I got back to NYC on Thursday evening after two days in Reading, PA, visiting with my uncle and his family (they live in Boston but go to PA to visit my aunt's parents; it's a long story). Everything was in order at home, as I have a reliable cat sitter who makes sure the cats don't destroy the house. Since I'd missed a night of Hanukkah, I lit the candles for the fourth night and then immediately lit them again for the fifth night. Now I'm back on track.
I had a little adventure on Friday tracking down a UPS package that my friends in Pittsburgh had shipped to me before Christmas. I had tried to get the package re-routed to my office, but due to the strike or incompentence on UPS' part the re-routing never happened. However, the ZIP code in the tracking system did change, because last night the phone operator told me the package was at the UPS depot on West Houston Street. I went down there around lunchtime, but there was no package. The guy behind the counter told me to go to 180 Canal Place, which he said was in Manhattan, and gave me a phone number (with a non-Manhattan 718 area code) to call to confirm the package would be there. I tried the phone number, which of course didn't work, then called the UPS operator again to try to figure out just where the package was. After arguing with her for five minutes, she finally noticed the ZIP code problem and sent a message to the other depot to check for my shipment. While I waited for a call back, I stopped at Barnes Noble, checked a map, and confirmed that in fact the address was in the Bronx. A half-hour later, after UPS actually did call me to confirm they had my package, I was in the south Bronx at another UPS depot. Thankfully, they had the box, which turned out to be small enough they could have just left it next to my mailbox at home in the first place. I share this story with my few readers as a reminder: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send any packages for me to my work address, not my home address. As a working man, I'm never home when FedEx, UPS, or the US Mail try to deliver packages. If you're sending me something you'd actually like me to receive, the office is the best place for me to get your valuables. E-mail me if you need my office address.
The weirdest thing so far about living the bachelor life is that I talk to myself all the time. I'm getting self-conscious about it now. I'd like to think that I'm talking to my cats and that they're listening, but I'm talking when they're not in the room, and even if they were, they're cats and so they're not listening to me anyway. I'll have to find some way to break myself of this habit, because I don't want my neighbors to think I'm the crazy guy who always talks to himself. Although this is New York, and there are plenty of people in this town who mutter, shout, or yammer on when no one is listening, so if I joined them it wouldn't be a problem.
I had a little adventure on Friday tracking down a UPS package that my friends in Pittsburgh had shipped to me before Christmas. I had tried to get the package re-routed to my office, but due to the strike or incompentence on UPS' part the re-routing never happened. However, the ZIP code in the tracking system did change, because last night the phone operator told me the package was at the UPS depot on West Houston Street. I went down there around lunchtime, but there was no package. The guy behind the counter told me to go to 180 Canal Place, which he said was in Manhattan, and gave me a phone number (with a non-Manhattan 718 area code) to call to confirm the package would be there. I tried the phone number, which of course didn't work, then called the UPS operator again to try to figure out just where the package was. After arguing with her for five minutes, she finally noticed the ZIP code problem and sent a message to the other depot to check for my shipment. While I waited for a call back, I stopped at Barnes Noble, checked a map, and confirmed that in fact the address was in the Bronx. A half-hour later, after UPS actually did call me to confirm they had my package, I was in the south Bronx at another UPS depot. Thankfully, they had the box, which turned out to be small enough they could have just left it next to my mailbox at home in the first place. I share this story with my few readers as a reminder: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send any packages for me to my work address, not my home address. As a working man, I'm never home when FedEx, UPS, or the US Mail try to deliver packages. If you're sending me something you'd actually like me to receive, the office is the best place for me to get your valuables. E-mail me if you need my office address.
The weirdest thing so far about living the bachelor life is that I talk to myself all the time. I'm getting self-conscious about it now. I'd like to think that I'm talking to my cats and that they're listening, but I'm talking when they're not in the room, and even if they were, they're cats and so they're not listening to me anyway. I'll have to find some way to break myself of this habit, because I don't want my neighbors to think I'm the crazy guy who always talks to himself. Although this is New York, and there are plenty of people in this town who mutter, shout, or yammer on when no one is listening, so if I joined them it wouldn't be a problem.
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