Did I mention that I live with a gay Nazi?

Although the education faculty of my university vehemently denies this, there is more to life than teaching. For example, there are roommates. Mine, who is also my landlord, is a gay Nazi.

That's not completely accurate, but it's catchy. In fact, I cannot confirm either his sexual preferences or his political views. But as I write this, he is standing beneath a Confederate flag, wearing a silk kimono. I know that it's silk because he told me how much he likes the feel of silk on his body. That's certainly not a definite indication of homosexuality (I certainly enjoy the feel of silk), but it's a pretty good indication.

As for the Confederate flag, it flies proudly next the the Stars & Stripes in the front yard. As a symbol of anti-federalism and Southern pride, I respect the flag. As a symbol for "durty coons better stay offa m'yard," I feel ashamed to be seen walking out of this house. I shouldn't jump to conclusions, but I doubt this flag is a sophisticated statement about Alexander Hamilton's desecration of the Constitution.

So who is this guy? Well, we'll call him Ernie Ray. He lives alone, except for me (I'm renting the spare bedroom) and his cat (Missy, who is rather friendly for a cat). He also has a "friend," who we'll call Cletus. Cletus spends the night here sometimes, and has his own key to the place. I haven't seen Ernie Ray and Cletus being intimate in any way, but I draw some obvious conclusions from the fact that they share a bed. Ernie Ray wears a mullet, listens to 80s rock, keeps a couple of broken down TransAms in the driveway, teaches mixed martial arts in his basement, and works "security and logistics" for a hair metal band. He also has several reverent pictures of some guy who is either the Big Lebowski or Jesus, and I'm guessing it's not The Dude. He fixes cars in addition to teaching kung fu and being a roadie, but he told me about an exciting internet franchise that he recently bought into. Long story short, he's gotten sucked into a pyramid scheme.

The fucked up thing is that I like Ernie Ray. We've had a few good conversations (as I drink my Icehouse tallboys and he oils his bare chest after working out) about teaching and bands. He's a nice guy. He doesn't hit on me, he doesn't rail against black people, and he doesn't try to share his religion. He's friendly and welcoming and minds his own business, and that's all I could ask for from a roommate. So here's to you, Ernie Ray.