NNO! What a brother know?

Wow. My roommate is maniacal. Fanatical. Or just...insane?

He's been excited for National Night Out since he read the Audubon Neighborhood News that said you could obtain a free permit if you registered your block b4 July 17. (*Which he didn't. BUT, the man called and hounded 4 different people before they acquiesced and waived the $100 late registry fee. Guys. If you knew 'Bean, you'd understand that it just doesn't fit his M.O.)

He put the bug in our accordian playing neighbors ear that polka music would be a welcome addition. (And subsequently requested that every time I see him, I verify that polka music is still "On". Every. Time) Started ordering up the paperwork needed, obtained permits, papered the neighborhood (Making early a.m. visits up and down the street.) And the guy pretty much refuted all of my offers to lend assistance. (Except that it was all gonna be in my name, and I was to print off 70 copies of "Warning" notices that the street was gonna be blocked off) I saw him outside shakin' hands and introducing himself to our Somali neighbors (Who, I think, I've only threw the casual wave toward in my 1.5 years there) Really? Not the same guy who I rented to in January. And really? It made me smile an awful lot.

On Sunday he was frassin' and bitchin' about the Tuesday night forecast (Hitting the steering wheel: "Gahd. Fahk. It better not rain! No. I hope it rains and then stops, or maybe...maybe it'll rain overnight and be dry the rest of the day?")

And then Tuesday? The thing our lawns and flowers desperately needed but which caused dread and frass in the poor 'Beans soul. Thunder. Boomies. And a forecast of showers. All. Day. Long.

I get home and he's pasted to a weather website ("Hey! This says it'll clear up in 20 minutes!" Followed by "Hey, did you see that the street is flooded?") My mom calls and tells me that her block party was cancelled, and the way the downspouts were over-FuhLOWIN' I was preparing for the same thing.

And then? Something quite strange and wonderful happened. Well, 2...no 3 things.

First- 'Peppa showed up.

Second- His Fredliness and Magrooders came trouncing up the back walkway.

Third- The rain. Stopped. At 7:30pm. Exactly when the 'Bean said it would. (And it didn't start again until well after midnight.)

"I need to borrow your car so we can tie off the barricade" was his halcyon cry. And just like that, the 1st annual Taylor St. Block Party was born. Tables and chairs were set up in the street. People brought out munchies. Beer, Cocktails, and Margarita's served in glasses the size of your head were imbibed. (In spite of our friendly police presence) Nametags were worn. Introductions were made. It was kinda kinda special.

Oh. There was polka. Oh yes. Peppa and I polka'ed which regressed into uncomfortable arms-length junior high dancing. Which got caught on video. Oh, that reminds me, the weirdest of weirds- the Nordeast Paparazzi showing up.

So I go in the house to change and when I go back outside there were the Nordeaster photog's snapping pics and 'Bean is pointing some guy with a microphone and camera at me to answer a couple of questions. (So tune in for the abridged version of baby P telling the good folks on public access why he feels NNO is vital to help build safe communit...yeah I was that guy. And I probably looked bald. And gay.)

So all told, a rather successful evening. Thanks, in part, to one tenacious roommate. I almost feel bad for sealing off his bedroom using the leftover yellow police barricade tape. Almost.