Jason Roeder

So, it seems I haven’t been the only one sleeping in my apartment, and I’m not referring to the Australian college girls I pick up at the Times Square Ruby Tuesday. I’m talking about roaches, always dead and on their backs, because when you’re a roach, once you’ve reached a floor tile, what’s left to live for? My landlord Muji brought over what he called “the roach medicine for all the roaches.” I had my doubts because I wasn’t sure roaches deserved VapoRub, but Muji was actually referring to this toxic paste that the bugs find so yummy, they can’t wait to bring some home and kill their families with it. In any case, it’s not going to matter six weeks from now.

I’m moving to Brooklyn April 1, this time with roommates. I haven’t actually found these people yet, but I’ve been prowling Craigslist every day. In the past, Craigslist has helped me unload a bookcase and connect with just the right sexual monstrosity, so I’m confident that something will work out. It has been about 10 years since I was last in the position of auditioning for a room (yes, “auditioning” is the word), but I do all right in these situations. I’m a mild sort with good credit and nothing in my background that the statute of limitations hasn’t rendered moot.

Astoria is fine, of course, and I think if I were a few years older and bit more settled personally and professionally, it’d be a worthwhile option. But right now, I need a place that’s a bit more—okay, I’ll use the word—happening. It’s a strange word for me, considering I’m the sort of curmudgeon who could walk into bingo night at a Knights of Columbus hall and within 30 seconds be muttering about fucking hipsters. But I’m convinced this is the right decision.

I have left my job. I know that in the days and weeks to come, I will ask myself how a position I took because I desperately needed a paycheck and any means of staving off the wriggling insanity of unemployment could go so wrong, so quickly. So, as of next Wednesday, I’m freelancing again, whatever that means.

I just now noticed that, when typing, I sit with my knees out to the side and my upper torso swiveled toward the laptop. This might explain why my back’s been hurting a little lately. Who can I sue? Can I sue you?

Last Monday’s reading at McNally Robinson went well by any measurement (four stars, two thumbs up, Big Gulp). I’m pretty sure it wasn’t recorded, though, so you’ll just have to imagine the three of us—Sarah Walker, Wendy Molyneux, and myself—making our friends and family laugh. If you don’t know what we look like, you can find pictures of us on the web or trust my descriptions: Sarah’s kind of a tall mediabistro job ad, Wendy’s a really funny gym membership I have to transfer before I move to Brooklyn, and I’m some large cardboard boxes the supermarket gave me.

It is possible I am preoccupied.

I recently had a conversation with my agent about What’s Next. Obviously, the publication of Oh, the Humanity! would pave the way for a very similar follow-up, but I think I’m kinda done with long-form parody. The shorter humor stuff will probably go on forever, but the next project is probably going to be a comic novel or a screenplay or a very different kind of humor book. I hope to zero in on an idea in the next month or so and have a draft of the whatever-it-is done by the end of the year. Be sure to throw this paragraph in my face come December.

Another semi-ambition: a humor reading series. I participated in one a few weeks ago called the Ritalin Reading Series, which was great. But there aren’t very many like it, if you exclude actual stand-up open-mics. If you live in NYC and think this might be something you’d be interested in exploring and doing most of the legwork for while dividing the credit down the middle, definitely get in touch.

Posted February 16th, 2008 | Comments are open