The problem with nature is that so much of it wants to feed on me.
Last night was the city campout at the park next to the pool we go to in the summer time. The deal was that you could go down and pitch your tent, play in the pool or partake of the other planned activities, have hot dogs and smores for dinner, and camp out – all just a couple miles from the comfort of your own home.
Kim loves camping, and so do the girls. Me, I’m kind indoorsy. As I’ve noted before in this space, the great outdoors does not figure into my definition of an ideal day in any meaningful way. I’m perfectly content to sleep in a nice bed in an air conditioned house surrounded by my stuff. I’m funny that way.
Not that we weren’t surrounded by our stuff. We do not pack light in the best of circumstances, and camping is one of those things that seems to bring out the “how much more can the car hold?” gene in Kim. We once camped our way out to Colorado with some friends, before we had kids, and I drew the line at the 25 feet of garden hose that she tried to have us bring along. You know, there’s an easy way to have all your stuff with you. It’s called “staying home.”
But off we went.
It was a hot, humid day, and while Kim and I set up the tents Tabitha, Lauren and their friends Taryn and – eventually – Grace went over to the pool to hang out. They had a good time. Further good times were had around the dinner fire, as the organizers handed out hot dogs and let us roast them ourselves. There were games – the tug of war was a big hit, as was a bewildering variety of relay races – and general running around. A number of the kids present even took turns telling scary stories by the fire as the evening wound down. It’s nice to see the old chestnuts get dusted off by a new crowd.
In addition to all that, there were also midges, no-see-ums, and enough mosquitoes to restock New Jersey should that state experience a catastrophic mosquito failure. Between varying grades of sunscreen and bugspray, I ended up slathered in no less than five different layers of chemicals in order to commune with nature.
I am not sure that this is the way one is supposed to do that.
Eventually all of the blood was sucked from our bodies and the sun went down, leaving us to retire to our tents unmolested. The girls all crashed in one big pile in their own tent. Kim and I had our own. There was much cloudiness and lightning off to the west, but we were okay.
About 4am, however, the Family Vacation Mojo kicked in. It always rains on our vacations. This is not so bad when we are visiting family members who have actual houses, though it is something of a drag out in the open, with only nylon between you and whatever Category 3 hurricane is bearing down on us this time. The wind picked up, several of our fellow campers hurriedly stuffed everything into their cars and fled, and it began to rain. We just staked down our rain fly and rode it out. It turned out to be not so bad.
The rain that came at 8am, though – that was bad. Fortunately we had already packed up most of our stuff and gone home, so that was fine.
I went back afterward and retrieved the tents.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Back to the Future
They still cruise here in Our Little Town.
Every Friday and Saturday night during the summer and most of them during the school year, the young folk go out to the main drag, out by the mall, and drive back and forth, back and forth in their four-wheeled compensators. Hey, dudes – party like it’s 1959.
The real kicker of it, though, is that a couple of times a summer it becomes a Community Event. People go out to the main drag with lawn chairs, boomboxes and tailgate coolers and watch the young folks drive back and forth. Seriously, people, how empty does your life have to be to make a special effort to watch other people drive around in circles?
We got caught up in this tonight, Kim and I, as we were trying to make it home from the movies.
We really hadn’t planned on going out tonight, but the girls really love their babysitter and we haven’t gone out much recently. “We want Kelsey!” they kept saying. “Go away and let us have Kelsey!”
Gee, thanks, girls. It’s not like your parents, oh, gave you life or anything.
But the idea of date night was appealing, and so we called and wonder of wonders Kelsey was actually free. And then the question became, what do we do on this date night? It has been a while, after all. We’re sort of out of practice with this “fun” that people talk about.
We ended up having a nice dinner out and going to see Get Him To The Greek, which is a movie I highly recommend if you like your comedy dark, vulgar and smartly written. Think The Hangover meets This Is Spinal Tap.
And then we braved the gauntlet of the main drag and the cruisers. I did manage to annoy one of them by daring to make a left turn while they were waiting at the stop sign, and you know what?
It felt good.
Every Friday and Saturday night during the summer and most of them during the school year, the young folk go out to the main drag, out by the mall, and drive back and forth, back and forth in their four-wheeled compensators. Hey, dudes – party like it’s 1959.
The real kicker of it, though, is that a couple of times a summer it becomes a Community Event. People go out to the main drag with lawn chairs, boomboxes and tailgate coolers and watch the young folks drive back and forth. Seriously, people, how empty does your life have to be to make a special effort to watch other people drive around in circles?
We got caught up in this tonight, Kim and I, as we were trying to make it home from the movies.
We really hadn’t planned on going out tonight, but the girls really love their babysitter and we haven’t gone out much recently. “We want Kelsey!” they kept saying. “Go away and let us have Kelsey!”
Gee, thanks, girls. It’s not like your parents, oh, gave you life or anything.
But the idea of date night was appealing, and so we called and wonder of wonders Kelsey was actually free. And then the question became, what do we do on this date night? It has been a while, after all. We’re sort of out of practice with this “fun” that people talk about.
We ended up having a nice dinner out and going to see Get Him To The Greek, which is a movie I highly recommend if you like your comedy dark, vulgar and smartly written. Think The Hangover meets This Is Spinal Tap.
And then we braved the gauntlet of the main drag and the cruisers. I did manage to annoy one of them by daring to make a left turn while they were waiting at the stop sign, and you know what?
It felt good.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Fooling Around With The Money
I am of two minds regarding the new penny.
Have you seen it? Apparently they finally got tired of the Lincoln Memorial on the back, after fifty years. I can understand this. The Lincoln Memorial is far and away my favorite of the monuments in Washington DC, but fifty years is a long time for a coin design. So now, after a rotating cast of four different designs from Lincoln’s life last year, on the 200th anniversary of his birth, the mint has decided not to go back to the Memorial design and instead put a shield on the back.
On the one hand, we have the world’s most boring money in this country and a little variety is a welcome thing.
Except for the nickel and some temporary designs meant to celebrate one thing or another (Bicentennial coins, anyone?) our coins haven’t really changed since 1946. At least not the coins people actually use. Sometimes you see a half dollar (1964), but except when contrarian cashiers are having a laugh by handing them out, you almost never see any of the various dollar coins that have been tried over the years. So a new permanent design is kind of nice. Plus, it’s not a bad little design. It looks, in fact, a bit like the two-cent pieces that Lincoln might have seen at the end of his life, so you can even make a historical case for it.
On the other hand, though, it does continue a rather disturbing trend of new coins looking like arcade tokens.
The new presidential dollar coins are only the most egregious example of this, with the portraits of the presidents on the front looking like one of those matching sets you used to get in cereal boxes. Every time I see one I have to fight the urge to look for a pinball machine to put it in.
The state quarters were a mixed bag, with some being quite nice while others being, well, less nice. But now that they’ve run out of states and territories (did you see the Guam quarter? did you know we owned Guam?), they have moved on to honoring tourist attractions. I’m sure Hot Springs, Arkansas is a wonderful place to visit, but I’m not sure it rises to the level of money.
Even the new Jeffersons that they put on the nickel were just off, somehow. The first one made him look like Bob Hope. You wondered when the Bing Crosby dime would be introduced.
And the second one makes him look puzzled. I feel your pain, Tom.
This decline in American coins is saddening, really. Unless you’re a collector, you probably don’t know that we’ve had some beautiful coins in our past, before the arcade lobbyists took over the mint.
The Standing Liberty quarter, for example, our only soft-core coin. The first year they minted these, in 1916, they stuck with the traditional representation of Liberty, the one where her shirt only covers one of her breasts. This being America, the land that brought you the phrase, “wardrobe malfunction,” you can guess how well that went over. And sure enough, the following year they had her in chain mail just to reinforce the point. But it was still a great design.
There was also the Walking Liberty half, back when people still used half dollars.
Or the crowning glory of American coins, the St. Gaudens $20 gold piece.
The new penny doesn’t rise to that level, really, but while I do feel like I should be playing skee-ball with it, at least it is an attractive arcade token. That’s something.
Have you seen it? Apparently they finally got tired of the Lincoln Memorial on the back, after fifty years. I can understand this. The Lincoln Memorial is far and away my favorite of the monuments in Washington DC, but fifty years is a long time for a coin design. So now, after a rotating cast of four different designs from Lincoln’s life last year, on the 200th anniversary of his birth, the mint has decided not to go back to the Memorial design and instead put a shield on the back.
On the one hand, we have the world’s most boring money in this country and a little variety is a welcome thing.
Except for the nickel and some temporary designs meant to celebrate one thing or another (Bicentennial coins, anyone?) our coins haven’t really changed since 1946. At least not the coins people actually use. Sometimes you see a half dollar (1964), but except when contrarian cashiers are having a laugh by handing them out, you almost never see any of the various dollar coins that have been tried over the years. So a new permanent design is kind of nice. Plus, it’s not a bad little design. It looks, in fact, a bit like the two-cent pieces that Lincoln might have seen at the end of his life, so you can even make a historical case for it.
On the other hand, though, it does continue a rather disturbing trend of new coins looking like arcade tokens.
The new presidential dollar coins are only the most egregious example of this, with the portraits of the presidents on the front looking like one of those matching sets you used to get in cereal boxes. Every time I see one I have to fight the urge to look for a pinball machine to put it in.
The state quarters were a mixed bag, with some being quite nice while others being, well, less nice. But now that they’ve run out of states and territories (did you see the Guam quarter? did you know we owned Guam?), they have moved on to honoring tourist attractions. I’m sure Hot Springs, Arkansas is a wonderful place to visit, but I’m not sure it rises to the level of money.
Even the new Jeffersons that they put on the nickel were just off, somehow. The first one made him look like Bob Hope. You wondered when the Bing Crosby dime would be introduced.
And the second one makes him look puzzled. I feel your pain, Tom.
This decline in American coins is saddening, really. Unless you’re a collector, you probably don’t know that we’ve had some beautiful coins in our past, before the arcade lobbyists took over the mint.
The Standing Liberty quarter, for example, our only soft-core coin. The first year they minted these, in 1916, they stuck with the traditional representation of Liberty, the one where her shirt only covers one of her breasts. This being America, the land that brought you the phrase, “wardrobe malfunction,” you can guess how well that went over. And sure enough, the following year they had her in chain mail just to reinforce the point. But it was still a great design.
There was also the Walking Liberty half, back when people still used half dollars.
Or the crowning glory of American coins, the St. Gaudens $20 gold piece.
The new penny doesn’t rise to that level, really, but while I do feel like I should be playing skee-ball with it, at least it is an attractive arcade token. That’s something.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Summer Conflicts
Today was the first day of summer school down at Home Campus, where I have a whole new crop of students to initiate into the mysteries of early American history. There are times when it is tempting to slide into the whole Nicolas Cage/Dan Brown conspiracy theory thing and spin wild tales of nefarious secret organizations working their will throughout time on the rest of us, but in the current political climate I’m not sure whether anyone would see the satire in it or not. It’s hard to get a more tenuous relationship with reality than the one inordinate numbers of Americans seriously – and proudly – claim to have these days, and this is not something I wish to encourage.
So reality it is.
I enjoy teaching this class, and the fact that someone is willing to pay me money to do so in this economic climate is a grand and glorious thing. But it does come at a price.
Tabitha and Lauren’s softball season began at the top of the month, and once again I was an assistant coach for Lauren’s Hot Pink team, down in the A league. The A league is a great place, where neither runs nor outs count, everyone bats, and my main job as first-base coach is to point runners toward second when the next hitter comes along. Fielding is an exercise in voice-activated human pinball – the ball comes out into the field and we try to activate whichever girl is closest to it so she can retrieve it and toss it toward the designated receiving base of the moment. Lauren is an excellent hitter.
In Tabitha’s league – where this year she, too, is on the Hot Pink team – they count all the things that one is supposed to count. They even have an umpire, which makes it very official. I don’t usually get to see Tabitha’s games, but I did make it to one when Lauren’s team wasn’t playing. It was very different. Tabby did a very nice job in the field, and got a couple of hits as well.
But now I’m teaching, and I will miss most of the games from now on.
So reality it is.
I enjoy teaching this class, and the fact that someone is willing to pay me money to do so in this economic climate is a grand and glorious thing. But it does come at a price.
Tabitha and Lauren’s softball season began at the top of the month, and once again I was an assistant coach for Lauren’s Hot Pink team, down in the A league. The A league is a great place, where neither runs nor outs count, everyone bats, and my main job as first-base coach is to point runners toward second when the next hitter comes along. Fielding is an exercise in voice-activated human pinball – the ball comes out into the field and we try to activate whichever girl is closest to it so she can retrieve it and toss it toward the designated receiving base of the moment. Lauren is an excellent hitter.
In Tabitha’s league – where this year she, too, is on the Hot Pink team – they count all the things that one is supposed to count. They even have an umpire, which makes it very official. I don’t usually get to see Tabitha’s games, but I did make it to one when Lauren’s team wasn’t playing. It was very different. Tabby did a very nice job in the field, and got a couple of hits as well.
But now I’m teaching, and I will miss most of the games from now on.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Italian Lessons
The first phrase I ever learned in Italian was "Chi ne sa que?"
The literal translation of this question is "Who knows this?" but that isn't what my grandfather told me it meant. And to be honest, the story behind it still echoes in my mind more than the translation.
When he was young, probably around Lauren's age now, my grandfather was walking through the streets of Philadelphia with his father, when someone came up to them and started talking to my great-grandfather. It was a fairly animated conversation, from what my grandfather told me - How you doing? Great, how's the family? Good, good. You? And on and on.
After a while the two adults parted ways, and my grandfather looked up at his dad and asked, "Who was that?"
"Who the hell knows?" replied his father, in Italian. "Chi ne sa que?"
This is the story of my social life.
This was brought home to me the other day, down at the farmer's market that Our Little Town puts on every Saturday morning during the season. We try to go as often as we can - several of the vendors are now or were even beforehand friends of ours, and there's always something good to buy, even on those weekends when it's just kettle corn.
We were buying drinks at one of the stands when a woman sitting nearby started talking to me. She clearly knew who I was and was happy to see me. So we had a very nice conversation, there at the farmer's market. Kim even joined in.
Afterward, Lauren asked me who that was.
"Chi ne sa que, my child. Chi ne sa que."
The literal translation of this question is "Who knows this?" but that isn't what my grandfather told me it meant. And to be honest, the story behind it still echoes in my mind more than the translation.
When he was young, probably around Lauren's age now, my grandfather was walking through the streets of Philadelphia with his father, when someone came up to them and started talking to my great-grandfather. It was a fairly animated conversation, from what my grandfather told me - How you doing? Great, how's the family? Good, good. You? And on and on.
After a while the two adults parted ways, and my grandfather looked up at his dad and asked, "Who was that?"
"Who the hell knows?" replied his father, in Italian. "Chi ne sa que?"
This is the story of my social life.
This was brought home to me the other day, down at the farmer's market that Our Little Town puts on every Saturday morning during the season. We try to go as often as we can - several of the vendors are now or were even beforehand friends of ours, and there's always something good to buy, even on those weekends when it's just kettle corn.
We were buying drinks at one of the stands when a woman sitting nearby started talking to me. She clearly knew who I was and was happy to see me. So we had a very nice conversation, there at the farmer's market. Kim even joined in.
Afterward, Lauren asked me who that was.
"Chi ne sa que, my child. Chi ne sa que."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Vuvuwhat?
What's with the horns?
In keeping with my long-standing tradition of being completely out of step with the wider culture in which I find myself, I have turned my sporting attention from the Stanley Cup finals to perhaps the one sporting event that is both a) being broadcast in its entirety on major American television networks and b) less popular than professional hockey: the World Cup.
I actually like watching soccer games. There's generally a fair bit of action going on, and I'm not one of those sports fans who needs constant scoring in order to stay awake the way basketball fans seem to be. Every goal counts that much more, and the work it takes to get one is entertaining.
Now, I'm not in any danger of becoming That Guy, the one in your office who dresses up in national team shirts, updates scores constantly and looks down at you when you won't join in his celebrations of what he insists on referring to as "The World's Most Popular Sport" or, worse, "The Beautiful Game." I refuse to call it "football" because that term is reserved for the sport with touchdowns - I'm American enough for that. And there's a lot of times when the players just seem to be standing around trying to look busy, which frankly I had enough of in high school. Of the major sports on this planet, soccer comes in fourth in my world, behind hockey, American football, and baseball but ahead of basketball, NASCAR and boxing.
Does anyone watch boxing anymore?
But I do enjoy the sport, and so I've been trying to catch bits and pieces of the World Cup games. I've been fairly successful at it, really, given the rest of life these days. I saw most of the US v England game that ended in a draw because the English goalie couldn't stop a shot that even I could have blocked. I saw a little of Brazil v North Korea, which was a difficult game to figure out who to cheer for (Goliath? Stark raving nutbags? Choices, choices). Lauren and I watched some of Spain v Switzerland this morning while eating breakfast. Lauren always wants to know which team is closer to where we live so she can cheer for that one. It's not a bad system.
But the horns?
Every time you turn on a World Cup game it sounds like the field is being attacked, either by a swarm of very large hornets or a herd of very small elephants.
Now, I understand the urge to make noise at a sporting event. I've sat in the cheap seats at a number of stadiums over the course of my life and that's one of the things you pay your ticket price to do. And those noises come in a lot of different varieties, many of them not repeatable outside of the stadium. If you haven't experienced the full force of seventy thousand Philadelphia sports fans disapproving of something on the field, you're missing out. Put that one on your bucket list. Noises are fun.
But the horns - "vuvuzelas," one of the more ridiculous names for anything not related to the human body that I've ever heard of - they just blat on and on and on. It's just background noise, an announcement that says, "Hey! You're watching a soccer game!"
I already know that.
It might be different it I were there. I imagine if someone handed me one of those vuvuzelas I'd probably try to make noise with it, either by blowing on it or banging it off the head of the guy in front of me. So I don't really blame people for making all that random noise.
But I don't get the horns. Not really.
In keeping with my long-standing tradition of being completely out of step with the wider culture in which I find myself, I have turned my sporting attention from the Stanley Cup finals to perhaps the one sporting event that is both a) being broadcast in its entirety on major American television networks and b) less popular than professional hockey: the World Cup.
I actually like watching soccer games. There's generally a fair bit of action going on, and I'm not one of those sports fans who needs constant scoring in order to stay awake the way basketball fans seem to be. Every goal counts that much more, and the work it takes to get one is entertaining.
Now, I'm not in any danger of becoming That Guy, the one in your office who dresses up in national team shirts, updates scores constantly and looks down at you when you won't join in his celebrations of what he insists on referring to as "The World's Most Popular Sport" or, worse, "The Beautiful Game." I refuse to call it "football" because that term is reserved for the sport with touchdowns - I'm American enough for that. And there's a lot of times when the players just seem to be standing around trying to look busy, which frankly I had enough of in high school. Of the major sports on this planet, soccer comes in fourth in my world, behind hockey, American football, and baseball but ahead of basketball, NASCAR and boxing.
Does anyone watch boxing anymore?
But I do enjoy the sport, and so I've been trying to catch bits and pieces of the World Cup games. I've been fairly successful at it, really, given the rest of life these days. I saw most of the US v England game that ended in a draw because the English goalie couldn't stop a shot that even I could have blocked. I saw a little of Brazil v North Korea, which was a difficult game to figure out who to cheer for (Goliath? Stark raving nutbags? Choices, choices). Lauren and I watched some of Spain v Switzerland this morning while eating breakfast. Lauren always wants to know which team is closer to where we live so she can cheer for that one. It's not a bad system.
But the horns?
Every time you turn on a World Cup game it sounds like the field is being attacked, either by a swarm of very large hornets or a herd of very small elephants.
Now, I understand the urge to make noise at a sporting event. I've sat in the cheap seats at a number of stadiums over the course of my life and that's one of the things you pay your ticket price to do. And those noises come in a lot of different varieties, many of them not repeatable outside of the stadium. If you haven't experienced the full force of seventy thousand Philadelphia sports fans disapproving of something on the field, you're missing out. Put that one on your bucket list. Noises are fun.
But the horns - "vuvuzelas," one of the more ridiculous names for anything not related to the human body that I've ever heard of - they just blat on and on and on. It's just background noise, an announcement that says, "Hey! You're watching a soccer game!"
I already know that.
It might be different it I were there. I imagine if someone handed me one of those vuvuzelas I'd probably try to make noise with it, either by blowing on it or banging it off the head of the guy in front of me. So I don't really blame people for making all that random noise.
But I don't get the horns. Not really.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The New Carpet
My office is returning back to its normal state of affairs. I am not sure that this is entirely a good thing.
On the one hand, it means that the new carpeting is in. This in turn means that the World's Ugliest Linoleum is now safely hidden away from prying eyes for a while. I know that this is not permanent - nothing that ugly can ever be permanently taken out of circulation and I'm not even going to pretend otherwise lest I turn into the Evil Overlord maniacally laughing about how the Orb of Power has been safely transported across the Seas of Difficulties, the Desert of Despair and the Forest of Squelchy Swamps, tossed into the Abyss of Darkness and covered over with the best tarp that Discount Eddie's Tarp Service could provide and now it will never be found again - NEVER DO YOU HEAR? - shortly before the Hero turns up with it in his jacket pocket.
Heroes are such annoying creatures that way.
On the other hand, it also means that the office is quickly becoming smaller again. I had gotten kind of used to it without all that stuff in it, and now I'm having second thoughts about putting all that stuff back into it. Oh, I know it will all go back, or at least most of it will, but for a while it was nice having all that space.
The carpet dudes came last Wednesday and did a very nice job as far as I could tell. It's a small room with no weird angles so they were in and out in about 90 minutes, after which I nailed the quarter round back on.
And then I spent what time I could putting the stuff back into it. This was complicated by the fact that apparently we are incapable of having only one project at a time going on around here.
Kim has been jonesing for a new television for a while now. I really don't care one way or another, since my television viewing habits are rather sub-par - I just don't watch enough of it to make it worth spending any money on a new one to me. But the girls enjoy their shows and Kim had been putting away spare change into her piggy bank since the last time we bought a television, and last week she had enough to buy a new flatscreen tv.
Unfortunately it was too big for the entertainment center we had bought in 1999, so the obvious solution to all of this was to move every piece of downstairs furniture except the dining room table in order to arrive at a furniture situation that would work. It's the Tetris School of interior decorating.
Oh, and we had a houseguest coming this weekend, so all that had to be accomplished by 6pm on Saturday, a day I spent far too much of proctoring the ACTs for a room of teenagers. ("Pencils down, people!")
But it all got moved into the appropriate rooms and places, and since then I've been slowly putting my office back together. Right now it looks like this:
Still a little bit to go, but that's all just details.
The long national nightmare is over. As Kim said, instead of looking like vomit my carpet now looks like oatmeal. And that's progress.
On the one hand, it means that the new carpeting is in. This in turn means that the World's Ugliest Linoleum is now safely hidden away from prying eyes for a while. I know that this is not permanent - nothing that ugly can ever be permanently taken out of circulation and I'm not even going to pretend otherwise lest I turn into the Evil Overlord maniacally laughing about how the Orb of Power has been safely transported across the Seas of Difficulties, the Desert of Despair and the Forest of Squelchy Swamps, tossed into the Abyss of Darkness and covered over with the best tarp that Discount Eddie's Tarp Service could provide and now it will never be found again - NEVER DO YOU HEAR? - shortly before the Hero turns up with it in his jacket pocket.
Heroes are such annoying creatures that way.
On the other hand, it also means that the office is quickly becoming smaller again. I had gotten kind of used to it without all that stuff in it, and now I'm having second thoughts about putting all that stuff back into it. Oh, I know it will all go back, or at least most of it will, but for a while it was nice having all that space.
The carpet dudes came last Wednesday and did a very nice job as far as I could tell. It's a small room with no weird angles so they were in and out in about 90 minutes, after which I nailed the quarter round back on.
And then I spent what time I could putting the stuff back into it. This was complicated by the fact that apparently we are incapable of having only one project at a time going on around here.
Kim has been jonesing for a new television for a while now. I really don't care one way or another, since my television viewing habits are rather sub-par - I just don't watch enough of it to make it worth spending any money on a new one to me. But the girls enjoy their shows and Kim had been putting away spare change into her piggy bank since the last time we bought a television, and last week she had enough to buy a new flatscreen tv.
Unfortunately it was too big for the entertainment center we had bought in 1999, so the obvious solution to all of this was to move every piece of downstairs furniture except the dining room table in order to arrive at a furniture situation that would work. It's the Tetris School of interior decorating.
Oh, and we had a houseguest coming this weekend, so all that had to be accomplished by 6pm on Saturday, a day I spent far too much of proctoring the ACTs for a room of teenagers. ("Pencils down, people!")
But it all got moved into the appropriate rooms and places, and since then I've been slowly putting my office back together. Right now it looks like this:
Still a little bit to go, but that's all just details.
The long national nightmare is over. As Kim said, instead of looking like vomit my carpet now looks like oatmeal. And that's progress.
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