I've lived with women my entire life. Well, there was first semester of sophomore year when me and three other dudes from my dorm building thought it would be a bro-fully good idea to crowd into an apartment together. But that was short-lived, as I moved out after four months, on the basis that I didn't enjoy waking up in the mornings with testicles drawn on my forehead and mini post-it notes arranged all over my chest.

Since then, most of my roommates have been women, and it's suited me rather well (a.k.a. no coming home to questionable "crime scenes" in the bathroom complete with soggy Maxim magazines). Even still, part of me wonders if I'm missing out on something--some aspect of being a young single man of the male species, having never partaken in frats or rugby or lifting triangular weights with waxed mustaches or whatever else manly-men do while I'm off writing poems and having conversations with trees.

And that's where Jose's apartment comes in. Jose Vadi. Those of you who find the name familiar might recognize him from this tasty tidbit:*



That was from a FreeVibe ad back in '04. A lot has changed since then. Let's just say Jose's the Cheech to my Chong (pff, of course I'd be Chong). The Harold to my Kumar (or maybe I'd be Harold. I guess ethnically, I'd be Harold and Jose would be Cheech, but there's no movie starring the two of them together). This is the guy who once spontaneously hopped a roadtrip with me to Portland with a bag of green shoes and strong ambition to get over our respective summer breakups with our respective ex-girlfriends. Last year he left for six months to work at a left-wing thinktank in DC, which eventually brought him to investigate government involvement in perpetuating (the country) Columbia's drug trafficking industry. Now Jose's back in Oakland with his fellow Berkeley alums Camilo and Jimmy, where on a regular basis they indulge in their extensive vinyl collection and trips to the Purple Heart Cafe. So like I said, a lot has changed.

Jose and his roommates are in no way the frat-bro-overflowing-with-mutant-testosterone types**. At first glance they're residues of the punk movement, often found kicking back as a trio of black hoodies and plaid button-ups (long before plaid became the new Urban Outfitter fetish). When everyone's home, you don't find shoes lined up at the front door--you find skateboards. Beaten up and aged, they're sprawled against whatever furniture happens to be nearby, overseen by a shrine of "decased" decks lined up across a makeshift mantle in the living room. But don't get the punk nature mixed up with the emo-core cats you pass by at Hot Topic. My countless chill sessions with Jose have trained me in the true essence of punkness--care-freely revolting against anything and everything, even if it's itself. That's why at any given moment the musical selection could switch abruptly from The Clash to Clipse. Or you'll come across moments like Friday night, when I played the new Lil Kim remix to Britney Spears' "Gimme More" (cleverly named "Kimmie More") to Camilo, who upon hearing it I expected to immediately spew out a mouthful of Hefe, but instead sat reflectively and commented, "I'm not sure how I feel about this song, but so far, I likes."

Needless to say, Jose doesn't live in the Animal House, but still, their apartment is a bachelor pad for the ages. Located dead in between Oakland's Chinatown and Lake Merrit, the outer walls of the building are a tacky salmon tint that's so vintage it was probably vintage in the vintage days. Camilo's view from his bedroom window is a McDonald's drive-thru, which provides an ironically comforting aura of buzzing neon lights in the evenings. Immediately upon stepping into the elevator you're flooded with the sweet aroma of alcohol and cigarette butts, often empty 40 bottles propped against the corner. Passing by the apartments down the hall you can sometimes get a whiff of up to seven species of dro seeping underneath the doors. Once inside, it's an of course moment. The walls, floor, and every other surface is laced predictably with the unpredictable.

Since he moved back to Cali this past summer, Jose's apartment has been a staple in my periodic moments of Bay life in between touring. I spend only slightly less time there than I do at my own spot (I know that's not saying much since I'm hardly ever home, but basically I'm over often enough to have knocked out to Dazed and Confused more than once). Jose is one of the smartest, most interesting people I know, and thus I find myself sparking with him often. I'm not sure what we ever really talk about, but whatever it is, we never run out of things to say about it. Everyone needs their getaway sometimes. Luckily, mine's just down the street. Maybe it's something in the air, but lately I've found a fascination in being home that can't be experienced anywhere else, and I'd like to share that with you.

So I present to you: Jozee's Houzee, a.k.a. A Day In the Life of a Bachelor Pad

The Living Room: This is where you'll find us 95% of the time, when we're not in the kitchen making quesadillas. It has everything you need in your evening. Even with the hundreds of cable channels, the television is consistently playing VH1 Soul, Cartoon Network, and old Elizabeth Taylor flicks. Never with volume on. All ears are devoted to the record player to the side of the room that hardly ever turns off. The latest on rotation have been Animals, and late-era Beatles (mostly Abbey Road with some White Album sprinkled in). And yes, that's the Apollonia 6 lined up against the wall.




The Kitchen: Whenever I decide to cut down on dairy, I get pulled back in by Jose's diet. All that has ever come out of that kitchen are pizzas and mac&cheese. As a result, on the healthier days we'll make the trek to the taco truck on International.***




Jose's Room: When Jose was living at his co-op in Berkeley, his walls were sky blue, and on good days it felt like we were hanging out on a cloud. In his Oakland apartment he's gone for the straight white, but they're far from baron. Whatever lack of color is made up for by random posters and paper discoveries. And the peach leather couch they found on the street a couple of weeks ago.




The Living Room Again: The other day Jose pointed me to a wall of notes the roommates have left for each other during moments of debauchery. There's a particular feeling of completeness during the rare moments when all three of them are home...it's like all the Planeteers coming together. There's plenty of shittalking. Furniture gets rearranged. And then they all leave at the same time.




Jose's moving back to LA for a few months to hang out with his grandpa. I'm going through a similar conundrum as I did when he left for DC, scrambling to figure out what I'm going to do during those countless hours I would usually find myself hanging out at his place. Perhaps more opportunities to find my other Oakland staples. Or maybe I just need to replace my record player so I can spin vinyl at my own place.



*From an earlier text conversation:

Adriel: i just figured out how to download your drug-free commercial. i NEED your permission to youtube.

Jose: omg. shit...

Adriel: it will complete the blog. it's like the 7th dragonball. NO PRESSURE NO PRESSURE!!!

Jose: fine. u owe me some unhealthy food and/your drinks. what u doing? we gettin fucked up

Adriel: i'm in bed. how lame am i?

Jose: fuck that, get drunk. or come over around noon for brunch. camilos making french toast.

Adriel: oh shit french toasting. perhaps. i shall call tomorrow.

Jose: u have to put the text convo in the blog.


**To this Camilo would say:
"Why can't we be the frat-bro-overflowing-with-mutant-testosterone types??

***Taco truck blog coming soon.