the contractor got me up at the crack of dawn to go pick out a fridge. he's italian and fits all the stereotypes from the mile-a-minute mouth to the meatball and sausage gravy simmering at home ("that's-a spicy meatball!"). we got onto the i-95 with the rolling stones on the airwaves and the contractor talking nineteen-to-the-dozen about wayward family members, the philly mafia, and the fallen state of humankind. it was hazy over the schuylkill; that and the jet lag and the conversation combined to make everything seem extremely surreal. made a stop at the dump in north philly along the way. "welcome to the badlands", said the contractor, and proceeded to recount the time when a gang of thugs beat him half to death for his truck 15 years ago. ah, real life. "people here have no work ethic," the contractor explained. "they get up at 11, collect their welfare, down a handle, then go out and shoot each other up. fucking animals." i nodded in agreement, while trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in the passenger seat.

we were in and out of the dump in 10 minutes, then did a wawa stop for coffee, where the contractor proceeded to flirt with (i think) an old friend -- a busty woman resembling faye dunaway wearing cut-off everythings. i was starting to warm up to the situation by this point -- you may not be aware of my chameleonic nature -- and back on the highway it surprised me not at all to learn that the contractor

a) got someone pregnant when he was 16, and had to drop out of high school to get his GED because of it
b) dated governor rendell's sister and spent a month in nassau and a week in the best suite in the plaza hotel in manhattan
c) was in the navy for four years, and
d) shot a man in reno just to watch him die

well, not the last thing, but maybe. i countered with several made-up stories about myself (and some not-so-made up NS stories). we really do get along splendidly.

at the appliance shop, the contractor nearly got into a fistfight with a burly fellow who must have weighed at least 250 lbs, and who wanted him to "slow the fuck down" while coming down the driveway. the contractor counterargued that we were doing "fucking 5 miles per hour", which was not at all true, and things kind of took their course from there. i was totally in the game by now, and waltzed into the shop completely unconcerned while various insults were hurled back and forth, and had almost picked out the fridge by the time the dust had settled (stainless steel: 68.5" x 33" x 32").

it was almost noon. we got to ikea, and i broke myself in two hauling furniture around, after which i went to the other green line and found minz on msn and spent spent 5 hours revising my stupid paper .

the day ended with a very warm cocktail party at grace's (no central air) (minz: no parties! do more work! you can only leave for 1 hour!), where i was very, very good and did not have any irish car bombs, just a rather weird tasting whiskey sour mixed by kinjal, and talked to peter about lucid dreaming and met a few of the new incoming students, one of whom asked me if i had "any advice for first-years" (OMG). and then i went home, and clocked in with minz (2 hours 24 minutes), and stared at my tiff files wondering why in blazes i had made them in color when the instructions had explicitly told me not to.