Page 6
As Dennis would say,
"And I am outta here!"
by Mark Owens
I've let myself go these past
couple of weeks. The laundry
isn't done, the dishes are piled
high in the sink and I've gotten
a restraining order forbidding
the bathroom from going
anywhere without our
permission.
But that's okay; in two
weeks I'm moving out for
good.
Since I graduate this May, I
won't be returning to apartment
901 ever again. Instead, I'll be
living in a place where the
landlord doesn't recommend
hanging posters or pictures
with toothpaste.
Which brings me to the
point of this column. By
looking into the Slob
Managerie (my apartment), I'll
be able to illustrate how my
plan for moving is better than
one conceived by, say, some
who has consumed the first
two rows of drinks on that
"Mixed Results” poster.
By following this amazing
and revolutionary strategy, you
From the hi
Hey--Can you
rewind that?
Check input meters. Turn on EQ. Cue leader tape. Clear
counter. Press RECORD.
That's practically a daily ritual for me; one that has become
almost as natural as brushing my teeth. It's a trait my roommates
have silently endured all year, as they tiptoe across the room,
fearful of the skips (and the glares they inspire) that heavy footfalls
send through my touchy CD player.
I've been obsessed with music for some time now, but it wasn't
always this bad. When I moved into Perry Hall four years ago, for
example, my meager music collection consisted of only a handful
of CDs and a Nike shoebox full of cassettes.
So never mind the fact that I've since bought two CDs for each
classroom credit I've earned at Behrend, and please disregard the
bank of cassettes that now lines the wall of my apartment
bedroom. (Honest Mom, all that money went toward food and
laundry -1 swear.)
The CDs, of course, draw people's attention first, but it's the
tapes that really mean something to me. You see, most of them are
home-made copies, and each brings back memories of good friends
sitting in front of cheap speakers.
There's the Blues Traveler from an ex-girlfriend at State
College, the Arlo Guthrie tape my roommate accidentally doused
with hot potpourri two years ago, and the fine nature recording
(that's right, a full hour of a recorded thunderstorm) that our sports
editor tossed my way during one particularly rough study session.
There's also the Third Degree demo I snagged after last year's
Battle of the Bands and the Phish tape my friend Chas ("Dude, you
gotta' review this for the paper") nagged me about all year.
And, of course, there's still the John Lennon tape I was playing
when I wrecked my Dad's car , the Black Crowes import I found in
Chicago during Spring Break last year, and the Grateful Dead
bootlegs (with original cover art, thanks to an old Perry alumnus)
from our trips to Pittsburgh, Richfield, and Hamilton, Ontario.
The tapes themselves don't mean much; it's the story behind
each one that counts. So, as I get ready to leave Behrend, taking
with me a few new ideas, a few old friends, and a lot of new music,
I have to worry. I have to pick up the slack in case my next
roommate doesn't have the latest Scouish bagpipe hymn collection
on disc.
After all, there's a lot of memories left out there, and this tape's
just about through.
will be able to move out of
your apartment or dorm room
efficiently, easily and with
minimal artillery support.
My plan is broken down
into a simple room-by-room
search and destroy format:
Living room: This will
be the staging for all other
operations; therefore, it is
essential this area be secured
first. Some sturdy boxes, latex
gloves and an industrial
strength vacuum should be
enough.
Kitchen: This room will
be a little tougher; so get help.
You may have to sacrifice
some dishes and Tupperware
containers for the cause,
especially the ones that fight
back when thrust into the sink.
As for the refrigerator, just
weld it shut and run away. Last
year we lost a roommate to a
container of ham loaf that had
been in the fridge since
August. It wasn't pretty. To
this day I get a little misty
eyed every time I pass the deli
counter at Giant Eagle.
Bathroom: Remember
The Collegian
Aliens ? That’s our bathroom.
'Nuff said. I recommend sealing
the door with that "Caution:
Crime Scene" tape and letting
it be.
Bedroom: Since I'll be
moving into my next place the
same way I moved into 901 -
dumping everything onto the
floor - I'm not going to pack
Robb Frederick, a
graduating
communication
major, has been a
member of The
Collegian editorial
staff for over two
years. Don't even
think about
buying him blank
tapes for
graduation
The
Missing
Pieces
neat. Throwing everything into
15 small boxes will work just
fine. Another reminder: use
toothpaste to fill in all those
little holes in your walls
caused by posters, nets,
rejection letters, etc. If it's
good enough for Housing, it's
good enough for us.
It's almost 2:30 in the
morning as I write this week's
column. I'm sitting in front of
a Macintosh hammering on its
keyboard. There's a six-pack of
Mountain Dew and a bag of
pretzels sitting on my left, a
stack of papers on my right and
the latest Red Hot Chili
Peppers disk playing on the
stereo. In other words, business
as usual.
Except tonight I'm a little
sad as I peck at the keyboard.
This is the last time I'll be
writing Pieces, the last time
I'll be stretching line tape, the
last time to tell the security
officer I'll be outta the office
by 3 a.m., we 11... maybe 4
a.m.
This May I'll be graduating
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9a
Thursday, April 30, 1992
and moving on to the next big
adventure. Like many
graduates, I'm pretty nervous
about the whole deal: uncertain
about which career path to
take, which apartment to rent,
which pair of underwear is
clean. Sti— hold on a second...
Sorry about that. It was the
security officer, asking what
time I'd be done. I told him
three, maybe four. He just
smiled and closed the door.
I'm going to miss Behrend.
I've made many friends and
memories here. Over the past
four years the school and its
people -- friends, students and
professors -- have taught me a
great deal about myself, letting
me become more than the shy,
quiet (really!) guy I used to be.
I'll always be grateful for
the encouragement they gave
when I made mistakes and their
candor when I didn't want to
admit I made them. Thanks for
reading.
Collegian
Reporters
Photographers
Copy Editors
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