Tempestuous Fury

Life continues to unwind in its slow, boring way down here in Orlando, Fl. I must relate some humourous commentary and events that transpired recently here on Friday, though, between myself and a couple of my cool roomies, Patrick and Jim.

Typically when we all get back in from work, we have a small time bull session around the kitchen. Sometimes it’s small, sometimes it’s big, and sometimes we’re just too tired to do it at all. But usually there’s a nice one on Friday, it being Friday and all. So anyway, Kenny, the newest roomie who replaced Steve, is a lazy, no-good so-and-so. He’s around 35, and just moved out from living with his parents. Think about that one for a few moments. Yes, it’s that bad. They both still come here a few times a week with food for him, and occasionally with some money.

I think you can see where this is going.

So, with his parents providing him with extra money and taking care of his food resupply still, it’s easy to understand why he isn’t responsible at all. My personal theory is that his parents are finally getting sick of his shit and are setting him up here to sink or swim in the real world, with this place and a starter kit of stuff as a raft, so to speak. Thus far he’s talked about pawning stuff, made a nuisance of himself going through Patrick’s fridge, and irritated Jim with constant requests to “borrow” money. He also offered to buy Patrick’s fairly new low mileage Mustang GT for $5000 in payments of $50 a week, which is of course incredibly insulting.

He goes through alot of dishes as well and naturally doesn’t wash them when he’s done. It pisses us off, and me more than anyone because I use the kitchen reasonably often. And so on Thursday, when it’s been at least four days and he’s left his dirty stuff in the sink, I got on his case: I knocked on his door, and sarcastically asked him if he ever intended to do his dishes. This got his attention, and he got up and immediately did them. A pleasant surprise for me; I expected him to deny they were his.

So on Friday I get in and Jim is there snickering when he sees me, and relates a HILARIOUS story to me: apparently after Kenny had cleaned up his crap, he’d gone out on the front porch and had a smoke with Jim where he complained that I was SUCH A TYRANT. I was SO HARD on him, BITCHING at him to CLEAN HIS DISHES, after he’d had a FULL DAY OF WORK (just like everyone else here). Yes, dear reader, life is tough in the great suburban outback. Apparently, you can’t just get high off your ass and dirty dishes up all the time; you have to clean up after yourself! Who’d have thought?

Jim had the best time with this, because of all people here I’m by far the most mellow and laid back, and he wasn’t ten feet away in the bathroom when I got on Kenny’s case. Then Patrick got in and we told him and everyone laughed their asses off, because Patrick is the one with the real temper and we all know it. The dishes were cleared though, and this impressed both of them a bit, and so Patrick proposed we get some Everclear. Now, this is something he’d been proposing to me for several weeks now. As the most clean, upright, and sober amongst us all, Jim and Patrick figured they should introduce me to some alcohol and tobacco products. In fact, almost everyone I meet seems to think I’m missing out on such things, and offers them to me (of course the first hit is free from your “friend,” although they see themselves as helping you to do something they find fun and they think you’ll find fun too. You pay for subsequent hits of course, because no one supports another’s habit).

But back on track, Everclear was very interesting to me for other reasons than intoxication. For the ignorant, Everclear is 190 proof grain alcohol, or ethanol. I divined that it could have several uses, such as fueling my Zippo, with other uses to be found. And then I saw this on Wikipedia:

“Everclear is also gaining popularity as fuel for the alcohol stoves and Beverage-can stoves often used by ultralight backpackers. It is expensive compared to denatured alcohol, but many backpackers greatly value it because unlike most other fuels it is non-toxic (accidental introduction will not ruin the food being prepared) and can be used as a hand cleanser, disinfectant, panic suppressant, painkiller, or as a beverage mixer.”

And with all those uses, I knew I needed to have some in stock. So we hit the nearest ABC Liquor, and discovered that Florida prohibits alcohol content over about 154 proof or so, thus killing our idea. But we got cranberry juice as planned anyway, and Jim went for some Bacardi 152 proof rum instead, with the us having the idea to mix the two. (Yes, we were still sober at the time. Go figure.) We then got back with the goods, and I figured we could mix Moutain Dew in as well since I had alot of it. So first I went for a half and half of Mountain Dew and cranberry juice, no alcohol, and it actually tasted really good. Jim christened it Crandew, and I really recommend you try it sometime. Then they had to add some rum to my glass just because it was there, and so I had some just because. They did buy it for me almost on my account, after all. Can’t turn down that level of hospitality politely. A lot of tomfoolery, some involving Bic lighters with the 152 proof ethanol, followed, which demonstrates why having a sober paid bartender around is probably a good idea. But I remember all of what happened, and am still gratified to know that despite all that alcohol I retained a fairly high presence of mind. Hangover, the first I ever experienced, was minimal because I was still alert enough to drink a hell of alot of water.

The next day, Saturday, I showed up at 07:00 for a camping trip. Whoo! And to be honest, I actually felt quite good; I’d fully recovered and was up at 04:00 that morning. I even had time to cook breakfast! And the trip was great.

But now Monday is upon me again. I’m not really happy at my job; I always stay up late because when I go to sleep it makes the workday approach that much more quickly in my perception. Survey field work in general is becoming more and more distasteful with each passing day: I am now aware of the technical difference between a drug dealer as opposed to a drug pusher. I never used to know much of anything about illegal drugs; and now I learn new things about them slowly but surely despite the fact that I resolutely detest and stay away from such things. A career switch, which involves a crap load of work, is beginning to look like a better idea all the time. At the very least I think I might have to move out of Orlando to someplace else, maybe entirely out of Florida. I don’t know; I’ll have to think about it. I’m going to stick it out till I can go to BTSR this summer, and then I’ll decide after that.  The whole concept is a bit depressing.