A Moonlit Night
First, I would like to begin with a simple statement: I love Parmesan and Garlic Cheez-Its. The reason for this love absolutely baffles me. Parmesan tastes average on pasta, I never really enjoy garlic, and Cheez-It’s, while good, really are not a passion of mine. In this unique snack food, however, the whole is much more than the sum of the parts. Let’s be honest, these things are nothing short of tremendous. John (who recently promised to give me a box) would say they are nothing short of tremendously awful, but this isn’t about him. Try them, you will find the combination nothing short of awe-inspiring. It’s like an all-expenses paid vacation for your taste buds. It’s like you just kissed some really awesome girl (unless you are a woman, then it’s like you just kissed a guy who’s not a moron, not that women have lower expectations, but let’s face it - guys who aren’t morons are hard enough to find), and you are so happy that you found someone right for you. Of course, we also assume that, pre-kiss, you both ate the Cheez-Its, because garlic (and its evil partner in halitosis crime, parmesan) are violently disgusting when experienced second-hand. There’s a parade around your teeth of happy chunks of food and frolicking parts of your tongue, and fountains of saliva burst like geysers, showering everything with a river of joy. There’s confetti, a ticker-tape parade, and a drumline: all inside your mouth. And that is just the first bite.
For those of you who enjoy being depressed and want to rain on my parade, you may visit the nutrition facts.
Second, I must mention Matthew’s food poisoning. In a bout of bad food that trumps even the worst days at my own college, he managed to get violently ill from cafeteria food. He recounts the tale:
me (6:30:41 PM): ok so
me (6:30:44 PM): lettuce and what else was bad?
matthew (6:30:52 PM): chicken
matthew (6:30:58 PM): both the lettuce and the chicken i am pretty sure
matthew (6:31:04 PM): i just cant believe how pissed i am
me (6:31:42 PM): eew
me (6:31:48 PM): did you notice after a couple bites?
matthew (6:31:50 PM): i know
matthew (6:31:55 PM): nope
matthew (6:31:55 PM): not at all
matthew (6:31:58 PM): i ate the entire thing
matthew (6:32:00 PM): and i was like
matthew (6:32:02 PM): that was the best salad ever
matthew (6:32:04 PM): wow
matthew (6:32:06 PM): and then today
matthew (6:32:06 PM): i woke up
matthew (6:32:09 PM): and i was like
matthew (6:32:09 PM): der
matthew (6:32:11 PM): uh
matthew (6:32:11 PM): i feel weird
matthew (6:32:18 PM): vomit vomit
I would not wish that on anyone. Ok, I might wish it on a couple people, but probably only under circumstances of extreme duress. Some advice to avoid food poisoning:
- Stank or mold: it’s too old.
- When in doubt, throw it out.
- Dripping red meat, go out to eat.
- Milk with curdles makes you spurtle.
Third, and finally, my picture. I happen to have quite direct access to a steep fifth floor roof by climbing out my window. Fortuitously, I also happen to have access to a camera, a tripod, and a friend (Dan) who watches for public safety while I journey onto the roof. A few nights ago, I had a moderately good idea: a moon picture from the roof. “I need you to watch for public safety while I go to the peak,” I explained, thinking to myself that I had not made it that high up before. “No problem,” Dan replied, looking for an opportunity to break up the monotony of homework. So, I wrapped the camera strap many times around my wrist (if the camera goes, I go with it), and headed out.
The ascent was pretty straightforward; I kept my eyes down on the tar shingles, and my body low. It was quite dark, and as I dislodged small rocks from the roof, I could hear them bounce, skitter, and drop off into a five story free fall. I had been smart enough (keep in mind any intelligence in this situation is relative) to set the tripod height before hand, so it was a two second job to perch it over the peak of the roof. Three legs down, camera aimed, check viewfinder. Uh oh. I forgot to turn it on. I slowly raised myself to a standing position in order to see the button and accidentally looked out over where I was. Steep angles of blackness all over, and a television antenna fifty feet from where I was along the peak. The wind whipped around and I immediately dropped down again, realizing that one slip backwards meant a one story tumble down shingles followed by a bash on the head by the gutter and then a silent drop of doom. A pebble skittered down on my left, and I sensed it just miss the gutter as it sailed to the parking lot below.
My horizon had been redefined: there was the peak, impossibly steep drops on all sides, and a foreboding line delineating the border between roof and empty air. I rose and checked the viewfinder. No moon. Cranked around on the settings for a bit and brought a white dinner plate into sharp focus. Glad I learned how to use the tripod in the dark. Checked the exposure: one second would have to do. A quick mechanical ‘click’ and the shot was done. I do not actually remember collapsing the tripod or turning around, but suddenly I found myself looking down at my window, which was impossibly far below me. I inched my way back down slowly, coefficients of friction from basic physics racing through my head. “If I fall, I’ll at least hit my window first” I thought, as I crept down. The opening to my window happens to be quite close to the edge of the roof, something I had not noticed when I climbed out. “Dan?” I asked hesitantly, “Can you take the camera?” He pulled it in and I immediately grabbed a firm hold of the plaster overhang by the window. All I could think was, “If I fall now, I’m really a moron.” Back in. Safe. Aches all over: knees felt like they had been hit with baseball bats. Heart rate slowing, wondering how the picture turned out.
A rooftop sunset picture is not out of the question.