It had been so long since the last time and my memory was starting to fail me. How did I make it so long without being reminded of the destruction that occurred on this occasion before? Was I really that creative in assembling outfits that I could avoid it this long, or that uncivilized? Wasn’t the night of the last time unseasonably warm as well, foreboding the unexpected terror of that night? “No time to revisit that,” I thought, “since I need to hurry and make preparations!” This time, I didn’t want to lose loved ones or have families of socks divided at the wrath of the Laundry–nor did I want wrinkles scarring my clothing from the horrors of the Laundry Day the week before.

“I’ll return shortly, guys. Please stick together this time. Remember, the safest way to get through this with no mistakes is to use the Buddy System, wash the colors and whites together using detergent only (so we don’t accidentally bleach the colors), and to wait for me right here. I’ll be back in thirty-eight minutes exactly to transfer you to the dryer, and then another sixty minutes after that to quickly fold you and get you back to safety. Ready? TEAM!” I knew I had covered all that could be expected, and I proceeded to find something to eat; however, in the depths of my being I sensed that, should the unexpected occur again as it did on that very similar night of yore, all the preparations of the world could not resist the inevitable.

Everything went smoothly during the transitional stages of Checkpoint A. I drove across town to take care of some final preparations before returning to fold and retrieve my flock. At one point, on my way back to the Laundry, I needed to hop out of my faithful Jeep for a quick second. I left it running so its continued warmth could combat the now slightly-frigid, damp air (I did not bother to place my jacket upon my back for such a quick encounter with the elements). The air had changed–and so had my luck.

I returned to my vehicle, only to find that the door had somehow become locked. Was it someone out of the night? Had that manipulative lock bud tickled out of my funny bone an unfortunate nudge? “I just need to stay calm,” I thought. “After all, I always carry a spare key! This is no problem at all!” I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I reached into my pocket only to find that the holy, beat-up old pair of jeans I had put on just for the occasion had failed me. The pocket that previously provided a safe haven for my spare key had become the instrument for its doom. Indeed, this pair of Laundry Day jeans had acquired an additional hole–right in the pocket! I cried out, “No! How could you do this to me, my old friend?”

My pants replied, “I have only betrayed you as you had betrayed me, leaving me with the others you hardly wear anymore.”

My heart and mind quickly returned to my beloved facing the Laundry. I exclaimed, “Beware of the lint trap! It’s a trap!” What if I did not get back in time to save them from the wrinkles of agony? The mildew of despair? It surely was too far to walk, and with my jacket locked inside my over-heating Jeep, I would freeze to death if I tried. Oh, the terrible irony!

I had but minutes to safely retrieve my flock before their suffering commenced. I was trapped on the opposite side of town from the Laundry, and the opposite side of town from an evening meeting, and the only thing separating me from freedom was a thin pane of glass. Just then, just enough light descended from Heaven to illuminate the resting place of my spare key. I swooped it up, hopped in my Jeep, and raced against the clock, making it just in the nick of time. After folding, I gleefully galloped to Downtown for fellowship with my friends.

Accustomed to crazy adventures like these only while visiting big cities, I never before would have guessed the potential for one right here in my own back yard! And this, my friends, is a perfect example of my trademark way for a man to testify that he is, in fact, really called for marriage after all–in normal, day-to-day activities (like doing the laundry) he finds he simply cannot function without a helper to correct him, regardless of his level of sense or intelligence! (That is, of course, after God has revealed marriage for the man to be a part of His Purpose.)

The other day, several friends from the Applied CS Labs and I were walking back to the Science Center from dinner. We decided to pass through Snell Hall, an adjacent building that is attached to the Science Center by a raised walkway. We proceeded to walk past a small classroom that oddly enough has a piano in the back of the room.

Now, this room is almost magical to me–I love to stop by late at night to play on the piano and work on a song or two that I’ve been writing while the custodians pass by and look in the windows curious as to why music is coming out of the room so late at night. Unfortunately, this room is almost always locked at the end of the day, so it is a rare, lucky occasion when I am actually able to gain access.

The lights were off, but I decided to test the door handle to see if it was one of those nights when all the planets–or, at least the lock pins–lined up and I could once again enter my very own musical Heaven. By some mishap the custodians had forgotten to lock the room once again, and the handle gave in without a fight! I whipped open the door and leaped inside, standing in a victory stance with my eyes closed and my face pointing upward, immediately exclaiming, “HOORAY, IT’S OPEN!”

A few seconds later I was brought back to reality when I noticed the background sound of a movie playing. I opened my eyes to see approximately 35 faces staring at me, some confused and others frightened, all lit by the glow of the movie they were watching on the classroom’s projector. I immediately turned around and walked out in a professional manner as if nothing had happened.

I’m pretty sure some of them are seeking psychiatric help right now because, from the sounds of the tiny amount of the movie I heard, I think the movie was in the middle of a really serious or perhaps horrific scene when I burst in. Needless to say, I didn’t go back and play on the piano that night.

My dad and I were watching a TV show about how different foods are made, and the topic of that episode was cheese and processed cheese. Processed cheese includes cheesy spreads, such as Cheese Whiz, as well as American singles. We were absolutely appalled by the contents of processed cheese and process it undergoes, so my dad decided to set up a little experiment.

It’s now time for… “IS IT REALLY CHEESE?”!!!!!!!!

Experiment Title: IS IT REALLY CHEESE? - Processed Cheese
Hypothesis: Processed cheese is hardly cheese, if cheese at all
Assumptions: Rodents know cheese

We tried very hard to set up a double-blind experiment and for our experimental process to meet the regular expectations of the scientific community; unfortunately, the only rodent available was Claire, so we had to make do with what we had. Claire was used because of her experience with many cheeses–although a sharp New York State cheddar like from the Collosse Cheese Factory, will satisfy her palate, she prefers to dine on more exquisite cheeses, such as Gouda, Edam, or preferably Brie.

First, my dad took a test sample of cheddar and administered it to Claire. Claire woofed it down without even thinking and begged for more. Next, my dad took a standard test size of a less-strong cheddar and administered it to Claire. Claire stomached it, though she did not like it as much as stronger cheddars, and begged for more.

Then, my dad attempted to administer a piece of an KRAFT(R)(TM)(C)(SM) American single to Claire. Claire hesitantly approached the foreign substance, smelled it, rubbed her nose on it, scratched at it, and then threw it out of the cage.

Dad: Well I’ll be… if a rat won’t eat processed cheese then I sure as heck won’t!

There you have it, folks, this proves that processed cheese is not in fact real cheese!

I opened the fridge to find a very special treasure inside… sugar-free canned lemonade?! Usually canned lemonade is nasty, so I decided to give it a try.

To my surprise, it was actually fantastic and extremely refreshing! I chugged one can down and looked forward to chugging my second one. I got about halfway through the second one, but almost choked with the following realization: SUGAR-FREE THINGS NEVER TASTE GOOD!

I decided to see what Minute Maid did to make their artificially-sweetened lemonade taste good, so I took a peek at the ingredients. In my opinion, lemonade is supposed to contain just water, lemons, and some form of a sweetener, such as sugar. Apparently Minute Maid disagrees…

Ingredients: pure* filtered water, lemon juice from concentrate, less than 0.5% of natural flavors, citric acid (provides tartness) [the lemons don't do that?], potassium citrate (regulates tartness) [don't you usually just watch the lemon:water ratio?], modified cornstarch [in what way is it modified?], glycerol ester of wood rosin [I don't remember wood or anything like that in my grandma's recipe], sodium hexametaphosphate and sodium benzoate and potassium sorbate and calcium disodium EDTA (to protect taste) [that's a lot of "and then"'s to protect taste... isn't EDTA a pesticide or somethign?], aspartame [okay, that sounds familiar... glad to know there actually is a sweetener in this and the sweet flavor isn't just a byproduct of my tastebuds dying], acesulfame potassium [no explanation needed?], sucralose [another sweetener is really necessary?], yellow #5 [it's in an opaque can... does it really matter what color it is?]

*The purity of the water might have negligible effects on the overall health risk associated with consuming this product due to the other chemicals that are present.