
West Ribs: Toronto, 8 June 2009, 6AM
Into a home stretch of a different sort — packing up my old home, 8/23 of my time in Toronto (most of it spent downtown) — and preparing for my new home on the west coast, in Vancouver’s overly-yuppified Yaletown. Cripes, I hate packing to move.
Soundtrack: Peter Gabriel’s Passion soundtrack.







Good luck with the move. Though I hope you are ready to give up tanning. From what I hear about the Pacific Northwest it’s all about the rain.
I love moving. I love packing to move. When last we moved I packed up everything in boxes and put color-coded dots on them that indicated how heavy each one was (not all friends are equally strong). With the help of four friends we moved everything we owned across town in an hour. Get you some colored dots – instant fun! [Yellow = light; orange = moderately heavy; red = heavy; two reds = two-man job.] No, I am not a Virgo.
Fortunately slaves have been hired for the purpose of lugging, Rick. The packing, however, is my duty, and one which decreases in appeal with each passing box.