The flight of The Space Cadet

On Tuesday last week my prayers were finally answered. The Space Cadet moved out. The earthlings celebrated. How this came to pass is a very long and complicated story so I will cut it short a bit. Here’s what happened, in a nutshell.

The whole house has been steadily getting sick of him since half-way through last semester. We put up with it (though Heavens knows why!?) and just kept out of his way, having silent conversations with our eyes when he left the room and bitching about him behind his back. Real mature, I know. After the winter break, The Optimist and I got back on the same day, at roughly the same time, and were greeted with a pathway of broken glass and the last remaining security light dangling from the ceiling outside my bedroom and the kitchen door. This was the last straw.

The next business day, the first day of semester, I called the Director of Student Housing and said that The Optimist and I would like to see her regarding The Space Cadet. We told her everything that is or has been going on: the breaking all three security lights, the smoking in his room and setting off the alarms constantly, the playing loud music at all hours and drunkenly singing along, pinching our food (butter, milk, biscuits, 24 meat pies, very expensive yeast-free bread, beer, vodka and wine), the running the shower constantly for long periods, and generally making the entire house a very stressful and unpleasant place to live with his downright odd behaviour (talking to himself chief among them).

She told us to write it all down in an email and send to her and she would work on it for us. I got the impression that she wanted him out as much as we did but couldn’t say so for obvious reasons. She appeared to be on our side and said that we’d have to tread carefully. DOSH was a picture of empathy: she was very concerned that he was creating such an unpleasant atmosphere in which to live; when I said “we know it’s only food” she said “no, it’s not ‘only food’, it’s your property”. After the meeting The Optimist and I practically gave each other a high five in the lift. A week and a half later, nothing had happened.

I gave DOSH a call. I didn’t expect that he would be evicted immediately, but I did expect an acknowledgement of the email we sent at least, and I certainly expected the lights to be fixed. I told her that The Guyanan was seriously considering leaving as his room had been broken into during the week and he was sick of The Space Cadet’s shit, and that The Optimist and I were both entertaining the idea too. DOSH was concerned and asked us to talk to one of the counsellors, which we did, but not much came of it.

More time passed and still nothing. Except that The Guyanan found a new place and terminated his contract. As luck would have it I locked myself out of the room and had to go down to the office to get the spare. While I was there, I asked if DOSH was in and if I could have a quick word about what was happening. I didn’t want to be pushy; I just wanted a one or two word answer as to the status of the situation. She said she appreciated that and that the wheels were in motion but she couldn’t really tell me what was happening because of privacy issues. “Look, Dan, all I’ll say is to give it a week and we’ll see what happens. Can you give me one week?” “Sure,” I said.


As I walked out, The Space Cadet was talking to the Housing Manager (a sort of mini-me of DOSH) at the service counter. “I can probably pay that off by Christmas,” he told her. I didn’t catch what she said but then he replied “Oh ok, so does that mean that they’ll be knocking on my door on the 26th and telling me to get out?” I kept walking, silently jumping up and down. It was the 19th that day.

On the weekend, he told me he was leaving. I tried to sound nonchalant as I said “oh, really?” He told me that he owes them $1500 (about twelve weeks’ rent) and they said that he had to pay up or leave, though if he paid $700 he could stay to the end of the year. He said he was looking for a new place and a mate would help him move his bar fridge out, but he might need to leave it here a week. I said that was fine as I thought to myself that if I had a big enough car and a license I’d drive him myself.

Then, miraculously, on Tuesday he packed up his room. He sat in the dining room all day with his stuff, drinking ginger beer. Some people are so easily amused I guess. He told me his mate had fallen through so he was going to leave his fridge, TV and VCR here, and get a taxi over to his new place in Darlinghurst. And could he use my phone to call a taxi? Again, I said “Sure” because I wanted him gone. I wanted him to return his key that day but he wasn’t so keen on the idea, because “I owe them money so they know I’m not going anywhere”. I love his rationale. I pointed out that as long as he had the key he would be charged rent because they’d assume he’s using the room. That got through to him and he said he’d do it the next day. At about 5pm, after a day’s worth of loitering, I called a taxi for him and he sailed off into the sunset.

The next day he returned his key and I got a call from DOSH letting me know. I felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. The Space Cadet has left the building.

Academic silliness

Case #1, the English student.
In the first lecture of an English literature subject, while discussing the content of the course, the lecturer made reference to several films and novels that we would be studying. She told us that there would be film screenings of the films to make sure that everyone has the opportunity to see the films and that while attendance at the film screenings wasn’t mandatory, watching the film in one way or another was. As she began a new sentence a student shot her hand up. “Yes?” the lecturer asked. “Do we have to read the books too?” The lecturer rolled her eyes.

Case #2: the history student.
During class last week we were discussing ways in which fashion and dress can signify power, authority, status, class and the like. We were asked to go around the room and give an example of this... Examples included police uniforms to denote authority, the crowns and jewels that monarchs wear to denote status, and one particular empress (whose name escapes me now) who had notoriously long finger nails to denote the fact that she didn’t have to concern herself with menial work. The tutor pointed out that in these cases it is common for “common people” to copy the fashions of their “betters”, so as to emulate their status and success. “Oh, like Chinese foot binding,” one girl asserted. The tutor begged her pardon and asked her to elaborate. “Well, originally, it was only the upper classes who bound their feet, as a symbol that they didn’t need to work. Now the normal people are doing it too because they want to emulate the upper classes, only they actually have to work with the bound feet.” The tutor, I'm sure, was speechless.

Case #3: the history professor who learnt something new.
In history the other day, the lecturer mentioned a group called the Women’s International League of Peace and Freedom, or WILF for short. When she said the word “wilf” aloud, the entire auditorium burst into laughter. “What?” she demanded, “What’s so funny about wilf?” The auditorium erupted again. “You know I feel very nervous when people laugh and I don’t get the joke, someone please tell me what’s so funny!” she implored. I called her name and she asked me if I would care to enlighten her; I said I would tell her in the break. “Is it horribly rude?” she asked. I nodded. “Oh good!” she said.

When the break came she walked up to me and asked why the acronym had resulted in peals of laughter from the audience. I asked her if she’d ever heard the term MILF before. Unsurprisingly, being that she is probably around the sixty-years-of-age mark, she hadn’t. “Well,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “I guess the term applies to an attractive older woman, the mother of a mate for instance, and she would be a MILF because she’s a ‘mother I’d like to—” I faltered, slightly, but then decided I’d come this far with the explanation I may as well go the whole way and say the word, “—fuck’.” She laughed and said she’d have to ask her kids, who are about my age, about it when she saw them next. “It applies to men too,” I added, “a DILF.” “Well don’t you learn something new everyday?” she said, chuckling.

Meeting the folks

SMS, me to Dad: Hey Dad, What are you guys doing this weekend? Janek and I have been invited to a party [near home] on Sunday. So can I stay at your place on Saturday night?
SMS, Dad to me: Mum has something on Saturday, but I’ll be home. Of course you can stay.
SMS, me to Dad: Cool, thanks. When I have more details I’ll let you know.
SMS, Dad to me: Cool. Will J be staying here too?

This had me a little worried. Well, “worried” isn’t the right word, but I wasn’t sure how this would pan out. They know about Janek, Mum has met him briefly and seems to like him, but how would they go with us both sleeping under their roof? Together? Rather than have any awkwardness on Saturday, I gave Mum a call to find out what she thinks…

Me: Hey Mum, how’re you?
Mum: I’m well. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?
Me: Well I wanted to ask you about this weekend… How do you feel about Janek staying there? In my room, I mean.
Mum: Well how do you feel about it?
Me: I feel great, how do you feel?
Mum: I feel fine. (to Dad) How do you feel about Janek staying here? (quick silence) He feels fine, everyone’s fine, don’t worry.
Me: Good good. So when can we expect you?

We arrived late.

We had dinner, a simple chicken stirfry that I invented from left-overs that Dad really loved, and then watched a movie with them. Mum went to bed early; Dad watched another movie with us, as we snuggled up on the lounge. There was no awkwardness, no sideling looks, no whispers; they loved him, like I knew they would. And he loved them. So much so that he even sided with my mother during an argument on how best to cook rice. Though I was pissed off at the time that he wasn’t backing me up, since he’s seen me make rice this way hundreds of times, I was glad he felt comfortable enough to join in the jokey kind of argument.

As we were getting ready for bed Dad said “So I take it you don’t want me to make up Sister’s room?” I said no. He smiled knowingly and went on his way.

The next morning, as we leaving, I snuck into Mum’s room and did the whole “So now that you’ve spent more than a few minutes with him, what did you think?” thing in hushed whispers so that Janek wouldn’t know we were talking about him (though I do realise that by writing about it I am negating my efforts somewhat). She told me she really likes him, and that she’s glad I brought him to meet them.

I didn’t get a chance to ask Dad, so I sent him a text message tonight…
SMS, me to Dad: So what do you think of Janek?
SM S, Dad to me: I like Janek! Was going to ask how he felt about meeting the parents.
SMS, me to Dad: He was nervous as hell on the drive up but it dissipated quickly.
SM S, Dad to me: And… what did he say on the trip home?
SMS, me to Dad: I dunno… do you have anything specific in mind? He said he had a good time, you and Mum are really lovely etc.
SM S, Dad to me: No… that is fine. Just hoped that he felt comfortable being here
SMS, me to Dad: Oh yes, he did. Very much. Weekend was a huge success :-)

A conversation with the Midnight Cat

Me: Hello, my darling, how are you enjoying the heater here?
The Midnight Cat: Could be warmer. Why?
Me: Well it’s getting late and I need to get some sleep soon.
The Midnight Cat: How does that concern me?
Me: Well, my love, you know what happens when I go to bed.
The Midnight Cat:… [silence] …
Me: So, as I was saying—

At this point The Midnight Cat looked into my eyes, balled up her front right paw, and punched me in the forehead.

Me: Oy! What the fuck was that for?
The Midnight Cat: I know what you were about to say. You were going to say ,“When it’s time for me to go to bed, I put you outside. You know that. Remember?”
Me: How did you know that!?
The Midnight Cat: I’m a cat; I know all.
Me: Yes, you do.
The Midnight Cat: … [purr] …
Me: That’s more like it. Now, as I was saying. It’s getting late and—

At this point she swiped her paw in front of my face, narrowly missing my left cheek.

Me: OY! What did I do this time?
The Midnight Cat:You were thinking it again.
Me: What is this? The Midwich Cuckoos?
The Midnight Cat:No. I'm just that good.
Me: Well cut it out dammit!
The Midnight Cat:You asked for it. Now leave me alone, I’m trying to cogitate here.
Me: Oh no you don’t. Come on! Up with you!
The Midnight Cat: No.
Me: What do you mean, “No”?
The Midnight Cat: I’m actually really quite busy here. Can we discuss this in the morning please?

Shortly after she was put outside.

The video is one I took the other night of her playing with a twist tie. I wish my life was such that I got so much joy from a simple piece of plastic-coated wire.

Four(teen) things

As relationships grow over time, each becomes aware of the other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies. Over the past week I’ve been keenly aware of Janek’s. As a joke I wrote out the following list:

Four things I (love to) hate about Janek

1. The way he corrects my pronunciation of words like schedule, for example.
2. His obsession with the “correct way” to use the words less and fewer.
3. The way he insists that there is a right way to hang shirts and fold clothes.
4. The way he tidies my room when he comes to see me.

The idea was to write ten, so the title had a little more cultural relevance, but I couldn’t think of six more (though I’m sure with time they will come to me). After writing this list, I came up with another list:

Fourteen things I love about Janek

1. The way he watches me quietly, as if he’s taking all of me in and imprinting the image on his brain, in minute detail.
2. The way he pulls me towards him when we’re naked, like he wants to pull me inside him.
3. His ability and willingness to drive [me] anywhere… to appointments, Coles etc.
4. The way he gets so excited when he explains his work or other scientific tid-bits to me.
5. His back-rubs are heavenly; his skin is warm and his touch is gentle.
6. The way he lights up when he sees me.
7. The way he is content to lie with me, like in the Snow Patrol song, when I am in pain and can’t do much else.
8. The fact that two days after briefly mentioning my English text list, he arrived on my doorstep with three of the items, one of which had been procured by his mother from her place of employment. This is but one of a long list of examples of how he seems to go out of his way to help me, despite my protestations.
9. Kissing him. Period.
10. That he bought me a wireless keyboard for our two month “anniversary” (and was man enough to admit part of the reason was that he hates my laptop’s keyboard), and that he bought me a teddy bear, Paño, just because.
11. That he is incredibly chivalrous and lights my cigarette for me.
12. That he read into reactive hypoglycaemia the night I was diagnosed because he wanted to understand what was wrong with me, so he could help me with the new diet.
13. The way he just sits with me when I’m neck deep in assignments because he wants to spend time with me. The times when he helps me with them earn bonus points.
14. Most importantly: the way he tells me everything will be ok, and means it.

So this is what falling for someone is like, huh… Bring it on.