call waiting

We now have a New Jersey phone number. I guess that means we live there, huh?

Strange, I know, but somehow these things, the mundane backdrop of daily life: electricity, internet access, magazine subscriptions and most especially the phone define where we live. They place us, more firmly than our physical presence does. How do you get a library card? Show a utility bill, proof of residence. How do you enroll your child in a highly rated public school? Show a utility bill, proof of residence. If I consume heat and light, if I talk on the phone, if I give my number to you and you and you, not to mention all of them, my once and future creditors, well, then I must live in a place. Even though I don't. Not yet. I'm here and my phone number, well, it's all the way over there. Waiting for me.