How Cool to be Cold, With the Dreaming Moon, I'll Begin Again

Today, I am getting a new fridge. The old one wasn't freezing, and after a while, it wasn't fridge-ing, either.

The maintenance guy called around 8 this morning saying he had a new fridge for me. He had been here a week ago and I guess I was on the waiting list. That's the thing about renting an apartment: you don't have to pay for the stuff but you're not in control of when you get it. Now I know how "Make A Wish" kids feel. Except they're probably not in the middle of a good dream when they get the call. If "Chappelle's Show" or "The Kids In The Hall" have taught me anything it's that those kids are always awake.

So, I had to clear all the pictures and magnets from the fridge, and then had to take out all the food. Rather than putting it on the counter, I guess I could have just thrown it a good bit of it away, as it's barely cool. The beer is just cool enough to have not gotten skunked.

Now, the guys moving my old fridge remind me of the brothers Daryl from Bob Newhart's show. They're a friendly duo, chatting about Ramen noodles. I was intrigued, because though I never got on the Ramen train, I do love me some noodles. So, I thought to myself, "These guys are allright." When it came to having to move said fridge, they realized they couldn't get the fridge out of the kitchen door, which would have been easiest, as that's the one that leads to the back near the garage. Neigh, the back door was not wide enough, so they were going to have to take it the front door, out the main hallway of the building and down some steps. To do this, however, they were going to have to take the front door of its hinges. Luckily, I still have my friend's tool box in my bedroom, so when I produced her impressive plethora of tools, they said, "Shit, he's more prepared than we are!"

I imagine a good bit of that food has to be pitched, and so I'm thinking after they leave, I'll go to the Panera with a Monday New York Times. It's not the same as a Sunday Times, that's for sure, and the ritual won't feel the same, but it's the least I can do for myself. I think I've earned it.

But first, a moment of appreciation for the old fridge:

O, departed friend, how I apologize for not having given you a name. You will now retroactively be known as "Fridge I," and all the stories involving you shall include that fine moniker.

For two years, you valiantly served, chilling cheese, milk, eggs and beer. Lots and lots of beer: porters, lagers, ales and whatever other beverages passed through your sturdy doors. Yes, you were a halfway house for many a brew, and for that, I thank you.

You died, like so many young men of your generation, you died before your time. In your wisdom, Lord, you took him, as you took so many bright flowering young men at Khe Sanh, at Langdok, at Hill 364. These young men gave their lives, as did this fridge.

Good night, sweet prince.