The "I'm moving shit to my new office all weekend" blog

An aside at the beginning- I don't think anything could make me feel as lame as We Built This City on Rock and Roll by Jefferson Starship. I could be pale, overweight and sporting thick muttonchops at the beach, and I would still be more cool than I do listening to this song. And yet it was the first thing that played on my mp3 player. I can feel my mullet crowing into my studded jean jacket even as it plays.

People often meditate about how God exists in our reality: to some, he's a jolly bearded guy like Santa Claus except he has stylish robes instead of an unflattering ermine-lined red ensemble; others see him as a giant floating eye who don't take no guff from nobody. Feminists say God is a she and if you don't like that well then you're a worthless piece of shit.

There is one truth, and it's that God is a lazy bastard. If God wants something, all he does is think about it and it happens. If he wants a glass of lemonade-poof- it's there. If he wants purple-and-green zebras shedding delicious chocolate raindrops in a rainbow arc above his head, he gets that too. Really, he's the ultimate slacker: He worked for six days early on and has been riding it ever since.

Perhaps the most obvious example of his sloth is that he's never had to move his stuff. "But I'm everywhere at once", he'd say, an obvious cop-out. How can you really know what work is until you've lifted your solid oak desk up a flight of stairs? And he's never unpacked either. And I know he's always begging out of helping people move, too. "God", I hear them say, "this refrigerator is fucking heavy." But who lifts a finger to help? Not the so-called Almighty: no, it's his friend Bob who's only doing it to get the obligatory free drink afterwards. Besides, Bob has a truck- all God has is unlimited and unfathomable power, and last I checked, that didn't haul your TV hutch.

I'm complaining because I'm moving for a second time in less than 6 months. Fortunately, it's not my house stuff, but unfortunately, it is the computer equipment for my work, which is both ten times heavier and several hundred times more expensive. In fact, if I was to damage some of the equipment, they could only recoup some of their losses by selling me into slavery in Bangladesh. But they'd do it anyways.

I'm not going to go into detail into the many wonderful things that make an office move the most stress-inducing things you can be involved in, but suffice it to say that it involves getting over a hundred people to coordinate everything to be done on one day. You can't get a hundred people to agree on where to go to lunch, much less connect power, install networking equipment, and do the hundreds of other things that need to be done. Worse, the colors they selected have more in common with sugary kids drinks than a clean office environment (pea-soup green, light purple and...orange).

There are benefits, however: For one, I don't need to work out- my body is getting strengthened by moving things that are far too heavy for me to lift. I feel like I'm in one of those ridiculous Strongman contests: you just tell me where to put the giant ball of solid iron and I'm on it. At this rate I'll be winning Mr. Olympia by March.

Another advantage I now possess is the complete lack of fingerprints. Constant rubbing has sanded them off, so I'm free to commit crimes that involve glass cases and things like that.

So, having been home for about 45 minutes, it's time to get to bed, for another day of forced labor. Maybe I'll invite God to help. Or maybe Bob- he's got a truck.