Thanks to my friend Mark for showing me this awesome Wilco cover. Unlike the original, this works really well for good news.

I’ve been looking for a job in San Francisco very hard for the last couple months since I got up here. I’ve had nibbles, I’ve had bites.

And then, I had the events of the last week.

A few weeks ago, I’d applied for what sounded like a really ideal job at The Nerdery, a great, developer-driven, Minnesota-based company that’s aggressively expanding its Chicago office. Their website did an excellent job of making it sound like an absolutely ideal place to work. I had a first interview that I thought went very well, and I turned in a code sample I was pretty happy with.

I hadn’t heard from them before I left for Chicago, so I was a little disappointed, because the idea of moving back to Chicago to take such a great job had just seemed so perfect. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to move back until I was presented with the realistic possibility of doing so.

And then, after I dropped a check-in email to HR on Sunday, the chaos began.

I had my second interview with the Nerdery Monday morning, and loved it. They told me everything I wanted to hear, including that this page of raves from their employees was, in the experience of my interviewers, true. I left very, very excited about that prospect.

Apparently, that excitement set off some sort of alarm that only HR people can hear, because by the time Tuesday afternoon rolled around, I had booked three interviews with SF companies, had two, gotten a second rounder with one of those two and pulled a code sample out of my ass for that one, too.

Between the interviews, conversations with friends and family, and assorted negotiations I’ve done over the last few days (and maybe some yelling at the terrible Northwestern secondary Saturday night), my voice is completely shot. I slept about 10 hours out of 72.

Then the Nerdery’s offer hit my inbox.

I am very happy to announce that this morning I accepted a position as an Interactive Developer with the Nerdery’s Chicago office. I’ll be starting the week after Thanksgiving (when I’ll have to do a week of orientation at HQ in Minnesota).

I’ll be sad to leave San Francisco – This town has been exceptionally good to me in my short time here, and I’ve very much enjoyed my time in the city. I’m so glad I moved up here, even if it was for a short time, because it accelerated my learning in a way that I don’t believe would have been possible if I’d stayed in LA.

Moving up here absolutely put me in the mind frame and gave me the impetus to bring up my skill set far and fast enough that I was able to get this job, and for that, I can never thank San Francisco enough.

But Chicago is home. I may have grown up in DC, but I have never felt as home anywhere as I have in Chicago. The fact that I am jumping for joy to move there in the goddamn dead of winter after 8 years in California probably says something about how much I missed the place.

[By the way, Chicago folk: I will preemptively warn you that I will be whining about the cold this year. Next year, I'll have my tolerance for the cold back and I'll shut the fuck up, but please, spot me a winter.]

The logistics of all this are kind of nuts. The current plan is to leave SF on November 12, with my car towing a trailer full of my crap minus about 90% of my furniture, and my dad (who VERY generously offered to help with the driving so long as I didn’t make him miss his 75th birthday party, a concession I thought was entirely fair) and Chaplin keeping me company in the car.

We’re shooting to arrive in Chicago on November 16th, though that will change if the weather gets bad along the drive. Trying to find an apartment is already in motion — god, rent in Chicago is so delightfully cheap — and hopefully I’ll have that squared away before I show up.

I am exhausted. I am emotionally wrung out after the rollercoaster I’ve been on for the last week or so. I have so much insanity ahead of me.

But I am so, so happy about this job and this move.

I can’t just post a video for Via Chicago, because that would be way too easy. So instead, a fond audio farewell to California with an enjoyably random video.

So I’m moving to San Francisco on Sunday.

I’ve mentioned this on Facebook and Twitter, but I thought I’d elaborate a little bit here, since those venues are better for quick takes and updates on the travails of moving and selling all my shit rather than longer explanations. And this is a fairly long explanation.

I moved out to L.A. for one reason: To work in the entertainment industry. I never really had much desire to live in L.A., I have still never learned how to surf, and I wasn’t excited by the prospect of being around the stars.

Originally, I wanted to be a sound engineer. I had the incredibly stupid timing to move out here shortly after all the sound houses hired their fall interns, so I went looking for other stuff that sounded fun.

I came across an internship at this brand new talk show, only on the air six weeks at the time. I came in to talk to the guy doing the hiring, and due to my eagerness to work five days a week for free, I was hired.

I wound up staying there for two years (and am still friends with many, many people I worked with there), and it brought me into the world of Television production, which I enjoyed way more than I ever thought I would. I was always more of a fiddler in college, I never really was in the “Let’s put on a show!” crowd.

But TV handed me all sorts of crazy challenges, ones I really enjoyed. And those challenges grew progressively harder…for a while. I hit a brick wall with my career around the time that SAG was threatening to go on strike in mid-2009, and I was unemployed for 11 months.

During that period, I took a long, hard look at what I was doing with my life. I have always told people if you don’t really, really love making movies or TV, this business is not worth the bullshit it puts you through. And I came to realize, maybe I didn’t really love it so much anymore.

I started tinkering more deeply with computers, something I’d always done as a hobby, and discovered that I still dropped into a K-Hole whenever I coded, and the deeper I got, the more fun it became. I finally broke down and got an iPhone, and I became really intrigued by the possibilities of what it could do.

I did some research into what it would take to become a coder, and realized that the shortest distance between two points would be working in Mobile – the demand was incredibly high, and while there was a fairly steep learning curve, especially with the iPhone, there was a surprisingly large amount you could do before you got into the super-complicated aspects of everything.

I thought, man, maybe I should go back to school and learn how to do that instead.

This was reinforced when my unemployment streak was snapped by two consecutive pilots – one with a ridiculously tiny budget and one with a ridiculously huge budget. The low-budget one was actually kind of a fun challenge, as everyone was really teaming together to work on a project they believed in (which of course did not get picked up).

The high-budget pilot was…a train wreck. The stories from this one are legendary, but suffice to say that I had the exact thought “I would rather be learning calculus than doing this” more than once on that pilot. That’s when I knew I was definitely done. I even turned down a job that would have been six solid months of work because I realized I just needed to get on with my life.

Going back to school (and actually learning calculus) has come with its own challenges, but it’s been really fun. I competed with kids who were half my age and kept up a hell of a lot better than I could have when I was actually their age, because this time I actually gave a shit.

Things seemed to be at least starting to go in the right direction. I got a totally awesome roommate in the bargain when I moved to be closer to the UCLA campus. I got to see what LA was like when you’re not regularly working from 9am to 11pm. I got to have at least a little bit of a life.

But as much as changing careers has been really helpful, I’ve had a nagging feeling that I didn’t change enough. Still being in LA, still having most of my friends working in the entertainment industry…I’ve still felt stuck.

And the things that previously annoyed me about L.A. itself have become like fingernails on a chalkboard now that I’m not distracted by either a) working 14 hour days or b) being so broke I never left the house.

I’ve particularly been irritated by the city’s epic sprawl, which contributes to another major irritation: It takes a level of planning roughly on par with the Normandy invasion to get more than four people to do anything together.

Visiting Chicago back in April, I remembered what it’s like to be in a city with functional public transportation. Even though most of my friends in Chicago are married and many have kids, it was still trivial to be able to go see all of them without a car.

In fact, for a while, I strongly considered moving back to Chicago. A few things stopped me – the size of the tech industry is similar to LA’s: Good, not great. I could have that professional environment with out the expense and general pain in the ass of moving cross-country with my insane cat.

I think another thing that stopped me is a feeling that if I were to move back to Chicago at this point in my career, it would mean giving up. While I recognize it would not be quite that and that I would eventually love to be back there,  I want to come back as a success, not a fledgeling. And if you want to become a success in the tech industry, you need to spend some time in San Francisco.

The fact of the matter is, San Francisco is a great (if obscenely expensive) city. The tech community there is second to none, and I know I could be learning so much more there just by interacting with members of that community.

Every single person I have met there has been incredibly welcoming, and when I tell people I’m thinking about moving up there, the response is unanimously, “Do it.” Well, occasionally it’s “If you can afford it, do it.” But the message is the same.

So I’m mashing the TURN UPSIDE DOWN button on my life one more time. I’ve gotten rid of most of my furniture, I’ll be moving into a great neighborhood in San Francisco where I’m renting a room from a nice queer couple, and learning what does and does not go in the compost bin.

And hopefully, I’m going to end up doing something for a living that I really enjoy. I’ll probably be working independently for a while (hey, did you hear my first app got approved for the iOS App Store and is available both there and on Android Market?), and then hopefully moving on to a bigger team where I’ll be able to learn and do more than I’m able to do as a one-man-band.

But it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me. And I’m feelin’ good.

Do not try to move, relearn trigonometry, and begin to learn calculus in the space of two weeks (not necessarily in that order).

You are just asking for trouble.

Six years ago tomorrow, I was driving a rented Budget 15-foot truck across Illinois, Iowa, and Nebraska. My co-worker/building mate Jen, who was also moving to LA and whose stuff occupied half the truck, drove her brand new Mitsubishi convertible along with me.

We’d left Chicago at 6 in the morning to avoid the rush hour traffic, and we were making pretty good time. All those states being relatively flat, the truck could go about 75 or 80, and Jen could take her car out a couple miles at ridiculous speeds, then slow down and wait for me to catch up.

We had a set of little walkie talkies we could use to communicate with each other over a distance of about four miles, and we’d use them to try and time food, gas, and bathroom breaks.

We actually made it all the way across Nebraska. We’d started so early and the sun stayed up so late that even when we got to our “It would be great if we got to…” point of Sidney, Nebraska, we decided to go on to the next exit at Kimball, putting us spitting distance from Wyoming.

When we got to Kimball, I went to call my anal-retentive parents and let them know we’d arrived in one piece, and I couldn’t get my mom, who was in D.C., on the phone because the circuits were overloaded.

I can’t remember if we just happened to turn on the TV or if my dad told us about it when I called him in Atlanta, but that’s when we found out what was happening on most of the East Coast that day: A fucking gigantic blackout.

I don’t remember why I wasn’t listening to the radio – something in the back of my mind tells me I’d managed to hook some speakers up to a portable CD player, this being the dark ages before I had an iPod, but long after I’d given up finding any radio worth listening to on cross-country drives.

I did somehow manage to get a blog post up that night, maybe off the hotel’s computer, but it sheds little light on what the hell happened, and it raises the question of what election I’m talking about, because I have absolutely no idea.

It’s weird to me to see pictures of it now, because I was so wrapped up in the process of moving that I really don’t remember that story the way I do most big news stories. I was detached from the internet and the news, detached from the world in a way I rarely am anymore, and certainly wouldn’t be if I were making the same move today.

I was reminded of the date by a website that linked to someone’s tweet about their blog post about the blackout, and went down a minor internet rabbit hole remembering, and often learning, what happened that day.

The company I used to work for (not the show itself, but the much smaller company that technically employed me) has hired me for the week to clean out their old offices, which were basically unused by more than one person for over two years.

They’re selling much of the old furniture to the incoming tenants, but they’ve decided not to store any of the remnants, so they’re giving away what they couldn’t convince the new kids to take.

I scored a very nice lamp, which will now bring light to my attempts to read on the couch, and a great overstuffed chair that conveniently matches the color of the couch.

There’s only one minor issue: The chair has been sat upon by two dogs in the fairly recent past, a pug belonging to my former employers and a husky/Aussie shephard mix belonging to another employee.

This was slightly concerning, since I know Chaplin doesn’t get along very well with other animals (this is a large part of why I have him in the first place: while he’s a sweet kitty on his own, he didn’t get along with his previous owner’s other pets).

After I dragged the chair into my apartment this evening, Chaplin flipped a bit, sniffing and scratching and scratching and sniffing at it, and seemingly generally concerned.

At least he was until he decided to bury himself in the chair, working his own little groove into the seat. It’ll be covered in cat hair in no time.

And that’s when I’ll know that the chair is definitely mine, since the defining characteristic of about 90% of what I own is that it’s covered in cat hair.

Here’s how bored I am right now: I cleaned. And not just “sprayed some Lysol over the bathroom” cleaned. Like, threw out tons of shit I don’t need anymore.

You know how, when you move, there’s always a few boxes that never actually get unpacked until you move again, and you wonder, what’s in here that is actually worth moving?

I unpacked those two boxes today. Turns out the answer was: not much.

I also went through my magazine and newspaper collection and threw out anything that wasn’t of legitimate historical value, meaning about 95% of the batch is now in the dumpster.

Let me back up for a second: I’ve had several boxes of old magazines that I kept around for years (as in, the oldest one I found was the issue of Newsweek right after the ’95 Oklahoma City bombing).

I’ve dragged these boxes all over the country, since my mother moved out of the house I grew up in and into a much smaller condo, depriving me of much-needed storage space.

I started hanging onto this stuff after my dad showed me a newspaper he’d kept from the day Kennedy was shot, something I found really fascinating. I wanted to save similar stuff for the future.

But I went a little overboard: I saved dozens of issues of Guitar World, Rolling Stone, and other magazines that really are of no use to anyone. I saved every Oscar issue of Entertainment Weekly. I saved everything even moderately historic from Newsweek.

I’d long considered selling the collection on eBay, but when I went to look online today at what I might actually get for some of these magazines (answer: very little to nothing), I decided to just pitch them.

So I went through, saving a very few truly historical items, but otherwise pitching everything. I threw out four bankers’ boxes worth of crap.

What’s funny is that when I checked my email after doing that, there was email from my dad, who’d been looking for my Social Security card. He didn’t find it, but he did find a massive pile of other stuff, including correspondence from summer camp, report cards from elementary school, and various other pack-rat items.

At least I know where the hoarding instinct comes from.

After that, I went through the aforementioned drag-around boxes, digging up dozens of documents that needed to be shredded, and a whole lot of trash.

I wound up with so much stuff to shred that two things happened: First, my shredder overheated badly enough to be unusable for about an hour. Second, I filled a medium-sized moving box completely with the shredded remains of all that paper.

My bedroom is now almost disturbingly clean, and my cat is really, really confused, since all his hiding places are gone. I’ve kicked up enough dust to be sneezing like a madwoman, but it’s nice to feel like I’ve actually made progress on something.

Tomorrow, I’m attacking the living room. I expect to finish filling the dumpster sometime in the next couple of weeks.

Not only interwebs, but the return of SPECTACULAR HD to the Gigantic Damn Television, on which I am currently watching Oregon stomp Michigan, and laaaaaaaaughing and laughing.

The only problem is that I think I am going to need a bionic left foot. Anyone have a spare?

I will be moving downstairs all day tomorrow. I had a hell of a long day and only moved shit for an hour tonight, and I’m already wiped out.

I swear to god, when I am done with this move, I’m not moving out of this new place for at least four years or I buy a condo, whichever comes first (which will heavily depend on how the SoCal housing slide and my rise to the upper echelons of Hollywood coincide).

Next post will be whenever I manage to get internet up and running in my new place. Cross your fingers for me that Time Warner Cable actually shows up sometime roughly in their 1-3 appointment range tomorrow.

Moving brings out the big old butch lesbian in me. I mean, not that she had far to come, but for just two examples:

Spackle. I bought spackle. I love spackle. I love the word spackle. I love saying and typing the word spackle. Spackle spackle spackle.

I even love spackling all the holes I’ve placed in the wall, which there are WAY more of than I realized. I guess that’s what framing all your posters and hanging both your guitars and your TV on the wall will do.

Power tools. I get to use my drill to take everything down! With all the spackling I have to do, I now have a legit excuse to buy a power sander! A small one, but still! Power sanding!

It’s a good thing I already packed all my flannel away, or I’d really be a hideous stereotype. At this rate, the haircut I so desperately need will be a mullet.

You would think that moving from one apartment to another in the same building would be easier than doing a full-on move.

Unfortunately, as I’ve realized as I prepare to move downstairs to get out of the abominable heat of my current apartment, this is clearly not the case.

You still have to do 90% of the work: Pack everything in boxes, file change of addresses with eight billion companies, move all your utilities.

About the only things you don’t have to do are 1) rent a truck and 2) scrape together the money for another security deposit.

Damnation.