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Is it worse to be ignorant or apathetic? I don't know and I don't care.

THE NOT-SO LATEST May 21, 1999
YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN (I HOPE)

It hits you at the strangest times.

No, I am not referring to "masculine itch," the craving for sprinkled donuts or those rocks that shoot out of the lawn mower. Rather, I'm talking about the way significant events in your life ("it") can strike you before or after logic dictates they should. It's probably a corollary to Murphy's Law: the impact of an event will occur at the intersection of When You Least Expect It Ave. and When You Most Don't Want It To Boulevard1.

My parents had one of those water purifiers put on the kitchen sink. (No, wiseass, that's not the significant event I'm referring to.) This fact, taken by itself, is of little or no importance, and has little bearing on, say, Israeli elections. (Or so my parents would like me to believe...) But I got thirsty while I was watching CNN's in-depth coverage of the outbreak of squatters around our nation's movie theaters. (Maybe I was missing something about that story. Like I said, I was thirsty.)

"Wherever there are losers waiting in line for tickets... I'll be there." - Tom Joad.

So, naturally2, I went to the fridge and grabbed the Brita water filter (in Iowa City, only fools and suicidals drink straight tap water) and started to make Kool-Aid. As I was pouring the water into the filter, my brain burped out "This is the last time I'm ever going to use this water filter."


Strangely, he's never had bi-sexual midgets on his show...

I hate my brain.

Being the overly dramatic person I am, every subsequent event became "The Last" of it's kind. The Last Time I Will Eat Jell-O In This Apartment. The Last Time I Watch Springer In This Apartment and Find Myself Strangely Attracted To One of the Bi-Sexual Midgets.

Every time I did something, it was like I was killing of an endangered species. By the end of the day, I felt like Animal Planet should have a camera crew over here to document the whole mess.

Maybe the whole thing wouldn't be so bloody depressing if I weren't taking such a holy nosedive in terms of social status.

When I moved into this apartment, I was a promising young college student with a great job, a girlfriend and living quarters that were far enough away from my parents that they had to call before they came over. And now I have none of those things. I'm just another unemployed liberal arts graduate with a useless degree living in my parents' basement. In a matter of weeks, I had become a cliché, a stereotype, and -- I might add -- one of the few that's still fair game for comedians to make fun of.

"And what's the deal with those guys who still live with their parents?"

To be fair, my parents probably aren't too excited about the arrangement either. They've had almost a year to get used to the idea of some golden years without the interference of those meddling kids, to quote the prophet Scooby Doo. However, statistically speaking, they should have seen this coming. The likelihood of all nine children moving out without a hitch is astronomical. This is God's way of humbling my parents. Yeah, that's it...3

I'm really not as depressed about the moving home as I probably sound. Sure, I didn't get many nibbles from employers4, but I'll let you in on a secret: I wasn't really trying. I suppose now I'm going to have to start, though, because now that my father's retired, he literally has nothing better to do but look over my shoulder. And he has lots of time to do it. Lots and lots of time. Buttloads of time.

As if that weren't motivation enough, I got the invitation to my five year high school reunion this week. Thankfully, it's not one of those stuffy, dress-up-in-a-tux-and-try-to-hide-your-bald-spot affairs. From the sound of it, it's more like a kegger in the park, which is fine with me. I prefer to have a little social lubricant in the mix when I have to face those people again, and, if the lubricant fails, we'll have alcohol. But some major shit is going to have to start happening in my life in the three months prior to this shindig or I'm going to have to practice my lying.

Well, on the bright side, I'm getting real good at that.

 

1 Fortunately, a Motel 6 is conveniently located at this very intersection.

2 As opposed to my usual totally unnatural way of doing things.

3 Of course, you won't see me tell them this.

4 Current tally: 1 returned phone call.

Patrick Keller = MC2. This article is ©1999 Patrick Keller, Gern Blansten Productions. You may redistribute this piece, provided the text is unaltered and it contains this notice. As always, if you know someone sick and twisted who might like this stuff, let me know. Blah blah blah e-mail me at blansten@iname.com blah blah blah

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