January 20th, 2009

awkwardness, incapacitated


My mother writes to me that the Obamas have a staff of 93 people to unpack their stuff when they move into the White House. I could be jealous, but mostly I'm just glad that nobody is waiting for me to finish unpacking the damn kitchen so that I can go negotiate peace in Gaza.

No we're just waiting for me to finish unpacking the damn kitchen so that we can cook like civilized people. Actually, we could sort-of fake cooking like civilized people right now, given that I have found the knives, and cutting boards, and most of the pots. Only I haven't found the dishwashing liquid, so we can't clean up afterwards like civilized people.

The movers made me laugh, though. When they finished packing the kitchen, they very carefully packed (wrapped in copious amounts of packing paper) the empty wine bottles that I'd set aside to put in recycling. So they went in my new recycling bin here. Also, I've found the box where they packed the bottom half of my French press coffee pot, but not where they packed the top half. This stupid half of a coffee pot is sitting there, taunting me with the prospect of fresh coffee.

Well, except that I'm suffering from an attack of acute sinusitis, and so I'm mostly off coffee (which somehow never appeals when I'm in the throes of nasal congestion), and am swilling cup after cup of rooibos. It's not so bad - the congestion has given me that sort of appealingly gravelly voice that I suspect would normally require copious consumption of whiskey and cigarettes to achieve. Though I'm guessing that the sex appeal of that is considerably offset by my red nose, achieved by Kleenex rather than whiskey.

Speaking of whiskey, I wonder which box my bottle of Laphroiag ended up in?