This here is the current residence of my close pals Brian and Kris, as well as extended pals Corey and John. Every band practice starts here when I pick them up, and every band meeting ends here when someone says, "well, I have to wake up for (work, a conference call, shiatsu) early tomorrow". If I were going to describe their home to you in a word, it would be "Diapey". This word is slung by Guitar Center employees, and is the adjective form of "diaper". As in used. It describes material objects of inferior quality, especially if this is a result of age, use, or apparently disposable construction. The residents, out of self-respect, would not say this of their own house, but the facts remain: any faucet may or may not emit water at any given time, the doors don't quite fit their frames, there are large CRACKS in the walls and ceiling, the living room carpet was probably once tan but is now jungle-camouflage, and there is no telephone. Kris, Brian, and escaped tenant Brandon dubbed it "King Zoo", after our diapey-ass intermediate school.

The doorknob on KZ's main airlock does not really work - you have to bolt the door to keep it closed with any sort of consistency. This has resulted in a lot of me hanging out on the front steps wondering where everybody is (i.e. before band practice, though less frequently these days). Not that the bolt affords much in the way of institutional security. Even the limpest crackhead could defeat it if motivated. This was one factor in our decision to move our multi K-dollar aggregation of band gear into a practice space far, far away, with a lock and grumpy fat guards.

Due to recent efforts, KZ has become radically more inhabitable. The living room has been rearranged and gained a nice couch to replace the mite-ridden one which was left to decay on the front lawn until the landlord was threatened with fines (by whom? I don't know. The neighborhood council on lawn couches or something). The carpeting in the kitchen was ripped up to reveal linoleum, a much more appropriate floor covering for a place in which bacon grease splatters. Oh yes, did I mention there's no fume hood in the kitchen? Or whatever they call that thing over the oven which vents and filters greasy bacon smoke. Yeah, they don't have one of those (or powered ventilation of any sort), so if someone is cooking, the smell of burning element-crust permeates the house. They haven't fixed that yet. The drawings all over the walls of the living room have been mostly covered up though, and there doesn't currently appear to be a 3 month old glass of beer/mold in the knick knack nook. There aren't even mushrooms growing out of the bathroom walls anymore!

Anyhow, the rent is cheap, and the neighbors are fairly noise-friendly. Our band used to practice here, and only got complaints from the people across the street. ("The Street" being 15th, a huge and busy north-south thoroughfare) I don't mind hanging out here so much except for a) people smoke in the house, so it smells like shit and everything is always covered in ash so you get a thin grey film on you when you brush something and b) The carpet is so nasty that if you touch it with your bare feet/hands, you will get an itchy rash. If the landlord were going to try and sell this place in a real estate magazine, the caption would read "wonderfully punk rock".