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April 07, 2006
Moving Chapter One, Verse 12: Brooklyn
After a brief hailstorm, a trip into deepest Brooklyn to pick up the 22-foot Penske truck, and a bit of a navigation "issue" on Flatbush Ave., the first leg of the move was embarked upon with no delay. And, when viewed through a glucose haze of two dozen donuts, a couple gallons of mimosas and about sixty bagels, the relatively daunting task of moving an enormous amount of boxes, furniture and wood...yes, wood...was suddenly transformed into a pleasant Sunday morning diversion. Or so I kept shouting.
Indeed, the fine victuals also worked to mitigate some of the hangovers and lack of sleep resulting from the ill-timed Arctic Monkeys show the previous evening. But, ah, Bree...clever, clever Bree...made the call time for 10:30 a.m. BUT PLANNED ON ELEVEN, knowing - just knowing - that some of the moving staff might be the slightest bit tardy. Eight years of dealing with these clowns (and 30 years of dealing with myself) has taught me a thing or two about being "laissez faire" on a Sunday morning. (I won't get into what's its taught me about being Renaissance Faire...not yet; not here.)
But everyone rallied, everyone giggled, and all of my insanely voluminous collection of fragile goods got moved into the Penske in record time.
Brooklyn Represent.
Holla brosephs.
Click through for pictures of our hilarious - yet invigorating - times...
What we were dealing with...(nb: under that blue comforter? A slab of marble. I kid no.)
Rolling a fatty...
Two of the...er...more social movers...
Sweet lumber. Sweet, sweet lumber. How you lean so precariously over my Aeron chair.
The man who puts the .org in .organization.
Notice in these two pictures how Mike and Marcus are moving, working, accomplishing...yet Matt and Elliott seem almost...what's the word?
Immobile?
Stationary?
Still?
How curious.
NSV: No Sale Value.
Posted by Bree at April 7, 2006 10:44 AM
Comments
It takes intense concentration to stand there holding a moderately heavy cardboard box in the exact same position for an unspecified amount of time. Theater and dance training, that's all I can say. Notice Elliott took a stab at it, but his painting classes left him hopelessly moveable. On the other end of the spectrum, I'm like those freaky mimes with the gold or silver painted bodies except no one stopped to put money in my box. They just walked by like nothing special was happenning.
Posted by: Matt Neely at April 7, 2006 12:42 PM