You see kids, before there were TV programs like Survivor and American Idol, there used to be something called sitcoms. Families would gather around the television and spend an entire evening laughing together.
Chico and the Man is an example of a sitcom. It wasn’t the funniest show around, but the theme song fits nicely today.
Living with Chico has been a new experience. His mom came over last weekend to help hang pictures. She asked me if it was okay to hang a velvet painting of a bull fighter in the living room.
I politely told her that it would probably look better in his bedroom.
He said it was painted by his great-great-grandfather. I mean, I get the whole sentimental thing. I still have pictures of the Tri Sig me and a fraternity brother double-teamed after a sorority mixer.
But I don’t care if the thing was painted by Picasso, the only pictures I want hanging in the living room are of my favorite sports teams and dogs playing poker.
Call me old-fashioned.
I’m probably still bitter that he got the master bedroom. I thought it would be a good idea to bet on basketball games to determine who got the bigger room. What I failed to take into consideration was the massive difference in the floor and closet space. Not to mention my luck at picking winners.
My room is so small that I have to crawl over my bed to grab a shirt. And I’m pretty sure Chico just booked his for a gymnastics meet.
By the way, I now despise Villanova.
Here’s a conversation I had recently with my buddy, Red. He has lived with me before, so he was being quite sincere.
              RED
Does this Chico guy have any idea what he’s getting himself into?              BENNY
Probably not.              RED
Why don’t you move in with your girlfriend?              BENNY
Because she does.
Chico, don’t be discouraged. The Man, he ain’t so hard to understand.
tell Chico not to leave his slippers out in the open!
He’s 5′ 2″ and a buck forty, so I can’t wear any of his stuff. The other day, I told him Gary Coleman called and wanted his clothes back.