I've been decompressing for the past couple of days, and consequently, I flat-out didn't feel like writing...anything. You see, I
gotsta to cut you off now-and-again, because it's good for the reader/blogger relationship. If I bombard you, the reader, with life's trivial happenings--perhaps my inability to find alternate employment--you won't appreciate the stuff that matters...like somewhat-funny, borderline-abusive animal pictures...
Heh-heh. That cat can mix...and he purposely misspelled his message.
So that's awesome.
But, getting back to less important things...
I guess it would do no harm to fill you in on my near-death experience the other night. But first...a bit of background.
You see, I'm a radio anchor. This typically sounds really cool to the average person, but, be that as it may, it's a decidedly
uncool occupation. Because of my limited adventure budget and hedonistic tendencies, I avoid
unnecessary luxuries at all costs. Ya know, things like bottled water...and health care (
I must have monies for Newcastles and T-bones). You gotta love the fresh, sexy aroma of
Recession (also available for women).
My roommates' shared dislike of excess utility debt has created an environment where nobody wants to be the first person to turn on the A/C. I rent a room from a friend, that for the sake of anonymity, we'll call "Tim." Tim, like any stereotypically repressed male of Asian decent, was brought up not to waste; to always save for a rainy day; to generally deny himself of consumerist pleasures.
My parents were both brought up in wretchedly poor households in their youth, but both took care of business, and I reaped the benefits (and detriment) of middle-class-
dom. Long ago, I pledged my undying devotion to cable television, barbecues with noodle salad, and air conditioning. And there is no shame.
So, I woke up late Tuesday night in my bedroom; covered in sweat with a woodpecker going at it inside my chest. Oh yeah, actually, that was my heart. It was (I sh*t you not) over 85 degrees in my room at about midnight. Need I mention that this week it has been, on average, 256 degrees during the daytime in Sacramento?
After I took a ice-cold shower, I walked over to the A/C unit on the wall just outside Tim's door.
Hmmm...
turn it on and look forward to tomorrow's utility discussion or leave it off and die? I could set the air to turn off at 82 degrees, which would only take about three or four hours...Nah.So, I did what any self-respecting person would do under the circumstances. I downed a Heath Ledger-
esque cocktail of NyQuil, melatonin tablets and beer then went back to sleep.
So Tim doesn't want to use the air. In
Sudanian conditions, I typically do. But it's
his house. He's a great guy, but man, is he cheap...and sometimes overly-moralistic if you ask me. He's also extremely cryptic when expressing his beliefs. These behaviors force steam out of my ears on
ocassion.
Me: "Damn, dude. It's 95 degrees in here. How can you stand it?"
Tim: "Oh, I hadn't noticed. It seems cool to
me."
Me: "Yeah, right."
Tim: "I guess it's just a state of mind. I just saw, ya know, while I was in the Philippines...some things aren't that important."
Me: "But, we're in California..."
Tim: [shrugs]
Me: "...and you're sweating."
Tim: ...[shrugs again] "Oh, I hadn't noticed."
"Tim" if you're reading this, I loves ya, man. But sometimes your thriftiness makes
Ebeneezer look like
Warren Buffet. You pinch pennies so hard, you can see boogers coming out of Lincoln's nose if you look closely enough.
Let's review, folks.
I'm broke...
California is burning down to the ground, giving the air a certain ashy-crunchiness in the process...
It feels like I'm incubating inside the devil's uterus in my room (oh yeah, I'm 92% certain the devil is a
she)...
And I'm seriously considering the far more lucrative field of roadside fruit sales in lieu of (
faux) journalism.
Who says everyday life isn't interesting?
See Emil
