The move was an excercise in dread and horror. I mean, obviously. The bruises and lacerations, the shrill chaos, the sickly sweat, the heart palpitations, the loss of faith in any sort of god or god-analogue. Also, the overfilled U-Haul feeling like it was going to topple over every time it hit one of those insane, gaping New England potholes, i.e., every three minutes? And the relentless emasculation? And the despair, and the awfulness?

OK. But it’s over. Whatever shreds of dignity or self-respect I still had are now finally gone, but it’s over. “It’s over, man.” Gently wrap a blanket around my shoulders as police sirens flash against my bloodied face. Next time, we will pay men with visible veins to carry our junk. Our new neighbor was saying how she “swears by” professional movers, as if hiring movers was something we’d been considering but weren’t quite sold on yet and really needed her endorsement. Hi neighbor! Yes, I am super-friendly.

When I first got out of college and was looking through the want ads for jobs, I thought that “401k” was the salary, as in $401,000. I thought a) how weird that they put the actual salary in the ad, b) how enormous that salary is, c) how specific that salary is, like why “401” and not “400,” and then d) what am I an idiot or what.

During one of my interminable drives this weekend I listened to the new Radiohead album, and was all: Uh-huh, sure, OK, you bet. Then the new Led Zeppelin live album came on after it and I was like: Boo hoo hoo. That’s me bursting into tears because of how great it is. So I think I’m starting to see where things are going to go for this kid. Also, I’m wondering how many blowjobs Robert Plant got backstage during “Moby Dick.” Maybe Google can tell me.