Believe me, you dont want to live here..

360 Meyran Avenue, the shocking expose :-)

Occupants:

  • bhiksha@cs.cmu.edu
  • joe@anonymous.nowhere
  • houdini@joe.anonymous.nowhere
  • joe's_other_dog@joe.anonymous.nowhere

    Welcome to my home. Unless you are black, oriental, or from any third world country...

    WELCOME! This is really quite a pointless page, but since you've obviously got some time to kill (or you wouldn't have gotten this deep) let me tell you about my apartment..
    My apartment is on the third floor of what used to be a little rowhouse in the Oakland area of Pittsburgh. This is Oakland, Pittsburgh, PA, not Oakland, CA. The apartment has a nice kitchen, a little living room and a bedroom big enough to hold two queen size beds and no more. But it is great for a single person. Unfortunately, there are several souls living in my apartment right now. A couple of them are biped, but mostly they have many little legs.
    I am not responsible for more than two of the legs that walk in my apartment. Usually.
    I have no idea who lives on the second or first floors. This is because no one stays on these floors for more than two months. I suspect the problem is with the landlady.
    My landlady's dad used to own the apartment when I moved in. Then he transferred it to his daughter and I had to sign the lease with her. The old man is a nice fellow. She is a pretty woman. Sexy even. She is also a bitch. And she has a German Nazi husband.
    The husband has a grouse against the world. I think it is because his name is Max. Imagine being stuck with a name like "Max" all your life!! You would probably be bitter too.
    Max doesn't like people who are not white first world citizens. He doesn't like me either. He calls me a third world pig.
    He doesn't like Joe either even though Joe is a white american. But that may simply be because Joe is way bigger than he is.
    Joe is a homeless fellow. Or rather, Joe used to be a homeless fellow. Then one day, in a fit of charitable feeling, I let him sleep in my living room while I was away at a conference. Now he is no longer homeless.
    Joe is paranoid. He thinks the whole world is out to hurt him and kill his dogs. He thinks the police are scum. He thinks the world is going to the rot. He thinks the family institution is crumbling. He thinks god put him on this earth to save the world and the world wants to wipe him out before he can. If he knew I'd set up a homepage about him he'd be extremely unhappy. He'd be pretty sure the police would read this and go hunting for him to rob him and kill his dogs.
    I think Joe is an idiot.
    I'm quite sick of him really, but I have no idea how to throw him out. Everytime I muster up the bile to throw him out the weather turns really bad and I cannot possibly let him die in the cold.
    Joe has two dogs. The older one is a German Shepherd mutt with white Husky eyes. Joe has had him for eight years. The younger one is a brown Labrador mutt. He is two years old, but Joe has had him for only six months.
    The older dog has no name. Joe never calls him, he only orders him about. If that dog had any sense he'd bite Joe.
    This dog is amazingly obedient. Joe says "get up" and he gets up. Joe says "sit down" and he sits down. Joe says "get onto the sidewalk" and he gets onto the sidewalk. Joe says "sit down behind that tree" and he sits down behind the tree. Joe says "do not sit down" and he stays standing. Joe says "do not move" and he doesnt move. Joe says "get beside me" and the dog gets beside him. Joe spends most of his day ordering this dog around. And the dog spends all his day obeying.
    And yet the dog doesnt have a name. And Joe's had him for eight years! For eight years Joe has ordered him around. For eight years Joe has never let him sit down except when he, Joe, himself sat down. And Joe NEVER sits down. He thinks it is unhealthy to sit down anywhere but at home. Except Joe has been mostly homeless for 30 years. That is a LOT of standing for a dog.
    If I were that dog I'd bite Joe.
    The younger dog is an escape artist. Once in every few days he runs away and ends up in the pen. Then Joe bums a ride to the dog pound and rescues him. This dog can escape from anything. Joe calls him Houdini.
    One day Houdini ran away and never came back. Some lady in the other side of town found him and took him in. Joe plans to get him back as soon as he has a place of his own.
    I've been trying to help Joe find a place for himself. I even promised to pay his rent if he did. But Joe is very particular about the kind of place he would rather live in. He wants it to be big, but the rent to be less than $200. He wants it to be secluded and hidden, but he wants it close to the Law library, so he can walk down to the library anytime he wants to. He wants to have housemates to split the rent, but he doesnt want them to know he has two dogs.
    I figure Joe simply likes my place. It fits most of his criteria and he pays no rent.
    The last time I found a place for Joe that was cheap, big and close to the law library Houdini ran away. Joe was too busy trying to find Houdini to sign the lease.
    Houdini never did come back. And it gave Joe an excellent excuse to pass up the house, so he could continue to stay in my apartment.
    Once Joe actually found a place that he liked. But he wanted me to sign the lease for him. I refused. Now Joe blames me for his homelessness and feels justified in staying at my apartment.
    Joe spends most of his time doing rounds of soupkitchens and churches to gather food. Joe gathers food like a squirrel preparing for the winter. He once brought in 30 pounds of bread from a soupkitchen. At thanksgiving he brought in 15 pounds of pie from various churches. He brought in four dozen oranges from somewhere. He brought in half a ton of eggplant. He brought in a carton of sphagetti and Kellogs corn pops. He brought in potato chips, salads, tomatos and a box of tea. He brought in a bag of potatoes and several heads of cauliflower and broccoli. He never eats any of it though; he simply stashes them all over my kitchen - it is his hoard for tougher times. He prefers to bum his dinners off the soup kitchens and churches that he brings this stuff from. When he cannot do that he bakes my potatos and eats up my semolina.
    He once ate one of the pies he'd put in the fridge because I needed the space to put in a carton of milk. It upset his digestion.
    I used to cook dinners and lunches in my kitchen. I do not do that anymore. The fridge is full of leftovers that Joe picked up from various churches and there is no room for storing any of my groceries. The stove is covered in a layer of dog hair. The kitchen is neck deep in newspaper that he collects.
    All bag people collect newspapers. They think the information in the classified ads is important for the future of the world. They all think they are going to save the future. All bag people are excellent Christians. I think it is because they believe poverty is a direct road into heaven.
    Joe's other dog has eczema. He sheds hair like nobody's business. Joe uses my cooking oil as a salve on his dog's wounds. That was another reason I stopped cooking.
    I actually used to work in the living room. Sometimes I even slept on the couch. Now Joe owns the living room. Im a prisoner in my bedroom. It is a mess and I have to move stuff around to make room to sleep.
    Im hoping to move out in the next month or so, so I dont have to put up with Joe anymore. Im hoping he wont follow me to my new place. Vipul m'boy, I hope you're happy now that your prediction is coming true.
    Cheers!

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