Something in me represses the fact that: there isn't much difference between grasshoppers and shrimp.

I


  brought lots of change of address forms back with me when I returned home from work. Great minds think alike, and later today Monster Boy and Deya brought back even more, not having known about the forms I'd already brought. My bike had a broken link in its chain and this would catch periodically as I would pedal, sometimes necessitating a rewind prior to a power stroke. Removing the bad link with a chain tool solved all my problems.

I sleep well to such monotonous noise, since it drowns out other sounds emanating from shitting, giggling, fighting and fucking housemates.

Yesterday former housemate John had given me a big window fan. It blows like a hurricane and has the growling pink noise sound of an energy-intensive industrial process. I sleep well to such monotonous noise, since it drowns out other sounds emanating from shitting, giggling, fighting and fucking housemates. They each do considerably more of these things than I do. With the fan isolating me in a whispering/roaring dreamland, I didn't awaken until almost 4pm.

T


oday I took my first shower since moving in. The shower head is pathetic; it drools weakly upon me; I guess I'll be taking more baths. Unfortunately, with all these people living at my house and only one bathroom, the room is pretty much in demand all the time. It doesn't make for a very restful bath when people are asking the whole time "when are you getting out of there?"




Should it have fallen into the hands of the Gutter Punks, they would have, as rapidly as possible, drunk it all with complete disregard for whether or not they could have held it down.

Morgan Anarchy, Toni Dirtbag and the dreadful little wormy dog BN (Butt Noodles) all appeared with the late afternoon arrival of Deya and Monster Boy. The Popov vodka was sitting out in the living room and I thought fast and hid it. Should it have fallen into the hands of the Gutter Punks, they would have, as rapidly as possible, drunk it all with complete disregard for whether or not they could have held it down. I know Toni Dirtbag would have at some point spilled a large fraction of it and then ended up spitting in the bottle before it was finished. I'm wondering if one of the things that keeps Toni in the gutter and out of society is his absolute disregard for the value of all things. While it's true that an emphasis on commodities is frequently scorned in the paraculture, to know the value of things is a fundamental survival skill, one not just exhibited by humans.

My disgust with the Gutter Punks and their little mutt was somewhat tempered by the good news that both Deya and Monster Boy had obtained jobs. Deya will once more be working as a cashier at Rebecca's Natural Foods at Barracks Road Shopping Centre and Monster Boy will be doing telephone political polling. Unlike me, both will need to commute to work in cars.

This brings up the issue of the dreadful parking situation at our new little house. We have one linear driveway which is a sort of narrow appendix off the dead end of Observatory Avenue. Parking on the street itself is complicated by the sheer congestion and the possibility that we might be in a zone that is restricted by university authorities. And parking in the driveway is de facto burial. Among the people currently living at our house are six cars:

• My 1975 dark blue and white Dodge Dart Custom
• Monster Boy's white Plymouth Reliant
• Deya's light blue Mercury station wagon
• Matthew Hart's Vomit Comet, a dark blue Ford Escort GX station wagon
• Leah's dark blue Ford Escort GX station wagon (complete with lateral dent)
• Peggy and Zach's beat up old Toyota hatchback, currently painted candy-apple red. It's the little car that could.

M


organ Anarchy has been selling off all his worldly possessions such that he can flee the state unburdened. He's got lots of unpaid fines in this state for public intoxication, open containers, skate boarding, and other such victimless crimes. Next stop is New York. That part of his life allegedly begins tomorrow. But tonight, he wanted to do some drinking. There's nothing shocking about that.

Jewelweed is far more effective against poison ivy than any commercial product.

Matthew drove us out to the JPA Jiffymart to get more of that inexpensive microbrew we'd been drinking yesterday. But first we stopped at a riparian zone¹ so I could use my botanical skills to find Matthew some Jewelweed (Impatiens spp.) with which to treat a poison ivy rash. Jewelweed is far more effective against poison ivy than any commercial product. I've used it to treat my own rashes since I was a small boy.

Back at the place, we immediately set to drinking the case of Williamsville Brew I'd bought.

M


organ had told me about a little greasy spoon diner near Dürty Nelly's, and I was tempted by the prospect of eating inexpensive fried chicken. And Matthew wanted to inquire at the Jiffymart about the price of a keg of Sam Adams for a little house warming party on Saturday. So he and I, along with Leah, set out on foot to the little commercial cluster at the intersection of Jefferson Park Avenue and Fontaine.

Apparently Matthew looks enough like Monster Boy to survive such skepticism.

Part of this mission was designed as a community-building venture. We aim to become familiar to the merchants and locals so we can be on good terms with them as we are with the merchants and cops of the Corner. In the mean time, we are aliens. The cashier guy in the Jiffymart quizzed me about my social security number as he sold me beer today. And yesterday he made Matthew turn to the side to see if he matched the picture on "his" ID (formerly Monster Boy's ID). Apparently Matthew looks enough like Monster Boy to survive such skepticism. Of course, you have to understand that Matthew Hart is a smoothe practicioner of social engineering and had the cashier so distracted by charming chit chat that there was no way for him to deny that Matthew actually is the Glenn Jeffers pictured on the ID he'd presented.

I, the carnivorous sociopathic aquarian bought chicken while Mathew and Leah, the married sociopathic vegetarian aquarians, bought fries. We sat out in back above the railroad tracks on a sunlit grassy knoll (the air was so cold today that shade was uncomfortable). We drank our beers and ate our food. Matthew chucked his empty beer bottle at a passing freight train. It was a pleasant place and we predicted we'd be back.

Zach made use of all my keyboard's features, including the rhythm accompaniment. My favourite rhythm on that keyboard is the waltz.

B


ack at the house, the beer quickly ran out. I was feeling musical and so started beating out power chords and such on my guitar. Zach, who is much more of a musician, joined in on keyboards using Monster Boy's amplifier. And somehow Zach and I meshed really well. We played some kind of fucked-up carnival music. It was atonal and repetitive, but it kept changing and growing organically. Zach made use of all my keyboard's features, including the rhythm accompaniment. My favourite rhythm on that keyboard is the waltz.

Monster Boy and Peggy had been listening from downstairs and were disappointed we hadn't recorded it for posterity.

Zach, Matthew Hart and others made vegetarian sushi in the kitchen while Morgan hung out with us other Aquarians in the living room. By this point the only alcohol available to us was the vodka I'd spared from initial wasteful obliteration. Deya has gotten into drinking vodka with a teabag as I do. But the others are still stuck in the past, poisoning their vodka with liquid adulterants.

I found myself getting along with Morgan very well. It helped that Toni Dirtbag was sleeping in someones car outside. It also helped that the mutt named Butt Noodles was out on the porch. The dog was behaving himself much better today. He was barking much less and even did a few things that passed for cute.

Occasionally Matthew and Zachary would lapse into a ridiculous hammed-up professional wrestling tag-team act, complete with stomps used in place of pain-inflicting contact. They claimed they were a team and they acted as though Monster Boy and I constituted another team. I thought that was sexist and wanted Leah on my team instead. But I was laughing so hard that it was difficult for me to even consider competing.

Ana and Nemo came over and joined in with us on the sushi when it had been prepared. I ate my sushi with lots of wasabi, that horse radishy green sauce. It burned into my pallette and out the back of my head with such a fury that I was thrown into convulsions. Peggy was highly amused.

I was never aware of it at the time, but the Dynashack sucked.

A


ll in all I have to say this house is becoming a fun place to live. It's actually better than I had expected. It's so wonderful for all of us to hang out together in the living room without feeling guilty because we're preventing other housemates from using the same room. You see, I was never aware of it at the time, but the Dynashack sucked.

The fact that I'm the only single person in a social scene that is comprised of three couples (two of them married) has not been much of a problem yet. I've been too busy adjusting to the new place to experience sexual frustration. And there are only occasional disturbing manifestations of affection to endure. One of these was the cause of a certain amount of whisper-whisper today: a hickey on Deya's neck. Geez.

¹A riparian zone is the moist land near surface or subsurface bodies of water. The plants and animals in such a zone are rather different from those found on higher/dryer ground.

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