Ol’ Riki Tiki Reflects on Moving Between Apartments

I’m moving around the corner from where I’m living now. I like to keep a tight circumference on the pulsing & thriving four-part mindhive of Parking Lots that comes to it’s epicenter right in the middle of downtown Ypsi.  I’ve walked diagonally through every single one of those parking lots in order to get to work, the park, or the bar, faster for the past six years now, and that’s not changing for at least one more 12-month lease.

It’s a real “grown-up move” for me. I’m getting my own apartment. I’m organizing all my books. I’m planning on buying my own toaster oven, and I’m currently defrosting the freezer. I’m renting a relatively crappy one-bedroom and making it my kingdom. Exciting as that sounds, my kingdom might be a real sloppy carousel ride around experimental organizational techniques and crazed late-night thrift shop shenanigans. I own a lot of strange things, mostly due to a dumb sense of humor and throwing highly-themed parties my entire life. Just to give you a little sample of the spice, here are some of things I currently own and must move:

  • A fake gold peacock clock (Instructions: Hang in bathroom above toilet. Call it the “peeclock.”)
  • -A set of scales
  • A golden telescope that has recently been spray-painted silver and put into a planter that contains a mostly dead palm tree, and the desperate attempts of new plants that have landed themselves into the planter since it’s tenure out on the porch.
  • A  wooden 3-foot spoon
  • A wooden 3-foot fork
  • 2 keyboards
  • A clown suit
  • A couple boxes of antique hats





Actually, I would love if everybody (and I mean EVERYBODY) did what I just did and write up a list of the


You know you kinda want to. I mean, after all, I shared pictures of the SPACEGRABBER.

The big thing about this apartment is I’ll finally be able to set-up my own kitchen, which I’ve never done before. It’s always hard sharing a kitchen once everybody stops being 18 and starts wanting romance out of meals. People start buying nice gear that is expensive to replace, and having more than one kind of olive oil, and end up using the kitchen for so much more than “nuking this already toasted pop-tart, brah.”

It’s worked out pretty well at my house, considering four girls who like eating live here. We’ve only had a couple dramatic moments concerning belongings and/or dirty dishes and/or the weird stain on the fridge. All in all, nice work ladies.

Sharing a kitchen lends itself pretty well to the sort of slash-and-burn eating lifestyle I’ve had over the past few years. I never meant to eat at home like a total freak; I think it just sorta happens when your professional life consists of being constantly around food you aren’t eating. Your imagination gets all riled up, and the food starts giving you ideas about what else it can be. And then you get home…

you’re hungry…

you’re tired…

you’re frustrated…and you haven’t gone shopping in a month and a half, but somebody gave you green garlic and a tub of Lardo and you’re gonna figure it out.

After cooking for a whole shift, it’s hard for you to take making food for yourself very seriously. For one (1), your eyes are tired of looking at things that can go on plates. And for two (2), when you’re so used to performing the ceremony of food-making, it just feels sort of trite to turn it around and eat it yourself.

“Oh, so thats what it’s been about this whole time? Nourishment? God – my life feels so small now.”

And for three (4), as mentioned above, all your strange food ideas come out at once, because you’re finally in a safe play-pen, and the only person you have to impress is yourself.

So I’ve been scrambling eggs for the neighborhood in the morning, and eating lingonberry jam on club crackers, pickle-brine & bacon grease vinaigrette on noodles, and cooking sausages in “coffee-water,” at my house in the afternoon.


This is what “Sausage in Coffee-Water” looks like. Also known as, “Cheddar Bratwurst; Coffee-flavored Water.” (Limp Bizkit. Semi-colon is mine.)

More than likely, I won’t change too much in my new place. I mostly just want to make at-home eating organized and efficient, as opposed to scattered and frantic. We’ll see…we’ll see.

Or else, have a really beautiful recycling container for all the pizza boxes.

In other moving news, I did meet my first neighbor. (The apartment is in a large building, which I’m not used to either.) I was carrying over some books packed into a former box of oranges, now just a box of books. It was raining. I realized it was dumb to move books across the parking lot in the rain. I open up the door to a building, and a weird-y, beard-y old man, is walking down the stairs. He stops walking and looks up at me and the former box-of-oranges now box-of-wet-books and says, “Well. Heh. Guess I know where the party is tonight, heh. Heh!”

I dunno what kind of parties he’s used to having, but they sound pretty dorky. I hope they involve a book club that only reads books about citrus.

But hey! Maybe I’ll throw the building a cookie-party once I get my Kitchen-Aid mixer set up. Woo! Cookie party!

Click here for more pictures of my food perversions.


  1. those are some pretty weird things. i don’t think i can match that. just threw out a tub of dried mushrooms (the food kind) that i’ve moved around 3 or 4 different Ypsi apartments. Oh, but I did recently acquire some monkey fur. Feel free to invite me over for coffee sausage any time


  2. BUT BUT those ARE the weirdest things in my apartment. 😦 😦 😦
    I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow! (And by “scarecrow” I probably actually mean your sharp knives, Adirondack chair, and Luna’s completely unrelated Daniel Day Lewis shrine above the toilet. Also the legacy of the Smoker’s Outpost on the balcony.)


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