Glass House

Glass House, as it came to be known over time, was a memorable and dare I say even legendary residence located at the corner of Mulford Avenue and McClain Road, in the Grandview district of Columbus Ohio. Well, the house is still there, of course – it’s just that the people and circumstances which made it so remarkable, lending it that nickname which would even wind up making its way into places like Columbus Alive!, have long since gone away.

Among the unique features, at least during this time, were that it was a large house chopped into two separate units, and yet both shared the same basement. One had a Mulford address (1177) and the other McClain (977). Also, which is probably the ideal setup – considering the whole shared basement business – all the people living in both halves during this period in question knew one another prior to moving in here. You wouldn’t exactly want to roll the dice with some random dude having access to your half of this funky duplex, only for him to wind up as the next Dahmer or whatever.

But anyway. My first visit to this residence occurred during the New Year’s Eve transitioning from 2001 to 2002. I can’t quite recall the exact mix of roommates at this time, because for example Norman Flores hadn’t entered the picture over here yet, but the most “famous” lineup I would say eventually consisted of Chris Hostetler, Keith Spain, and Norman on the Mulford side, with Kevin Spain and assorted roomies or even flying solo on the McClain half. Whatever the precise mix of occupants at this point, though, I know Chris was living here, because he was the primary instigator and ringleader for a big New Year’s blowout at his pad. Which would become, if it wasn’t already prior to this, an annual ritual.

Speaking of annual rituals, Mad Dog 20/20 entered that hallowed realm itself on this very night, but only on New Year’s. We had all long since moved beyond our formative years drinking Mad Dog otherwise, which is what made it such a hilariously retro pick for the party. To be reprised every single year thereafter, by whatever crew I happened to show up with. On this initial occasion, it was Matt Montanya, Libby, Kevin Kasper (I don’t think Vanessa was with him for some reason), Kim, and me, riding together to the house, which had not yet been labeled Glass House. Libby and Kim had both eaten mushrooms prior to leaving for the bash. We stopped off at this convenience store on Kenny Road for some alcohol, which was when an already half drunk Kasper insisted with a mischievous snicker that we should totally show up with some Mad Dog, totally. Which is where the whole thing started.

Of course, by this stage in our lives, if you’re showing up with Mad Dog, you’re going to suffer some wild guffaws and eye rolls. It’s the equivalent of maybe rocking a bottle of Boone’s Farm wine or clutching cans of malt liquor or something as you roll up into the shindig. One year, by which point the MD 20/20 had long since become ingrained in our New Year’s culture, a bunch of us wasted no time in passing the bottle around the kitchen, instantly upon arrival. Scott Imsland declared, “you guys are fuckin stupid”…then proceeded to immediately reach out and snatch it from whoever was holding it, tilt his head back for a healthy slug himself.

Eh, so onto specifics. I actually don’t recall a ton about that maiden voyage into this precinct. Other than it was still years before I would get a cell phone and, this being an era where I was messing around with Lisa, I called her at some point from the kitchen landline phone, surrounded by mobs of people, only because I had promised to do so. But couldn’t stop laughing for whatever reason, which in one of the most baffling examples ever, made her ultra-paranoid mind leap to absurd conclusions. “Why are you laughing? Are you getting a blowjob?” she demanded. Which only served to make me laugh harder, in turn upping her paranoia. “You are, aren’t you!? You’re getting a blowjob right now!”

I’m like, “what!? What on earth would make you think that?” but she just kept going on and on, and therefore so did my laughter.

By the next year’s party, I had long since become a basic fixture here myself, and become that much more comfortable. Enough so to show up toting a film camera, snapping photos…and to also bring Miles with me as my lone guest. He was already quite blasted and this was the infamous New Year’s where, though not bringing up this topic at all prior to our arrival, somehow the instant we strolled onto this quite crowded scene, he got on this huge kick, practically shouting, “AW, DUDE, WHO’S GOT THE COKE!? ANYBODY GOT COKE?” in that notorious loud and chalky voice he gets when drunk. He went around from room to room, repeatedly, demanding this of its occupants. When everybody he encountered basically just shrugged and told him sorry about your luck, but no, Miles then eventually pivoted in most unexpected fashion indeed: by going through the kitchen cupboards until he found a big bag of totally normal white sugar. And chalking up lines of that on the countertop, snorting it instead.

Andy Lorenz holding on for dear life to Dan Bandman. Seeing this picture for the 1st time, Dan joked, “the most remarkable thing about it is I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt on one arm and a short sleeve shirt on the other.”

Word of Miles’s sugar snorting antics spread like wildfire, more so than actual drug usage ever would have. And as such this became a huge attraction, watching Miles continually vacuum up a line of Domino every so often – because, try as he might, he was unable to convince anyone else that they should join him. Despite, pinching his nose, his continual instance that, “DUDE, I’M SERIOUS, YOU GUYS SHOULD TRY IT! YOU CAN REALLY FEEL SOMETHIN!” and so on.

He wound up leaving at some point, but I crashed there that night. Then the next morning a handful of us were sitting around the living room, recapping the events, when Crystal said to me, “was that your friend?” regarding the already infamous sugar snorting fiend.

“Yes….,” I reluctantly admitted.

“What an ass,” she concluded with a disbelieving laugh.

I don’t think I ever really made an ass of myself at any of these, personally, although maybe it’s just that my bar for embarrassment is so high (or is it low? This is one of those euphemisms which somewhat confuses me). The closest you might argue I came, though, was one New Year’s where I worked two jobs, back to back, but had seriously eaten nothing all day, prior to coming here. Was kind of banking on there being some food here of some sort, but instead only encountered…this gigantic frosted red velvet cake, sitting on the dining room table.

After the long work day, no food, probably not much sleep the night before it’s safe to say, I was just completely spent. Therefore all I did was inhale a couple pieces of cake, drink actually very little, before effectively saying fuck this to myself. But not a word to anyone else, as I stealthily crawled behind the couch, in this gap I had spotted between it and the wall (don’t ask me how), and passed out for the night, I think before the ball even dropped. It seemed like an awesome hiding place. Yet I awakened the following morning to discover I was completely covered in red velvet cake – people had eventually spotted me there, then found it hilarious to drop little cake bombs from up above, chortle over how I wasn’t even responding.

Norman making a triumphant Glass House entrance.

Me outside the house. I don’t think this was the red velvet cake night, but it may very well have been. I actually kind of like this picture, except of course MUST have something spilled all over my shirt – I suppose it’s too much to ask that I would ever take one totally normal photo, ever.

II.

Live music would of course become a staple here, too, in the basement. In addition to the show referenced above, I recall at least one other where Superstar Rookie played (I think) their only ever reunion set, some five years after disbanding. That was I believe the night Matt Montanya acted as between-band entertainment, as he got up on the mic and did his world famous, spot on Bill Cosby and Richard Pryor imitations, reciting many of their comedy bits verbatim, to the delight of the masses.

Naturally, in a sprawling house at least partially occupied by musicians, some tunes were recorded here as well. Including at least one full-length album I’m aware of, A Year At Mulford & McClain by Kevin Spain and Phil Minor. It’s a stunning, fully instrumental effort, somewhat of a departure – at least for Spain, from his work with The Judas Cow and others. You can listen to a solid chunk of it here, along with one video I made (on my own, but with their blessing) of my favorite track, Weave. Just click on the album cover below:

As you can see from the liner notes, this was fully recorded and mastered et cetera right here. The project has a tremendously warm and atmospheric sound to it. Unfortunately, for years now my disc has been so scratched up that it won’t play or rip the last three songs on the disc. And I’ve discussed this with Spain, but it appears that he doesn’t have any left in his possession, or at least can’t locate them if he does. He probably has those tracks somewhere in his files, but admits at this point he can’t remember what names they gave to which instrumentals, and isn’t fully confident exactly what these last three tunes are. So it remains an incomplete mystery. Copies were only ever handed out to some of his friends, so if any of you have one, by all means please let me know.

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I would be remiss not to throw in the obligatory weekly mention of my latest book (not that I haven’t forgotten half the time), Well-Behaved Monsters. As the famous saying goes, “well-behaved women rarely make history,” and these days I’m inclined to add in, “…yes, but Well-Behaved Monsters might!” Or something like that.

Anyway for those who are new to this weekly newsletter, WBM concerns a cluster of twentysomething singles attempting to make sense of the nightlife scene. Some of them eventually settle upon a series of bizarre strategies that are highly controversial, to put it mildly, although these seem to deliver results. Yet even so have their naysayers. Whatever the case, I believe it does a fine job illuminating the differences in how most men and women think, how opinions on these matters clearly change over time (even if detractors like to advance the notion that they’ve been concrete and unchanging across the centuries), and how difficult it is sometimes to fly in the face of popular sentiment - even when the most vocal “opponents” are often quite plainly digging it. But of course in denial about that as well.

If this sounds like your brand of happy hour well liquor, by all means scoop up a copy at these excellent retailers below:

My website

Amazon

Also I thought it might be cool to mention this Spotify playlist I created to get me in the proper mindset for this project. These tunes informed and inspired the novel and therefore I cranked this playlist endlessly while writing it:

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You may enjoy listening to these tunes while reading it, or for that matter in livening up an otherwise dreary Thursday around the office. Thanks and see you next week!