Welcome to my Dojo

The original idea, last year, was that I’d rent out the Turbopalace for the summer and live on the sailboat till fall. That didn’t work out too well because, as astute reader(s) will recall, I don’t have a sailboat. But I did wind up with a roommate named The Chipper for most of the summer, and that worked out fine. I actually enjoyed the company, and he kept a bottomless supply of Pabst Blue Ribbon in the house. That didn’t really make up for the fact that he drank all my good whiskey while I was off in the South Pacific, but I’ve almost forgiven him for that. He did leave behind a full box of Cheez-Its.

It was less shocking than I expected, going back from many years of living solo to having a roommate again. Probably somewhat ameliorated by the fact that 9 and I own the house, and so retain the right to pull owner rank on any significant issue. So I’ve had roommates over the winter, too, and am looking for a new one for summer (send any leads, please.)

It’s fun to google prospective housemates. One guy wrote to me today with a message that revealed little of his personality. But he had an unusual name, and when I googled him I discovered a page of reviews he’d written for amazon.com. One of these was for the film Fight Club, about which he raves. In fact, he says “I watched it 20-30 times”, and remarks “It has become my personal anthem”. Whoa. Do you remember this movie? You may recall it contains perhaps the worst housemate situation ever depicted in film. And that’s not to mention the violence, of course. This fellow is not rising to the top of the list. Another woman proudly emailed that she is at this moment driving cross-country to the Smallish State in her ’79 pickup. When I googled her, I discovered that this very pickup had been impounded by her local police last year. Drug bust? Doesn’t pay her bills? Gets drunk and can’t remember where the truck was parked? Hmm.