Okay, I’ve been lackadaisical about posting. Should I liveblog the Oscars? I’m watching right now. No sighting yet of Hilary Duff or Amanda Bynes.

More exciting than the Oscars–today I went with Michael to see Alvin Ailey at the Kennedy Center. The dancing itself was awesome, but the highlight of the trip has to be our hour-long utter discombobulation in the parking garage. We were fairly sure we’d parked on level C–both of us remembered entering under a huge sign that said “C”. We also had vague memories of a bright outside light, and words written next to our parking spot that said “DO NOT DRILL INTO CEILING”. Yeah, you know how most of the time in parking garages, you park in spaces called things like “A-5” or “C-12”? Our space was called “DO NOT DRILL INTO CEILING”. And it wasn’t just our spot. Every parking space in the row, in the entire section–“DO NOT DRILL INTO CEILING”.

So after the performance, we walked out of the K-center (can I call it that?) and wandered, understandably somewhat dance-dazed, into the garage. Walked around Level C. Joked about not finding our car. Walked around level C again. Ha ha. Took a third ramble. Not so funny any more. Then, Level B. At this point, it was a lot easier to look because there were only twelve cars left in the entire building. Somewhere around the third B-circuit, we flagged down a mini-cart.

“Um…we can’t find our car”
She was nice. “What section did you park in?”
We replied in unison: “DO NOT DRILL INTO CEILING”.

She beckoned us on board and we were off. To give you an idea of how long we drove around the parking garage, here are the conversations we managed to complete during our drive.
“Hondas: What if we stole that other Honda Civic, it’s the same color as mine so what’s the difference really?”
“Hummers: what is the minimum price and what add-ons can you get for them?”
“Golf carts: what kind did they use at The Mary Baker Eddy Library?”
“Hondas: Who would steal a Honda Civic anyway?”
“Golf carts: Maximum speed vs. uphill speed”

Eventually, we made it up to Level A–an apparently forsaken place that even the golf cart driver was convinced we weren’t parked on. And yet–and yet–there it was. The only car in the section. My little red Civic.

As she sped away, the driver turned to yell: “Next time, remember where you parked!”
And in one voice we shouted back at her “DO NOT DRILL INTO CEILING!”


Right now, I’m in my old apartment in Boston. My plan is to find the single most concentrated spot of sun and sit there, which right now puts me on the floor next to the coffee table.

An older man in a nice suit sat down next to me on my flight yesterday. He looked at me and said “Glad to see you aren’t one of them 300-pounders!” What do you say to that? “Yeah, me too”? “Actually, I am, I’m just very dense”? I went with “Yup, that’s always a possibility.”

Today I’m going to buy remaindered books at the Harvard Bookstore, watch Karen’s sister ballroom dance, then dress up like I’m from space and go to a party. Oh! And maybe the best part about being back is that I got everything I left here over the holidays–including my New Jersey sunglasses! (as featured in a previous Movering photo). Do you think they wore sunglasses like those in space?