One year in college I had a roommate who was born and had spent almost his whole life in and around New York City.
To a native New Yorker like him, being in the midwest was like being assigned to a boat in the Belgian Congo, with nothing but foot-long centipedes and chimpanzees for companionship. I don’t know which was worse – his condescending attitude or the fact he fully expected me to agree with it.
He not only took it for granted New York urban life was superior to rural midwestern life, he took it for granted I must think so, too.
Once I mentioned in passing I was going to visit relatives in Minneapolis. Trying to be encouraging, he smiled weakly and said, “Well, Minneapolis is kind of cosmopolitan…”
(He’s the one who put the emphasis on the words kind of, not me.)
Someday, if I’m ever forced to visit New York, I want to walk around Central Park and snort, “Well, I guess this is kind of rustic. Where does a guy go to get  some good walleye around this hick burg, anyway?”
A year or so ago I got curious and decided to look up that roommate on the Internet, just to see what he might be up to these days. (No, that’s not creepy. It’s research. No, really.)
I was delighted to discover he’s now living in Atlanta, Ga., which has a population of only about 432,000. By his standards, that’s Dogpatch.
I was also delighted to see that, based on his photos, he looks a lot happier than I remember him. (And balder, not that I see any cause and effect.)
Moving out to the sticks must have been good for him.

Procrastination is a bad thing. Someday I intend to do something about it, too.
Here are a few things you must never procrastinate about:
• Harvesting crops.
• Harvesting last year’s crops.
• Going to the bathroom.
• Giving birth to a child.
• Drinking milk. Don’t wait until you’re spitting it into the sink to decide maybe that little date printed on the side of the carton means something.
• Going to the hospital for a perforated spleen. I’m not sure if a spleen can be perforated, but “perforated spleen” is fun to type, and this is my column, not yours.
• Looking up the meaning of the work “procrastinate” in the dictionary. If you’ve read this far and still don’t know what it means, well…
• Attending funerals. When they drive slow, it’s not because they’re waiting for you.
• Taking pictures of babies.
The biggest flaw in this column about procrastination?
I wrote it on Wednesday afternoon, but the deadline wasn’t until Friday morning.
Man, I just can’t do anything right sometimes.