Should I Upgrade My TV?

For Christmas, my aunt and uncle upgraded to a flat screen TV in their basement, and now they’re looking to get rid of their standard 35” TV.

Here’s the situation. I currently have two TVs. In my main room, I have my 27” standard box television set, which sits on a wooden TV stand that has a swivel top so I can rotate the screen. The TV fits perfectly on the stand, but would probably be too small for a larger TV.

Additionally, I have a small 17” flat screen in my bedroom that I bought after moving into my apartment. It currently sits on top of my dresser, which is where the old 27” TV used to rest when I lived at home.

My aunt and uncle are willing to give me the 35” TV as long as I move and install it. They have a stand, too, but I haven’t seen it yet. My question is, is it worth the hassle of moving it?

If I get it, I then have one more TV than I have rooms in my apartment. So, either I put away the flat screen and move my 27” back to the bedroom. Or, I put away the 27” to leave the newer but smaller flat screen in use.

It would be nice to have a bigger TV, and I think the difference between a 27” and 35” screen would definitely be noticeable, but it’s hard to tell if it would work out without seeing it in place. It’s possible that it could be too big for the space I have allotted, especially if the stand doesn’t rotate the way the current one does. If that’s the case, the viewing experience might actually be lessened despite the greater screen size.

Yes, I do spend a good amount of time watching TV, so this is an important decision. Still, it’s hard to turn away a big, free TV. If only my apartment had a third room, then I’d be all set with another set.

Weigh in with your thoughts below. TV or not TV?

Things I Miss: Toys for Christmas

Over the past couple of nights, I’ve pushed my credit card to the limit and finished almost all of my Christmas shopping, doing my best to give equally to my three siblings, spoiling my girlfriend and finding something for everyone else on my list. Barring a few minor issues—an item that failed to ship online and one in-store because I was given the wrong item—I’d say it’s gone well.

Now that I have a full-time job and some money, it’s fun to spend it on others and spread the joy of giving at Christmas. I love playing the role of Santa, especially for my younger, still-in-school siblings and girlfriend. As Michael Scott would say, I can point to my gifts and say, “I love you this many dollars worth.” I’m joking, of course, but you get the idea. I’m a big fan of the season of giving. So don’t misinterpret what I’m about to say.

I miss when Christmas was all about me. I suppose what I’m really missing is childhood. I’m missing waking up at 6 a.m., knowing that I had to wait in my room until 7 to come downstairs to wake Mom and Dad and start opening presents.

I’m also missing the presents I used to get. Which WWF action figures would Santa leave me, and how many? Did I get the latest copy of Madden football and NBA Live? How many packs of sports cards did I get, and did they contain any cool rookies? What did Mike and Jeff and Molly get? I hope I didn’t get any dumb clothes!

When I was asked what I wanted for Christmas this year, the list was short and boring. I still look forward to opening everything that’s given to me, but I think I’m more excited to see everyone’s reaction to what I’ve bought for them. I guess that’s growth and maturity. It’s just not the same being grown up (or something like grown up).

It got me to thinking. At 24, I’m creeping on that point in life where my child’s first Christmas may be closer than my last childhood Christmas. In fact, I may have passed that point already. No, there are no kids to speak of today, but it’s been a good decade-plus since Santa was the reason for the season for me. It’s certainly not unreasonable to think Junior could come along before I’m 34. In fact, I kind of hope he (or she) does.

Now THAT’s a crazy thought. Having just moved out on my own a few months ago, the prospect of me as a dad is a bit much for me to handle. First comes love, then comes marriage, then…well, you know.

So, I’ll put the Santa-suit-colored stop light on that idea for now.

But while I’m missing my childhood Christmas, I can’t help but think of how cool it was, and how much I want my kids to someday enjoy it all the same. So, thanks, Mom and Dad (and Santa), for making my childhood Christmases so great that I now call this holiday my favorite time of the year (even when it coincides with snowfall). Someday when you’re grandma and grandpa, I’ll probably consult you for pointers.

Until then, I’ll do my best to make this and every Christmas as fun as I can, even if I know I won’t find a Hulk Hogan or Tecmo Super Bowl under the tree.

Superparents to the Rescue

At some date in the future, perhaps having visitors to my apartment won’t seem like a blockbuster event, but since the whole having-my-own-place thing is still relatively new, the novelty of visitors—including my parents—hasn’t worn off.

So it was with a great deal of excitement that I welcomed my mom and dad to the apartment last night. Of course, as always, they did not come empty handed. The big project of the day was putting together a bookcase.

My dad, Mr. Handyman himself, built this bookcase using a lot of the wood from old shelves from our former TV room at home. He built it in his studio, deconstructed it, brought the pieces to my apartment and reassembled it in my bedroom. It’s huge, probably seven or eight feet tall with six shelves that are about two- or three-feet long. And it fits surprisingly well into my room, between my desk and dresser. Very cool. As my mom said, it’s amazing how much I’ve been able to jam into my living space.

All the storage space on the shelves will go a long way to de-cluttering around the apartment. Between the two closets and the few piles/boxes of things lying around, this is a big step toward being totally settled in. Perhaps by 2009, I’ll be good to go.

Not to be outdone by Dad, Mom came bearing gifts as well: curtains for my bedroom, a rug and toilet brush for the bathroom, a tree skirt to cover up Wesley’s bottom parts, even a plate of dinner from home.

She also got me two throw pillows to go with my couches, which—by the way—I’m glad to have purchased. Anyway, pillows were an item that I’ve had In the back of my mind since getting the couches. Jessie even had me looking through and nearly purchasing a cool multi-colored striped pillow that was on sale at Pier One back in October, but I decided to hold off. I then nearly purchased a beige-and-brown striped pillow from Wal-Mart at an even cheaper price, but decided I needed at least a little color to liven up the brown and black attack.

So, when Mom came in with a brown-and-blue striped pair of pillows (brown and blue, Jessie—get pumped) at the low-low price of free, I just couldn’t help but say yes. My curtains have a blue stripe pattern, too, so it’s sort of a match.

My parents also brought my collection of Tom Hubert original Christmas ornaments. My dad makes the coolest ornaments you’ll ever see. And I’m probably the only person alive that will have a Christmas tree decorated with the likes of a ceramic pizza, Big Bird, Hulk Hogan, Bo Jackson and Adam Duritz (to name a few of my favorites).

Once I put them on the tree (hopefully sometime this week), I’ll be feeling even more at home. As it is, I was happy to get rave reviews from my parents on the Christmas tree (Wes is the best! Thanks, Jess) and curtain decorations.

December marks month three in the apartment, and things are really looking good around here. I hope things are good where you are, too.

So This is Christmas

My rule is simple: Christmas comes after Thanksgiving. I don’t care how “festive” everyone else is feeling. I don’t care how many Santa displays pop up in stores before Halloween. Christmas is my favorite holiday, so why spoil it by burning out weeks before the day even arrives? I just don’t get it.

Anyway, after all the turkey and fixings had been finished, Christmas shopping was fair game. But my aim was a bit different this year. Before worrying about what to buy for Jessie, my family or anyone else, I had to get my apartment into season. I’m not much of a seasonal decorator, but Christmas is the exception. I definitely didn’t want to be staring at the same black and brown based room all December without some holiday cheer.

So, Jessie and I went shopping Saturday night to break in my apartment for its first Christmas. I didn’t go overboard, but I’m pleased to have the basics. We named my tree Wesley (it said Slim Welsley Pine on the box), and he’s a good-lookin fella if I do say so myself.

I was raised with a fake plastic tree. And after 24 Christmases without a real tree, I wasn’t about to start with the hassle now. Putting it together was a snap, although Jessie claimed her veteran branch-bending was more aesthetically pleasing than my novice job. For what it’s worth, I thought it looked about the same all the way around. After wrapping Wes in some colored lights (I don’t like the trees that go with plain white lights) and gold tinsel and plopping the star on top, I moved him to his home for the season—in the corner between the TV and couch. I moved one of the end tables and lamp into my bedroom to make room.

Jessie then helped me wrap some garland—a word I had never heard of until two days ago—with lights up and around the window and curtain rod. It looks nice and festive. The tree itself is small: six feet tall and a bit on the slender side. But it suits me and my apartment well. Now I just need to accentuate it with the coolest ornaments in the world courtesy of my dad.

Still, nothing’s going to touch the childhood memories of Christmas at home. My dad and brother Jeff always do an awesome job decorating the outside of the house, and my mom and sister Molly usually match them with their work on the inside. Plus, going through everyone’s ornaments was one of the coolest and most unique Christmas traditions I know. (Check out what I wrote about it back on my old Web site in 2004.)

I’m not sure what else, if anything, I’ll do to fancy up the apartment for the holidays, but the tree and garland definitely give it a glowing warmth that it lacked before. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And now that it’s December, I’m more than OK with that.

The Thanksgiving Day Brother Brawl

Like the story of the pilgrims and Indians, the story of the Thanksgiving Day Brother Brawl is the stuff of legend. Depending on who tells the story, the details may be slightly altered, but the basic story remains the same: Matt and Mike got into a fight at Austin’s Concrete, and older brother Matt won.

If I remember correctly…

It happened on Thanksgiving. I want to say the year was 1997. That would put me at age 13 and Mike at age 10—a few years before his massive growth spurt. After finishing the big Thanksgiving meal, Uncle (Tom, but we all simply call him Uncle) took all the guys of the family to Austin’s Concrete where he worked for a tour of the facilities. This was a yearly tradition back in those days. For us kids, few things were as cool back then as the big cement mixing trucks they had there.

Mike was annoying me. I think he was making incessant noises. Or maybe he was throwing snowballs. Or maybe he was stepping on the back of my feet as I was walking. OK, so I don’t remember exactly what he was doing, but he was instigating. Eventually my patience wore thin, and I snapped.

Several punches were thrown and landed—most of them from me on him—and the end result was a bloody and battered little brother (back when he was still little). We were sort of behind the tour at this point. I think Mike’s crying let them know something was wrong. My dad was not happy. I was in trouble. But I didn’t care. My rage subsiding, I felt a little bad that I had spoiled the trip to Austin’s, but they all didn’t realize HOW MUCH HE WAS ANNOYING ME.

Many a Thanksgiving since then, the brawl is brought up. I’m always quick to point out how I dominated. Mike is quick to challenge me to a rematch. Now an inch taller and several kegs heavier than me, I politely decline. I’ve retired with an undefeated Turkey Day record of 1-0 with 1 TKO.

Thanksgiving is now all about family and food. But year from now when our families gather together for the feast, I can’t wait to tell Mike’s kids how Uncle Matt whooped their daddy many Thanksgivings ago. And for that, I am thankful in advance.

I’m sorry, I used to be much stronger

With the winter weather arriving in Erie before the calendar turned December, I decided it was time to scrap the outside running routine. I don’t like running in the cold to begin with, but running on ice and snow-covered roads in the dark of night? I’ll pass.

So, I considered my options, and eventually decided to shell out the money to join Best Fitness. It’s less than a 10-minute drive from my apartment, relatively cheap, and nice facility. Still, it was a bit overwhelming as I walked in the doors for my first workout last night.

Since college, my workouts have consisted of running outside or on the treadmill in my parents’ basement with some pushups and abdominal work thrown in for good measure. Very simple. Very basic. Free. And enough to keep me in relatively good shape. After all, I wasn’t training for anything in particular, just trying to maintain a respectable level of fitness.

Back in high school—I’d say I was in the best shape of my life between sophomore and junior year training for Prep basketball—I belonged to Joe’s Gym. It was my first experience with weightlifting, and so it was all I knew. It was a good experience, but it was a powerlifting gym. Suffice it to say the majority of people there were not basketball players. It was cool to lift in the same place where guys were doing 800-pound deadlifts and 500-pound bench presses, but it was a little embarrassing to then “load” the bar next to them with one small plate on each side.

My strength did increase throughout high school, even if my body type did not. That wasn’t a huge issue for me. I’m was OK not looking like Brock Lesnar. So, I never really lifted during my college years.

Fast forward to yesterday—a year and a half out of school and a good five-plus years removed from a regular lifting routine—and my first foray into Best Fitness. I started in my comfort zone on the treadmill. The first mistake I made was forgoing the stretching period before the workout. I’m a big proponent of stretching, and always did it prior to working out at home.

Maybe it was the environment, being surrounded by so many other people, but I didn’t stretch a muscle and picked out a treadmill. Immediately, I was impressed. It had a touch screen to set up the running regimen I wanted, and a jack for my iPod. Very cool. I decided to run a 5K, and ran it surprisingly smoothly. Again, maybe it was the atmosphere—big screen TVs in front of me and plenty of people to watch—but the time flew by.

I was feeling good. I had completed my first run in two weeks (thanks, snow). It was time to towel off and give the weightlifting a shot. I didn’t have a routine in mind. I just sort of picked and chose between free weights and machines depending on what appealed to me, trying to work different muscle groups. All in all, I probably spent about an hour lifting. My body had that good tired-sore feeling you get that tells you it’s been worked out. With that, I called it a night.

Fast forward to 4 a.m. this morning when I woke up out-of-nowhere to the feeling of a sore left arm. I was unable to fully straighten it. I went back to bed before my alarm roused me at 7. Unfortunately, the arm problems remained. I took some Advil and did my best to stretch it, but it’s been a nuisance all day.

I think I either overexerted myself on bicep curls or simply did them with improper form. The fact that it’s only one arm has me wondering if it’s the latter. In any case, I’m likely to be sore for at least a few more days, which will probably keep me from establishing any sort of lifting routine this week. Oh well. Let’s hope for a quick recovery and no lingering effects. That way I can get back to Best Fitness to try and work on my own best fitness.

At 24, I think it’s safe to say my dream of playing in the NBA isn’t coming true. Still, I just don’t like the idea of living unhealthily. I also don’t like living in pain. Unfortunately, my quest to stay healthy is, at least temporarily, actually the cause of the pain. Hopefully I can remedy that cause and effect relationship, but first I need to remedy this arm trouble.

Come for the writing, stay for the games

Check along the right sidebar. I've added a couple of widgets to give you something fun to do on the blog (in addition to reading my posts, of course!)

Blogger has thousands of widgets to add. I settled on sudoku and crossword puzzles for now. So, whether you like numbers or words, your bound to be satisfied. Enjoy!

The Apt Art Update

In a previous post, I wrote about the lack of art in my apartment. I’m pleased to say that is no longer the case. My dad responded promptly, bringing over two small wall pieces that I now proudly display. The pieces are actually older than me, which is pretty cool. And they look great (of course).

Because of their size, they weren’t hung above the TV, couch or dinner table—the three areas with the most empty white space—but they fit perfectly where they are. One hangs on the small connecting wall between my I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-closet kitchen and my bedroom. The other is on the wall right next to where the door of my apartment opens. The door is always closed when people, so the piece will be in plain view for visitors.

As for the empty spaces, I have some thoughts, ideas, and wishes, but my dad gave me some perspective. He told me not to be in a rush to fill space for the sake of filling it. “I believe it may be worth waiting and finding something that really interests you and investing in that thing,” he said. “I think you will know what I mean if you look at the work as something personal and not as decoration.”

So, that’s the plan. I’m not going to buy art for art’s sake, but I’m definitely keeping my eyes open for something that speaks to me on a personal level. Maybe I’ll find something in time for Christmas. Maybe not until 2009. But like the furniture choices before, I want to make sure I’m getting something I’m going to be satisfied with for the long haul.

In the meantime, I do have some other plans in mind continue making the apartment feel home. Family photos are my next priority because nothing makes me feel home more than my family. I have a frame from Hallmark. Now I just need to fill it with smiling faces. So, Mom, Dad, Mike, Jeff, Molly, get me a nice pic soon or else you’re at my mercy as far as photo selection goes.

Another idea (courtesy of Jessie) is to get a floor plant to go next to my TV. Growing up, we never had a lot of indoor plant life at home, but it might be a nice way to liven things up. Of course, it does add one more chore for me. Unless I get a fake plant. And then there’s the rapidly approaching Christmas season. It’s my favorite season, so I’m going to have to do SOME decorating. But, my rule is not until after Thanksgiving. So I’ll save that for a future post.

Things I Miss: Mom’s Free Laundry Service

Chores are definitely one of the cons of apartment living. When I was one of six inhabitants at home, it was pretty easy to get away with doing little or nothing to help around the house. Now that I’m all alone, I don’t have that luxury.

If I don’t cook, I don’t eat. If I don’t do the dishes, the sink fills up with nastiness. If I don’t take out the garbage, I have to live with the smell. If I don’t vacuum and clean, dirt and dust become my unruly roommates.

But perhaps the chore that I most took for granted was laundry. My mom dominated the laundry cycle. If you put a shirt in the hamper in the morning, there was a good chance you could be wearing it fresh again after school. My dad kicked in and helped a lot, too. I learned how to do laundry, and actually probably helped more than my siblings. Still, I could probably count the number of laundry rotations I did per year on two hands.

So most of the time, I had someone doing my laundry for me. And do you know what it cost me? Nothing. My mom would probably call it the labor of love. But let’s be honest, she was spoiling me (not that I ever complained).

The dirty details: I was down to my next-to-last pair of clean underwear this weekend. My pop-up hamper was overflowing. Finally, I had to face the facts. It was laundry time, like it or not.

It’s not because I’m lazy. OK, that’s a lie. It’s partly because I’m lazy and partly because I’m cheap. It costs $1 for every wash cycle and $0.75 more for every dry cycle of laundry. So I’m in no hurry to rush dirty laundry through. It does make me extra careful about clothing selections though.

I’m sure my mom would be happy to let me use the washer and dryer at home. She’d probably even rotate it for me. But I know this is an area where I have to turn away the kindness in favor of learning responsibility. Just don’t expect to see the T-shirt I wore yesterday to resurface until December.

Another Reason to Hate Snow

If it were up to me, we’d get a nice dose of snow the week of Christmas. It would melt by the New Year, and that would be the end of winter. But, since I’ve lived in Erie all my life and made no real attempt to go anywhere else, I should probably stop complaining.

Of course, I probably won’t stop. I just don’t like snow. It means it’s cold outside. Nowadays that means I have to turn the heat My feet are always freezing no matter what socks or shoes I wear. It takes longer to drive everywhere. And my morale is just generally lower.

I’m a summer lover. Still, I’ve come to appreciate spring and fall. Winter is a different story—one I’d prefer not to read. It’s technically another month before winter even begins, but it made a cameo Monday morning with a fresh snowfall greeting me for my morning commute.

Worse than that, it threw a serious wrench into my workout routine. When I was home, I turned to the treadmill around September/October. In my apartment, there is no treadmill, so I’ve been running outside. There were a few cold and rainy runs, but all in all, it was bearable. However, I had to draw the line at snow.

There’s no way I’m going out for a run in the dark in the snow. So, I’m left being a bum. I guess the solution is to invest in a gym membership. I’m reluctant to shell out $20 a month, or whatever it costs, just to run on a treadmill a few times a week. But I also don’t want to go dormant for the winter. I tried that strategy during college, and I still don’t think I’ve ever gotten back into tip top shape.

So, now that snow is costing me money—potential gym membership plus heating costs—I’m even more inclined to hate it. At least winter means basketball season. There ya go: optimism.

Things I Miss: My Dad’s Artwork

When your dad is an artist, you grow up surrounded by beautiful things without even knowing it. Growing up, it never occurred to me that not every home was adorned from room to room with multiple wall pieces, ceramic bowls, teapots and other artistic vessels.

Seriously, check out my dad’s work and tell me it wouldn’t be cool to have some of that in your house?

Well, I never fully appreciated it until now. I mean, it just wasn’t a big deal as a kid. Dad went out in his studio and did his thing. OK, cool. That’s what dad’s do, right? Well, of course, I later learned that was what MY dad did, but having an art studio double as your garage is also not commonplace, so I hear.

For the past month, I’ve lived in the dull-brown-carpeted and painfully-plain-white-walled world of my apartment. I have nice, comfy furniture, a decent-sized TV, a cool spinning media tower to hold my CDs and DVDs, but something was missing.

That something? Art.

(Funny side note: My middle name was almost Art. Before I was born, my dad wanted to name me Clayton Arthur. Could you imagine? Clay Art Hubert. That was one time when dad’s creativity was rightfully stifled. Thanks, Mom.)

I’m old and mature enough now that I can appreciative my dad’s craft more than ever before—ironically, now that I don’t get to see it.

I’m not sure that I can procure a wall piece for the apartment (though it would look great hanging over the couch) as I’m technically not supposed to put nails into the wall per my lease agreement. But I can’t take the sterileness much longer.

If I were Dorothy, I’d be ready not to be in Kansas any more. Give me some color. Give me some art. You know, like in the good ol’ days. The stuff dad used to make.

Parents and Siblings and Phones, Oh My!

My room is no more.

I was home last night for my sister’s birthday dinner. When I went up to see my former bedroom, I was not pleased. The emptiness is one thing, but now I saw a pink chair and giant stuffed teddy bear occupying the same space where I slept for more than 20 years. Not cool.

Apparently my sister is converting my old room into her spillover room, though I reminded her that I survived with just one room for 24 years. In my closet? Purses. On the walls? Nothing. It’s a strange feeling, feeling like a stranger in your own room.

Another thing missing from my room was my phone. I bought it a few years back, shortly before I began dating Jessie. That’s how everyone knew it was serious. Mr. Phonaphobia bought a phone for his room?! It’s true. I still dislike answering the phone or calling people for that matter, especially people I don’t know. But I digress.

The point is, after so many memorable conversations on that phone, it was gone from my room. Since I don’t have a landline for my apartment, it really doesn’t do me any good. So, where is it now?

Well, as it turns out, I now know that any lazy traits I display are clearly genetic. My dad put the phone in the family room. Seems reasonable enough. That’s where he and my mom spend a lot of their time together these days. Except they already have a phone in that room—five feet away! I don’t think it’s gotten to the point where my parents call each other on their dueling phones yet, but apparently making the stretch to hand the phone over to the other was just too much.

There’s actually a third phone in the open area family room/kitchen, establishing a telecommunications triangle of terror at the entrance of the Hubert household. So, if no one answers your nighttime call, you can pretty much guarantee no one is home. They don’t have to go far to pick up.

As for the birthday dinner, things went well. I’m not big on Italian food. Maybe it was the relief of not cooking after living on my own for a month, but last night’s lasagna hit the spot.

The get-together was a fun time all around. With me living the apt life and my brothers both at college, I’m sure the house seems awfully quiet and empty these days. It really is like a whole new chapter for the Hubert family, but I’m excited for it. It’s cool to see our new, (arguably) more mature interactions.

Of course, some things never change. Sarcasm and ripping on each other (because we love) remains a constant. And, of course, there was the brother scuffle. Mike and Jeff did the honors this time. It’s just what brothers do. And what drives moms and grandmas crazy.

So, happy birthday, Molly! Thanks for making me feel old. And to everyone else: Mom, Dad, Grandma, Mike, Jeff and Rocket, thanks for a fun night. It’s crazy to think that after living most of my life seeing my siblings every day, it’s now an event for us to be together at the same time. But if that helps me appreciate them a bit more, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing.

I have a tool box, and I know how to use it (sort of)

Watch out, world. First I’m cooking. And now I’m building.

Now don’t worry. Bob’s job is not in jeopardy. (You know Bob the Builder. I think he’s Joe the Plumber’s cousin, right?) But seriously, I completed two building jobs in one day. I think I had previously done maybe two in my whole life.

First, I tackled the job of setting up a keyboard tray for my desk at work. I’ve been in serious discomfort at work lately, ergonomically speaking. The left knuckle of my left ring finger seems swollen and I have intermittent bouts of aches, soreness and fatigue in my fingers, hands, forearms, etc.

Clearly it’s not a healthy situation. I had similar issues during my time at Erie Insurance. Eventually they had someone do a workstation evaluation. They moved some things around, adjusted my chair and had a keyboard tray installed to lessen the stress on my arms. And it seemed to work. I don’t know if I was ever fully “healed” but it wasn’t much of a distraction anymore.

After a week off between jobs, I entered my new job not thinking about ergonomic things, and then was ignorant and lazy when signs arose that I was having the same issues all over again. I’m too many words into the story to say long story short, but the point is I needed to fix something, so I thought maybe a keyboard tray would do the trick again.

Back to the building. My “desk” at work is essentially a big table, so in order to set up this keyboard tray, I was going to have to drill into the underside of it. Fortunately for me, my boss had no problem with me doing that—even supplying the drill. Clearly he had more faith in my handiness than I did myself.

So, I spent Wednesday morning at work clearing of my desk (table), flipping it over and drilling the sliding mechanism for the tray into place. Success! I then flipped the tray over and put the rest of the tray together. It took a little longer than it probably should have, but it went smoothly and hopefully I’ll reap the benefits in the weeks and months to come. Is it working? It’s hard to tell. I’m still in some discomfort, but I’m typing through the pain, so maybe it’s a little more tolerable than it was pre-tray. Hopefully a mostly computer-free weekend will give my arms and hands a little time to recover.

The other building project was much more time intensive. After returning home from Wal-Mart where I got—among other things—my own set of tools (thanks Dad!), I commenced building my CD tower. At home, I had my rather extensive CD collection spread in all corners of my room, including in racks that had individual slots for discs. That meant whenever I got a new one, I had to go one-by-one moving them to keep my alphabetical order intact. With my new tower, I’m able to fit all my CDs in one square foot of space. So, for me, it’s a worthwhile investment.

Anyway, it took me about 20 minutes just to get the packages (yes, plural) open. This thing is pretty big—not to mention heavy. Once I did have it out of the packaging, it was a real challenge attaching the four sides together. But eventually I did it. By the time I had constructed the sides of the tower, it was approaching 11 o’clock. Some people are probably getting ready for/already in bed at this point. Of course, the next step was the one that required the use of a hammer to pound in the tack glides on the bottom of the tower.

Not thinking of the consequences, I grab my shiny, new metal hammer and pound the tack glides into the board pressed into the floor. Let me just say, IT WAS LOUD! THESE ANNOYING CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS DON’T DO IT JUSTICE! NOT AT ALL!!!

I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure my apartment floor doubles as someone’s apartment ceiling below me. So, as I finished hammering the third tack glide, I’m pretty sure I felt and heard someone launching something/themselves into their ceiling/my floor, resulting in a resounding thump. Basically, an angry way of saying, “Stop hammering!” Well, I’m sure a few profanities would follow, and I’d be told to shove that hammer someplace extremely uncomfortable. But
You get the idea. I was supposed to stop hammering. Immediately

The thing was, I had just one tack glide left to hammer. And I’m the type of person that once I’m invested in doing something, I like to see it through no matter how long it takes. So, I spent the next 15 minutes debating what to do. Finally, I tried my best to compromise. I took the base board onto my bed, hoping that would dull the noise somewhat and I hammered it there as quickly and quietly (but honestly, what is quiet hammering?) as possible. Voila! Onto the next step.

I attached the swivel base, bottom and top of the tower and then went onto the shelves, which simply meant sliding in some pegs and setting the shelves on them. With that, the tower was built. It was about 11:30. I then spent another two hours or so taking all my CDs (and DVDs too) out of the boxes I had packed them in and placing them on the new tower. The good news is that it’s still standing. Consider me two for two on the day.

Just please don’t call me Matt the Builder.

The Car Inspection That Never Happened

I'm feeling pretty dumb today.

My car is due for an inspection by the end of my month, so my mom was nice enough to help me out. Yesterday she left work to meet me at Hyundai and drive me to work. Then she left early to pick me up at work and get the car back.

I dropped my car off around 7:15 a.m. It was dark out and I was only moderately awake. I put the keys in the large black box right outside the door that said KEY DROP. What I didn’t pay attention to was the fact that underneath the words KEY DROP was an arrow and the word ENVELOPES. I vaguely remember thinking, “I don’t have an envelope so that’s not for me.”

Of course, when I walked in at 4:45 to pay, the woman behind the counter asked my last name, fake-shuffled through some papers and said, “Yeah, I think they were looking for your keys earlier.” I stepped out the door, opened the box where I had left the keys and, sure enough, they were still there. “I never would have even thought to look there,” she said. The other guys behind the counter echoed her sentiment, giving me condescending looks that screamed IDIOT!

After having to reschedule for Thursday, I walked out and re-examined the KEY DROP sign. Sure enough, there is a slot on their garage door that says, “Key Drop Envelopes Here.” I didn’t see it in the dark that morning. And I guess the box I put the keys in is actually where they’re supposed to have key drop envelopes. Could the system be better? Yes. Should I have paid closer attention? You betcha.

The worst part about the story is that when I first left the keys, I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing, so I asked my mom if I put them in the right place. She instinctively said yes, later adding, “You’re 24, I didn’t think I had to watch wear you put the keys.”

What else can I say? Sometimes I’m just an idiot, but at least I’ll know where to drop the keys on Thursday.

Things I Miss: My dog, Rocket

He entered my life unexpectedly. I came home from a high school basketball practice, and there he was: a little puppy. I was mad. Really mad. (I know, I can’t believe it looking back either.)

My family had never had a pet, and I was not a dog person. “Why should I start now?” I thought to myself. As a result, I don’t think there are any photos of me with the puppy version of Rocket.

However, as he grew and I matured, our relationship changed. Rocket—who I contend was named for the former wide receiver who played for a number of NFL teams, including my Raiders —is not your typical dog.

His personaility is one of a kind. A black lab and dalmation mix, Rocket loves my dad. We’re talking unhealthy-obsession/goes-into-depression-when-he’s-not-around love. Everyone else is a lesser priority. Still, he’s won over everyone in the family. With his 8th? birthday just around the corner, Rocket isn’t quite the rocket he once was, and his Tug of War growl and grip aren’t quite as ferocious, but he’s still the same goofy dog.

He has a cocaine-like addiction to used tissues. He likes to lay on couches and chairs so that his throat is hanging over the armrest like a guillotine. He tries to attack animals on TV and then gets confused when the channel changes. He hates vacuum cleaners and pet costumes. He loves snow and presents—opening the wrapping paper every birthday and Christmas whether the gift is his or not. And, of course, he’s a sucker for a good rubdown.

My apartment is no pets allowed so Rocket won’t get to see the new pad. That is probably good for the sake of my leather furniture. But I do miss the weird little guy, something I never would have imagined when we first got him.

Nowadays I actually moonlight as a dogsitter at a few different places. That never would’ve happened if not for Rocket’s entry into my life. And I never would have written one of my all-time best poems either.

“Things I Miss” is going to be a running series of short trips down memory lane. I lived at home—in the same house—for the first 24-plus years of my life. So, while I am enjoying the new apartment and independent living, there’s still a lot that I miss from home.

Hey ma, where’s the meatloaf?!

Is it possible for a non-cook to have a specialty? If so, mine is clearly this barbecue meatloaf recipe that Jessie included in her Christmas gift last year—a homemade cookbook titled “Recipes for the Working Man” that came complete with detailed instructions, personalized notes and photos of us in situations when certain meals might appeal.

Anyway, this meatloaf is amazing. Growing up, my mom always told me how much she disliked meatloaf, but she still made it regularly because she knew I liked it. But (sorry mom), this recipe trumps the meatloaf of my youth. And I’m proud to say I cooked it flawlessly last night.

Unfortunately, my first foray into apartment cooking did not go quite as smoothly. Let’s revisit Monday night, shall we? I avoided total disaster, but there were moments when I was thinking McDonald’s was in my future. Keep in mind that I have next-to-no cooking experience, so the fact that I was even attempting anything beyond sticking a pizza in the oven was a big deal for me.

I had just gotten home from work and decided to go with chicken. I had some frozen, pre-breaded chicken breasts from Giant Eagle. They did have a microwave option, but I wanted to challenge myself a little more than that. Plus, I just saw some report on the news the other day about microwaves insufficiently cooking chicken, and I was in no mood to deal with food poisoning on my first attempt.

So, I put some oil in the pan on the stove and turned it on medium as per the instructions. In the other pan, I had some peas. And in the microwave I had one of those 90-second instant rice pouches. Not quite a gourmet meal but a step up from the challenge of pizza, for sure.

I had everything under control until the smoke alarm in the kitchen went off. I couldn’t reach what I thought was the detector on the ceiling. Eventually I was able to jump and tear it down only to realize it wasn’t the device that was beeping.

As newly employed ESPN pitchman M.C. Hammer would say, “Whose beeper keeps beepin’ and beepin’?” Then, I located the culprit, also located high up on the wall. I tried ripping it out, but it was still beeping as it dangled from its wires. I then saw there was a button to press. Finally, I had the piercing alarm shut off, only to return to the sight and smell my now blackened chicken.

I was not hoping for extra crispy, but that’s what I got—on one side of it anyway. I turned off the burner yet failed to notice that the cooking oil was still very much cooking the chicken. I then stuck a fork in the chicken to try to get it out of the pan. By now my peas were boiling so I switched my attention there. When I went back to the fork (still in the chicken), it was burning hot. Metal conducts heat, maybe? I should probably know these sorts of things.

I quickly turned on some cold water and ran it over my finger to soothe the burning. After that pain subsided, I was able to dump some peas, rice and applesauce onto a plate along with barbecue sauce and the semi-burnt chicken. All in all, it was a decent meal.

I’m not batting a thousand, but I haven’t exactly struck out cooking either. Two days. One really good and one fair meal. Maybe I can handle this independence thing after all.

I love lamp

Am I just saying that I love lamp because it piqued the fancy of my girlfriend Jessie? Am I just saying that I love lamp because she later put it together for me almost entirely on her own?

No, I'm saying it because t’s actually a pretty sweet lamp. Plus, I can't resist a good Anchorman reference.

Anyway, back to the lamp. It’s different. Has a sort of sheik, trendy appeal. It’s unlike any lamp I’ve ever had. But it’s cool. It gives the corner of the room some character—not to mention light. Plus, it has shelves where I can put a couple of photo frames and other “knickknacks” (or so I was told). Here it is all by it's lonesome.

With the new lamp and soon-to-be-arriving recliner, the living room is really coming together nicely.

Now I face the real challenge. After being treated to Applebees on Saturday and to a delicious homemade dinner from Jessie's mom last night, I face the prospect of trying to cook a real meal on my own. Details to follow, I’m sure.

Not For Hire: Me as truck driver, furniture mover, handyman

The good news is I finally have some furniture: the aforementioned on-sale dark brown leather couch and loveseat.

The bad news is everything it took out of me to get there. Originally, I was worried about price. By the time the furniture finally reached their resting places in my living room, their financial burden was the least of my concerns.

The first test came in the form of driving the 14’ U-Haul truck from the U-Haul rental to Sofa Mart and from Sofa Mart to my apartment. It’s important to note that I drive a Hyundai Accent. Before that, I drove an old Honda Civic. Essentially, I went from posting up my little brother to being stared down by Shaq in his prime. So, yes, I was a bit intimidated by the sheer size and power of the thing.

Another aspect of driving that I overlooked until this experience: the value of the rearview mirror. Big trucks like this don’t have them because (obviously) there’s a big storage space where my vision would be. So there I was, dwarfed in the driver’s seat of this truck, trying to merge into rush hour traffic on I-79 in between a semi and what looked like a Matchbox car from my perch.

After conquering the driving issue, I thought the rest of the furniture move would run smoothly. Wrong.

Getting the furniture from Sofa Mart to my apartment building was no problem. Getting the furniture from the truck up to my apartment was like trying to get Al Davis to retain a head coach. (For a more lengthy Raiders rant, read my thoughts here.)

The only way up to my apartment is up a narrow staircase. I knew this going in. Yet I still bought the furniture with a that had essentially identical width to that of the staircase.

With the help of my brothers Mike and Jeff, the loveseat made it up relatively smoothly. The couch was a different story. We had it about halfway up when we realized it wasn’t budging. We had one brother on each end and a third underneath it as It hung in mid-air, floating above the stairs and wedged between the walls of the staircase.

We tried everything: pushing, pulling, lifting, twisting, rotating. At one point we actually made some progress only to realize the doorway at the top was imperfectly aligned with the stairs. And there was no wiggle room.

Now covered in sweat and getting some dirty looks of “What the hell are you guys doing?” from fellow tenants forced to take the other staircase—yes, it’s equally narrow—the three of us were running out of strength, patience and ideas. It was a valiant effort, but it was time to make the call.

Dad would know what to do! Only no one answered at home. And his cell went to voicemail as well. Crap.

I stood dejectedly at the top of the staircase after crawling underneath the still-stuck couch. My brothers stood below, equally pessimistic about our chances of getting this couch through the doorway.

Just when I thought all hope was lost I heard a familiar voice. “Hello! Is someone up there?” It was my mom. And my sister Molly. And most importantly given the situation, my dad. Like analogies? Dad is to handyman as Batman is to hero.

He observed the situation, formulated a plan and went to work. The gist of it was to slide the couch back down the stairs, which wasn’t easy. Then, unwrap the cardboard and plastic wrap. Then, remove the seat cushions and rotate the couch so that the flexible top cushions were on the same side as the door at the top of the stairs. With all that done, the re-ascension began and, it wasn’t easy, but it made it through!

In the aftermath of the move, I immediately felt some serious soreness in my upper back/lower neck. I woke today with soreness in places that I didn’t even know I had places. Of course, pain tolerance has never been my calling card.

I grew up dreaming of being a professional basketball player. But I’m pretty convinced by now that was born to do nothing more physical than what I do now: writing. To the world’s truck drivers, furniture movers and maintenance men—including the one who will be fixing the railing we accidentally dislodged amid our couch moving struggle—I salute you.

And to my family, thanks for all the help yesterday. From the brotherly bonding to dad’s never-failing Mr. Fix It ability and from mom’s purchases that now make cooking a viable option to Molly’s hello note on my fridge, thanks.

Now that the furniture (minus the recliner, which should be in next week) is finally in my place, it looks great. And as my family sat in it for the first time, I thought for just a second, for the first time, it really felt like home.

What’s for dinner?

I have no problem talking about my cooking experience. I don’t have any. Call it laziness. Being spoiled. Pampered. Whatever. I lived at home for 24 years and my parents did the cooking. Those are the facts.

Occasionally, if I were home by myself, I would boil some water and make macaroni and cheese, put a pizza in the oven or microwave some leftovers. And once, as a special Valentine’s Day favor, I cooked a dish of BBQ meatloaf and roasted red potatoes for my girlfriend (and it turned out surprisingly well). But that’s about it. I knew that I’d have to step up my meal-preparation game after moving into the apartment. I wanted to stay relatively healthy, so I wanted to be able to put together a basic meat-potatoes-vegetable meal.

And then, I moved in.

I had plates and silverware, cups and a working oven. I did not, however, have pots, pans or a microwave. What I did have was a pizza pan and a University of Michigan pizza cutter that plays Hail to the Victors.

In case my neighbors were confused, Michigan’s offense is still struggling to find the end zone. Instead, the fight song is being played in celebration of the cutter touching down on the crust for a third straight night.

Since pizza is my favorite food, I have mixed feelings about this development. It’s certainly not aiding my stay-healthy quest. It’s also not exactly an exercise in cooking. The whole “open oven, place pizza in oven” thing? I think I’ve got that down.

But I do love pizza. I mean, this is a childhood dream come true. I’m 99.9 percent sure I made a declaration—probably during one of the infamous dry meatball/carrot/potato dishes that I loathed as kid—that when I grew up, I’d have pizza for dinner every night of the week. Ha. Told you so!

Of course, now that I’m staring at my plate of fourth-night-in-a-row pizza, I’m starting to question my pre-teen self’s sanity. I love pizza and routine as much as anyone, but even I need some variety in my life.

The good news is, my mom is back in town. And, on her day off today, she volunteered to help me out with a few things, which I’m hoping will include a microwave and some cooking pans.

Pizza will always be a menu option at my place, but I’d prefer that the next time I hear Hail to the Victors I’m celebrating six points—not six toppings.

How I Became a Smurf – or – Lessons in Laundry

Over the weekend I called to tell my mom this story. When I told I looked like a Smurf, she kept asking, “a what?” I don’t think she got the reference. (Check it out here, mom.)

Why was I complaining of Smurf-like symptoms? Well, I’ve written a lot in this blog already about all the stuff I’ve had to buy. However, I’d be remiss not to mention the fact that my parents have chipped in with a few starter items, including a set of blue bath towels.

What I didn’t know is that you should put the towels through a laundry cycle BEFORE using them to dry off from a shower. First, I noticed that my hands and arms seemed a bit fuzzier—and bluer—than usual. Then, I saw that my chest and stomach that taken on a similar blue fur look. Perhaps Grover would have been a more accurate reference, but Smurf was the first thing that came to mind.

I then glanced in the mirror and saw what I had feared—a beard. Considering my inability to grow a conventional beard, I was a bit taken aback by this blue one. My whole body was covered in damp little pieces of blue fuzz—not a good look for me. Not a particularly comfortable one either.

That left me in a bit of a precarious situation. I couldn’t dry off with the towels because they left me as an involuntary member of Blue Man Group. But I didn’t have any other towels to use. Eventually, I settled on a makeshift towel—a white cutoff t-shirt. It wasn’t the most efficient system, but it got the job done. A few straggling strands remained on me, but it was not worth the fight.

I did my best to clean up the no-longer-sticking-to-me blue fuzz that had landed anywhere and everywhere after being T-shirt-toweled from my body. Unfortunately, the bathroom still has some of the annoying stuff hanging around. I don’t know, maybe it gives the room some character. Maybe it looks good. Vanity Smurf would know.

Life – parents = expensive

Lesson number one of apartment living: stuff ain’t cheap. I spent this past weekend buying all sorts of things from the necessities (food) to the luxuries (a second TV to put in my bedroom). As a result, my apartment is taking shape and starting to fill in. At he same time my wallet is losing shape and money is filing out. Funny how that works.

I made purchases at Giant Eagle, Best Buy, Target, Wal-Mart, Sofa Mart and Bed Bath & Beyond. That last one—B-cubed—was quite the adventure. Understand, my shopping generally consists of CDs, DVDs and the occasional spots jersey. I was totally entrenching on new territory, but I managed to escape with several solid purchases, including a shower curtain, loofah (so I like my soap sudsy, sue me!), pop-up hamper and ice cube trays. And thanks to a gift card and coupon the whole bill cost me roughly the same as a Darren McFadden jersey. I guess silver and black #20 will have to wait.

You also may have read Sofa Mart in there. Yep, I finally made the furniture decision. In the end, I went with the mix—the ultra-comfy black leather recliner (hereafter known as My Chair) and the on-sale brown leather couch and loveseat. The price was too good to pass up. Plus. I got approval from a Mercyhurst College interior design graduate that the colors worked together. So what if she was also the salesperson. I’m taking her word.

So the furniture is purchased. Now I just need to get it to my apartment. That should be accomplished by next Monday. I sure hope so. I’m getting tired of rolling my one and only chair back and forth from the main room to the bedroom (where my computer desk is) every day.

Grocery shopping was an experience, too. I went to my old stomping grounds, Giant Eagle, where I worked from May 2002–October 2006. It’s hard to believe it’s only been about two years since I was bagging groceries and chasing carts in that parking lot. The store hasn’t changed too much, but the people certainly have. I only saw one person I knew, and we had a nice catching-up chat.

I did my best to buy things I needed and avoid impulse buys. I was not entirely successful. I blame this on a couple of things. First of all, I can’t or, more accurately, haven’t really tried to cook. Secondly, I don’t have a lot of the necessary things to make cooking possible just yet, including pots and pans. I also don’t have a microwave yet. Sometimes I swear the list of stuff I need seems to grow exponentially.

But I’ve got my magnetic dry erase board on the fridge to keep on top of the list. That, plus magnetic poetry as a creative outlet to fend off any frustration that might set in.

I’ll get the hang of this single living thing yet. After 24+ years of home living, it’s just going to take some transition time. The new DVR doesn’t hurt either.

To mix or match? Or, mix and match?

I went furniture shopping with my parents tonight. Unfortunately, 24-year-old me only gets their opinions and not their money when it comes to any purchases. Stupid maturity and independence, sometimes you’re a pain.

I only made one actual purchase yesterday—a cheap TV stand. But it’ll get the job done—you know, the job of sitting there and holding up the TV. Plus, it’ll be nice to have it because I’m getting my digital cable and DVR hooked up today! The only problem is that I currently have no furniture in the room to sit on while watching TV. That’s where my dilemma comes in.

I fell in love with this black leather recliner. So, so comfortable. Perfect for watching the Raiders’ game on a lazy Sunday. Expensive, but I have some money in the bank, and I will be spending a lot of time in this seat, so I’m OK with a bit of a splurge here.

The problem is I don’t just want a room with one chair in it. I need a couch, too. The matching black leather 3-person couch (with two reclining seats) is even more expensive.

But there is a different, equally comfortable leather couch (minus the reclining seats) on sale for about half the price of the black leather. Problem is the sale couch only comes in dark brown leather. If it came in black, I’d be all set with the expensive recliner and the for-sale couch, but it doesn’t.

However, the first set—including the recliner that I loved—does come in a dark brown that is basically the same color as the cheap couch. So I could get the comfy recliner in dark brown and pair it with the cheap couch. But I just can’t shake my mind from the black.

So, I’m torn, with at least four viable options to choose from:

1. Do I sacrifice matching colors and get the two individual items I like the most (expensive black leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch) and mix black and brown leather?

2. Do I sacrifice my top color choice but keep the comfort and price of option one (expensive brown leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch)?

3. Do I sacrifice price instead and stay away from the brown couch on sale (expensive black leather recliner + expensive black leather couch)?

4. As an addendum to option 1, do I try to make up for the mixing of colors by getting an additional brown leather loveseat and try a brown-black-brown thing (expensive black leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch + brown leather on-sale loveseat)?

The other thing to take into consideration. There are only six sets of the on-sale brown leather furniture left, and then they’re gone. The expensive black leather has to be ordered and will probably take a couple of weeks to be delivered.

In any case, I’d rather make a decision sooner rather than later to get the ball rolling and start putting the main room of my apartment together.

I’m going to be spending a hefty amount of money no matter how I slice it, so I suppose the real question I’m asking myself is “How will it look if I mix black and brown?”

I was under the impression that it’s a faux pas to pair black and brown, and that notion seems to be out there, but elsewhere I’m reading that black and brown can work together (so what if it's from Jamaica?) and that mixing colors of leather furniture can work. (And yes, I’m sold on going with the leather over other materials at this point. I’m a big fan of the look and feel of it. So, at least I have one thing figured out!)

That’s where I stand at this point. Fashion and furniture gurus, what do you think?

I like the way you move

I’m not fully moved in, but I’ve started to move out. Yesterday, with the help of my parents and my brother Mike, I loaded all of the major items from my room—bed, desk, two dressers—into a U-Haul and then unloaded them in my apartment.

So, first things first. Thanks to mom, dad and Mike for all their help. It went off without a hitch and took less time than I expected with their cooperation.

It was step one in a multi-step moving process, but it was a big step. The basic set up of my apartment bedroom is complete. The bed’s been reassembled, the dresser re-filled with drawers and the desk returned to its upright position beside my bed. I like the bedroom layout, though there’s still a lot of items from my home bedroom, including my gargantuan CD collection, that need to fit somewhere in the my apartment.

For the next several days I’ll be living in flux between my old space at home and new apartment. I’m planning some furniture shopping Wednesday and getting cable and Internet set up on Thursday.

Hopefully I can then spend the weekend putting things together and making myself feel a bit more at home in the new location. But I imagine it will take some time to get used to.

One of the big changes in my bedroom is the decision not to duplicate the wall decoration. The walls in my room at home were nearly completely covered. It had a definite college dorm room feel. I had posters of Bo Jackson, Rocket Ismail, Shaquille O’Neal, The Simpsons, Muhammad Ali and Counting Crows on the walls.

I also had a mini Counting Crows shine on the wall directly above my bed. They became my favorite band during my senior year of high school, and after I attended their concert at the Warner Theater in Erie, Pa., that April, I was hooked. I printed and posted all their song lyrics and album cover art.

Additionally, I have all of my grade school athletic accomplishments hanging on the wall at home, including plaques from Marcel Arribi’s Rambler Roundball basketball camp and my Our Lady’s Christian School eighth grade MVP award. Maybe it was living in the past, but I never could bring myself to take them down.

Anyway, I haven’t decided what I plan to do with the posters, CC shine or awards (I am not one to throw things away easily), but I don’t expect them to be plastered on the wall of my new room.

For now, the walls in my new bedroom remain a blank white slate—same as the walls in the main room of the apartment. They won’t stay that way, but I’m not sure how to decorate just yet.

Any ideas? Let me know in the comments below.

No more need for a countdown

While Oct. 1 is technically the official date I start paying, I actually have the apartment now! I got to see the empty space for the first time on Friday. As of now, all that I have in there is a lamp. The plan is to do some moving in during the week and hopefully finish up the major moves by the weekend.

But what really matters to me is that I was able to get Time Warner scheduled to come in Thursday night to set up my cable and internet connection—the real necessities for living.

There's a lot to do between now and being moved in, including finding/buying furniture and whatever else I need, but it should be a fun week as I start trying to get situated in my new surroundings.

I'll keep it brief right now as football and sleep are competing for my attention. But it's official. I have the key. I've been in the empty, brown-carpeted pad. Matt's apartment exists. Now I just need to put my stuff in it.

This boy is not meeting the real world just yet

The countdown is now down to less than a week. Still, the reality of the move hasn't fully set in—mostly because I'm procrastinating in packing. I have several boxes upstairs, but they remain empty. I just haven't been able to bring myself to start packing up my things to take them from my room to my place.

And some of the things probably won't make the move at all, including my posters. I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to decorate the place, but I probably won't use all the posters I have now, including a Bo Jackson poster that is copyright 1989. I'm not sure about the Hulk Hogan light switch either. But I'm a nostalgic guy. It's going to be tough—probably tougher than it should be—to keep anything behind.

The nostalgia kicked in again yesterday. I was basically bedridden all day, sick home from work after getting next-to-no sleep the night before, so I popped in my Boy Meets World season one DVD. I don't care that I'm 24 now, I love that show. And yes, I'm a total sap for Cory and Topanga.

In other news that's not really news, my pinky-tip remains unfeeling (see previous post). But I am feeling better. I'm not quite 100 percent yet, but I felt good enough to make it back onto the treadmill tonight for an abbreviated workout.

Hopefully I'll have some exciting apartment related news in the near future so I can keep this stream-of-consciousness meandering in check, but then again, I might just continue writing these random posts for the heck of it.

Leave your comments below.

Feeling sick and not feeling

While I wait on the call from my landlord telling me when I can get first crack at my new apartment (it will be no later than Oct. 1, but it will likely be sooner), I am feeling quite miserable.

Ah, the power of the common cold to bring one down. Well, that and a fourth quarter collapse from the Raiders yesterday afternoon. OK, so the cold officially hit me before that, but I think the symptoms definitely worsened afterward.

Anyway, I spent the work day guzzling various vitamin enhanced waters and juices and obnoxiously blowing my nose every 10 minutes. Fun times.

As for the other half of the title of this post? Well, I jammed my pinky finger playing basketball last week. The next day it was swelled and a nasty bruised purple. Most of the purple is now gone and so is the swelling, but I’ve yet to regain feeling in the tip of my pinky. It’s like when your arm falls asleep, except it’s just the tip above my top knuckle and it’s lasted nearly a week. So, maybe it’s hibernating.

Anyway, that’s my self-pitying rant for the day. It’s really not that big of a deal, but sometimes these little things are just annoying. Hopefully I’ll feel better and my pinky will feel again soon.

It's electric, boogie-woogie-woogie

OK, so I actually cannot stand that song and I clear the wedding dance floor each and every time it comes on. Why is this song mandatory at wedding receptions? Can we move on already?

The real reason for the post title is that I had no more clever way of relating the news that I called Penelec and had my soon-to-be-apartment's electric bill transferred into my name. Woohoo! My first of too many bills to come!

The best part of the whole 15-minute ordeal? Penelec's automated telephone service that quickly makes you forget which end of the conversation is being conducted by a machine. By the time I reached the seventh spoken command to get me to a service representative, my responses were so monotonous and unemotional (so as to be recognized clearly to the listener-bot on the other end) that I was almost unable to respond to the woman's first question once I finally got her on the line. (Her question, by the way, was, "What is your name?)

Anyway, I cleared that hurdle and the rest of the conversation went just swimmingly so I think I'm good to go with electric. Exciting, I know.

Next up, well, aside from actually getting the apartment key, is getting cable and Internet set up so I can watch ESPN and whatever other channels exist these days and keep up this blog.

If you though this post was riveting, just imagine all the fun that is yet to come...

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Semisonic fans might recognize that lyric. It also served as the theme of my high school senior project (awesome project, by the way). It's hard to believe that was nine years ago. A lot has changed since then, but my belief in the quote has not.

And so it is that I start this new blog—my latest venture in writing—with the news that my life is about to endure a major ending and new beginning. I signed the lease on Monday and by the end of the month, I will officially be living on my own in an apartment and moved out of my room at home after 24 nothing-short-of-wonderful years.

Having stayed home through all of college as a commuter, this is even more of a change for me than the average new apartment dweller. I've been living the pampered home life, and I undoubtedly will miss the comforts of home—mom (and dad's) cooking, a big back yard, a driveway with a basketball hoop, free laundry and, of course, my family. But I'll only be 10 minutes away from home, so not to worry (mom), I'll still be in touch!

I'm sure the challenges of this change will come in many different shapes and forms. Financially, I'll have to be a bit more frugal. Domestically, I'll need to learn to cook more than a pizza. Generally, I'll just need to do some growing up—scary, I know, but doable.

As for this blog? I don't know that it'll be relegated exclusively to apartment-related ranting, but it gives me an outlet to do what I love to do—write. I still have MattHubert.com whenever I want to comment on the world of sports, but this blog gives me the freedom to scratch that itch to write about my other favorite subject—me. For the long time followers, think of it as grown-up extension of some of the stuff I wrote at my old site, HalfCourtHero.com.

Feel free to leave some feedback in the comments section below. I'd love to hear from you.