When relaxing in my own apartment, there used to be few surprises. That changed over a year ago when I opened my heart and my living quarters to the girlfriend. Thanks to her being enrolled in a veterinary program, there are more physiology flashcards than CPUs lying around my place these days. When I came home the other day, I found a new DVD on the coffee table. "Horseowner's Guide to Colic in the Horse." I won't even mention the pair of lab rats that have taken up residence in one of the bedrooms.

The opening act for Ben Folds at Geneseo this weekend turned out to be a wild one. I overheard some students there saying that the activities board had contemplated booting this guy from the show. Once on stage with his gleaming accordion, Corn Mo certainly managed to captivate the audience. My emotional state throughout the performance wavered between shock and extreme amusement.

Last week I acquired a sizable stock of sundries that a neighbor vacating my building left behind. Unopened boxes of pasta and jars of sauce, dessert mixes, soup, and the like. I checked the expiration date on everything, but some non-perishables don't have one. Thanks BHT!

An un-dated, (and therefore, unexpired) box of Skillet Chicken Helper found its way into my cupboard with the rest. Its loud yellow and red Ronald McDonald color scheme should have tipped me off that it was pretty old. When I decided to cook up the contents of the package with some grilled not-chicken strips, I noticed the absence of the familiar "Nutrition Facts" banner on the label. Plain old nutrition information stats were printed on the side panel, pre-1993 style. Copyright date on the box: 1991. The inside flap was also stamped with a print date of 11-27-91.

After careful inspection of the well-sealed rice and dried vegetable/bouillon packets, I decided to eat the stuff anyway. It didn't taste good, of course, but it wasn't bad either. As I ate, I couldn't help thinking about all the events that have passed in the last 15 years, while that box has been sitting on a shelf in my apartment building. Tasty memories...

Note to self: This information may prove very useful in the future, if I ever have to stock a bomb shelter.

I've perused many a Wegmans cheese department in my day, but never came across any green cheese--until yesterday. While shopping for the basics at Latina's, I saw what might otherwise have been a very ordinary layered wedge. Port wine, cheddar, and pistachio cheeses, covered with chopped almonds.

The pistachio color in the package caught my eye from quite a distance. Probably contains plenty of FD&C Green No. 3. I don't have a photo, and new and exciting cheeses aren't in my budget right now. So I'll have to settle for a Photoshop mockup.

I lived with my folks in the great state of North Carolina for six years before leaving for college in WNY. I've called a number of places across the US home, but my southern surroundings in the Tar Heel state proved to be radically different from the rest in so many ways.

Among many other things, I encountered a lot of general racial bias down there. Of course, not everyone showed signs of this, but it seemed as though far too many people were still bitter that their ancestors had lost the Civil War.

A little more evidence of that southern hospitality showed up in my Inbox this morning. The buyer of some Commodore software I'd listed on eBay lives at an interesting street address--Triple K Lane in Brownwood, TX.