>>> Text-Heavy
By staff writer E.E. Southerby
Volume 58 – November 16, 2003
Now Playing: “Leaving Town” by Dexter Frebish
Thanks in large part to last week's column-related antics, I have been accused of a great many things. I received dozens of emails telling me I'm a terrible, insensitive person who deserves to [insert terrible, quasi-religious fate here]. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to those of you who were offended by last week's column. I hope this edition helps clear things up. Here's what happened:
-I have this little book that's for storing phone numbers. The only numbers in there are the ones of my best friends, whose numbers I have already memorized for all eternity. Every important phone number I have is written on a scrap of paper and strewn about somewhere in my room, oftentimes with the name belonging to the phone number missing. I think I'll invent a book of phone numbers that looks like that, since I seem to find it more useful.
-I hate it when people I have absolutely no desire to talk to give me their phone numbers (on a little scrap of paper, without their names on it) and then tell me to “call them sometime”. Because now I'm stuck with this phone number I don't want that I'll never use, but I'll also never throw out because I worry that one day I'll need the number for some reason and I wouldn't want to be caught without it. My life would be a lot simpler if I never left the house.
-Quote of the Moment: When I'm at a bar, I often find myself in the position of serving as the ‘wingman', which is the guy whose job it is to distract an ugly girl so his friend can hit on her attractive friend. So I asked how come it was that I always have to be the one who acts as wingman, and my friend answered: “Because at least I have a fighting chance with the hot girl.” Fair enough. I just hope the ugly one doesn't give me her phone number.
-There's a bar here that advertises “No cover before 11!” So we show up at 10:30 and they make us wait a half hour outside and then let us in at 11:01 and charge us cover anyway. And we get inside and the bar's empty! Imagine what the world would be like if it worked the same way as it does at bars: “Here's that pizza you ordered. I know on the phone we told you it would cost $10, but on the way over here we raised the price to $100. Also, I didn't even bring you a pizza. It's just a box of shredded newspaper.”
-There are no certainties in life, except that no matter what happens at the bar, I'll be the one who pays the cab fare home.
-I'm the guy who always makes fun of friends from warm climates when they complain that it's cold out. I'll say things like: “You call this cold? It's not even 0 degrees! You haven't seen cold. Come over to my side of the world, and I'll show you cold.” But secretly I'm cold too.
-Roommates are friends who will never leave your side. Even if you ask them politely, or throw their furniture out the window.
-I don't need an alarm clock. I always know when it's time to get up for class, because it's the only time of day or night that my roommates have turned off their stereos. When you're used to falling asleep listening to 50 Cent against your will, the shock of a quiet house is enough to get you out of bed.
-I have ‘Class Friends'. These are friends I met in class, and the only thing we have in common is that we're in the same class together. So whenever we get together, our conversations consist of nothing but talk about the class and awkward pauses. (“So, how'd you do on that test?” “Got an 80. You?” “74.” [awkward pause] “Well, see ya.”) At least I don't have their phone numbers.
-And, finally, I went and got a fish. It's a Siamese Fighting Fish. I named him Titus. I don't want to exaggerate, but he is without a doubt the cutest fish in the history of the world. I wanted to get two, but the lady in the fish store told me I'd have to put them in separate bowls, because Siamese Fighting Fish kill each other if they're together. So I just got the one. But I put a little mirror in the bowl, and now all Titus ever does is try to beat the hell out of the fish in the mirror. I'm like an abusive parent. I think I'll go back to the store and get another fish anyway, that way I can make some money by letting my friends bet on who's going to win.