dressing room, revisited

Andrew Cone: a man who once lived in the leaky apartment closet of Texan drug dealers to save cash. (And score hash.)



I should note that Andrew no longer sleeps in a closet. Or rather (there are always "or rathers" when struggling to describe Drew) he does once again now (another story), but for most of the past year he acquired a nice apartment once he moved out of Haymarket.

However... apparently in addition to keeping a stash of clothes in our boiler room to bike over from work and change every morning, he had whittled down an even more efficient routine.

He would come to our house, peel off his underwear, wash it in BLEACH, iron it to dry crispiness, and re-don the jocks. This pair of ironed bleached undies would be worn two days rightside-out and two days inside-out to get the most use out. Like an old frat boy joke.

One night at mealtime this routine was revealed to us; revealed narratively, in the third person, not literally revealed - thank your deity of choice. Depending on how well our diners knew Andrew Cone, this little tale produced a variety of reactions from shock, disgust, to resigned shrugs and doubt about ever letting our clothing touch the community ironing board again.

Corrigan, however, happily celebrated validation:

"I told you!" he shouted. "I told you I saw Andrew Cone ironing his underwear!"

the german calendar

Ben told Barbara that they'd have to gang up and convince me to come with Glenn to Berlin for New Years.

"I don't think we have to convince her," Barbara said. "I think they want to come over, right April?"

We definitely do. It simply depends on how to arrange the time off, and I might have to make a mad dash for a mere two-day stay in Berlin.

"It all depends on where the holiday falls, and how many days I get off work. I dunno... what day does New Years fall on?"

Barbara shrugged and smirked. "January 1st?"

Smartarsch.

commuter computer

Brian suggested we watch footage of the first solely machine-operated commercial demo flight, with not a soul on board, as it gracefully flew its route to the commentary of its inventor, came in for a landing, angled itself, and kept on going right into the trees before exploding in an "oh no oh no OH no no no"-soundtracked fireball. A masterpiece of comedic destruction, science and technology gone wrong.

"I don't know if I'd get on board a plane with no human back up," I said cynically. "Even before YouTube footage."

On European airplanes, Corrigan & Lauren explained, a computer actually takes over from the humans in the case of an emergency. On US flights the scenario is opposite: a robot is flying unless there is drama, at which junction a human retakes control.

I questioned the notion of a computer taking the helm in unfamilar emergency circumstances. What if it screws up and we all end in an "oh no no no" fireball?

"That's why there are TWO computers," Corr said. "The emergency back-up, and the super computer for the emergency back-up back-up."

Even dumber, says I. "Why not just build the plane out of the black-box material and pilot it with the super computer to begin with??"

"Yeah," agreed Brian. "If you have a capable super computer, why do you bother to employ dumb computers?"

Which Corrigan duly explained...

"They're non-union."

tofu

As I spent Sunday afternoon in the kitchen puttering about attempting an ambitious meal in too little designated time, Ciara contributed her dicing and conversational skills to help the process along.

We discussed what she would make for her first meal, which would include kick-ass tofu from her mom's collection of tofu recipes.

"Wow, is your mom vegetarian?" I asked.

"No," Ciara shrugged. "She's just Japanese."

we owe you one, haymarket

Sitting in the kitchen last night eating cherries and watermelon with Kate, I told Glenn that Kate and I had spoken many hours about serious things while leaning on the kitchen island... that the Haymarket community had kept me stable.

"What would you have done without Haymarket?" Glenn nodded.

"Broken up with you, for sure," I confessed. I know with the dramas our relationship wouldn't have survived without my house as an outlet for discussions.

"Well," said Glenn quite seriously. "I owe a lot to Haymarket."

Kate smiled. "I think we all do."

an email from Sultan after finals

hey house,

I am officially back to the surface.

Sorry for my occupied existence in the last two weeks. But now its over (all the misery, too, eli!) And I am reallylooking forward to enjoy the next days with whoever is around and wants to hang out with me. And I am really looking forward to our house party, even though I know I will have a moment of revelation that this is the official day out of my lovely haymarket.

I will miss cleaning the fridge, freaking out in thekitchen, watching BJ reading the morning comics, wonderingabout ED's gumbo soups, April's sex jokes, Megan's pajamas (squared design pants), Kate's sudden attacks to bake cupcakes, Andrew Cones sudden attacks to plunder the kitchen,Corigan's animal sign language and and and...

best, sultaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan