Posts Tagged ‘jeremy’

I remember sneaking up to the attic when my parents slept with their door closed. I’d pull the bed out that the couch turned into and would flop, flipping from side to side, a king in his luxurious court, presiding over all of himself.

And then there was the time Philip came in and my flopping stopped. I’d been caught. Even the squirrels who would rustle back and forth on the roof throughout the night, they stopped too. He looked at me and said he was going out, that he wanted someone to know, just in case, he said. And I said to come home soon or Who cares what you do? I don’t remember which.

And I heard him creak down the stairs on all the ones I knew to avoid and felt the summer night creep in through the window as I heard his footsteps outside.

I was barely awake when he came back an hour later, smelling of lake water and the fullness of a lived summer night.

He came to say goodnight, but this time the crickets were louder than his steps. He sat next to me on the bed, dipping me toward his warm wet weight as the mattress creaked.

“I’ll have to show you stars sometime,” he said to me.

Here’s the thing though: I’ve always been much more cautious.

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I told Jeremy I was going to set up an appointment for us to get colonics. I was looking at the website and I said, “Oh look!  We can get three colonics for $250!” He said, “Who’ll be our third person?”

“No,” I said. “We’ll each get three.”

He said, “I don’t want to pay 250 dollars for a fuckin’ triple shot of colonics.”


In the first act of Shakespeare’s All’s Well that Ends Well, Parolles finds the fair Helena thoughtful, and asks, “Are you meditating on virginity?”

I think I’ve asked about four people that this past week. It works out really well.


There were two loaves of bread in the employee room today at work. I asked if I could eat them, if they belonged the somebody. The girl at the desk said that I should go right ahead, that she has a third one at home.

“Why do you have three loaves of bread?” I asked.

She said, “Crush on the guy at the bakery. I’ve been going every morning. There’ll probably be another one tomorrow, if you’d like.”

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i woke up early this morning and had some of the left over couscous for breakfast. the lawn mowers had started earlier than usual in the courtyard, which i suppose is a valid punishment for those, like me, with mondays off.

we still had orange juice and that’s big.

i read a few articles of last weeks economist and folded a few things.

when my jeremy finally got up around one, he went straight for the orange juice.

i said, “so you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“let’s get it over with,” he said.

“okay so maybe i lied. no bad news today.”

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Jeremy, Ellen and I recently had a conversation about super powers. I brought up what they would do with the super power of making anyone in the room with them have an orgasm of whatever intensity and length you desired.

Jeremy said he would use it to rob banks, just make everyone black out on the floor with pleasure as he took all the money. …either that, or for sports, he said. He’d get the ball in football and just make any potential tackler have a quick surprise in their pants. I told him he needed to make sure he did it fast enough, before they made any contact.

Ellen said that she would use it just to laugh. If she were having a bad day at a red light, the guy crossing the street would just start to enjoy himself a little too much right in front of everyone.

I said that after I talked to anyone, I would give them just a mini, tiny, almost imperceptible party in his or her pants as they walked away, like a nice wine that surprises you later.

We decided that it all showed a lot about our personalities.

Jeremy would use his power to make his own life a lot better.


Ellen would use her power to make her life a little funnier.


And I would use mine to make everyone’s life just a teeny tad better.

So here’s the question… What would you do?

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My roommate doesn’t have a bed yet. It’s been almost three weeks and he sleeps on the floor.

But he did spend at least two days setting up this beauty.

My favorite detail?  Besides… you know… the books…

The box of bourbon’s finest.

Second favorite detail…

Yes, my friends, that IS a Darwin monkey book end helping Joyce’s Ulysses to find its footing.

This is what I wake up to every morning. Sure, I could buy an actual bookshelf. Or I could spend that money on a book of Ryokan’s poetry. I mean c’mon, which would you chose?

And residing over it all, the chairman of the Spaß. One must give reverence.

So what is the Spaß?

In short, it’s our new apartment.

Jeremy came up with the idea that he wanted to name our apartment after a guerilla movement. I thought it a fine idea and started some research.

Spaßguerilla, which apparently means “fun guerilla” was “a grouping within the student protest movement of the 1960s in Germany that agitated for social change, in particular for a more libertarian, less authoritarian, and less materialistic society, using tactics characterized by disrespectful humour and provocative and disruptive actions of a minimally violent nature.”

It is pronounced “Spassguerilla” and if we were to shorten that, we could called it “the spaß” or “the spass” which almost sounds like “the space” and looks like “the spa” but also means “the fun.”

The word “Spassguerilla” itself is interesting. Though the normal German spelling is Spaßguerilla, it was spelled Spassguerilla by Fritz Teufel and this therefore became known as the “teuflische Schreibweise” (a pun meaning either “Teufelian” spelling or “diabolical spelling”; Teufel in German means devil). This spelling is retained by some, including academics (see references). The use of “ss” rather than “ß” implies a short “a” sound, making the word more like Stadtguerilla (urban guerrilla), a term used by Rudi Dutschke.”

So we live in a subversive German potentially demonic urban space spa of fun.

The name stuck real fast.

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yoga yoga yoga.

For those of you whom I have yet to meet, my non-cyber life is supported by teaching yoga (among a few other odds and ends). This past weekend, I found myself surrounded by lights, cameras and half-built sets in a huge loft space in Chicago’s downtown with my dear friend and photographer extraordinaire, Jane, who collaborated with me on some promotional photos for my up-and-coming site.

I thought I’d share a few of these.

For this last shot, I asked her what stage of enlightenment it looked like I was in. She said that as I was having her take pictures of me meditating, probably not that high…

I liked my little brick corner.  I hope you do, too.

Thank you to Ms. Jane Jennings Gaspar. Check out her blog here, and her site here.

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Please excuse my absence. I had to partake in a rescue mission to Ohio. There has to be some adage about not going to Ohio from California… or about not going to Ohio in August, and if so, this fine gent hadn’t learned it yet.

He is now safe again in the warm embrace of a late Chicago summer.

And just to round out the number to four of big fat midwestern states we visited in a day, we stopped in Michigan for a quick glimpse of the lake from the other side and a surprisingly bad dinner. 

But then again, we ate to this at our side…

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