I mean, it was as if bricks and mortar were falling out of the sky in front of me and mysteriously arranging themselves into a house right at the point I desperately needed shelter. And I wouldn’t have even walked in the direction of such a miracle had it not been for a mysterious gut feeling 2 ½ years before.
Category: co-op life
five years in madison, wisconsin, part II
This left me with no time to take my extra posessions to Goodwill. Instead, a dresser, a nice coffee table, a couch, and a chair ended up in the alley. I think the dumpster divers named the alley after me.
documentary night at the co-op house
A housemate of mine has decided to start a weekly “documentary night” at the co-op house in an effort to get housemates together and enjoy some good video documentaries.
quiet
It’s funny—come November here in downtown Madison it feels like a switch has been flipped and it's now suddenly quieter. I think there are many reasons for this.
the “Capital I Song” and the damage done
Blame Sesame Street for my decision to live in a co-op house.
personalized stationery and the legend of dave handy*
As the months and years went by, I became aware that fewer and fewer people in the house knew who this Dave Handy person was, and that the notes written on his stationery were making him look like some kind of Emily Post-type figure.
the evolution of Little Bunny Foo-Foo
I have no idea who put that picture up or why, or whether it had any influence in causing stock prices to collapse around the world the next day.
how can you stand to live with twelve people?
I get asked that question a lot. I’ve been meaning for months to post an answer.
random thoughts for Valentine’s Day 2007
The main character in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” said, “Today is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.” Do I feel that’s true?
friday night co-op dinner: jazz improvisation in two parts
What would move me to put a James Joyce twist on labels for leftovers? Was it inspiration that compelled me to be such a muse of the magic marker and masking tape? Um, I imagine that Joyce must be spinning in his grave.