BOUT A MONTH AGO, after $677.17 in car repairs,
2851 miles of driving, and an evening of mind-shattering hip hop in a North Little Rock “Shenanigans,” I found myself in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I knew of this so-called “powder-blue heaven” only from the
ravings of a deranged Tar Heel I’d met in college (for some reason you can also see him in
this HBO documentary), but my associate Rollo had just started business school at UNC and had a room to let, so I decided to give it a shot. Since I don’t own any furniture, Rollo, a more than gracious landlord, gave me a love seat and helped me drag a gently used particle-board desk from someone’s trash pile. We then set about getting drunk enough to forget our respective Troubles—that I was broke, unemployed, and miserable, and that he had a mandatory “improv workshop” to attend the next morning, as part of his B-school orientation.
We did this with Keystone, just as we’d done the last time we were roommates—our senior year of college. We had come full circle, and the pathos of this situation wasn’t lost on us. Now, classier readers are most likely unaware that Keystone cans are decorated with haiku-like “Unsmooth Moments,” ostensibly meant to be funny but in fact brutally accurate reflections of the average Keystone drinker’s daily travails. When I plucked out a can reading GOT 2 NEW ROOMMATES (THEY GO BY MOM AND DAD), I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “This could have been me,” I thought. “This could all too easily have been me.”
Well, guess what? I wasn’t in Chapel Hill two weeks before a combination of credit card debt and family obligations* put an end to my southern sojourn and pulled me back into my clan’s upstate New York orbit. Now I live several blocks from my parents in a non-residential studio space—the worst of both worlds!—where my “kitchen” comprises a hot plate, a slow cooker, and this mini-fridge, kindly donated by my uncle (note totally sick Rolling Rock decal).
Dishes must be taken care of in the bathroom sink. I have lived in an apartment where the bathroom sink was in the kitchen, but never vice versa. It doesn’t get much more humiliating than this. (Well, it does, but at that point you no longer have Internet access and can’t blog about it.) Luckily, the Hudson Valley is full of edible and sometimes affordably priced cuisine. So, can I make the best of a truly abysmal situation and remain the same sophisticated glutton I’ve always been? Keep checking back to find out!
* None of your goddamn business