Death to Smoochy

I owe much to a purple rhino.

Death to Smoochy came along at a difficult time in my life. In 2001, I moved back from Chicago to my hometown, where I returned to grad school for a second master's, this time in the CICS program at Ball State.

After washing out in Chicago, I needed a graduate program that would practically guarantee me a job. I was enrolled for roughly three days before I realized I didn't fit at all and immediately wanted something else. I was enrolled for about three weeks before 9/11 happened and changed everything everywhere.

I'd been dating this girl, and everything was going wrong there. We were long distance for much of the previous year, so my coming back home should've been a big boost for us, but we just fought all the time and fell apart.

I moved back into the same house where I lived as an undergrad. I guess I did this as a grasp at familiarity. After the Chicago debacle, I needed to rewind a bit, to a mental point when my life wasn't so complicated. In effect, I rewound to college — same school, same apartment. Dumb idea, really, but also one of my best ideas.

The place was one of those off-campus houses that was divided in a weird way to get maximum space (and thus, maximum rental dollars). We all had our own bedrooms; I had the basement to myself, and I shared the kitchen, living room, and bathroom with three other guys during my undergraduate years: Chris and Brian (two of my closest friends through college) and an ever-changing third roommate.

The second time around, the house was the only thing unchanged; I shared the house with three strangers: Kris, Dave, and Tom, who all lived upstairs.

Kris was (still is) a devout Christian, a conservative, and a nursing student (now a nurse). We should not have gotten along, but we had many great conversations about politics and religion — two areas that are sure bets for a fight. I learned a lot about my opposition by having actual discussions with him. We could talk. We disagreed on things, but in two years, I don't remember a single argument.

Oh, and Kris turned me on to Death to Smoochy. Figure that one out.

Dave was the first "new guy" I met, and he seemed okay at first — a little rednecky, and he'd tell you that. He was an urban planning student with a penchant for racist remarks and some lapses in common sense (he once put liquid dish soap in the dishwasher and flooded the kitched with suds). Ironically, we came to call him "Dirty Dave" because he had a thing for porn and Internet dating. Kris sold him a laptop and helped create a monster.

Tom was quiet, kept to himself, generally weirded me out, and two months after I moved in, he doused himself with gasoline and set himself on fire in a suicide attempt. I saw him that afternoon, carrying a gas can inside the house — I didn't even think about this; I figured he was just going to mow the lawn.

His suicide attempt set the house on fire. Dave lost almost everything. Luckily, Kris kept his door shut, so his losses were minimal, as were mine because almost all of my belongings were downstairs. Tom ended up in the burn ward in the local hospital, and we never saw him again. We went through some of his stuff and found a copy of the Unabomber Manifesto and some anti-psychotic drugs.

We were homeless and a bit frightened, until Dominic, a friend of Dave's, mentioned a newly open apartment off-campus, above the liquor store where he worked. We all looked at the apartment and decided to stick together so we could afford the place — 1,700 square feet, washer/dryer, all new appliances, all new everything, and built to commercial standards (which meant low utilities). Did I mention this apartment was upstairs from a liquor store? I'm not encouraging drinking. I'm just saying.

Kris, Dave, and I barely knew each other, but when you're homeless at the end of September in a college town, you take what you can find and band together if needed. I'm not the most spiritual person, but I have no problem saying we were blessed to have found such an amazing apartment on such short notice. Everything fell into place. I lived there for the next two years.

Getting to know Dave and Kris was a great experience. They were like two sides of a weird spectrum — Kris the conservative, God-fearing nursing student, and Dave the slightly perverted, short-tempered, hillbillyish urban planning student. Kris, Dom, and I soon found a common activity — picking on Dave. One night, Kris, Dom, and I moved all of Dave's bedroom furniture out to the parking lot and arranged everything exactly the way Dave arranged his bedroom. We even turned down the covers on his newly relocated parking lot bed.

We had a neighbor, Zac, who was dating the girl who eventually became my wife. I met her in the liquor store downstairs. I noticed her, but we didn't get together until years later. I had nothing to do with their breakup. Seriously.

I guess Death to Smoochy makes me think about how my best and worst choices got me here — moving back home, picking the familiar apartment even though strangers were living there, moving in above the liquor store, ending a dysfunctional relationship, going back to grad school — all of that somehow set up the life I lead right now.

I can't help but be grateful for how everything just sort of...worked out.

In a way, I am indebted to a purple rhino for bringing these memories back, and to all the forces that look out for me. Indeed, friends come in all sizes.