On the weather report

Simon & Garfunkel, "The Only Living Boy In New York"
---
This Sunday's visit was marred by anomalous winds that blew bits of twig and leaf into the food that my parents brought, as well as the chicken mole that my bunkmate Robert brought over. In fact, the winds got so strong that they called the visit off early, which was kind of a bummer. It was nice to be back on neutral ground with my parents, and like most healthy relationships, we in my nuclear household tend to bottle up our grudges and, on the exterior, apply a healthy amount of whitewash.

Pat, a gentleman who owned a repair shop for recording studio and pro audio equipment, has left this evening, marking the third roommate I've seen go. As his going away present, we had planned on booby trapping the door so that when he opened it, a cup of water fell down onto him. In the end, we had to abort that plan because one of the security guards came walking by. We told him about our schemes later on that evening after lights-out and lockdown (which is at 11pm, though he couldn't leave until 12:00am). He had one last load of laundry to take out of the dryer just before midnight and on his way back, we booby trapped the door. Pat opened the door and the cup fell right onto his noggin. But we were nice and didn't fill it with water (or worse, potato chip crumbs), and just let the empty paper cup make the perfect plop sound of Empty Cup Striking Cranium.