I managed to get my gas and electricity switched on around noon, thus ending my long, semi-homeless saga since arriving in Ann Arbor. (Thanks to the kindness of an acquiaintence and his roommate, I at least had a roof over my head last night, gratis.) Now I’m dealing with accumulated spam email.

Free advice for those planning to move:

1. Pay someone else to do it for you.
2. Budget at least a week to pass out afterward.
3. If you decide not to spring for professionals, go back to #1.

All that said, I’m slowly but surely getting settled down here in Jackson, and getting back up to speed with current events and the like. Hopefully I’ll be back in the groove in no time.

A few friendly words of advice: if you’re moving, hire professionals.

More later Tuesday, I hope…

If your power goes out for 30 minutes, but for the first 20 minutes you only think it’s out in the context of a bizarre dream, as your brain hurriedly tries to establish some in-dream reason why you suddenly feel like you are on a visit to the swamps of Southeast Asia (which is basically what summer feels like in Mississippi), does that mean that really your power was only out for 10 minutes?

Inquiring minds want to know.

All it seems to do here is rain… I feel like I accidentally moved back to England or something. This also means the jackasses at Home Depot have rescheduled the installation for the trim around my front door (never mind that they are doing the work indoors), meaning another few days of me staring at bare doorframe in the living room.

If that weren’t annoying enough, the good folks at a certain Oxford bar (who otherwise have given me good service in the past, hence my lack of interest in casting aspersions on them publicly) managed to lose my debit card Friday night while they were holding it to secure my tab. One might suspect that the universe was conspiring against one’s efforts to have a social life, if one were the paranoid type. (One also drank a little too much beer and has been regretting it for the past two days.)

On the other hand, I do have a spiffy custom cap (well, actually a tam), gown, and hood on the way in plenty of time for the fall convocation, so there’s that at least.

If you’re suitably wealthy (to the tune of $16.00), you may now invest in a printed copy of my dissertation. Of course, you can still download it for free, but this gives you the option of obtaining it in convenient book form—and, I might add, at a price significantly cheaper than that charged by UMI, while still funneling several bucks into my pocket.

What can I say? I like seeing my name in print. Plus, the paranoid part of my brain likes seeing visual evidence that I actually have a job and that the whole thing isn’t a giant clerical error.

Since it’s Flag Day, it must also be my “half-birthday,” a useful modern invention for those of us with December birthdays who got cheated by fate out of a proper commemoration of our actual birthdays. (Interestingly enough, both of my parents and my first cousin also have December birthdays, and my birthday is exactly between my parents’ birthdays. Numerologists would have a field day with all this, of course.)

I signed a one-year lease today and paid a deposit on a nice apartment in an older building in the Belhaven neighborhood of Jackson. I’m pumped.

I spent Memorial Day afternoon at the funeral of my uncle, Bill Sides. Bill Sides was a World War II veteran, who served with the 236th Engineers in China, Burma, and India.

This was the first funeral I’ve been to with military honor guard. The graveside ceremony was simple but moving. One soldier, out of sight, played “Taps,” while two others folded the flag that was draped over the coffin into a right triangle with only the stars showing. Each of the three soldiers saluted the folded flag before presenting it to a family member.

The complex of meanings that this ceremony invokes surely differ from viewer to viewer, and I find it difficult to sum up in words what I felt on seeing it. Suffice it to say that the ceremony managed to honor at the same time both my uncle as an individual, and all America’s military veterans who have passed on.