We’ve all heard the phrase “money can’t buy you happiness.”

I’m assuming that’s true.

I wouldn’t know. I’d love to test it out though.

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Recently I bought a new universal remote control. It’s not just any remote control. It’s a beautiful wonderful device that will control all of my components where lesser remotes failed. It has learning capabilities, programmable buttons and Bluetooth technology. It is the master remote. The “one remote.”  One remote to rule them all.

Unfortunately, I do not always get control of the “one remote.” You see I have a nice television. Everyone really likes it. And everyone really likes watching it. Some more than others. Some more than me…

If there is anything I have learned from living with various roommates throughout my years, it’s that not all of them have my impeccable taste for television programming or my penchant for all things baseball. In fact, some of my roommates throughout the years actually have television addictions of their own. This causes quite the discrepancy in my television viewing habits. Particularly during baseball season.

Being the non-confrontational person that I am, I often elect to listen to my baseball games on the radio, or watch my television late at night when others have retired for the evening. I don’t mind for the most part. It works out pretty well. I get to watch my TV late at night in peace and quiet, and during the day my roommates can get their regular 8-hour dose of their particular brand of extremist political propaganda, college sports from the Midwest,  and reality television. Sometimes for sake of roommate relations, I even sit in for a minute or two during these 8-hour media binges. Unless of course it’s reality television. I can’t stand that reality television. I don’t know why anyone in my apartment ever watches reality television.

In hindsight, maybe I should have kept the “one remote” a secret.

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Freeloader. Slacker. Mooch. Sponge. Locust. Bottom feeder. Bum. We all know one of these people. The guy who never brings anything to the table. The guy in the group who expects you to do all the work and then share in the credit. The guy who is always short a couple bucks. The guy who shows up and asks what’s for dinner. The roommate who eats all your leftover pizza when he thinks you’re all done with it. (Actually…I might be that roommate…)

We all know one of these people. Heck, at varying times in our lives (I’m looking at you college years) we’ve probably BEEN one of these people. But there comes a time in everyone’s life when you just can’t allow this behavior anymore. You need to speak your mind. You need to think of yourself. You have to stand up tall and proud and say:

“Dude. You need to start wearing your own underwear.”

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I have a creative mind. My apartment is living proof of this matter. I don’t have anything clever or witty to write this week, except to say that if anyone wants to come over and un-creative my mind I wouldn’t object. I can pay you…in empty pizza boxes, old t-shirts, and junk mail. You know you want to.

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Oddly appropriate…

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Seriously. Apartments in the bay area are so ridiculously expensive. $1000 a month for a studio apt?! Sweet! That’s a total steal around here! It’s lame. I don’t like it. I think we should do it like they do on the island of Yap, where everyone is given a plot of land the moment they’re born. That’d be awesome. Unless I was given something in the East Bay…

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05/20/2007 Hooray for me, I updated!

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