We'd heard rumors about it. Murmurs escalated. Scuttlebutt swept the stairwells. Then lots of guys in matching t-shirts arrived in our lobby last night and milled around, waiting for the Man with the Clipboard. We talked about it with the boys, engendering a lengthy discussion of "optimism" vs. "pessimism." And then we all woke up this morning to the sweet, sweet sight of ... a brand-spankin'-new elevator. It is gleaming and immaculate and has digital displays and has yet to be marred with graffiti or wee-wee, and I've ridden it 14 times. Just because. Over the next few weeks I plan to forget stuff on purpose, just so I can bask in the luxurious joy of functioning vertical conveyance.
While the kids were gone last weekend, I spent several hours hauling stuff down the stairs in phase 1 of the move (and navigating the draconian parking rules set forth to accommodate the sitcom pilot that was shooting in my neighborhood). When I leave for BlogHer tomorrow, I will walk down those 68 steps and tell each of them to kiss my exquisitely toned arse.
My flight leaves in the morning, so I have to finish wedging my clothes into my soon2bx's wheelie bag. (She is lending me hers because last week I took the only suitable bag I have to the beach, and now it stinks of lotion and dead sand crabs.) When I get there, I'll be reading at the community keynote on Friday afternoon and appearing at events for SIFTW and TILAMD(IT). I'm also telling you here and now that I am not bringing a laptop. It seems pointless, since I plan to spend most of my time seeing old friends, making new ones, and sleeping off my overindulgements. If you see me out and about (I should be pretty easy to spot), please say hello. And please be advised that 1) I will have my [eponymous broadband handheld device], and 2) I just figured out how Twitpic works.