needed to be there / was very emotionally involved / had to confront them) so I didn’t finish the final project.
- ___ The one time I went to work on my paper the library was closed.
- ___ There was no Wikipedia entry on this subject.
plagiarized from here