Writer. Warning: opinions. My lawyer advised a disclaimer, but didn't include any jokes to go with. Damned if I can think of any either.

Big Fish, Cluttered Apartment

On Saturday morning I drove down to the fine city of Perry, Georgia to participate in a time trial style bike race. I’m proud to report that I am now in first place in my division as of my effort. It must be noted, however, that the only other entrant in my division might have actually just been a passing gentleman on his way to the grocery store on his bike, but I think those details are immaterial.

True, the field was small, but at least I was at the head of it. Better to be a big fish in a small pond than a fat guy in the middle of the pack, even if the “pond” is really more like a bowl of water in which you’re only partially submerged.

During the race I overtook a kid and a guy on a fixed gear. The fixed gear guy was the only one in his division, so he’s not even a big fish in a small pond; more like a big fish on a wet plate.

After the race I made the mistake of driving into Warner Robbins, Georgia to a popular coffee destination. I say mistake because, though it was only a mile or two off the interstate, the stop lights seemed to be perfectly timed to keep people in the town as long as possible. The road was a four lane channel between huge warehouse after huge warehouse far back from the road. Each was surrounded by vast parking lots, and selling televisions and toasters and lumber.

The stop lights seemed to say “But wait! Don’t you want to stop in and purchase one of our items?”

How girls see my apartment (artist's conception)

I already have a good many items, though.

In fact, my many items lead me to wonder what a girl sees should she happen to wander into my place. I mean, of course, the chief problem with my home is the occupant himself, but like the obsessed interior designer on the sinking Titanic, I cannot help but to arrange the deck chairs properly even as the ship is going down.

Upon unlocking my front door and swinging it wide, I bet my front room gives away the stark lack of a woman’s touch immediately, much in the way that a mustache can give away that one has recently eaten soup. I do have a small art collection, now up to 4 pieces thanks to a Christmas gift from my dad, but those are hung in the hallway and my bedroom, and by that time the damage is done.

Leaving all this aside, there’s still the cost of having so many hobbies. Between music gear, bikes, golf, and video games, it’s tough to keep a few dollars in my pocket. This problem has been rattling around in my head for a while, and I figure if you can’t settle something easily, just give it a name and live with it.

So, I have renamed my apartment. Come on over sometime.. to Manland!