Previte

Some things change. In the Andrew/Matt apartment, we are proud not to be one of those things.

ACT I
Me: [on couch, in underwear, eating hersheys from a 4 pound bag and dipping them in Skippy while watching the history channel] "Oh, I didn't know you already went to the gym, I would have gone with you. Wait, what time is it? Damn, I think I'm 45 minutes late for class. Hey, can you put away all the costco food my mom sent me?"

Roommate: [in kitchen, in underwear, stirring creatine-supplemented protein power shake with hands washed raw, standing on towel with neck shavings, flexing at the refrigerator door in hopes of catching an angle with convex reflection as he throws a tissue at the heaped pile of them next to the trash] "Listen pal, why don't you stop being such a fat, pathetic, helpless sack of goo? You're disgusting. You sicken me worse than that ugly bitch JP Morgan recruiter who interviewed me last week, who wouldn't stop pulling on her mole hair and had breath that stank like jungle rot. I'm so glad I did well and don't have to see HER again!"

Me: [sees woman standing behind roommate] "Oh, by the way, I forgot. There's an i-bank lady here to see you."

ACT II
So the Show goes on. Andrew and Matt, with no Ernest C. Howard in the middle to balance them out, are back under one roof. The last time these stars aligned in Fall of 2000, George Bush was losing popular elections to coastal voters, Yasir Arafat was spurring comatose Palestinians to start an initifada, and the Yankees and Red Sox were finished 1-2 in the AL East with the winner going on to be World Series champs. There was no job security, which meant you couldn't get a job, and meant you could get to the 8th floor of a midtown advertising company without a radiotag photoID and a background check. The last Super Bowl had an ad with a sock puppet.

Ahhh... the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Doing justice to any '00 recollection begs mention of one other seminal event of Y2K. The 1F Watt Ice Luge Party. Dim the lights... remember the strobe... see the disco ball. bathroom kegs. kitchen bar. rabbit-bumpin' techno. strangers crawling in through open windows. drunk swedish fish luging their way to reverse Jonah impressions. Waking up in bed the next morning with an open beer. Who else misses college?

This Saturday night, Matt and I are going back to the future with a college party for immature 20somethings (with some latitude on each end), and you are coming along. The apartment is nicer to look at; the inhabitants maybe less so. We can afford more booze; our alcoholisms have progressed. Our neighbors were really, really jewish... well, there are some things to which no adapting will be necessary. Its an event not to miss! Ice sculpture and 4-can capacity beer funnel on the smoking balcony. MP3s from napster. A mini-bar looking for companionship. Ernie, drooling in the shower, covered in urine, not his own. Oar-stealing raids on frat houses to follow!
Saturday, 10pm, my FDR Ju-plex
Gmail me or wait for the actual evite for more details.