Conrad came out of his room with this huge ziploc bag full of quarters, and this is more or less the conversation that transpired, transcribed here for your amusement. You'll also note Conrad's rave-appropriate attire - glowsticks and glowloopies and glowglows and glowy-glow-mcglowertons. This is largely what I know about raves, although the rave-knowledge I received in my youth has been modified somewhat by the conventions I've attended since. My friend Nick, who will go without last name, was the first entrepreneur to think to sell glowsticks at conventions ...
Coffee is one of those grown-up things I never acquired a taste for. I like tea, and hot chocolate, and chai, and if you put a super sweet Starbucks coffee in front of me there's a 50/50 chance I'll like it, but when it comes to real, manly, black coffee, I have to bow my head to Yuko. She and her roommates like their coffee hard (well, compared to me) ... Yuko drinks hers with milk and a little bit of sugar, John puts in a lot of sugar and some chocolate syrup, and Conrad just drinks it black. There's a hierarchy there, and Conrad is at the top and I am at the bottom.
I don't know if this is an experience unique to this part of the east coast, but every house or apartment I've ever lived in has had crickets. When I was a kid living in Silver Spring, they were terrifying. They only came out at night, they looked sinister, and they did these ridiculous Michael Jordan jumps that left you wondering if they might accidentally leap onto you.
Back in the mid-90's, Parker Brothers made a series of activity sets called Sleepover Club (which I think were a part of some larger, terrifyingly girly franchise). I got the Fortune Telling box for one of my awkward tween-ish birthdays and the lot of us decided that it was a pretty mediocre activity set and it was sequestered down to the Board Game and Mice Closet in the basement.
I still remember this conversation clearly ... all of Yuko's apprehension about the house the previous night was burned away by the scorching heat of her untempered rage at the squirrel colony living in the sealed room next door. Here, let me repeat that:
GUYS WE HAVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT SPACKLEHAUS
There isn't a total vocabulary to describe how bizarre the year in Spacklehaus was. The name Spacklehaus is a story in and of itself, but in any event it was an old house right outside downtown Rochester. The landlord's name was Mort, which, I thought to myself, sounded like the name of an orcish innkeeper. Let it be known, this is one of those times a person looks exactly like their name sounds, much to your discomfort. Mort is also a story for later, though.
Hey guys! Phoenix Down is a shirt Yuko designed for Mutagenics a little while ago - we decided to do a small run of them, to be sold through her Etsy account. If you submit an order, PLEASE INCLUDE THE SIZE YOU WANT IN THE SELLERS COMMENTS. This helps us know what to order for you. ;)
This happened a couple of weeks ago, on the way home from an Art Fight. Jami dropped us off at Yuko's car, which was parked at a remote location ... Yuko was tired and isn't much of a night driver, so I offered to drive. We hopped onto the beltway and we were about 15 minutes away from my house when the engine started hesitating. The hesitation built into a rumbling, and then the engine groaned. We got off the beltway as the speedometer forcibly dropped from 30 to 20 to 5.