I saw this on Fark today: City Rag: 30 Ugly Ass Waterbeds

I had a waterbed for awhile. I don’t remember when I got it or when I got rid of it, but I know I had it in 1994 and 1995. I can picture it in the house we rented on Logandale, off Econlockhatchee near UCF. I talked myself into the master suite… 16×12, with adjoining private bath featuring jacuzzi tub.

Two-thirds of the room was for me, and the other third was for the UCF InPrint. Every Sunday night a bunch of odd people would invade my house and my bedroom to sit around PageMaker on a 14″ monitor and put together a newspaper. I’d lay on the waterbed and sleep in fits and spurts, waking up periodically to give advice or ask how things are going.

That waterbed was a friend.

The thing I liked most about it was that it was a constant issue. With a normal bed, you crawl into it and are cold. Within 10 minutes, you are hot. So you kick some sheets off and gradually cool down again. It’s an all-night balancing act to find just the right temperature. This is not the case with the waterbed. You set the thermostat and, unless there’s a problem, you’ll feel not-too-hot, not-too-cold all night long.

To me, that year of college is forever linked to Logandale Drive, the UCF InPrint newspaper, and that beloved waterbed.