Binge and Purge

Due to my upcoming move, I am forced to dramatically scale back my possessions. I am smack in the middle of this process right now.

Let's talk about craigslist. Who buys other people's junk? For real, who are these people? I say this expecting full well that this will be me once I arrive in NYC. Also, I know the answer: a dude named Mark who works for ClearChannel (a.k.a. the devil), a mormon financial planner who modifies Toyota Supras in his spare time, a dude who has his secretary handle the transaction, a chiropracter (also named Mark), and my friend Cat. With this limited sample, I conclude that the average craigslist buyer is male, professional, and named Mark.

Thanks to craigslist, I am minus three sets of speakers, a stereo, a cordless drill, and a set of golf clubs. Next on the hitlist is the guitar.

I am preparing approximately three hundred pounds of books for their exit from my apartment. If you happen to have any old textbooks lying around, I would recommend blue rectangle. They are going to take half a dozen textbooks off my hands and give me approximately five dollars per. I find that remarkable considering they pay for shipping and each of these books is at least six years old. The remainder of my collection, with very few exceptions, will be dropped off at the public library.

This exercise of purging my worldly possessions is ... pleasant. I think that's the best word to describe it, pleasant with a twinge of je ne sais pas. When you live somewhere for five years, intertia is inevidable. For me, I have even been in the same apartment for five years. Making the mental decision to leave Salt Lake City was the necessary first step. Parting with the possessions seems to be an excellent second step. Intertia being a function of mass, reducing stuff equals reducing mass yielding less intertia. In other words, all I have to do is haul off my three hundred pounds of books and in return I feel a marvelous sense of freedom. First tangible step to New York: done.

So much to do

Since I've told both of my potential readers this information personally, I am now going to spell it out for the rest of you: I have decided to pick up shop and move to New York City. My friend E. has already posted a foreboding beware of new york piece about my apparently ill-conceived plans.

At the risk of repeating what I have now told about thirty friends, I will delve into the details of this one hundred eighty degree life turn.

I have been in Utah for over five years now. My first year in Utah was quite notable. Let's go straight to the list:

• Box containing family heirloom Christmas ornaments stolen from my doorstep.
• Credit card number stolen plus subsequent fraudulent use of said number.
• The division of the company I moved here to work for was decimated.
• Two further sets of layoffs at work sent twelve months worth of friends packing.
• Carjacked at gunpoint.
• Subsequent insurance squabble caused temporary, but ugly rift in relationship with stepdad.
• Failed relationship with girl who never considered herself in a relationship with me.

One might say that from the beginning, there were some difficulties that may have affected my attitude towards Utah. But for five plus years I have stuck with it. When I chose to move to Utah, not in my wildest dreams did I imagine being here for over five years. I thought it would be a two years and out kind of situation. And the only reason I thought I would stay that long was to break even on the condo I bought!

So five years later, I have made friends. I have learned to drink socially. I play frisbee; competitively even. I am working for company number two. I have a cat. I have bought furniture. I have traveled around the mountain west. The thing about it is that I have, by many measures, succeeded. BUT, I'm still single. I'm still young. And I still do not consider myself a Utahan. So I have realized that if I do not leave Utah, I will always be here.

The thought process leading to this decision has been greased substantially by the continuing antics at fly-by-night co. I have become open to other possibilities. My recent trip to New York provided me with an excellent alternative to Salt Lake City. It was a place that clicked with me. I have not yet put my finger on the one thing that makes New York click. I believe there is one thing though. According to E., it might be the 3.2 to 1 F/M ratio. That may be it. Don't know. More on that later, I suppose. The point is that I found a reasonable alternative to Salt Lake City.

I turned down two jobs yesterday. I did this without hesitation and without regret. I did not like having to let my friend C. down because I was the guy he needed, but nonetheless, it was clearly the right thing to do. From a personal economic perspective, totally bogus. From a "wow I really do want to get the fuck out of here" perspective though, oh yeah, it was good.

What lies in front of me right now is a list of tasks that just keeps getting longer. I have about seven thousand one-hour tasks to take care of before I get on my way to NYC. My goal is to be out of Salt Lake by the end of October. I should be reading the real estate contract I have to sign or thinning out my wardrobe, but instead I'm writing this. I know what you are thinking: if he's so gung-ho about moving, why is he wasting his time blogging about it? To preserve my sanity, of course. Today I got an inkling such that I now understand what an anxiety attack is. I think I'm going to be able to manage all the excitement, but there was a moment today where I got a taste of crushing, overwhelming stress. At the time, I was looking into options for transporting Mr Orange to Ohio.

Okay, back to the grind for me. No rest for the wicked (or something like that).

Narrow Escape

Holy crap. Today it happened. A full nine weeks into the fiasco, the money is flowing again. The president of fly-by-night, acting nearly single-handedly with unfettered stubbornness and irrefutable savvy, was able to convince some poor saps that this flaming zeppelin could be saved if only doused with dollar bills -- millions and millions of dollar bills. Today I got a paycheck. Not the whole shebang, just one hand-signed note. I'm not sure whether to deposit it or frame it for posterity. Okay, I'm probably going to cash it, but still... I mean, this is unprecedented. It is almost as if the company making that god-awful movie yielded some positive karma that is now enabling this climatic Hollywood-style cliffhanger to have this positive conclusion.

Of course, in the movies, after the emotional release following the life or death moment, there is often a following ill-event that comes swiftly and without notice. I have learned a new bit of business jargon recently: cramdown. This is when the creditors or investors have loose their shirts because the value of the company is arbitrarily reduced, or crammed down. Apparently this technique was used to push early investors out of their previous equity positions to allow new investors to gain the lion-share of the company's equity. So, in this post life or death moment, the hammer may drop in the form of some seriously pissed-off investors filing lawsuits against the company. Either that, or the blow will come when one day in the very near future a certain engineer who was one of the remaining four drops the bombshell that he is moving on to another venue.

The New York Post

I'm back. My first trip to New York City is now over. The withdrawal symptoms have already kicked-in.

I loved New York. As promised, it was dirty, smelly, crowded, hot, and loud. But it was none of those things to the degree I anticipated, nor to a degree that I could not tolerate. In fact, the grungy reality of New York brought a welcome contrast to the vanilla perfection that abounds in Salt Lake City. I found myself feeling more at home in New York than I ever have in Utah.

It was not just the environment of the city though, the people were different. That is really the understatement of the year. In Utah, there are two kinds of people: Mormons and non-Mormons. Everyone fits into one of these groupings. In New York, it seems, there are as many kinds of people as there are people. Maybe it is just because I want it to be this way, but it appeared that everyone in New York had an actual personality of their own. Would it be too much to say that there were real people in New York? Hmmm, that makes a strong implication against a certain demographic of Utah.

Another property of the city that I found fantastic was the smallness of it. The subways really are magic. Swipe card, enter train, get jostled for a few minutes, and shazam, you are in a totally different place. I found the whole process of going underground, shielded from a number of normal sensory cues, and then returning to the surface amongst new surroundings wonderful. It is probably pretty lame for me, as a tourist, to write about the subway at all, but dammit, I just can't get over the magic of it. This is the number one advantage of high population density, in my opinion; the opportunity for effective public transportation.

My friend, E., acted as a fabulous host for the whole weekend. Despite her lingering illness, she showed me places and introduced me to people that other outsiders would never get to see. That generosity was critical to my favorable opinion of New York. Had E. not put me on the inside track, I might have thought New York a place full of Asian tourists wearing Ohio State and Yankee hats and taking enough photos to meet and then exceed any existing stereotypes. Instead I met a Pulitzer winner, a world class chef, a journalists, Ph.D.s, and even a couple other computer geeks. This insider tour made New York a real place for me, not just a big place with a lot of action like Las Vegas or Los Angeles.

I mentioned withdrawal symptoms. New York has been on my mind pretty constantly since I returned two days ago. I am trying to flush my mind by writing so that I can concentrate on the job interview I have later today. Hopefully it works, otherwise I might not be able to dance for them. Other symptoms of New York withdrawal include not sweating prufusely and restlessness.

New York is the first city outside of Ohio where I felt like I could be at home. Let's enumerate places I've been that I've considered living: San Francisco, L.A., San Diego, Sacramento, Phoenix, Tuscon, Las Vegas, Ann Arbor, Madison, Tampa, Miami, and Boston. Even Salt Lake City has never fallen into the "places I feel at home" category. That, of course, is part of the reason I chose to live here, but it is also the reason that Salt Lake is wearing thin on me. A city like New York appeals to the aspiring cosmopolitan in me. Where better might I fit than a place where nobody is a perfect fit. Plus E. tells me that single, straight men are in short supply; that appeals to the economist in me. Who am I to deny the demand of my supply?

Did I mention the food? Even the cheap, non-exciting food was fabulous. I'm running out of steam, so let me just mention my favorite delicacy. Tomatoes. Specifically, heirloom tomatoes garnished with, I believe, just some basil and oil. Simple but fantastic. Who knew that would be it? Other top contenders include the cheese and egg sandwich which apparently is a New York staple and a delicious shepherd's pie.

That's all I have to say about New York right now.

Desensitol

This has been a long time coming. I have been suffering from a condition that severely impacts my ability to meet and initiate romantic relationships with women. A recent "date" that was effectively over five seconds into it has acutely reminded me that I have a serious problem. Recently, I realized that there may be a medical answer to this problem. Let us review this open letter to the pharmaceutical companies of the world...

Dear pharmaceutical companies,

Please develop an anti-infatuation drug. There is an ever growing group of men such as myself who share a similar disorder: inability to control the hormonal imbalance that is infatuation. This lack of hormonal control yields a crippling inability to begin a relationship with someone that we actually like. Upon meeting a potential romantic interest, those with my condition feel obliged to smile a lot, gush, want to hold hands, and, worst of all, want to tell this other person our feelings about them. These behaviours, especially the last, are well known to destroy relationships before they start.

Empirical evidence shows that men who consistently have a suave sense of disinterest toward women, or at least are able to put up such a front, are far more likely to actually get women. A drug that mitigated the extreme hormonal imbalance that characterizes my initial interactions with women would enable well-meaning men such as myself to put up that front of not caring which is so obviously attractive.

Men such as myself are desperate for an answer. We are unwilling to actually dislike women. Additionally, our moral dignity does not allow us to employ some apparently necessary tactics of "the game" including not returning phone calls, being aloof, and generally poking at foundations of a woman's self-esteem. We have tried reading books. We have tried practicing the tactics in front of the bathroom mirror. Futile efforts for sure. The only avenue left is chemical. There must be an answer. Men such as myself all over the world beseech you, find the answer and you will be rewarded.

The drug should be called desensitol and should be made available in an over-the-counter form. If one pill twice a day could help men such as myself to not foolishly show our hands, no price would be too high. Whomever makes it to market first will make billions.

Sincerely,
Emotions On Sleeve

[Updated 9/19 with wording that is less likely to be interpreted as derisive to women. Ironically, caring enough to make this change is, of course, the problem.]

New Clarity

Tomorrow I depart for New York City. I am traveling there to visit my friend E. and generally to experience the city since I've never been before. The game plan for the trip is loose, but there will undoubtedly be some sight seeing and patronizing local eating and drinking establishments.

Here's the jag. My friend L. lives a short train ride away in New Jersey. I have an ex gf M. who at last check lives in Brooklyn. E. also lives in Brooklyn. I found out recently from my college friend R. that she is going to be in New York this weekend. Well that's all fine and good, except that the other day I was speaking to A., who lives in California, and she too is going to be in New York this weekend. For those keeping score, that's two exes and three friends; all female.

Several inferences may be drawn from this information:

1) My exes are equally drawn to New York as they are to Maine.

2) I am an idiot for living in Salt Lake City because in New York I can get a 5/1 female to male ratio without even trying.

3) There is a divine plan to wreck my weekend by having unexpected encounters with exes at inopportune times.

4) I'm a lucky guy because I get to see my friends E., L., and maybe R.

To preserve my sanity, I choose number four. I did have a choice, right?

The circumstances leading up to this trip have been ... strange. And I have been on a personal roller coaster of sorts along the way also. I am realizing just how much growing up I've had to do in the last month and a half. It hurts a little bit. It has stung at times. There is even an uneasiness that is most similar to the way I feel after having been on a boat for several hours. But through the veil of all these ill feelings, I am beginning to see some light. I'm more of a man today than yesterday -- more of a participant in the world. And I have more clarity in my outlook on life. This has been a long time coming and I'm glad it's here. It may be one of those Chopra books kicking in.

Note to self: stretch and grow more often; it feels good.

WTF am I doing?

Well I'm in a bit of a stupor. As of late, my days have been filled with activities which I normally do not participate. The infamous employer has still not delivered any of the increasingly massive amount of back pay owed. Because of this situation, I was led to do my first foreign activity: writing my resume.

When I was courted by Fly-by-night, Inc., no resume was ever requested. "Courting" gives the process too much credit. What really happened was that J. invited me to come along with him to meet some people at this company because the needle of his bullshit-o-meter was buried and he wanted some validation from a trusted third-party (me). So I arrived, I met some people, and before I knew it I found myself in the middle of a token interview followed shortly by a job offer from one of the execs where the exec told me that he didn't negotiate salary and that I should just tell him my price. Did I mention they are out of money?

The point here is that I was not even looking for a job; the last time I composed a resume was in the college era. So last week I found myself piecing together the two page description of my professional value that is my resume. I dreaded beginning this process. However, once I got started, I found it fairly easy to put the resume together. A big part of this is that I have to be much less creative with the resume than when I was in college. Back then I was still including the driveway sealing job and probably the dishwasher job. These days, I have more material than I can fit on a couple sheets of eight and a half by eleven. But the real grease for the process was my sheer apathy. At this point in my life, I am so not excited about working for the man again that, frankly, I just did not give a shit about what was on my resume. Ironically, this resume born of apathy is a succinct, valid, and generally good representation of my professional self. Go figure.

Activity number two that I have been participating in is driving around on the highway in the middle of the day. I have been coming and going from the office when I damn well please for my entire career, but what is different now is that I do not care to stay in the office very long. This has put me on I-15 before four o'clock a number of times. So, yeah, it's still just the highway, but I have this lovely feeling like I'm playing hooky and that's kinda neat.

I have also been working from home. Previously, as a general rule, I did not work from home. I did not like working from home and I did not like mixing at-work time with not-at-work time. Because of my new venture, I cannot avoid working from home. I am finding that I was right all along and that I do not prefer working from home. I am also reminded at how annoyingly loving my cat can be. At nearly all times while in my home office, the O-man is pestering me in one way or another. The cat is cuter than sin, but I find myself tossing him on a regular basis when he walks in front of my monitor. What would PETA say?

I am actively reinforcing the professional network. I have been in touch with just about everyone that I used to work with around the valley. I find myself asking everyone I know if they know about any jobs or preferably contract work. The last two nights I've had dinner with two different buddies and former coworkers. I have had the good word put in for me at a couple of places and I've already netted an interview because of this. One might think this networking activity to be soul-sucking or otherwise distasteful. On the contrary, everyone I talk to is either in the same boat or has been in the same boat. We are all seasoned veterans of the computer industry. Because of this shared experience, there seems to be a strong sense of camaraderie that I did not exactly expect. Maybe if the job market was not so plentiful the attitude would be more cutthroat, but at this moment it's one big happy circle-jerk.

Conclusions from all of this? I have yet to get into a groove with managing all this unaccounted time. I have a dozen different possible activities at all times and I find myself switching between each of them quite rapidly. I am a poor multitasker, so I am feeling horribly unproductive. Today as I was trying to remember who I was supposed to meet for dinner and where, I felt for the first time that I understood why someone would want to carry around a goofy-ass PDA.

Oh, and the stupor comes into play because I find myself constantly having to think about what I should be doing at any given moment. This constant questioning of my direction, both in the immediate-term and the long-term, leaves me in a confused, pensive state. I'm sure if I looked in a mirror I would have a WTF look on my face. WTF am I doing?

Who are those kids?

Today I got an email from the bro with a couple random pictures from our childhood. I am posting them here for posterity. I'm not going to say exactly which one I am, but I will say that I'm the one who doesn't look like a girl.

I wish I had more context for these photos. It looks like me and the bro are probably two and three, respectively. That puts the photo being taken circa 1981. We are, of course, in Ohio. Almost certainly in Fremont. And it would not suprise me if they were taken on my mom's family property.

Another thing to note about these pictures is that I look happy in both of them. This is interesting because as a general rule, I was not happy as a child. These photos were taken before I was self-aware (which happened at about 3 years old). I must have been blissful in my ignorance of my surroundings; or maybe this was before my parents got divorced. I'm glad I was happy, but I'm more glad that I don't have to go back there.

Not Dead Yet

When last we left our heroes, Fly-by-night Inc. was in a tremendous nosedive. Would they manage to pull out of it, rising to the occasion against all odds to right what was wrong and seize victory from the arms of defeat thereby taking us to the promise land? Or would apathy and gross incompetence prevail, sending the accelerating fireball crashing to its explosive and ultimate doom?

Somewhere in between.

Today was the previously announced drop-dead date for the company. If the magic money from the magic investors did not arrive by today, the doors were supposed to be closed and those of us remaining would be sent packing. Sure enough, the money did not arrive. However, we were not sent packing. The apathy seems to be not quite rampant enough. Don't get me wrong here -- us wily engineers stopped working earlier this week, but our hapless leaders are still trying to work deals that will keep the company alive.

I cleared out my office.

This situation offers an interesting risk-reward proposition. If I continue remain employed and show up at the office semi-regularly, the back pay will continue to accrue. I do not have to do any work, mind you, just show up. One might claim this to be grossly unprofessional and generally a slimy thing to do. I though that for a moment also. However, what the company really needs is not to have the product further developed; no, what is needed are human props for when they bring potential investors through the office and try to say with a straight face "oh yeah, you should give us millions of dollars -- we're a sure thing!" They have to have butts in the seats and something resembling computer code on the screen. So what will I be doing, you ask? I will be doing two things. Number one, I will be trying to find someone to pay me to do something. The big number two is that I will be working for my company -- you know, the one I started with J. Thanks, Fly-by-night, for sponsoring my new business. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!


So that's the upside. The downside is that it is very likely that all this back pay being accrued will never be paid. I've got a bead on a couple contract opportunities to hedge my bet. If I don't land one of those bye bye house of sausage, hello top ramen.

My mood about all of this has oscillated wildly from shitting-my-pants-scared to giddy-with-excitement. Period of oscillation: ten minutes. At this minute, the needle points to pleased-that-everyday-will-be-like-the-weekend-for-the-foreseeable-future. I'm sure that at about 5 a.m. it will be where it has been for the last week solid: get-out-of-bed-[fucker]-and-work-or-you-will-starve.

No pressure though.

Back From Ohio

Today was my first full day back from my Labor Day adventure to Ohio, the buckeye state. Final analysis: good trip. Disclaimer: if you read on, you will find only pedestrian details of my trip; expect nothing profound.

I flew in late Friday night and on Saturday a.m. my brother, myself, Uncle T., and cousin N. trucked it down to Columbus for Ohio State's season opener. Unfortunately, picking up the uncle and cousin caused a relatively large delay in my arrival to Columbus and thus affected my meeting-up-with-friends timetable. That led to wholly unsatisfyingly short encounters with my old-old-old friend M. and my college buddy A. Since 90% of my reason for going to the game was to meet up with these friends, I was annoyed. Every time I go home, I end up feeling trapped and helpless in one way or another. Baff, I guess my judgement on A.'s not-so-new-anymore boyfriend will have to be deferred another year or so.

Upon return to my brother's homestead late Saturday, I was reminded of a key aspect of the Ohio lifestyle I left behind so many years ago: watching Sportscenter. I've come to believe that watching Sportscenter is a gigantic crutch for lack of the stamina or will or ability to engage in prolonged conversation. Television, in general, acts as this crutch, but my brother's particular flavor of choice is tuning into sports. My sister-in-law made the profound assertion that she hates football season. This is because my brother basically ignores her from Thursday through Monday throughout the five month football season. My brother is the kind of guy who will watch Sportscenter over and over; seeing the same highlights each time. Why is this? Clearly he's hiding from life. I like football. I watch football. My brother uses it as a mechanism to hide from life. For five months out of the year, he's got a really solid excuse (in his mind) for not doing a damn thing all weekend and especially not having a meaningful conversation.

On Sunday, I made it over to my parent's house for the first time. They, of course, use Fox News and professional golf as their social shield. My mom was very upset this weekend because the next door neighbor filled in the ravine behind their house with a hundred or so trucks of dirt. This was actually relevant enough to my mom that she spoke to me about it outside the confines of the TV room. It was a good visit.

Monday was fishing day. Because of the hurricane residuals affecting the area, there was much doubt about the go, no-go status of the trip. In the end, we decided to brave the elements and fish. Okay, there were actually no elements to brave; the weather was quite fair, but apparently the fifteen foot waves the lake experienced on the prior three days left doubt about the quality of fishing ahead of us. That question was answered quickly. The six of us caught the legal maximum number of perch over the course of about four hours. I thought I was doing pretty well in Key West when I caught two fish and didn't throw up for the first two hours. Here we caught two-hundred forty between the six of us and I didn't even get queasy. Good times. My younger brothers were even mostly sane and human on this trip; except for when G. dropped his pole in the water where it promptly sank to the bottom of the lake -- that was classic. Fortunately, G. later successfully threw a bass at a seagull thereby redeeming himself.

I'd be remiss if I did not mention the nephew. Holy crap is he cool. At age one, he handles his own food, he can walk, he laughs at silly things, and, most importantly, he does not abuse the crying card. I find it absolutely amazing that a healthy living being sprang from my brother's spooge and my sister-in-law's uterus. Absolutely bonkers. I thought about being preoccupied with my job stress or my new company, but it became pretty obvious to me that hangin' with the nephew was a tremendously precious opportunity not to be wasted by attending to other affairs. If only all of life's decisions were that easy.

Tuesday, I pledged my labor services to my mom. The garden needed attention after being ravaged by post hurricane flooding and the neighbor's landscaping faux pas. It has been several years since I was enlisted in my mom's gardening corps. I've developed a strange idea of what gardening means. In my experience, gardening involves digging up plants, cutting down trees, and building stone walls. This time around I was actually allowed to replant several plants too. That was awesome and a half. I had recently been exposed to the idea of the restorative effect of nature. Mounding the dirt up on a freshly replanted hostas brought about an acute restorative feeling. Note to self: get a plant for the apartment.

And that was that. I had exhausted my four day maximum visit and it was time to return to the desert land I call home.

Nosedive

Before I get to today's update, I would like to first like to recall my company's most egregious use of capital: a promotional video titled Spy Another Day. The film stars Gary Coleman and John Lovitz. Sadly the video no longer seems to be available on the intarweb; I may be able to commit some corporate espionage and get it posted on youtube. Stay tuned. To the point though, we actually retained Gary "what'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis" Coleman and John "SNL Alum" Lovitz for this thing. Okay, these aren't necessarily a-list guys, but this isn't exactly a fortune 500 company either. Oh, and check this out. How much do you think it costs to rent out a Las Vegas nightclub during CES? Answer: a lot [sigh].

So, the update. Today, Fly-by-night Inc. decided that out of all possible moves it could make, reducing the staff by fifty percent would be the best choice. Yup, you heard right; half my company got axed this morning. I can now count everyone in the company on two hands and one foot. I'm actually the right middle finger.

To be honest, the RIF was probably the right move for the company. If the company does get more money, it can't afford to burn as fast as it has been. If only the execs would stop lighting their cubans with hundred dollar bills...

In my short career, I've been through about a dozen layoffs/rifs/black-fridays/corporate-purge-fests. I've never been under the guillotine, but nonetheless every time one happens there are different emotions at play. Fear and anger characterized the first several layoffs I went through. I was young and inexperienced then and I had a lot to loose and nowhere to go. There were a couple where I felt sad -- both for my coworkers and for myself. When the old company laid off a bunch of dudes fresh out of college from all over the country after about two months, that was sad. They were certainly sad, and then I got a way uncomfortable sobby hug from a male coworker -- then I was sad. After that one, I got numb to the whole thing. The last five or six, I just have not cared except to the extent that my job got suckier because of the mess left from all the dropped balls.

Today though, I felt a new and interesting feeling; I felt a little cheated. Everyone who got laid off today had already proven themselves as a cut above the dead wood that got chopped in the last few layoffs. If at the end of next week my company doesn't miraculously get a big pile of money, it will liquidate quite violently. Here's where the "cheated" comes into play: these guys got a head start! Those fuckers are going to scoop up all the good jobs in the valley while I'm still lending unsecured credit to the rapidly descending fireball that is my company. Dammit.

Speaking of my company, that phrase is now ambiguous. As of today, J. and I are now proud co-owners of a new limited liability company in the state of Utah. That's right kids, I'm the boss. We're all super official too. We've got a name, sales tax id, federal employer id, Utah business id, articles of organization, and a spiffy domain name for our company website. Besides having to know you have to get all these things, getting all these things is fairly easy and we got it done for well under a hundred bucks. Not too shabby.

I wish I could afford this to be the full-time gig, but alas, I'm not sufficiently independently wealthy to pull that off. Until my employer can cobble together payroll, the nascent baby of unlimited potential is going to get priority over the plunging fireball.