cool dry place

It’s been an eventful couple of weeks.

Christmas came and went with its attendant flurry of chaotic consumption and forced family merry-making. The Red Polar Threat left offerings under the family X-mas stick to persuade me not to come after him and make him pay (in blood and pain) for the damage his toy factories have wrought on our precious ice caps.

Here is what the Reindeer Wrangler knows about me:

• I like to cook
• I like to wear underwear (boxers, in case anyone wonders)
• I like to do both at the same time

He knows too much.

New Year’s Eve saw me accompany The Sherry to a house party with her friends from high school. We played drinking Jenga and they were ruthless. But I have a steady hand, even when my legs have failed me and I’m mispronouncing any word of more than two syllables. I fit in well considering my chronic awkwardness, but Sherry and I still lost at Apples to Apples and I panicked and thought I was hallucinating when conversation halted mid-sentence and suddenly everyone started singing in unison some country song I had never heard before.

You like this song? It is culturally significant for you?

Where the hell have I been?

Due to mad-crazy stuff-buying skills, my apartment now has a chair. This is important. This means that the bed need no longer serve as office and living room in addition to its other purposes. We’re on our way up.

Unfortunately, it seems no one manufactures stereo stands anymore. I mean stereo stands, with shelves to put your stereo components on, and holes for wires and all that good stuff. With the demise of the turntable and the five-disc CD changer, they apparently decided that no shelf unit or piece of furniture need ever be built to such an extravagant depth as eighteen inches. In our days of searching, Sherry and I could find only double-wide “media centres” designed to support a television the size of my bathroom with A/V components set side-by-side underneath.

Insufficient.

If anyone knows of a place that would sell me a home for my precious noise-making electronics, please let me know and I will reward you with internet shout-outs.

Finally, thanks to all who saw Sherry and me during our recent three-day loop through Toronto, Hamilton and Waterloo, especially Sra and Charisse for tolerating our wildly shifting timetable, and Megan and Borrelli for sheltering our vagrant asses for two nights in the Hammer.

That’s all there is. There isn’t any more.