I'm in pain. Lots of pain. I've spent the last week packing and lugging hundreds of boxes up and down stairs. Almost half of those boxes are filled with books or CDs. And even though the moving company did load the boxes on (and off) the truck, the guys doing the lugging into my new house couldn't read, which led to most boxes being stuck in the wrong room--which I didn't figure out until they left. I didn't realize how much stuff we had, and I didn't realize how much it would hurt to move all that stuff on a week of four hours of sleep a night.

But hey, enough about me. Let's talk about my new digs instead.

I am now living inside the Beltway, in the belly of the beast. The fact that I'm less than a dozen blocks outside of the District proper in no way separates me from the hyperpolitical reality that is modern Washington. Indeed, my new home of Takoma Park, Mary., is often referred to as "The People's Republic of Takoma." Since I just moved from "The People's Republic of Durham," I feel right at home.

I've spoken to a few neighbors, and they seem nice. No one has harangued me about the wire-tapping nonsense or the war or any of that stuff. Hell, most of us are on the same page. In a neighborhood where the falling-down houses sell for more than $400,000, the priciest car I've seen is a Toyota Avalon. But I dunno. Are Honda minivans more expensive? In any case, I saw two Honda Civics of vintage similar to mine (1992). Mostly people drive VWs (Jettas and Passats) and Subarus. This sort of automotive divining may sound dubious, but it what it says is that these people who have the money to buy a more ostentatious car have chosen not to do so. Like I said, I drive a '92 Civic. I feel comfortable here.

And, you know, it's not just Beltway liberals who are mouthing off. We're all appalled by what's happening. My wife stopped by our lawyer's office in Durham to sign a few papers for our house sale and he joked, "I think the only option left is assassination. Except you've got to do Cheney before Bush."

I don't believe in making martyrs out of fools, but I can sympathize. And he's not the only one saying such things. When we were looking for housing a couple months ago, the folks renting out their houses were all leaving the country. All of them. Now some were foreign nationals whose D.C. posting was winding up. But most of them made some comment to the effect of "we're leaving for three years, and then we'll decide what we do."

Our own landlords are now in Kazakhstan, where one of them works for USAID (U.S. Agency for International Development), which is something akin to a professionalized Peace Corps. Except that USAID is run by the State Department, and thus is subject to the whims of the Secretary of State. Given this, it makes sense that our landlords did not make any political comments to us, though as they still own their house in The People's Republic of Takoma, there was no need.

Everyone we know in Durham is quite excited for us and our move. They didn't want us to go, of course, but folks who live in an activist neighborhood such as the one we lived in thrive on the brutal lashings of political discourse. Yes, it's frustrating to see all your views get trampled on in times like these, but it's really fun to go out and raise hell. In truth, it's more fun to raise hell than to run things. But that's for Hamas to figure out.

Relatives, on the other hand, have had mixed reactions. Some have been quite excited, and others have been, well, not. We heard a lot of "Why would you want to live there?" and a chorus of "That's not a safe place for kids, is it?" Really. I know how to keep my kids safe. And as for the first question, the simple reason is that I happen to enjoy talking to serious people about serious things--as long as there's beer involved. If I find that D.C. is a teetotaling town, I'm outta here!

Ah, but everyone drinks. Even the Prez, the most famous ex-drinker in the nation, has been rumored to be hitting the sauce now and again. And hell, why not? If all my ideas were turning to shit, I might think about an extra schnocker every now and again as well.

So we're here. In that place everyone loves to bash, but that is so desired by those bashing the hardest. It is the nation's capital and all. So how bad can it really be?

Jon Worley has a lot of unpacking to do.