Bartholomew L. Jenkins III... (his "white name" as he calls it).
Jenkins is nearly as funny and ridiculous as I am, gorgeous to women
(I've actually seen chicks stumble into doors when he's around), and the
most talented young musician I know. Which is saying a lot because I
know a LOT of talented young musicians (jazz major, remember?)
He puts hot sauce on everything from bomb-burritos (purchased from gas
stations at 2:30 AM usually) to vanilla ice cream.
He was my roommate for half-a-decade. He liked to have loud sex with
his girlfriend in his room, then come out with a goofy grin and
high-five the rest of us (usually sitting around studying (read: playing
He would put Noxzema on his face (he's black) and sneak-attack people from
hallways and doorways. Once when a few of us got home we found him
face-painted and crouched on the kitchen table with a hand-made spear in
his hand, shouting African tribal sounds at us.
He got into a Nair phase once and went progressively from his chest,
arms, back, to his junk. One day he came out of the bathroom with a
sexy Zoolander-style walk and a ridiculous look on his face, not
speaking- just strutting. We tried to guess what it was all about until
it finally dawned on me.
"Jenkins- did you Nair your butthole??!"
Jenkins: ::Big smile::
We used to get so f'ed up playing gigs that we could barely stand for
the last set. He had a habit of never wanting to quit and would hassle
people (me) into going to Happy Chef for waffles at 4 in the morning.
One time I repeatedly refused to go along with a waffle trip and he
banged on my door singing random nonsense songs and chanting. After a
minute of silence, he was back at the door and I started hearing a soft
"Caleb.... Caleb.... Mr. Tubesock wants to get waffles... Caleb..."
"Jenkins? Is your wiener in a sock, banging against my door?"
That wasn't the end of Mr. Tubesock, either.
We made quite a team, the two of us. It was rare for us to hang out and
not be laughing constantly, which is pretty remarkable considering we
saw each other literally every day.
We also share some mental and emotional issues, and understand and
relate to each other. Maybe that's one reason we get along so well.
I -literally- have a million stories of Jenkins and of Jenkins+me, and I
realized today that I hadn't introduced you readers to him yet. Problem
Speaking of rectified, Jenkins is the only person on the
Earth who hears and loves all forms of sexual innuendo more than I do.
He has a habit of holding water bottles (or anything phallic-shaped)
near his crotch and then dropping them on your shoulder (or putting them
next to your face and telling you to turn). He then looks at you and
I don't see him as much anymore since he is going to Grad school in New
York, but I wish I did. He rocks. And if you're in New York, you owe
it to yourself to hear him play. He really is an incredible jazz
So be ready- more stories of Jenkins to follow!
PS One of my favorite tricks of his was be-fouling the bathroom (he
really had some stank in him) and then convincing The Nerv he left his
keys in there. You can predict what happened next. What you couldn't
predict is Nerv falling for it repeatedly.
"Hey, Nerv? I think you left some, uh, documents in the bathroom."
Caleb "Jenkins calls me 'Cable'" Shreves
Good call, Kayla! Had to dig this one up. 2004? 5?