I had planned to spend a couple evenings this week preparing some raw footage to send to Editor B, for him to chop and dice and post to the Web. Recently I've been trying to send him condensed raw footage, rather than the truly raw stuff, because oftentimes half of those first-gen raw tapes consist of recordings made when some dumbass (aka Bartender J) forgets to turn off the camera after taping something, or some dumbass (aka Bartender J) is too drunk to realize that what he's recording is just not interesting in the first place.
Anyway, this plan was completely sidetracked this week due to a small problem with large implications.
This problem had as its raw components:
1 queen-size bed, recently purchased
1 full-size bed, borrowed
1 narrow stairwell
1 dumbass (aka Bartender J)
Chronologically, the problem developed as follows:
Approximately two weeks ago, my wife (Day) purchased a queen-size bed, with partial funding from her mother, who has recently been sleeping at our house a lot. Because neither of them had the means to bring the bed home, that job was entrusted to me. Two days later, I went to the store and picked up the bed, which was securely tied (and double-tied) to the roof of my truck by a friendly warehouse guy with too much twine on his hands. I drove the bed home.
Upon reaching my house, I (with help from Day) moved the bed-frame and matress into the basement, through our narrow, steeply descending stairwell. But when it came time to move the box-springs, we discovered that no amount of wedging, shoving, or cursing would make the box-spring fit down the stairs.
So we placed the bed in my main-floor office, which was already crammed full with my computer desk, aquarium, drumset, piano, and stacks of books. This was seen, initially, as a temporary measure.
A few days later, through a complicated set of negotiations, the following plan was devised: we would lend the new bed to Day's brother, who lives about 20 miles away; and we would borrow a full-sized bed from one of Day's aunts.
Fortunately, we chose to carry out the latter task first: early this week, Day and I drove to her aunt's house and loaded the full-sized bed onto the roof of my truck. Once again, we tied it tight, drove home, and began unloading it — frame first, then mattress, then box-springs.
You know what I'm about to say, don't you?
The box springs once again wouldn't fit down the stairs. Now understand, I had pulled out a measuring tape prior to borrowing this bed, and had measured every dimension I could think of. It looked like the thing should have fit, easily. But due to the peculiar geometry of the stairwell, it just wouldn't go. In fact, it got so stuck that we nearly had to chop it into bits to get it back out of the stairwell.
So, on Monday night, an executive decision was made: we would abandon the bed-swap, and effect a complicated rearrangement of furnishings in our house, with the end result that my office will become our bedroom, Day's mom will move into our former bedroom, and the room that Day's mom had previously slept in will become my office.
That may not sound like a complicated project. But you haven't seen all the crap that we've accumulated over the years and stuffed into every corner and closet. Just clearing out the closet in my former-office-turned-bedroom will likely be an all-night job, maybe even a two-night process.
So this is why I haven't sent a tape to Editor B this week.
Maybe next week...unless we decide to clean the basement.
— posted by J on December 8th, 2004