JOHN EVERSON shares a deep purple den in Naperville, IL with a cockatoo and cockatiel, a disparate collection of skulls, skeletal fairies, and a mounted Chinese fowling spider named Stoker courtesy of Charlee Jacob, along with a shelf of mix CDs and a guitar that he can't really play but that his son Shaun likes to hear him beat on anyway. Sometimes his wife Geri is surprised to find him shuffling through more public areas of the house, but it's usually only to brew another cup of coffee. He continually experiments with the insatiable culinary joys of the jalapeño and chases excursions into the bizarre headspace of '70s euro-horror DVDs with a shot of Makers Mark and a pint of Newcastle.
