Friend Find, Look Behind

So my friend Anthony is coming over to visit next week. I would say I’m ecstatic to see him. I would also say that it’ll be great catching up on old times since I haven’t had the chance to hang out with him in quite a long while. I would say all that, but let’s be honest, him being here is going to cut in on my Hugh Hefner style parties of which I’m quite renowned. Well, if you take “quite renowned” to mean, “these parties don’t actually exist,” then you’d be correct.

Aside from missing my nonexistent parties, it’s going to be hard to get used to living with someone again, even if it’s only for two weeks. For starters, I’m probably going to have to start wearing pants more often. I hear that’s what the civilized folks are doing these days. Stupid pants are totally overrated. I never really did have much use for them.

Honestly though, I am looking forward to hanging out with Anthony again. He’s a really cool guy, even if he does spend most of his time making fun of me and belittling my lifestyle. That’s ok though, he’s a year older than me so with all the negative comments, he really sounds a lot like my older brother. What can I say? Anthony is pretty much like family to me.

He’ll be here this coming Monday. So this weekend, which will most likely be busy in its own right, I’ll have to make some time to clean out the bathroom, which will most likely require an industrial sized cask of bleach to finish. It’s been a while. Then I’ll have to clean out the dirty dishes in the sink, something I avoid doing almost as much as I avoid meaningful relationships. I should probably also pick up all of the dirty clothes scattered throughout my apartment. I’m not entirely sure why or how I got a pair of used boxers on top of the entertainment center in the living room… but I’m pretty sure they need to be removed. Eh, I’ll get around to it eventually.

Anthony’s coming into town so he can do a stint at teaching Drivers Ed, which apparently pays well when you’re used to a public high school teacher’s salary like he is. Not sure if I could teach public high school myself. I mean, my mother does it, and she seems to do just fine, but I don’t exactly have the attention span for it myself. I’d probably feel the need to physically abuse my students, because well, they’re high schoolers, and high school kids are by definition stupid. Hey I was there once, I remember what I was like.

That’s not to say that I wasn’t an idiot in high school myself. I was. In fact, I’m still an idiot now. But that’s okay, I’ve come to terms with that. I’ve also had some minor success in being able to hide my latent idiocy from a select portion of the female population. Honestly, there are some girls out there who actually enjoy being in my company. I don’t exactly understand it, it does have a tendency to baffle the mind. But hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when she’s got boobs that I could be staring at instead.

But back to the matter at hand. I have approximately eleven days (or somewhere close to that) where I will once again be sharing my living quarters with a roommate. Now this shouldn’t be much of a problem seeing as how I lived with Anthony for two years while in college. But those were different days. Back then I drank obsessively, did my best to piss off women, and played excessive amounts of Nintendo. Huh, come to think of it, that really isn’t much different than what I do now.

Ok, so maybe I’m still the same in many respects, but I have gotten used to living all on my lonesome these past 18 months or so. Having to share a bathroom (not to mention the hot water) isn’t something I’ve been comfortable with in a long, long time. It shouldn’t be too hard to cope with, I mean, I did grow up with an older brother, how could Anthony be any worse? At least I won’t have to go hiding the cold root beer in the vegetable crisper just so he won’t drink the last one. Yeah, I had to resort to the friggin vegetable cripser so I could actually have a refreshing beverage when I wanted it. It may have been tough growing up at times, but I adapted. I did survive.

Now I’m not here to say that my brother was a mean overlord during my childhood, or that Anthony was an overbearing fraternity brother, because they most certainly were not. I have used a literary device called hyperbole, which is a gross exaggeration used in this case to promote humor. And now that I’ve explained it, I’ve killed the joke. Seriously though, I did hide bottles of IBC Root Beer and even some Cherry Coke in the vegetable crisper to keep them from my brother. He always drank the last bottle and never bothered to restock the fridge. He’s just an ass like that.

So, like I said before, I’m really looking forward to seeing my friend Anthony again. I’m not exactly sure why though. I mean, after going over everything above, why should I be excited? It might have something to do with the fact that whenever I get together with old college buddies we end up drinking, a lot. Not that I need to hang out with old friends to drink, because I certainly don’t. But I’m always up for an excuse for more alcohol. I just have to figure out who’s going to be the designated driver. Well, I could try to convince Anthony’s girlfriend to come over too. She has some practical experience driving our worthless drunken behinds around all night.

Oh, and for those of you not keeping track, the new Transformers Movie comes out in less than a month. Four weeks from today, to be precise. I firmly believe that it is my civic duty to remind you of that each and every week. In celebration of the 1980’s greatest franchise (and quite possibly the greatest franchise of all time), I’m going to leave you with a quote each week. I’m sure that the more astute of you dear readers out there will recognize these quotes immediate. For those of you who don’t, well let’s just say that I find you lacking in your education.

“Listen Ironhide, we don’t have enough energon cubes to power a full scale assault. Ready the shuttle for launch!… Now all we need is a little energon and a lot of luck.”
-Optimus Prime

No More Teacher’s Dirty Looks

Quick, who were the two vice presidents under William McKinley? If you can get the second one, then you’re as good as I. If you can get them both, then you’re a better man than I. Then again, it probably doesn’t take much to be a better man than I am. Some humility, generosity, or just plain being nice to women every once in a while would make you a much better person than I.

So what’s up with the presidential questionnaire? Well, that exactly question was posed to me, or more accurately my team, during trivia night at James Joyce Bar in Durham. Ah, beer, Irish whiskey, and knowledge, what more could you possibly want in one evening? You could want to spend the evening in bed joined by two blonde Swedish stewardess twins. I know I do. Though, you’re most likely better off sticking to fantasies that have a statistical probability of actually occurring. And since I have yet to meet any blonde Swedish airline stewardess twins, I’d have to say that the probability of me bedding that particular duo is currently somewhere in the neighborhood of 0.00%. Feel free to correct me if I’ve screwed up the math anywhere in there.

McKinley’s second vice president was Theodore Roosevelt, who acceded to the presidency after McKinley was assassinated. As it turns out, I actually remember something from my eleventh grade US History class. Apparently my brain hasn’t been as damaged by my drunken affairs as I had previously thought. That’s good news. Seriously though, who the hell remembers vice presidents? Can you name the last five vice presidents of the United States? Heck, can you even name the current vice president?

Sorry to go all School House Rock on you, but this is important stuff. I mean, if I had remembered my US presidents, and a few of the vice presidents, then my team may very well have won trivia night and that $75 bar tab would have been ours. Do you know how many drinks and I throw back with $75? I honestly don’t know the exact number, math has never been my thing, but I’m perfectly willing to do some empirical testing. All I need is $75 and a bar. And probably someone to keep track of what I’m drinking (it all pretty much blurs together after the fourth drink).

I think we can all agree that education is important, and not just because it can net you some free drinks. Education is what spurs the economy, keeps capitalism running rampant around the globe, and it is generally what increases our quality of life. So do me a favor, the next time you go into a class room give your teacher a gift. It doesn’t have to be much, an apple would make a great present for a teacher. It really is the thought that counts. That, and teachers really don’t make much money, so they’re not used to having anything nice. They can’t afford to be picky about their gifts.

As I said before, education is a wonderful thing. It enlightens the mind, or at least it’s supposed to. Take my brother, for instance. He’s two years older than me, has a very distinguished college degree and yet he still needs to be reminded that he’s white. I do try to remind him myself, but I’m not sure he gets it. Maybe he might actually look into the mirror a little more often.

Now, I’m not saying this because my brother thinks he’s some sort of gangster rapper. He doesn’t talk in broken English and ebonic slang. And this is a good thing, at least I can still claim him as my brother. But for some reason my brother feels the need to produce rap beats, and worst of all, add his own vocals to the lyrics. Now producing is all well and good, but rapping? He’s white.

Do I really need to say more? Now don’t get me wrong, the color of a person’s skin doesn’t necessarily dictate whether one can become a good rapper. Although, I do believe that history has shown us that the far majority of hip hop and rap artists (hey, if people can call Prince an “artist,” then rappers are artists too) have been… how do I put this… not white.

There have been successful white rappers in the past to be sure. But Eminem my brother isn’t. Heck, he isn’t even Vanilla Ice. I know, that’s probably a cheap shot at my brother, but at least Vanilla Ice had Hammer. He also had the shiny pants. You can’t forget about the shiny pants. Somehow, I don’t think my brother owns a pair of shiny pants.

That’s ok though. I would really hope my brother wouldn’t stoop to flagrant teeny-bob-ism just to sell a few records. Speaking of which, he just finished producing his first full length album (we still use the words “record” and “album” these days, don’t we?). Thankfully, a partner of his contributed all of the lyrics so I don’t have to listen the voice of some pasty white boy (hey, he lives in southern Indiana, what did you expect?). The duo calls themselves Relapse, which a better name than most I suppose. It’s definitely got one up on Dexys Midnight Runners, that’s for sure. The CDs should go on sale this month online.

My brother was kind enough to send me an advanced copy of the album, and I have to admit, it’s pretty good. Now I don’t listen to much rap these days, I’m more of a rock & roll kind of guy (which pretty much confirms my whiteness), but I find that the tracks are somewhat reminiscent of the Wu-Tang Clan. That shouldn’t be too surprising though, my brother has always been a fan of the Wu-Tang. If that sounds like something you’d like, feel free to go check it out. I think there might be a free downloadable track or two.

I probably shouldn’t be making fun of my brother so much. He has his music and I have my writing. And he has been kind enough not to make fun of my satirical attempts at amusement (that’s a fancy way of saying, “I like to write funny stuff”). Everyone has their own way of expressing themselves creatively, and I think we, as a society, should encourage that. And that, as I see it, brings it all back to education.

Good writers study literature in order to gain command over the written word (crappy writers, on the other hand, just throw up a bunch of words on a blog). Meanwhile, musical “artists” need the ability to effectively produce and market their talent. So just remember, education makes the world go round, even the creative parts of our economy. Oh, and bonus points to those of you who already knew that Dexys Midnight Runners is the name of the band who released the hit 80’s single “Come on Eileen.” And for those of you who didn’t know that (or have never heard the song “Come on Eileen”) you need to get your ass back in school and get educated.

If You Can Name the Object in that Baggie Over there, then Mister, You’re a Better Man than I

My father dropped by my apartment this past Sunday night. Now, I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything since it was really good to see my dad, but I didn’t have a whole lot of warning to his visit. My parents called Thursday night to let me know that he was stopping by on his way up from Georgia to Maryland. And, as I live in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, I was in a very favorable midway point where he could stop and rest. That and presumably my dad wanted to visit his youngest son whom he hadn’t seen since Christmas.

My dad happens to be a great guy, who is lots of fun to hang out with, so I’m quite lucky in that regard. Well, mostly he’s awesome when he’s not making me do yard work or enlisting my help in cleaning his garage (his power tools produce an ungodly amount of saw dust, trust me). Since he was visiting my at my apartment, which has neither yard nor garage to speak of, I felt relatively safe. But I only had three days to prepare things for a visit, and considering the fact that I’m a bachelor, my apartment isn’t exactly the model of clean living. In fact, I’m pretty sure Martha Stewart would have a coronary episode if she were to ever set eyes on my place. Even her mastery of floral arrangements could do little to improve my ramshackled living style.

Luckily I had plenty of free time on Sunday afternoon so I forced myself to do what under normal circumstances would be unconscionable: I cleaned my apartment. Now I know what you’re thinking, but no, I did not just shove all the cluttered bills and magazines and everything else into my closet. That would have just compounded matters when the next morning I would have the need to dress myself from clothes in said closet. Well, ok, so I shoved some of the clutter into my closet. But most of it I either threw away or found it a proper place. Granted, the “proper place” for most of my muddled crap was the garbage can. Or as it is more formally known as, in the case of my apartment, the garbage corner.

Sure, there had once been a mere garbage can in my kitchen, sitting in the space between the end of my cabinets and the edge of a sofa from the kitchenette (I don’t own a real table or anything even remotely resembling kitchenette or dining room furniture, so I have a sofa instead, and you know what, it works for me). But over time, and through my own sanitary ineptitude, the pile of trash grew beyond the inadequate container that attempted to hold it all. Before long the entire space between the cabinets and the sofa became filled with McDonalds take out bags and DiGiorno’s Pizza boxes. Did I mention I’m a bachelor?

Needless to say, it took several trash bags to rid myself of the curse of the garbage corner. It’s gone for now, but who can say when it will return? And trust me, there is no “if it will return”, it is most definitely a question of “when will it return.” Beyond all of that, I washed some laundry, and did my best to tidy up the place. For most people, that would include cleaning the bathroom. Luckily for me, I keep my bathroom pretty well clean every month. Let all of you single guys out there take note. If you leave your kitchen a mess when a lady caller comes to visit, that’s ok. Girls normally expect a guy to be messy; it’s just in our nature. But when the time comes for her to use your facilities, either to answer the call of nature, or more hopefully, to clean herself up for something a little more intimate, she’s going to be desirous of a cleansed and cleanly bathroom. My theory: keep the restroom cleaned and keep the ladies coming back. Now that’s just a theory, so do with it what you will.

Now my dad’s visit was a pleasant one, if not particularly short. But I’m sure he’ll be stopping by on his way back to Georgia after he finishes with all the preparations needed for my parents to move to Maryland this summer. Though it’ll promise to be another brief stay, I’m looking forward to it. Heck, my apartment is already cleaned, so I don’t have to worry about that this time around.

Though, the one thing that has been worrying me is my refrigerator. There’s nothing wrong with the fridge’s mechanics mind you, it’s just what’s inside the cooling machine that frightens me. I never got around to cleaning the thing out before my dad came to visit, and needless to say, it has been a long, long time since I’ve bothered to rearrange the contents of my fridge. There are things in there that I believe would best lie undisturbed. On the up side, I did manage to toss the three half gallons of milk that had been taking up space inside for varying lengths of time. On a sadder note, I’m quite disappointed that the older cartons of milk never managed to grow legs and save me the trouble by walking out of my apartment. I figured if I waited long enough, it could happen.

So now I have a question for you: What is the approximate shelf life for condiments when stored at chilled temperatures? I only ask because, like most single men, my fridge is not full of real foods like meats, cheeses, breads, fruits, or vegetables (see: The Food Pyramid) but instead, is stocked plentifully with ketchup (both bottled and fast food packet variety), various flavored and yellow mustards, pickled relish, hot sauce, honey, lime juice, mayonnaise, Miracle Whip (why I have both of those I may never know), an assortment of jams, jellies, and fruit preservatives, and the most manly of condiments, Worcestershire sauce. Seriously, besides the fact that no man alive can spell that name correctly without the aid of a cooking dictionary or Google (which coincidentally spells far better than Microsoft Word), there is no practical use for the condiment.

Oh sure, you might use a few drops of the brown sauce for crafting home made hamburgers to set on the grill, or in a recipe for Bloody Mary mix (though I still haven’t found the nerve to force myself to drink tomato juice and vodka …), and I personally use Worcestershire sauce when cooking sloppy Joes, you know, for the nights that I don’t microwave a Hungry Man pre-made TV dinner. Even in its severely limited usage, every man I’ve ever known has had a full bottle of the sauce in his fridge.

Yet my original question remains. How long will these condiments last? Most have been in my fridge since I moved here, which was well over a year ago. Hell, the tub of margarine in the back of the fridge is most likely of the same acquisition date. And I’m pretty sure that can of peanut butter has been in my pantry for even longer. I’m not going to die if I eat anything from in from my fridge or pantry, will I? That’s just the sort of question that would probably keep me up at night, if I didn’t regularly drown my brain cells in fermented beverages. Thank God for alcohol.

It’s probably best that I don’t even go into detail about what’s in my freezer. I mean, I know for a fact that the bag of pre-boiled shrimp has been frozen in there for longer than nine months. Even when completely iced up, food goes bad. Those crab legs probably aren’t edible either. So yeah, I am in a painful need of a total cleansing of my food stocks. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m quite up to the job. This sounds like woman’s work to me. Now, I don’t say that because I’m a chauvinistic pig (and believe me, I truly am), rather I would much prefer it if some person, who is most decidedly not me, clean up my sullied and over-spoiled edibles.

If you think you’re that person, please contact me immediately. You can be assured that there will be rewards and ample compensation. By which I mean you can eat anything out of my fridge, freezer, or pantry that you want. Seriously help yourself, I won’t be touching any of it any time soon.