My Swinging Bachelor Pad
I instinctively flick the light switch every time, only to find that nothing happens. Oh yeah, the lights don't work. After I step over the corner of my obnoxiously and excessively large seating device which blocks the door, I turn the switch of my desk lamp. It lights up the left third of my desk very nicely. A look around the room yields disgust. I have two couches, another obnoxiously and excessively large seating device, a miniature refrigerator incapable of maintaining a consistent temperature, and a dresser in the closet. Suffice it to say that my room lacks feng shui.
The dresser is unreachable. The unused seating device blocks the entrance to the closet, which forces me to scale the epic heights of the device whenever I need to quickly move piles of clothes to or from the closet. The clothes do not go into the dresser because that would somehow be less convenient. Rather, my clean clothes rest on one of my two sofas. The clothes sofa is a hideous color resembling the upper crust of the earth at some archaeological dig. Somehow, it's not the worst-looking sofa in the room.
The other sofa extends from the wall at about a 10 degree angle. This is not an ideal maximization of space in my room. It's also bursting at the seams, revealing a soft yellow foam that matches the color showing through the holes in the cushions. By all measures, this should be the clothes sofa, as even the archaeological dig pattern on the clothes sofa is preferable to this monstrosity.
However, my bedroom lacks a key component. In fact, there seemingly are only two key components of a bedroom: a bed and a room. Well, it is indeed a room. The existence of a bed is debatable. The yellow foam explosion couch does indeed pull out. However, the "mattress" is roughly three inches thick, lying atop metal bars that make me feel like The Princess and the Pea every time I bother trying to sleep on it. Most nights, I crash on the sofa itself; I've always been a big fan of sleeping on couches. However, I am a firm believer that variety is the spice of life, and every once in a while my memory of the spine-twisting torture rack fades. I've never had a great memory for anything but obscure baseball players from the 1990s.
It is this desire for variety that keeps the couch at its 10 degree angle. What, you ask, does the angle of the bed have to do with pulling it out? Well, unfortunately, my sleeping cell of a bedroom lacks the proper dimensions for two sofas, two excessively large seating devices, a desk, TV stand, dresser, and volatile mini-refrigerator. Therefore, the only way to pull out the yellow foam explosion sofa is to leave it at a 10 degree angle. This allows for an awkward space between the couch and the wall, which is where I put my hamper. The only entrance to this awkward space is a six-inch gap between the two sofas. I don't have to do a lot of walking in my room. I doubt I could play Twister in here.
My television remote lacks batteries, and I don't know if you've noticed what with the uproar over gas prices, but batteries are expensive. If I watch TV before I sleep, I watch TV as soon as I wake up without the burden of walking the 10 feet to the TV to turn it on. I cannot, however, change the channel without making that painstaking marathon of a walk.
I have a rather large collection of CDs, many of which I would love to listen to. Unfortunately, a 30 GB hard drive only allows for roughly 7500 songs, less if you account for all the necessary software for running a computer; my impressive CD collection well exceeds that number. It would be cool to listen to the CDs which don't fit on my hard drive with the aid of the DVD-ROM drive, except that a couple months back, the tray decided to cease all communication with the rest of the computer. I am staring right at the drive as I type this, and yet my computer refuses to acknowledge that such a drive exists. It's kind of like on TV shows when fighting family members tell a middleman to relay a message to the opposing relative. I suppose that makes me the middleman. Unfortunately, I speak English, and as far as I know, neither my computer nor my DVD-ROM drive speak a word of it. I have yet to try my sub-par Spanish speaking skills. But both parts were likely assembled in Asia, which is very far from Spain.
I have a digital camera that I don't use enough. Before, the reason was that I'm not much of a photographer to begin with; now, the reason is that the three-year old camera suffers from an internal problem that can only be solved under warranty. I had similar issues with my 20 GB iPod earlier this year. Thankfully, my parents supplied me with an iPod nano for Christmas. It goes nicely with my massive (and awesome) headphones.
The small refrigerator is just big enough to hold my two jars of peanut butter and three jars of grape jelly. I'm almost out of bread. I'm also sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When I'm not hating my room, I'm usually playing guitar or bass or video games. My favorite video game is a three-year old edition of Madden. That stopped working a while ago for some reason. It works for a little bit, but it always ceases functioning right before I can save my franchise. Trying to salvage the franchise is like assuming the role of Phil Connors in Groundhog Day. My new favorite game is NBA 2k6 because it's only one year old and it's mildly enjoyable. I also own the Grand Theft Auto double pack, but I stopped playing it because I lack the motor skills to snipe down enemies. Both GTA III and GTA Vice City are at a standstill on missions that involve sniping.
This is my room. I spend more time at the Collegian than is necessary for most people on staff, much less the senior music reporter. It is littered with unusable items, including food that I cannot cook due to a lack of cooking supplies. It also has a number of stolen items from my drunken adventures, including (but not limited to) a pair of orange star-shaped sunglasses, a (nearly empty) bottle of Everclear, a straw basket with a Burger King crown in it, assorted magazines, a white plastic stick with a red flag attached, a black cane with a white tip, and a large piece of wood.
It's come to my attention that I haven't done much hunting around for a place to live next year. I guess there's always this room.
The dresser is unreachable. The unused seating device blocks the entrance to the closet, which forces me to scale the epic heights of the device whenever I need to quickly move piles of clothes to or from the closet. The clothes do not go into the dresser because that would somehow be less convenient. Rather, my clean clothes rest on one of my two sofas. The clothes sofa is a hideous color resembling the upper crust of the earth at some archaeological dig. Somehow, it's not the worst-looking sofa in the room.
The other sofa extends from the wall at about a 10 degree angle. This is not an ideal maximization of space in my room. It's also bursting at the seams, revealing a soft yellow foam that matches the color showing through the holes in the cushions. By all measures, this should be the clothes sofa, as even the archaeological dig pattern on the clothes sofa is preferable to this monstrosity.
However, my bedroom lacks a key component. In fact, there seemingly are only two key components of a bedroom: a bed and a room. Well, it is indeed a room. The existence of a bed is debatable. The yellow foam explosion couch does indeed pull out. However, the "mattress" is roughly three inches thick, lying atop metal bars that make me feel like The Princess and the Pea every time I bother trying to sleep on it. Most nights, I crash on the sofa itself; I've always been a big fan of sleeping on couches. However, I am a firm believer that variety is the spice of life, and every once in a while my memory of the spine-twisting torture rack fades. I've never had a great memory for anything but obscure baseball players from the 1990s.
It is this desire for variety that keeps the couch at its 10 degree angle. What, you ask, does the angle of the bed have to do with pulling it out? Well, unfortunately, my sleeping cell of a bedroom lacks the proper dimensions for two sofas, two excessively large seating devices, a desk, TV stand, dresser, and volatile mini-refrigerator. Therefore, the only way to pull out the yellow foam explosion sofa is to leave it at a 10 degree angle. This allows for an awkward space between the couch and the wall, which is where I put my hamper. The only entrance to this awkward space is a six-inch gap between the two sofas. I don't have to do a lot of walking in my room. I doubt I could play Twister in here.
My television remote lacks batteries, and I don't know if you've noticed what with the uproar over gas prices, but batteries are expensive. If I watch TV before I sleep, I watch TV as soon as I wake up without the burden of walking the 10 feet to the TV to turn it on. I cannot, however, change the channel without making that painstaking marathon of a walk.
I have a rather large collection of CDs, many of which I would love to listen to. Unfortunately, a 30 GB hard drive only allows for roughly 7500 songs, less if you account for all the necessary software for running a computer; my impressive CD collection well exceeds that number. It would be cool to listen to the CDs which don't fit on my hard drive with the aid of the DVD-ROM drive, except that a couple months back, the tray decided to cease all communication with the rest of the computer. I am staring right at the drive as I type this, and yet my computer refuses to acknowledge that such a drive exists. It's kind of like on TV shows when fighting family members tell a middleman to relay a message to the opposing relative. I suppose that makes me the middleman. Unfortunately, I speak English, and as far as I know, neither my computer nor my DVD-ROM drive speak a word of it. I have yet to try my sub-par Spanish speaking skills. But both parts were likely assembled in Asia, which is very far from Spain.
I have a digital camera that I don't use enough. Before, the reason was that I'm not much of a photographer to begin with; now, the reason is that the three-year old camera suffers from an internal problem that can only be solved under warranty. I had similar issues with my 20 GB iPod earlier this year. Thankfully, my parents supplied me with an iPod nano for Christmas. It goes nicely with my massive (and awesome) headphones.
The small refrigerator is just big enough to hold my two jars of peanut butter and three jars of grape jelly. I'm almost out of bread. I'm also sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When I'm not hating my room, I'm usually playing guitar or bass or video games. My favorite video game is a three-year old edition of Madden. That stopped working a while ago for some reason. It works for a little bit, but it always ceases functioning right before I can save my franchise. Trying to salvage the franchise is like assuming the role of Phil Connors in Groundhog Day. My new favorite game is NBA 2k6 because it's only one year old and it's mildly enjoyable. I also own the Grand Theft Auto double pack, but I stopped playing it because I lack the motor skills to snipe down enemies. Both GTA III and GTA Vice City are at a standstill on missions that involve sniping.
This is my room. I spend more time at the Collegian than is necessary for most people on staff, much less the senior music reporter. It is littered with unusable items, including food that I cannot cook due to a lack of cooking supplies. It also has a number of stolen items from my drunken adventures, including (but not limited to) a pair of orange star-shaped sunglasses, a (nearly empty) bottle of Everclear, a straw basket with a Burger King crown in it, assorted magazines, a white plastic stick with a red flag attached, a black cane with a white tip, and a large piece of wood.
It's come to my attention that I haven't done much hunting around for a place to live next year. I guess there's always this room.
posted by Kevin A. Doran at 2:26 AM
1 Comments:
Hi Nice Blog .Several months ago my class project revealed that most students who were asked to give up their iPods and cell phones for two days could easily sacrifice the ipod batteries.
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