Sam is moving in this weekend. My near month-long idyll is at an end. I mean, I like the kid, but he's really gonig to cramp my style. And by "style" I mean "willingness to walk around the apartment wearing only slippers and a terrycloth bathrobe."

Actually, it's not bad. I'm pretty psyched to have someone else around the house. And he works so much, it's going to be just like not having anyone else around, only cheaper. And we'll get cable, and a cable modem, and food in the house, and someone I can whup up on in Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3. Come to think of it, I'm really psyched that someone is moving in.

I'm going to have to take care of a few things beforehand, though. Like replacing the pot that I scorched last night (which I feel really bad about. First time I ever do something like that, and it's someone elses stuff. Disaster). Oh, and putting a curtain on the door to my room. Right now it's a glass door. Which looks nice, but when I'm getting my groove thing on (read: going to sleep in my birthday suit) I don't want anyone looking in to see the way it's done (I'll tell you, though: two feather pillows under my head, one in my arms, one leg over the blankets and one under. I'm a fairly specific sleeper).

And before anyone can get to it, just because I like playing video games that involve skateboarding does not mean that I believe that I can do any of those things. I can't tell you how many times I've been berated for that without any provocation (sitting on my couch with a bag of chips and a game controller does NOT count as provocation). I flirted briefly with skateboarding. It ended quickly and painfully, and I never looked back. I don't know what it is about that particular subgenre of video game that elicits that sort of response from onlookers, anyway. When I'm seen playing Commandos, nobody warns me against going out to steal the codes for the Enigma machine and killing Nazis. And with years of playing Tetris (poorly, but earnestly), I've never gotten a single caveat against arranging blocks. Well, that's not strictly true, but you really aren't supposed to play Jenga on a glass table). But put a skateboarder on the screen and it's all concerns about my safety and assumptions that I'm an imbicile that can't tell 'fake' from 'real.' (I know, I know. But I thought it was funny to spell 'imbecile' incorrectly. Maybe it was too subtle).

Went to see a show at the Roseland this week. DJ Shadow played about a 1.5 hour set (before him were a few djs playing together - one of whom was one of the guys from the Cut Chemists. Which is evidentally kind of cool, but I'm not hip enough to know that). In case you didn't know it, you are a really big fan of DJ Shadow. For a number of reasons, but mostly because he's awesome. He did this fantastic bit where he linked up a digital video sampler to an Roland MPC (which is a audio sampler) to everytime he played an audio sample it projected a video sample onto the screens behind him. The samples he used were all these bits from "Teach Yourself Drumming" videos. Really innovative stuff.

I may have mentioned that my landlord put in a new front door on the building the other day. As I was locking the door on my way out this morning, I happened to look up at the numbers on the door. Which were written in blue ball point pen. Struck me as funny to put in a new door which probably cost a couple of hundred dollars, and then neglect to go that extra mile for the actual numbers. Or at least to write it in with a Sharpie or something. You know, it's not even an extra mile. It's more like an extra 10 yards.