I had planned on writing about how much of a slob my roommate is. Not dirty, just messy. Like how he leaves all his shoes sitting by the front door, with a pair or two directly in the way so that if I don’t pay attention when I leave for work I trip over them. I thought the most ridiculously passive aggressive way to handle it would be to grab all my shoes in my arms, dump them in front of the door, and say to him, “Is there where the shoes go?” Of course, to over dramatize the situation fully I’d need to not look at him as I walked away; except I don’t have two video cameras that I’d set up to catch the expression on his face and watch it over and over and over again. I’d make that face my screen saver.
Or maybe the fact that there were two full garbage bags sitting in our kitchen for almost a week. Just sitting there. More garbage would get placed in them and still they sat there. It became a war of desires. My desire not to take care of it and for him to do something. And his desire not to do anything. To really understand, you’d need to know that he parks right next to the garbage cans. So every time he goes out to his car he can easily throw them out. He wouldn’t even have to make a trip of the extra sixty feet to the garbage and back!
But I came back tonight to find the garbage out of the kitchen and his shoes neatly lined up by the door. Of course, there’s now an empty orange juice container on the dining table, but baby steps. Baby steps.
I feel like I need to start giving him a quarterly report card like they gave you in kindergarten where everything is a yes/no answer.
Washes dishes in a timely manner? No. Cleans up after self? No. Hangs up clothes (not leaving them draped over chairs)? No. Can tie shoes? Yes.
At least he’s got that going for him. We can work on the rest. I Hope.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
My (Hopeful) Interview with Topher Grace
I’ve been reading about Damon Weaver’s attempts to get an inauguration day interview with President-Elect Barack Obama. If you don’t know who he is, Damon’s a 10-year-old student journalist from Florida who’s been seeking an interview with Obama since the summer. So far, no go. To this point, Obama’s team has repeatedly turned down requests, even after a national media blitz by Damon. Seriously, how do you turn down a 10 year old? He’s already interviewed Joe Biden, so now he’s after the top dog. Since I’m not nearly as ambitious as Damon, I’ve decided to set my sights a bit lower. Why shoot for the moon when the lamppost is so much easier to hit, right? So for my new year’s resolution I want to conduct an interview with Topher Grace. He played Eric on “That 70’s Show,” remember?
Anyway, it seems like he’s disappeared since leaving that show and I’m curious as to what he’s doing (and I’m too lazy to do a Google search). And unlike Damon, I’ll only throw softballs at Topher. Such as:
“Besides making out with Scarlett Johansson in the movie 'In Good Company', what are you most proud of in life?”
-And-
“What are currently doing for work? Selling real estate, life insurance, or certified pre-owned BMWs?”
But like Damon, I need your help. Please mention this to anyone and everyone. By the end of the year I want to have a face-to-face interview with Topher Grace. I will fly anywhere I need to for this, but would really appreciate it if he would come to Minneapolis so I don’t have to buy a plane ticket. I plan on challenging him to an arm-wrestling contest and besting him in a game of Nok Hockey.
Help me make my dream a reality.
Anyway, it seems like he’s disappeared since leaving that show and I’m curious as to what he’s doing (and I’m too lazy to do a Google search). And unlike Damon, I’ll only throw softballs at Topher. Such as:
“Besides making out with Scarlett Johansson in the movie 'In Good Company', what are you most proud of in life?”
-And-
“What are currently doing for work? Selling real estate, life insurance, or certified pre-owned BMWs?”
But like Damon, I need your help. Please mention this to anyone and everyone. By the end of the year I want to have a face-to-face interview with Topher Grace. I will fly anywhere I need to for this, but would really appreciate it if he would come to Minneapolis so I don’t have to buy a plane ticket. I plan on challenging him to an arm-wrestling contest and besting him in a game of Nok Hockey.
Help me make my dream a reality.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
It Comes But Once a Year
I’ve started putting on weight; storing fat to live off during my expected hibernation through winter. Only one part of that sentence isn’t true. I actually have been storing up fat.
With Thanksgiving just a few days away, the (un)official start of cookie baking season has begun. For the next month I’ll go out of my mind baking all kinds of sweets, knowing that for the most part, I’ll be the one eating most of them. Sure, I give a lot away, but I probably make twice as many as I get rid of. “Maybe my cousins already went through the two dozen I gave them half a week ago. I’d better make more.”
It can get a little confusing remembering where to put all the cookies I make. I’m sure I’ll need to give my roommate a refresher course soon: peanut butter balls go in the fridge, world’s best cookies and peanut blossoms go in the freezer, and the brownies stay out on the counter. I don’t see how this is difficult. Since they’re all made and in their proper place, it’s now just making sure he puts everything back, which, for some reason, is harder than it should be for a thirty year old man.
Last winter, I offered some cookies to a friend. She declined, saying that she was trying to not put on a lot of weight over the holidays. Bad move. I like to think of the last few weeks of November and all of December as a lost cause. I know I’m going to put on weight and probably give myself diabetes, but I’ll worry about all that stuff in January. Right now, there’s a piece of pie crying out to crammed into my mouth.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I plan to live off my fat; it’s what I did last winter. Starting last January I lost 15 pounds by eating practically nothing and running the heck out of my legs. Sure, I could moderate my diet over the next month. There’s no reason I have to over eat, but to me it’s just one of the joys of the holidays. It’s like why we gorge ourselves on meat around the 4th of July; it just feels right. And while I only get the meat sweats once a year, I can be buzzed on sugar for the next five weeks straight.
If the sweets weren’t around I know I wouldn’t be craving it. But when it's sitting there, calling out to me, I can't help but get fat. I like to bake, even when it’s only for my benefit. And it’s why they make (non-sweat) pants with an adjustable waist, so we can all relax a bit around the holidays and, oh what the heck, I’ll have just one more cookie.
With Thanksgiving just a few days away, the (un)official start of cookie baking season has begun. For the next month I’ll go out of my mind baking all kinds of sweets, knowing that for the most part, I’ll be the one eating most of them. Sure, I give a lot away, but I probably make twice as many as I get rid of. “Maybe my cousins already went through the two dozen I gave them half a week ago. I’d better make more.”
It can get a little confusing remembering where to put all the cookies I make. I’m sure I’ll need to give my roommate a refresher course soon: peanut butter balls go in the fridge, world’s best cookies and peanut blossoms go in the freezer, and the brownies stay out on the counter. I don’t see how this is difficult. Since they’re all made and in their proper place, it’s now just making sure he puts everything back, which, for some reason, is harder than it should be for a thirty year old man.
Last winter, I offered some cookies to a friend. She declined, saying that she was trying to not put on a lot of weight over the holidays. Bad move. I like to think of the last few weeks of November and all of December as a lost cause. I know I’m going to put on weight and probably give myself diabetes, but I’ll worry about all that stuff in January. Right now, there’s a piece of pie crying out to crammed into my mouth.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I plan to live off my fat; it’s what I did last winter. Starting last January I lost 15 pounds by eating practically nothing and running the heck out of my legs. Sure, I could moderate my diet over the next month. There’s no reason I have to over eat, but to me it’s just one of the joys of the holidays. It’s like why we gorge ourselves on meat around the 4th of July; it just feels right. And while I only get the meat sweats once a year, I can be buzzed on sugar for the next five weeks straight.
If the sweets weren’t around I know I wouldn’t be craving it. But when it's sitting there, calling out to me, I can't help but get fat. I like to bake, even when it’s only for my benefit. And it’s why they make (non-sweat) pants with an adjustable waist, so we can all relax a bit around the holidays and, oh what the heck, I’ll have just one more cookie.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The Unicorn in the Room
I came home to find a unicorn poster on my door. My roommate, Seth, upon seeing this poster at the State Fair thought, (for reasons I haven’t yet grasped) “You know who would really like this?” Those were his exact words relaying to me later the story of winning the poster. I’m not sure if “winning” is the way I’d describe it.
It’s pretty epic, as unicorn posters go. Two unicorns (I assume they are mother and son) racing through the clouds, mountain peaks in the distance. Because where else would unicorns run but through the clouds? It’s drawn in the same stylized way as t-shirts of wolves and eagles that Napoleon Dynamite would wear. And if I were a seven year old girl with a princess themed four poster bed instead of being a mid-twenties male trying to find a girlfriend, I might by psyched on the poster. Yet it’s been two months and I still haven’t taken it down.
When the poster first went up, I thought I’d leave it there for a few days. I guess out of courtesy to my roommate. But after the few days grace period I began thinking that this might be a test of will. I was convinced that eventually Seth would have to say something like; “I can’t believe you still haven’t taken that poster down,” and I would have won! I put the over/under on Seth saying something at 3 weeks and I was taking the under. I even gave them names! The mother’s name is Charles Rangel, Chairman of the House Ways and Mean Committee, and the son is Truck Monster; Destroyer of All that is Righteous. Or Chucky and Trucky. Surely, at some point Seth would have to admit I’d taken this too far. But not a word.
One time, one of the pushpins holding the poster came loose and as I was searching around for it (more so that I didn’t step on it while barefoot than out of any concern for a slightly askew poster) Seth walked by and asked, “You’re taking it down?” Not the response of “It’s about time,” that I’d been hoping for. He seemed genuinely puzzled as to why I would get rid of it. I told him I’d lost a pushpin and he went to get me another one.
We had a party, and Seth, while giving a tour of the house, pointed to my bedroom and declared, “That’s where the magic happens.” I’ve been wondering if our guest thought that it was where the magic literally happened. Card tricks and sawing women in half. It’s what the poster would seem to indicate. And maybe this is why she hasn’t called me back.
I’ve been trying to figure out what I would say to a date. “Oh, the poster? Well, I share a room with my kid sister. But don’t worry. She’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight.” I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could say so that you didn’t come across as the dude who has a unicorn poster on his bedroom door. Rightfully so.
Originally I left the poster there due to some misguided notion of good manners: if Seth was kind enough to win me a poster, the least I could do is pretend to like it for a few days before it goes in the garbage. But now, I’m just being stubborn: if he’s not going to cave than neither will I. Maybe I should back down. If I let it continue long enough, who knows what kind of poster might end up on my door next? A Pegasus? Actually, that would be pretty cool.
It’s pretty epic, as unicorn posters go. Two unicorns (I assume they are mother and son) racing through the clouds, mountain peaks in the distance. Because where else would unicorns run but through the clouds? It’s drawn in the same stylized way as t-shirts of wolves and eagles that Napoleon Dynamite would wear. And if I were a seven year old girl with a princess themed four poster bed instead of being a mid-twenties male trying to find a girlfriend, I might by psyched on the poster. Yet it’s been two months and I still haven’t taken it down.
When the poster first went up, I thought I’d leave it there for a few days. I guess out of courtesy to my roommate. But after the few days grace period I began thinking that this might be a test of will. I was convinced that eventually Seth would have to say something like; “I can’t believe you still haven’t taken that poster down,” and I would have won! I put the over/under on Seth saying something at 3 weeks and I was taking the under. I even gave them names! The mother’s name is Charles Rangel, Chairman of the House Ways and Mean Committee, and the son is Truck Monster; Destroyer of All that is Righteous. Or Chucky and Trucky. Surely, at some point Seth would have to admit I’d taken this too far. But not a word.
One time, one of the pushpins holding the poster came loose and as I was searching around for it (more so that I didn’t step on it while barefoot than out of any concern for a slightly askew poster) Seth walked by and asked, “You’re taking it down?” Not the response of “It’s about time,” that I’d been hoping for. He seemed genuinely puzzled as to why I would get rid of it. I told him I’d lost a pushpin and he went to get me another one.
We had a party, and Seth, while giving a tour of the house, pointed to my bedroom and declared, “That’s where the magic happens.” I’ve been wondering if our guest thought that it was where the magic literally happened. Card tricks and sawing women in half. It’s what the poster would seem to indicate. And maybe this is why she hasn’t called me back.
I’ve been trying to figure out what I would say to a date. “Oh, the poster? Well, I share a room with my kid sister. But don’t worry. She’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight.” I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could say so that you didn’t come across as the dude who has a unicorn poster on his bedroom door. Rightfully so.
Originally I left the poster there due to some misguided notion of good manners: if Seth was kind enough to win me a poster, the least I could do is pretend to like it for a few days before it goes in the garbage. But now, I’m just being stubborn: if he’s not going to cave than neither will I. Maybe I should back down. If I let it continue long enough, who knows what kind of poster might end up on my door next? A Pegasus? Actually, that would be pretty cool.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Ah, the Finer Things in Life
I’ve been watching the baseball playoffs, and I realized I’m missing out on one of the greatest celebratory techniques in life: the champagne shower. Let me explain. Whenever a team wins something important, they spray each other with champagne. So in the case of baseball, when the team makes the playoffs, they have a champagne shower. And then again if they win the Divisional round; and again if they with the pennant; and of course again if they win the World Series. So after the game, they go back into the locker room and everything’s been covered with plastic tarps. And then they open bottles of champagne and shake vigorously. I’ve never had this happen to me.
Heck, I’ve never even had a beer shower, in which you replace champagne with (always) Bud Light-official beer of MLB? It’s time for a change. Why have to become a professional sports player to be drenched in Moet? I’ve decided that once, just once, I’m going to act like I accomplished something major. Notice I said like I accomplished something major. It doesn’t even have to be that serious. Made a tasty stew? Beer shower. Found a quarter? Beer shower. Got a raise at work? Take a champagne shower. You’ve earned it.
If I lived in a warmer city it’s what I’d do every New Year’s Eve. You’ve already got the champagne. Why wouldn’t you pop the cork, place a thumb over the opening and shake it towards all of your partygoers? Sure, they might get upset at first, but soon they realized they’ve never experienced anything so wonderful in their life. Imagine. A shower while fully clothed. With champagne!
Here’s what I propose. Everyone come over to my house. Bring a bottle of champagne and that day’s accomplishment. We’ll all say what we did and then pop open the bottles. And if you plan on just bringing some beers, forget it. We deserve the good stuff.
Heck, I’ve never even had a beer shower, in which you replace champagne with (always) Bud Light-official beer of MLB? It’s time for a change. Why have to become a professional sports player to be drenched in Moet? I’ve decided that once, just once, I’m going to act like I accomplished something major. Notice I said like I accomplished something major. It doesn’t even have to be that serious. Made a tasty stew? Beer shower. Found a quarter? Beer shower. Got a raise at work? Take a champagne shower. You’ve earned it.
If I lived in a warmer city it’s what I’d do every New Year’s Eve. You’ve already got the champagne. Why wouldn’t you pop the cork, place a thumb over the opening and shake it towards all of your partygoers? Sure, they might get upset at first, but soon they realized they’ve never experienced anything so wonderful in their life. Imagine. A shower while fully clothed. With champagne!
Here’s what I propose. Everyone come over to my house. Bring a bottle of champagne and that day’s accomplishment. We’ll all say what we did and then pop open the bottles. And if you plan on just bringing some beers, forget it. We deserve the good stuff.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)