Part 1 of 4

The first place I ever rented when I was a green sports reporter was a studio apartment on a ranch. I wasn’t allowed any visitors, curtains or a window unit AC.

I had to accept the terms because there was literally no other place to rent within driving distance of work. Anyway, I liked being in the country.

The apartment was native limestone, built around the cistern that supplied water to the whole ranch. I had to enter a code and drive over a cattle guard through an automatic gate.

The idea when they built the place was that the cistern would cool the apartment. I think it just increased the humidity. I had to keep cleaning mildew off the cistern.

When the water level dropped below a certain level a pump turned on, drawing more water from the well. You never knew when it was coming and it was LOUD.

It woke me up the first night after giving me the dumbest dream. I was Popeye, fighting with Bluto as he often did. I thought up the wittiest cutdown ever and shouted “Monkey Bluto! Monkey Bluto! Monkey Bluto!”

And woke up to the damn pump going “Monkey Bluto! Monkey Bluto! Monkey Bluto!” What the hell? It always sounded like that to me from then on.

After that I mostly slept through it.