The Roomates (stolen from Badge)
In a manner similar to Miz Badge, I put in a stint in group living. Here are the people with whom I have had to share living space. (No, no real names given.)
At the tender age of 17, I found myself at a VERY large southern university that was light-years away from SoFla.
First up was S. He was a nice-enough Jewish kid from Long Island, NY and, other than having an unintelligible Noo Yawk accent and being, essentially, a Stalinist, he was a great guy and a good sax player. He was also addicted to pizza and would have that EVERY NIGHT for dinner, and sometimes I'd join him. (We knew better than to trust our luck to the cafeteria) S also had a serious Beatles fetish which, besides thinking that John Lennon was interchangeable with, say, Bob Dornan, he was OK. He joined me in our common hatred of Pepsi. In fact, we once drove across state lines to have dinner at a particular chain restaurant which served Coke (in State X) instead of the vile Pepsi stuff in the state in which we attended uni. However, listening to him rant about Sacco and Vanzetti and "hegemony" and "colonialism" wore verrrrrrry thin, very fast.
Next came J. This guy was, to me, the standard by which Lotharios ought be judged. By the middle of our sophomore year, he had slept with at least 30 different girls. He was impressive in his ability to pick up anyone he wished. His dad worked for A Major Airline and he flew for free all over the US. He never spent money on hotels, because he'd go into a bar, and within halfan hour he had a place for the night. This guy could seduce militant lesbians and, I fear, he probably did. He had a serious "Jersey" thing going on, with the black leather jacket and the Italian wiseguy persona that just made all the tumblers click open on so many hearts. He didn't care if I was in the room, he'd just go into the bathroom with the girl. There were occasions when I was the one to put necktie to doorknob and he was always interested not so much in what transpired, but how I was able to arrive at that Necktie Point. "Did you say her eyes were beautiful, or that she had beautiful eyes? Think! This is important."He was always looking for something that would help him further his batting average. His downfall as a roomate was my having to lie for him as to his whereabouts. The "If Janice calls, I'm at the library, if it's Wendy tell her I'll be there AFTER study hall, but if Linda calls..." got a bit taxing. When chicks started crying in my ear, that's when I knew this wouldn't work out. The fact he used to get ridiculously stoned the rare times he war girl-free was a bit off-putting. His sister, was insanely pretty, though, but he would have had me fed to the crabs off Cape May to have so much as looked at her.
After him came B. Probably the funniest guy I have ever met, and one who went through a SERIOUS bout of near-suicidal depression. Lucky me. He eventually got help and is now a Very Big Deal automotive journalist with a wonderful, cute wife. He was from Mississippi and was something of a rebel from what he perceived as that state's culture. Going to college was a start and so was not giving a damn about football. We clicked on the whole car thing. One day, his prized 1967 [collectible car name here] was run over by some Iranian exchange students in a rented panel truck. For some reason, calling persons of authority and explaining to them that Iranian exchange students had done the Monster Truck thing to his prized car brought about peals of laughter ("No, wait, I'm serious! Some Iranian guys in a gawdamned ren...shut up, this is serious! In a rented panel truck...dammit, hush!") instead of meaningful help. B had a serious flaw in that he was, for anti-redneck reasons, an absolute teetotaler. This caused problems.
Next up was P., who was the son of some prominent Massachussets legislator and had transferred from UMass at Amherst. He was hardcore prep. Prep in extremis...almost a caricature. He drank well, was relatively unobtrusive when you needed that, but would sling ethnic slurs like a Klansperson with Tourette's. He greeted me the first time we met with "Are there a lot of [ethnic slur] here?" He once got a zit on a Private Part and he insisted I attempt to diagnose whether this was VD or not. That finally sank him.
The next one was the guy I'll call Eagle. A very quiet, studious, kind Catholic Italian guy from Rhode Island who was on the track team and who lived and breathed running. The ONE time he got drunk, he blindsided me into the plaster. He collected alternative comics, rosaries and listened to "underground" bands from Boston's Combat Zone. Never seemed to have much luck with girls, my guess as to why being his rather prominent schnoz (his sneezes sounded like Barry White's foghorn), his impressive Rhode Island accent and his monobrow.
Last and greatest was DK. This guy was legendary. He was ridicuously preppy, scion of a particularly old Jamestown family who sneered at Mayflower-types as late arrivals and had an allowance that would have been considered a respectable starting salary for someone out of law or business school. He also looked like a young, clean cut Glenn Frey. What made him impressive was that he had neither the inclination nor the ability to censor his thoughts. He had a Lotto Prize of a trust fund coming to him upon graduation, and he found that rather liberating. He drank beer in class. He openly drank beer during tests. He drank from a bottle of Glenlivet as he went up to receive his diploma. He woud never sit in his assigned seat in class, opting for a folding lawn chair.
He took immense delight in goading campus progressives. When someone yelled at him "Free Mandela!" he replied "Can I have a Free Mandela for my roomate?" and he told our PoliSci professor--who had served in the Carter administration--"If you put your brain on a razor, it'd look like a pea rolling down a four lane highway." He was only passionate about cocktails, economics (he got me started on Bastiat and von Hayek and Friedman) and finding the ideal buttondown.
For being stinking rich, he hada very relaxed attitude to money. Whenever wewent out drinking, he had to rummage through his clothes for what he called "scrap currency" the odd $5 and $10s. He also hated R. the R.A. and once during a fire drill, R. kept pounding on the door for us to get out when we were good and hungover at 6am. Finally R. yelled, "you guys are going to be fined!"
"Fuck you!" yelled DK.
"I'm not kidding, you'll get fined a...a lot of money!"
"How much, you dick?"
"A lot! Like $75! Come out!"
At which point DK produced $100, he opened the door, threw out the cash and yelled "Keep the fucking change!"
What struck me the most about this guy was that, for all the bluster and obnoxiousness, he was pathologically loyal. He was incapable of letting a friend go through anything if he could help it. After graduation, he retired to Arizona, where he now restores and collects WW II aircraft.
Now you know.
-Joke
At the tender age of 17, I found myself at a VERY large southern university that was light-years away from SoFla.
First up was S. He was a nice-enough Jewish kid from Long Island, NY and, other than having an unintelligible Noo Yawk accent and being, essentially, a Stalinist, he was a great guy and a good sax player. He was also addicted to pizza and would have that EVERY NIGHT for dinner, and sometimes I'd join him. (We knew better than to trust our luck to the cafeteria) S also had a serious Beatles fetish which, besides thinking that John Lennon was interchangeable with, say, Bob Dornan, he was OK. He joined me in our common hatred of Pepsi. In fact, we once drove across state lines to have dinner at a particular chain restaurant which served Coke (in State X) instead of the vile Pepsi stuff in the state in which we attended uni. However, listening to him rant about Sacco and Vanzetti and "hegemony" and "colonialism" wore verrrrrrry thin, very fast.
Next came J. This guy was, to me, the standard by which Lotharios ought be judged. By the middle of our sophomore year, he had slept with at least 30 different girls. He was impressive in his ability to pick up anyone he wished. His dad worked for A Major Airline and he flew for free all over the US. He never spent money on hotels, because he'd go into a bar, and within halfan hour he had a place for the night. This guy could seduce militant lesbians and, I fear, he probably did. He had a serious "Jersey" thing going on, with the black leather jacket and the Italian wiseguy persona that just made all the tumblers click open on so many hearts. He didn't care if I was in the room, he'd just go into the bathroom with the girl. There were occasions when I was the one to put necktie to doorknob and he was always interested not so much in what transpired, but how I was able to arrive at that Necktie Point. "Did you say her eyes were beautiful, or that she had beautiful eyes? Think! This is important."He was always looking for something that would help him further his batting average. His downfall as a roomate was my having to lie for him as to his whereabouts. The "If Janice calls, I'm at the library, if it's Wendy tell her I'll be there AFTER study hall, but if Linda calls..." got a bit taxing. When chicks started crying in my ear, that's when I knew this wouldn't work out. The fact he used to get ridiculously stoned the rare times he war girl-free was a bit off-putting. His sister, was insanely pretty, though, but he would have had me fed to the crabs off Cape May to have so much as looked at her.
After him came B. Probably the funniest guy I have ever met, and one who went through a SERIOUS bout of near-suicidal depression. Lucky me. He eventually got help and is now a Very Big Deal automotive journalist with a wonderful, cute wife. He was from Mississippi and was something of a rebel from what he perceived as that state's culture. Going to college was a start and so was not giving a damn about football. We clicked on the whole car thing. One day, his prized 1967 [collectible car name here] was run over by some Iranian exchange students in a rented panel truck. For some reason, calling persons of authority and explaining to them that Iranian exchange students had done the Monster Truck thing to his prized car brought about peals of laughter ("No, wait, I'm serious! Some Iranian guys in a gawdamned ren...shut up, this is serious! In a rented panel truck...dammit, hush!") instead of meaningful help. B had a serious flaw in that he was, for anti-redneck reasons, an absolute teetotaler. This caused problems.
Next up was P., who was the son of some prominent Massachussets legislator and had transferred from UMass at Amherst. He was hardcore prep. Prep in extremis...almost a caricature. He drank well, was relatively unobtrusive when you needed that, but would sling ethnic slurs like a Klansperson with Tourette's. He greeted me the first time we met with "Are there a lot of [ethnic slur] here?" He once got a zit on a Private Part and he insisted I attempt to diagnose whether this was VD or not. That finally sank him.
The next one was the guy I'll call Eagle. A very quiet, studious, kind Catholic Italian guy from Rhode Island who was on the track team and who lived and breathed running. The ONE time he got drunk, he blindsided me into the plaster. He collected alternative comics, rosaries and listened to "underground" bands from Boston's Combat Zone. Never seemed to have much luck with girls, my guess as to why being his rather prominent schnoz (his sneezes sounded like Barry White's foghorn), his impressive Rhode Island accent and his monobrow.
Last and greatest was DK. This guy was legendary. He was ridicuously preppy, scion of a particularly old Jamestown family who sneered at Mayflower-types as late arrivals and had an allowance that would have been considered a respectable starting salary for someone out of law or business school. He also looked like a young, clean cut Glenn Frey. What made him impressive was that he had neither the inclination nor the ability to censor his thoughts. He had a Lotto Prize of a trust fund coming to him upon graduation, and he found that rather liberating. He drank beer in class. He openly drank beer during tests. He drank from a bottle of Glenlivet as he went up to receive his diploma. He woud never sit in his assigned seat in class, opting for a folding lawn chair.
He took immense delight in goading campus progressives. When someone yelled at him "Free Mandela!" he replied "Can I have a Free Mandela for my roomate?" and he told our PoliSci professor--who had served in the Carter administration--"If you put your brain on a razor, it'd look like a pea rolling down a four lane highway." He was only passionate about cocktails, economics (he got me started on Bastiat and von Hayek and Friedman) and finding the ideal buttondown.
For being stinking rich, he hada very relaxed attitude to money. Whenever wewent out drinking, he had to rummage through his clothes for what he called "scrap currency" the odd $5 and $10s. He also hated R. the R.A. and once during a fire drill, R. kept pounding on the door for us to get out when we were good and hungover at 6am. Finally R. yelled, "you guys are going to be fined!"
"Fuck you!" yelled DK.
"I'm not kidding, you'll get fined a...a lot of money!"
"How much, you dick?"
"A lot! Like $75! Come out!"
At which point DK produced $100, he opened the door, threw out the cash and yelled "Keep the fucking change!"
What struck me the most about this guy was that, for all the bluster and obnoxiousness, he was pathologically loyal. He was incapable of letting a friend go through anything if he could help it. After graduation, he retired to Arizona, where he now restores and collects WW II aircraft.
Now you know.
-Joke
Comments
-Joke