advanced filing system

It was to be a short trip to Miller Hill and Best Buy.

It became a three-hour whirling dervish of composing hip-hop at Schmitt Music, detuning a five-string electric mandolin, playing church hymns with a wonderful organ sample, pawing through dozens of CDs at Barnes and Noble, and listening to them at nifty listening stations. Mark bought CDs and tea, I bought Mark Twain and Vonnegut. Doug wanted a $10,000 synthesizer that wrote music for you, Dani wanted a Slip ‘n’ Slide and Anton wanted a ride home so he could pick up his car at my apartment.

Doug and I pretended we were raptors on the way back to Stadium, and made a racket yowling and pounding our heads against the front door. Eventually the RA came and opened the door with a request. “Keep it sane, guys.”

College. Rocks.

Hmm, my room is a mess again. I apparently have an advanced filing system that takes place on the floor, as all other horizonal surfaces are covered in computer, electronics, notes, mugs, books, incense, notes, bones, pictures, Slinky, duct tape, cigar box, rocks, CDs and various other things whose original purpose I have since forgotten (why the hell do I keep an emergency flare around?).

So, the filing works as follows. Items near the trash can are to be thrown away, but may still be salvaged if a new purpose is found. This group includes a sleeve of stale saltines, last week’s Duluth News Tribune and a Hawaiian shirt. Items already in the trash can are thrown away permenantly, and the separation between to-be-thrown-away and are-thrown-away keeps my garbage rooting to a minimum. I’m saving that talent for after I graduate.

Near the trash can, and usually not confused with the trash can, are clothes to be hung up in the closet. Today in this group we have a nice pair of pants, today’s sweaty socks, stuff sacks from Zion and a Hawaiian shirt. Clothes too rank to be worn again are immediately tossed in the hamper at the foot of my bed, where they mingle late into the night, listen to poetry and develop philosophical treatises. “That’s some hep funk you got goin’ on there, cat.”

More later. Sleep and/or homework now.