Veil

We did eventually get a roommate and I'll finish the story as soon as I can. For now, let's keep Joanna in a shroud of secrecy.

For Cupcake

Last night, 2am, proof.

Triscuitsniper, part two

When I left off, we were deep in the graveyard of potential Craigslist roomies. We still hadn't hit the queen of the failures yet.

Erin- Erin seemed fantastic, an eccentric home-grown artist character from Austin. She had come to Boston for a summer workshop on landscape design at Harvard. The teacher of the program offered her a job, so she decided to stay in town. Hey great Erin, sounds good. You play the accordion? Super. You make jokes? We're joke-friendly. You were in a punk rock synchronized swimming ensemble called the H2Hos? Um, great.

I liked her, then Jon liked her too after meeting her for beers and dinner a few days later. She liked us too (what's not to like?) and we all agreed it was time to live together. Excellent, twelve days from September and we were all set for a roommate.

As August progressed, Jon and I reveled in the fact that our decision was made, everything was coming up Summer Street. We pitied the fools who were still scrambling around, looking for some jerk to fill a room. We spent a lot of time high-fiving and performing impromptu anti-Craigslist dances. But then Erin disappeared.

Finishing move-
-Six days from the end, I sent her an email. I was light and jokey and told her I was eating rice and beans. I didn't mention signing the lease or anything unpleasantly businesslike. No response.
-Four days from the end, I left her a voicemail message. More jokes, but also a request she call us back so we could hash things out. No response.
-Three days from the end, another voicemail. My tone was all business, we needed to talk. No response.
-Two days from the end, I sent an email. Excerpt-
If this is what it's starting to look like, a complete flake-out, I would like to drive home the extent of how you have just screwed two nice guys over. In the past week, we have not continued to look for a roommate, we did not think we needed to. Because of this, we are now out a month's rent. If you changed your mind at some point, all you would've had to do was let us know- email, call, send a friggin' text message for that matter. We would've been disappointed, sure, but we would've coped. And we would've had just enough time to find a replacement. It doesn't make a difference how crazy your life is, what happened in the last week, etc, this is totally inexcusable behavior.

Later in the day, I got a glib and asinine response from assface. Excerpt-
The last thing I wanted to do is put either of you in a bad situation.
I got cold feet over the implications of moving my life to Boston. More like freezer burn. My reaction was to seek out a situation with less of a time-frame commitment. I thought it would take a day or two for the freezer burn + freezer burn reaction to pan out, and it didn't. And then it kept not wearing off, and I kept not calling, for fear of regretting my decision to say no to you both the moment after it was vocalized.......

you've inspired me to throw a nautical themed garage sail (get it--sail?) in Austin (I'm flying back for a few days this thursday). When I return on monday afternoon, I will hand deliver every dollar my garage sail brings in to help allieveiate the immediate fiscal burden I've created

I'm sorry I was not more direct with you both. You are particularly one of the most human people I've met in this city. (That is a very, very rare + good thing)

Her wit, compliments and the promise of garage sale riches was enough to wipe the slate clean, all was forgiven. No wait a minute, we hate this chick. This was my response to her epic piece-of-crap email:
It happened, and that's all there is now. You don't owe us anything but if you felt like you wanted to send something along, the address is:
209 Summer Street, #1
Somerville, MA, 02143
good luck,
Jesse

August 29, no roommate and we're out a months rent. Shockingly we never saw one cent from her dumb garage sail. And this story has a third part. Sorry charlie tuna fishes.

I feel kinda

At the core

There must be a sign I've never seen at the Avalon, prohibiting expressive movement. I swear Joanna and I were the only people within 15 feet who were remotely dancing to the grooves of that excellent band. This is not the first time the Avalon crowds have disappointed me so.

Worlds Collide

Busy bee at work, no time for a follow-up on the roommate search. I'll tell you this much- tonight I'm having dinner with old roomie sharon and new roomie joanna. I can't decide if I want a brutal catfight like in women's prison movies from the 1970s. Who am I kidding- that's exactly what I want.

click to enlarge

After chow, we will see one of my new favorite bands. I wish every band I like (M.I.A., Lou Reed, Iron and Wine, Ween, LCD Soundsystem, Toots and the Maytals, Ladytron) wouldn't play at the lame-o Avalon. But hey, no one ever said life in the first world would be easy.

Above, please find a picture of my roommates, goofing around like lifelong friends. I would give a clearer representation of Joanna but she's kinda girly about photos.

Cheat

I keep reading so many things on the Internet. I just want to share. This is an actual news story.

CINCINNATI (Reuters) - A car commercial proclaiming a jihad on the U.S. auto market and offering "Fatwa Fridays" with free swords for the kids is offensive and should not be aired, Muslim leaders said on Sunday.

The radio advertisement for the Dennis Mitsubishi car dealership in Columbus, Ohio, has "a whole jihad theme," said Adnan Mirza, director of the Columbus office of the Council on American-Islamic Relations.

"They are planning on launching a jihad on the automotive market and their representatives would be wearing burqas ... ," Mirza said. "They mentioned the pope in there and also about giving rubber swords out to the kiddies -- really just reprehensible-type comments."

Mirza said several local radio stations had already rejected the ad and he hoped the controversy would convince the dealership to rethink its sales strategy.

He also said the Council on American-Islamic Relations would likely contact the dealer to "offer some kind of cultural or sensitivity awareness training."

Roommate wanted: Triscuit-friendly, no snipers

Alternate post title- The bid to replace Sharon. Of course Sharon is irreplaceable, but someone has to pay the rent, you know.

Early in August, I put up a Craigslist ad, straight forward but full of subtle jokes (i.e. the only apartment in Boston with hardwood floors.) There were plenty of replies, yet we only got a roommate last week. The search went ah, poorly. Let's review the highlight reel.

Rachel- Teacher in some dumb suburb. As soon as she got in the house, she started looking at like, dust on the windowsills and my coffee cup in the sink. Her aura was an uptight color, like gray.
Finishing move-
Jesse: I assume you'll be around for our weekly keg party. You're the guest of honor.
silence
Jesse: I was kidding.
Rachel: Good, because I was about to be like, 'Peace!'
Ironic, because this reaction made me say 'Peace!' to Rachel.

Genevieve- Saleswoman for small hip publishing house. Very fun, lots of energy, difficult to keep up with. We hung out for a couple hours and I thought it was a great fit.
Finishing move-
Genevieve found out she would have to pay $500 a month for health insurance. Our glamorous high-rise luxury apartment became too much for her meager salary. No hard feelings.

David- Graduate student at MIT. David did about 20 things that made me worried, such as ask if it's okay that he has friends in Somerville (yes David, we are friend-friendly.) He also wanted to host weekly discussion groups about 'Religion and the Future of Humanity.' I knew he was wrong after 30 seconds on the phone.
Finishing move-
David: So I'm in New Jersey right now, I can make it to Somerville by 11pm.
Jesse: That's not going to work for me. How about Tuesday or Wednesday?
David: I'm actually going to California for a couple of weeks. Can't we just do this over the phone?
Jesse: Do what exactly, David? This isn't internet dating. I have an apartment to look at.
David had some things to learn. I was not destined to be his teacher.

Jen- Environmental consultant. Jen was like Genevieve Lite. Though she didn't have as much pizazz, she was kind of fun, kind of interesting, etc. Her name is even part of 'Genevieve.' Sort of.
Finishing move-
Much like her predecessor, Jen decided she wanted a cheaper apartment. She was new to town though, and asked if Jon and I wanted to go out for beers. Feh, no live with us, no beer. Dems da rules.

Uh-oh, this wasn't supposed to be a two-part post, but I have to leave work and there's no Internet at home right now. I'll finish this manana. Bon soir.

I found out on the elevator

Chuck Rio (born Danny Flores), the musician who shouted "Tequila" in the 1950s hit song of the same name, has died. He was 77.

Flores, who played saxophone and repeatedly delivered the single-word lyric, died on Tuesday at a Huntington Beach, California hospital from complications from pneumonia.

Flores played the "dirty" saxophone part and gave the line for the song that the next year appeared as the B-side of a single credited to The Champs. Tequila went to the top of the Billboard chart and won a Grammy award in 1959. Flores continued to play it for the next 40 years.

Best of intentions

There are so many things I like about this story.

banter

conversation 5 minutes ago with barista-
jesse: you ever get something in your shoe, then you go to take it out but there's nothing there?
girl: that can drive a man crazy
jesse: I know, I can't even hold a normal conversation anymore! Like right now, why am I talking to the coffee girl about my shoe?
girl: better watch out before you go lame
jesse: oh I'm already pretty lame
girl: I meant like a gimp
jesse: I know, I was being clever
girl: you don't say

Red Carpet

Hey, is that your good friend Bethinus Mullinus, sporting some sort of VIP bracelet? Does that bracelet bear the prestigious logo of the hip new underground website www.myspace.com? What in the world? Is she famous?

Jesse's Choice

You probably don't want me to talk about cats right now. After all the cutesy kitten posts of the past year, I'm sure you feel betrayed. It's like telling you a story about my cats putting on a vaudeville variety show, then having them put to sleep because they weren't very talented.

In my defense, I will be giving Grayskull to a caring home, several doors down from me, and I assume I'll have decent visitation rights (though I suppose that's for the courts to decide.) Also in my defense, Grayskull has unleashed a torrent of waste on our house in the last few weeks. Special treats included:
-Jon crawling into bed after a long day at work, all tuckered out and ready for 1,000 Z's, to find his sheets soaked and pungent.
-A poop present carefully wrapped in the kitchen rug, just waiting for me to do the dishes at 8am.
-Last night, Joanna and I stumbled upon a fun little fecal formation right next to the litter box. Now that is spite.

A couple obvious questions-
Q: How do you know Grayskull is the bad guy? Cats do their business in private, so couldn't the villain be Mister Lady?
A: No. Despite my earlier assertions that M. Lady is an evil genius, I think I've learned a lot in the past few months. Namely, Grayskull is actually The Bad Seed, with an innocent face, a cutesypie demeanor and a heart of ash and icicles. Mister Lady is an incorrigible 12-year-old with ADD, poorly behaved but unable to help herself. There are many Hardy Boys clues that point to Grayskull, but it's my gut instinct that makes her wear a Scarlet P.

Q: Will you tell Simon about Grayskull's carefree policies on waste disposal?
A: Eh, probably not. He already knows the score to some extent. I don't want to kill the rest of the surprise.

Postcard from Canada

So. Classy.

New Chapter

I just put Grayskull up for adoption. Joanna is moving in with a cat from France and I think that could bring us perilously close to becoming a crazy cat person house. Not to mention Jenny, Rebecca and Jon are all allergic to the damn things. And I hate cats.

I'm trying to act tough because it will actually be pretty hard to part with the little rascal. True, she is making it easier with her new habit of peeing on the world, but Grayskull is still a major pumpkin. I'll keep you posted on developments as they arise.

Come again?

When I got to my bike yesterday, there was a little white note taped to it:
Is she your "girlfriend" or more than that?
You want to call him "significant other," but it seems too clinical, too census-like, too bureaucratic.
You both say "lover" sometimes, but it's kinda raw.
"Mate" is too much like a buddy.
"Companion' is too much like a pet.

So what do you call him? What do you call her?

Read the word unmarried couples have been groping for since the '60s.

(follow the white box at johndishwasher.org)

There were over a hundred bikes locked on the racks near mine. I was the only one who got a note. I learned from the website that I was chosen by one of John Dishwasher's five national emissaries. 'Brian' is the Boston disciple and this note means he was watching me. I have been chosen.

Oh yeah, the word people have been searching for- mascot.

Boys of Summer

In keeping with my new policy of "not lying," here are some photos from the pool hall pool hall party party. I also responded to all of your comments. And I published that beautiful photo of good vs. evil. Am I back on the train to heaven? Oh wait, too much nurse killing.

Anyway, as I said before, this was an awesome party, where lots of very old friends came together from all over the country for one night only. Coincidentally, my high school reunion was going on that night, right down the road. But what do I care about those jerkasses, especially with no open bar to make it sufferable? The keg was free and delicious at the pool hall, and the company couldn't be beat.

Let's have a look.

This is Sarah Riley. She's not so innocent.

A boring photo of two not-boring people- Nick the Greek and Nancy. Nick helped me create all the pictures you see here today. See, I ran out of battery juice early on and was feeling a bit despondent. Then I had an idea- seeing as how my camera runs on AAs, why not ransack the Busler's house? I found batteries from 5 or 6 remotes, but none of them worked. Then Nick pitched in with batteries from fire alarms and Mat Busler's sheets. Succes!

In this picture Greg is so proud to spend time with two cute young girls, both named Becca! One of them is his girlfriend, the other is cuckina koo-koo, can you tell which is which?

In this picture, the milkman himself leads a rock opera called Maximum Hippie Groove-Out. The gross couple on the left writhed around in obvious sexual ecstasy to the World Beat rhythms.

I can't remember what's going on in this photo. Sarah may be trying her chops on the ole harmonicker, caught up in the hoe-down aspect of the party. If that is the case, Matreya?sp? and Nancy seem unimpressed.
Either that or Sarah is doing the whole "bite your wrists and show everybody the blood" routine. I thought that shit played out in '03, but I don't know.

This is Jacy, Christine and Erin. Jacy is one of the strangest characters I know, kind of a trickster liar genius pimp. He likes to talk about quantum physics and poop. One time he interrupted one of our friends in a large conversation at a party. He proceeded to describe the torrid gay sex he had with this friend in a dream. The dream ended with, "Duh, in my butt!" Nonetheless, women are drawn to this guy like What What.

Bold papparazzi stumbles upon Christine and Jacy in the woods. To avoid a lawsuit from these bonafide members of the glitterati, I should mention that they were not hooking up; they were just startled when I appeared out of the mist.

Erin and Christine with...Mose! "Jacy who?" the girls say with their eyes. Sorry ladies, back to Texas with the Mose-man. But don't despair, you'll always have the memories...and the rash. Hey-ohhhhhhh!!!

I include this unremarkable photo only so I can mention that Nick told me he takes pictures of celebrities like Tom Hanks and Zooey Deschanel?sp? He tries not to gush like some of his dew-eyed fellow photographers. Nick lost his cool only once, and that was with David Crosby.
At least I think that's what he said. I was drinking whiskey, what do you want?

VERY late in the evening, when some factions of the party had begun to eat each other out of desperation, the long-promised Beercan Chicken and ribs finished grilling. In this photo, Chef Lou Dog tenderly inspects his beautiful creation. (not pictured, Master Chef Tom Buchele)

Nate Dog gets to stabbing. The best (and longest) time I spent with this guy was when we stood around long after midnight, greedily hoarding the primo chicken parts.

Jon and Cailin say: "It was great to see everybody and thanks to the host with the most- Dan Busler!"

By the way, I would hereby like to propose that every summer ends with a major Western Mass. jam, much like this one last year. (Thanks for the memories, Ms. B. We'll hang out again someday.)

You heard me wrong.

I said I would post those party pictures tomorrow. Tonight I said I would watch Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Sorry if there was some confusion.

Work it

This morning I thought it would be a good idea to get dressed in my JC Penney's finest, then make Jon (suffering from serious whiskey head) interrupt his precision morning routine for a back-to-school photo shoot. Please note my special fall sweater (no it's not a cardigan) and crisply pressed khakis. I even borrowed Jon's knapsack for effect.

The inspiration for the idea was the harsh autumn chill in the air, which I take quite personally. To stem the tide (before seasonal affect disorder has me living under the couch,) I will post pictures from summer's Last Great Bash. I'll do it later this evening. Stop pressuring me.

In response to a query from a co-worker- I am not Joe College, I am a fifth-grader.

End of Days

My friend Val took this incredible picture. If you look close, you'll realize you're witnessing the classic battle of good and evil, taking place in an otherwise sleepy New England farm village.

Element (2), addendum

I forgot to mention, some crafty kids tried to scalp their gyros to people near the back of the line. I didn't see if they were successful but I have to give credit to their American entrepeneurial moxie. Lee Iacocca would be so proud.

Five elements (1)

This morning I was singing a song by Seals Crofts and um, Garfunkel. Except I tweaked it a scosh- "Somer-ville, make me feel fiiiiine. Blowing through the jasmine in my mind..."

Today was a magical Somerville day and I just wanted to stop and say, thank you very much. There were more than four or five elements.

(Remember when I first got here?)

Five elements (2)

Tonight A-dawg and myself did it Greek-style at the local Orthodox Church festival. We rode our bikes down the street and locked them to handicapped parking poles. Highlights:
-Alli told me my white tanktop and jeans were inadequate attire for the festival. Apparently she had never met a Greco-American. I'm just saying.
-There was a bouncy castle shaped like the Parthenon. I think it was the Parthenon, I didn't really look closely. It was blue. Calm down.
-The gyro line took over an hour and a half to get through. We weren't planning on drinking but have you ever tried waiting in a line without cans of Budweiser? First-world nightmare.
-There was a ten-year-old kid running the booze station. I asked for Bud, he brought Bud Lite. Like an American tourist in Greece, I raised my voice, annunciated 'red and white can' and pointed. He got the Buds but then tried to give them to the old man on my right. You just can't get good service.
-The entire time we waited in line, a small girl on her grandaddy's shoulder glared at me. Her little face was wise and determined. Maybe me and Greek women are born to feud (reference Library of Congress subject header Jesse and Nicole.)
-A little boy with a gold cross and cascading curls came and sat with us while we ate. At one point he made a play for my beer. When I took the can away, he squealed and ran off. A bit later, the boy came running over with a little friend. Alli was quite smitten and yelled "I love you," causing him to run away again. Hey Alli, be cool, do you want to register with the police every time you move to a new neighborhood? Do you?
-I have never eaten a gyro so sweet. Worth every minute of waiting. Damn.

Photos: Please excuse the quality, I'm using my crappy camera phone because I can't find my camera batteries. I'll say it again, life in this country is long and hard.
1)Man shaves gyro meat using electric scalpel. Rebecca, could this count for the *contest* in an abstract way?
2)Opa! The Greeks love to dance in a circle.

Five elements (3)

On the way to pick up some certified mail, I stopped at three tag sales and bought something at every one. I also got a burrito at the best Mexican in Boston. This is not a laundry list of foods but still:
-Fancy tarot cards (.50)
-Small coffee cup art print (.25)
-basket for holding mail (1.00)
-wicker wine bottle cover (free with purchase of basket)
-'Art-deco' wood and blue glass table for holding mail basket ($20)
-Four novels (4.00)
-Lime-scented candle in holder (free with purchase of books)
-Thai hand-carved wooden bird mobile (.25)
-Large framed photo of Mexican pastries (free after I made friends with the taco shop owner who I used to think hated me. He showed me his Guadalupe shrine in the basement.)

Five elements (4)

I proceeded to watch Jon eat and drink himself into a coma. Lots of shit in the Somerville trenches today, I'm sure he'll tell you all about it. Last saturday should give you a little pre-game show.

Right now I bet he is eating a wheelbarrow of chicken Twizzlers and washing it down with a 40 of whiskey and honey. God bless im.

(Jon is on a special diet. It's not called bulimia.)

Five elements (5)

Today was charmed.

When I first woke up, Jon had gone to the coffeeshop for his morning sugar and he brought me back an iced coffee and a cinammon dunker. 10 am, needs satisfied. The weather was also shangri-la. Things kicked off with a bang.

Big Bloggy Weekend

I'm not doing anything this weekend! I'm just going to clean and do home repairs and blog. That was also my plan last weekend but there was some booze-based interference. I'm sure I'll be able to avoid that same problem this weekend. Just one quick six o'clock drink at the Socrates Newtown, then it's down to business. Right?

Also, say hello to our new roommate...Joanna!!!

Cable Guy

I realized recently that a lot of the stories I used to tell on this blog end up in emails I send to Canada. I don't like to write a tale twice so this blog is getting short shrift. I like this one, though, so I'm gonna tell it again. Toronto got the advanced press preview. Wicked VIP.

This morning the doorbell rang at 8am. I was still in bed with my eyes open but I wasn't ready to get up and like, face the cats. Shirtless Jesse ambles to the front door, opens it wide. "Hello?" Oh it's the cable guy. But what gives? We didn't have an appointment or anything.

"Good morning sir. Is this 209 Summer, third floor?"
"No, this is the first floor. That's why we're on the ground."

Huzzah!

BIG UPS to Marissa, who spent hours last night tinkering with my blog so it could regain its fresh and fruity feel. It's like, retro Confetti!

Anyway, Marissa is a great person and if I had a golden ticket, she'd be touring my factory in a heartbeat. (No, that is not innuendo.) Make sure you read her blog, she has saucy pictures from Rocky Horror up right now.

Snotrocket Siesta

The other day I was riding the train home from work when I noticed the teenage girls across from me laughing and whispering. Because I am the nucleus of everyone else's lives, I immediately thought to myself, "What have I done to cause this merriment?" I had just eaten a sandwich so I did a quick swipe of the beard. Then I looked down and saw no castaway crumbs shoring up in my clothes. Also, my fly was up.

In the midst of my thorough inspection, the laughter of the girls became contagious. An old Portugese family nearby was now cracking up, as was the athletic couple to my right. The hipster chick across the way was clearly trying to restrain her laughter because funny=square. What in the world? Did I have a gaping head wound and no one bothered to tell me? That would be pretty hilarious.

Then I looked to my left and figured it out in a heartbeat- there was an obese sleeping man with over 3 inches of snot coming in and out of his nostril with every breath. Some of it had already cascaded down onto his too-tight t-shirt. It was revolting and kind of sad but I think we are programmed to think these things are funny (thank you Police Academy.) If a little kid had run up and kicked the guy in the groin, I imagine people would've reacted similarly.

Then all at once, a collective wave of guilt washed over the train car. "Oh wait a minute, that poor guy just lost every shred of dignity." The hipster looked at me pleadingly and said, "He was sneezing when he came on the train. Maybe he has a really bad cold." I responded by raising my eyebrows. As if medical explanations could somehow put a nice shine on this commuter abomination.

Other people got resourceful and started digging around for kleenex and napkins. One guy found a paper towel (some carry coffee ice cream, others paper towels) but then got shy. "He's sleeping, I don't wanna wake him up." There were murmurs of agreement all around, as no one had the courage to tell Sleeping Beauty that today just wasn't his day. Can you imagine waking up to that?

In the end, the guy quietly left the paper towel on Snotty's lap and got off at his stop. Jenny suggests it would be very embarassing to wake up with a snotrag suggestion from a stranger. My thought is that he would be humiliated anyway when he saw the goop all over his shirt, but at least he would realize there are kind human beings out there. I got off the train feeling thoughtful.

But seriously

Sharon's leaving, Day 5:
No glib anecdotes today, ladies and germs. I stayed up too late hanging out with old roommate and new. We drank beer and made the jokes and recovered from moving Jon's couch, which is conveniently made of upholstered concrete. This morning I moved some more furniture. Pain.

This is all I want to say: I'm going to miss Sharon a lot. She was a fantastic roommate and an even better friend. What an awesome year.

Stock photo of Sharon and friend at her debutante ball or something.
Hubba hub.
Now prepare to be entertained with tales of wild abandon from Jesse and the milkman. (And a mystery third cast member...)

p.s. This is where Sharon is moving. She doesn't have a job yet but I hear that being naked in parking lots is a full-time gig.

happy birthday

(also not the gift)