Saturday, October 17, 2015

Sausage Sighting of the Crazy Bodybuilder Downstairs

Upstate New York, June  2010

When I was living in Upstate New York, I had a third floor apartment, directly above a crazy bodybuilder named Richard.

He wasn't really a bodybuilder, but he had a respectable physique, big biceps and a thick, hairy chest, and he never wore a shirt.

Sounds nice so far, except he was crazy.  Whenever he saw me get Chinese, Thai, or pizza, whenever he saw me with a Price Chopper shopping bag, he went into a tirade.  That stuff was destroying the world!

Chickens were tortured to death so we could eat them!

Bananas were grown by slave labor and transported through gas-guzzling, ozone-depleted trucks, with the truckers denied access to health care!

I should only eat free-range, free-trade, gluten-free, locally grown, organic, tie-dyed vegan goop.

He had a girlfriend who was even worse.




His apartment was full of free-trade, world-saving, garbage-into-art drek: bowls made of saris by women rescued from human trafficking in Bangladesh, pillows made of discarded brown rice bags by orphans with tuberculosis in Nicaragua; planters made of gun casings by wide-eyed children forced into military service in Zaire.

Plus about a thousand palms, bonsai lemon trees, rubber trees, paduratas, ficus, and ferns.  It was like walking into a rain forest.

With those ghostly, whistling Peruvian panpipes, flutes, tambors, and ocarinas playing constantly.

Richard could be nice -- he looked after my cat when I was out of town, and when I was sick, he brought me a green-tinted mung bean casserole (that looked so gross, I got even sicker).

And he was gay-positive.  Gay rights was one of his pet causes, along with fracking, whaling, animal rights, women's rights, child labor, water conservation, and free trade.

But he was still annoying.  When I ran into him at the mailboxes or in the common area, I gave him a brief "Hi-how-are-you" or flashed a smile and rushed on, to avoid the harangue about the sins of kung pao chicken, Diet Coke, plastic bags, leather jackets, newspapers, Nike shoes, basically everything I used, wore, or enjoyed.


My balcony had a floor of bare wood blanks which looked directly down onto his balcony, where Richard ate all of his meals, from his first sip of free-range, organic, locally grown, free-trade tea in the morning to his final mung-bean-compote nightcap.  In the summer, when the windows were open, I could hear everything he said or did.

But one night I heard something different: Richard and his girlfriend giggling.

They were always deadly serious, moping around over the oppression of animals, the carcinogenic properties of plants, and the forthcoming carbon-emission destruction of all life on earth. Why giggling?


Curious, I walked onto the balcony and peered through the floorboards.

Flickering candles made of locally-grown, free-trade bee's wax.

Richard was lying on a pile of blankets woven from the fibers of free-range linen by children freed from sweat shops in Madagascar.   The girlfriend was kneeling beside him.  They had stopped giggling.  Now they were kissing.

Naked.

Wait -- what was that, illuminated in the dim orange light?  Was it his leg?  Or was he holding a baseball bat?

It took a moment to realize what I was seeing.

Enormous!  Gigantic!  Kovbasa++++!

I was mesmerized.  I stared until eventually he initiated sexual intercourse, and it vanished.

After that I made a point of stopping to chat with Richard, inviting him to church and to the gym, asking to borrow some of his books on why I should feel guilty about eating cows and using kleenix.

If he wondered why I suddenly became so friendly, he didn't let on.

See also: my top 15 Sausage Sightings.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Haldor and I Compete in a Dating Contest

Rock Island, December 1980

At the start of my junior year at Augustana College, I liked a member of the Bookstore Gang named Haldor (his real name, he was Swedish), tall, muscular, with a cute nerdish quality.  So I was pleasantly surprised when one day he took me aside and said, "You never date girls, and I never date girls, so why don't we team up?"

"Um...what?"   I assumed that Haldor never dated because he was too busy with the radio station, writer's club, and trying to read every science fiction novel ever published.  Was he gay?  Did he want to date me?

No such luck.  "Like a contest, to give us an incentive.  We make a list, and we each ask out every girl on it. Whoever gets the most dates by the end of the quarter wins."

The last thing I wanted was a date with a girl. I was busy cruising at the levee and spending occasional nights with Dr. Burton and his handcuffs. But I wasn't out at all.

But lots of guys who would never go out with you alone would eagerly agree to a "double date," with girls as a buffer between you. So I agreed.

With one proviso: we compile the list scientifically, not based on the girl's looks (no discussions of female pulchritude).

We got a campus directory and wrote down every female English or Modern Language major at Augustana, presuming that a shared major would lend us some compatibility.

Carefully worded inquiries and cross-checks of club memberships allowed us to eliminate girls who were seniors, in sororities, loose, who already had boyfriends, or who "one of us" had asked out before.

The research was a lot of fun. Calculating, cross-checking, tabulating at a little table in the student union snack bar, drinking coffee, my knee accidentally brushing against Haldor's, clapping him on the shoulder when he came up with an important fact.

Then we weighted in our own attractiveness on the dating market.

Augustana girls did not go on dates for fun.  They were trolling for husbands who could provide them with big cars, dinners at Jumer’s Castle Lodge, diamond watches, designer shoes, theater tickets, and vacations trips to the Greek Islands. So they evaluated potential suitors according to a strict hierarchy.

1.  Were you a fratboy? This trumped everything.  A girl would cancel a date with another boy instantly, even drop a long-term boyfriend, just for the chance to meet a fratboy in the Student Union for a coke.

If you weren't a frat boy, they evaluated you based on:

1. Are you rich, able to afford drop-dead-from-envy dates with Daddy's allowance (50 points)

2. Do you have a "gold mine major" will lead to wealth in the future, like business or computer science (40 points); a practical major like social work or psychology (30 points); or a "head case" major, useless, only for lunatics, like English or history (20 points).

3. Do you have any of: a car, an off-campus apartment, flashy disco moves, a wild-and-crazy personality, an arrest record, a Robert Redford smile, a Sylvester Stallone physique, or an awe-inspiring penis (5 points each).

4. Do you have any of: a menial part-time job, still live with parents, regrettable leisure pursuits, a shy-and-quiet personality, goody-goody morals, a clock-stopping face, a fat belly, or a "Danish dick" (- 5 points each).

When a non-fratboy asked you for a date, you scored them (-70  to 130 points) , then decided if you should settle or wait for someone better.

Haldor and I figured that I was a 45 and he was 80 (being rich and living in the dorms pushed him over).  So  in order to win, I would need 1.5 times the number of dates Haldor got.


We also made rules about when to ask (not Friday night -- that was reserved for Dr. Burton), and the activities we could suggest.

Then Haldor started at the top of the list and I started at the bottom, and we spent two evenings in November in my dorm room, calling and asking out 23 girls.

The results:
Wanted to be just friends:  Boomer 6, Haldor 10

Had to wash their hair that night: Boomer 4, Haldor 6

Holding out for someone better: Boomer 6, Haldor 3

Just began dating someone else a few minutes ago, darn the luck: Boomer 4, Haldor 1

Laughed and hung up: Boomer 0, Haldor 2

Agreed, but wanted to bring their boyfriends: Boomer 3, Haldor 0

Agreed: Boomer 0, Haldor 1

We decided to count the girls who wanted to bring their boyfriends as .5 dates.  So my final score was 1.5 and Haldor's was 1.  I won a heterosexual dating contest!

But as a consolation prize, I invited Haldor along on my "dates" with the three girls who were bringing their boyfriends.

If dating always involved a girl who was just a friend and two other guys, I was all for it!

And sure enough, at the end of one "date," a muscular fratboy named Brandon invited me back to his room to do...well, what heterosexuals do while thinking about girls.

See also: My Professor's Handcuff Party; Erik and the Naked Nordic God.


L

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