I meant to post this yesterday, but all these things happened that I had
to do. Like, I had to go to Ricks On The River, with Chez, sister Mandy,
and brother-in-law AJ. We had to eat oysters, and drink a little gin. I
like Ricks. It is Florida-trashy, and big, and obviously, on the river.
There is always a terrible guitar player covering radio songs. It might
always be the same guy. Maybe he's Rick's brother.
And I had to take a few minutes to admire Little Caesar's exercise get
up.
And before I knew it, the day was gone.
Yesterday's News
AJ and his friend Adam have been editing this tire commercial for the last
three hours. It's got a rock jingle with this woman belting out, "Custom
tires and wheels for your truck or car / everybody needs a little..RNR!"
Competition: Troy and Katie birthed a little blog three weeks ago,
and just got around to telling the world. Actually, it's not "competition"
since they write about "things" like records, fashion, and recipes, whereas
here at Heck's Kitchen we have to rely upon your interest in cats, and pajamas.
Behold, kindness of ravens. Troy says, "It's designy-musicy-vegany-bloggy."
Chat Tales
Strip Club, West Virginia
bob: so, one wv story that i prolly forgot
to tell you. me and my boy trainer (now in NOLA) and his fiance, kate, were
coming back from the bar one night. trainer and i decided we should go to
the strip joint before reaching our final destinations. kate was less enthusiastic,
but i assured them that there was an extra trashy one close to where they
would be dropping me off. trainer remembered it instantly and was even more
enthusiastic than before. kate, even less so. as we passed by the place,
the lights were down, etc, and kate, relieved, said 'look, it's closed!'
just then, we looked at the door and saw some guy literally tumbling, ass
and elbows out the door. trainer and i were like, 'no you're wrong! they're
open.' kate would not get out of the car and asked us to go check. we did,
and all the lights in the place were out. there were silhouettes of stripper
hair and much movement that we couldn't really identify, but there was a
table knocked over. a guy walked out of the door, blood dripping from his
skull all the way down his face. he said to us, simply and calmly, 'it's
not a good time guys.' we left. when we went by just seconds later, the
cops were there.
me: this katie sounds like she has a head on her shoulders
bob: hahaha
she's pretty good.
her last name is lebeau, which sounds so NOLA
me: indeed
bob: the days are running together, but i'm pretty sure that took
place on xxxmas eve
me: thank you
Cats rule
shauna:
i gotta run
but i wanted to share a Peanut Butter story me: okay
yay shauna: i came over last night at like 9, and she was "hiding"
behind one of the skinny trees near the curb
but obviously i could see her, since the tree is only 3 inches wide
but she was all hunkered down like she was super stealth me: she is so cute! shauna: then she lept out at me! me: haha!
Being Rich is Awesome
A collection of cellphone picture messages, arranged into a grid, with
accompanying text.
Columbus, OH. Bova: "Drag Dolly Parton just put a candy cane in her ass."
Columbus, OH. Bova: "I looked for my drugs and found my Obama rhinestone shirt instead. Damn it!"
Columbus, OH. Bova: "Found them."
Albuquerque, NM: Thrift store, excellent t-shirt.
Tampa, FL: Dinner at Jesse's.
Tampa, FL: Giant Ugandan Santa humps yurt.
Mobile church. National Geographic. Location: Loo.
Edmond, OK: Cute baby.
Miss Mess: Greetings from Buffalo, NY. Bonus: Mess's Daddy
C. Greene: Seattle, WA. "Your favorite font, on a faux Whole Foods store."
Yesterday, Salman, Jesse, Mandy, Nathalia and I drove to Fort De Soto State
Park, America's #1 Beach™. One thing about Florida I have noticed is
the fisher people. They line up on bridges, piers and boardwalks with their
coolers of partially dead things, and they look like they've come to stay a while.
Some have lawn chairs and novels. A few sport those puzzling mullet hats,
which I now understand to be preventative defense against the halfsie redneck
contracted from standing in one spot for hours in the Florida sun.
Speaking of contracting things, I was walking barefoot on this pier of bloody pools and fishooks. Here we spotted a dirty knife laying beside a decapitated squid, which we were admiring
when the lesbian pictured said, "Wanna see its head?" Then she
swung the head at us, much like a boy would, or a dad. From what I could
gather circumstantially, that is her partner fishing behind her, and they had two
sons or a son and a friend with them.
(Yay! Chez just finally got here. Thirty hours in the minivan. Good girl.)
Anyway, just as no one
should be a cock to a stranger, ever, one should always be nice to lesbians.
Regarding this fishing lifestyle....I'm not sure what to think about it, but
it strikes me as very Floridian-American. There are every variety of person here, and also dolphins. And when the sun sinks into
the Gulf, everyone stops to watch and then claps when the last little glowing glimmer slips beneath the horizon. I like that.
Nathalia caught a fish with her bare hand.
Actually, these are bait fish, and at the end of the day kids were throwing them up in the air for the marauding gulls. Whether this is "fun" or "irresponsible parenting" probably depends on whether or not you are related.
Last year, because Sean had died and everyone felt weird and miserable,
we decided to suspend our tradional Christmas operations and spend the time
at grandma's. But when we got to grandma's we found we were still quite
unhappy, so we all drove up to Asheville, NC, to see the sights. By lunchtime
we were both cranky and sad, (for various reasons; I won't entirely blame
my brother), so Jesse and I started buying
rounds, and we all got drunk. Once drunk, things felt better for a while.
Jess and I threatened but were ultimately unable to carry grandma across
the street. We visited a novelty shop, where grandma admired bongs. We wrestled
or fell down in a toy store. Other things happened which I've forgotten
or shouldn't mention. Last winter was a swamp of wretchedness, with tiny
lily pads of fun tossed on top. Like when Dave and Miriam and Coach and
Anisha and Edward and Shelly and I made
gingerbread cookies.
If you put out cookies for Santa, watch out for bunnies.
Sometimes, when you have a public journal, time can freak you out, illustrated.
This year I'm not miserable, though I think my mom's a little sad to be
in Africa for Christmas. I mean, do
they know it's Christmas? Oh, earnest '80s.
Dad and the dogs at the farm. Cabin's looking good, no?
When I was in Oklahoma, I learned how to play Moon,
which is like the Euchre we play in the Midwest, except with dominoes, and
propagated by Texans. In other words, it is a good quick game for the slow
and the stoned. I also learned what is "Dirty
Santa," which is not something pedophilic like you might be thinking,
but is like Secret Santa with stealing. In this spirit of people spreading
junk around the holidays, here is today's, from you to me and back again,
Indian givers.
Back in the old days of 2004, I kept a page just for
my Aunt Ruth's forwarded jokes. That river dried up until today, when
I received what appears to be a photograph of an elephant enema.
The accompanying caption implores you to never again complain about your
job, with lots of exclamation points and capitalized words in one of the
fonts I hate.
Jesus Christ, please think outside your font box. Stop stop stop using
these.
Fucking Papyrus. I
know Comic Sans has its serious haters, but there's nothing terribler
than this idiot font used for New Age garbage, crap-gift shops, scented
candles, socks made of hemp, menus of bad food, the business cards of
Reiki therapists, and anything that very badly wants you to take it seriously.
I've exhausted my judging muscle already.
From Rebecca L: Tragic News from Up North
From Deb D., Frosty Gets Caught
From Deb D., In honor of the birth of their 18th child...
The lovely Dan W. says, "If there were any doubts before – there are
none now. You are sisters."
This is Caesare at Sam's Club, where her parents sent us erranding.
Sam's Club, and every thing and every one in it, is too big to be a microcosm
of anything, but, it sure looks like America. People with their large families,
and the gross things and quantities they purchase, or consume as they waddle
behind their carts: it's gross in all the definitions of gross. You might
say it's grosser than gross. And yet, there are the people in their embroidered
Christmas sweatshirts, selecting landfill-fodder toys for their grandkids,
embodying the noble efforts of Hope and Good Cheer. It kind of makes you
teary.
Yes, that is Chez's only hoodie.
Well, there's a lot more junk where all that came from. Let's quit with
yesterday's sweet Achewood, brought to our attention by Matt.
Don't hate me because you're cold, or because you don't rule at fantasy football.
Because we're such good friends, I know you won't be jealous when I tell
you that I'm in the only warm United State right now.
And because we go
way back, I know you'll be pleased to learn that I'm 45 points
from becoming the 2008 Ya-Ya Vajayjay Sisterhood Fantasy Football
League Champion. Watch with me tonight, America, as Donald Driver of
the Green Bay Packers and Matt Forte of the Chicago Bears play against each
other in "real life" yet combine to bring glory to Spiderpig Sandwich in
"my life."
Speaking of me, this book I'm reading, The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World, as I mentioned, is super awesome. The first section, "Desire: Sweetness / Plant: The Apple" was really excellent. The second section (Beauty: The Tulip), was very good. But this third section, about weed (Desire: Intoxication / Plant: Marijuana), is blowing my mind, dude.
But first, a word from our sponsor.
Bob's West Virginia Anecdotes®
bob: some old lady asked me to put air in her tires (if you know what i
mean) when i was coming back from the 711. i did it, but i warned her that
i'm probably the worst guy to do so, because i live in new york and i haven't
driven a car in 10 years. she said, 'what do you do?!' and i said, 'the
subway system is extensive.' to which she replied 'i hate new york.'
she was sweet, though. i hope i did not send her to her death
Thanks, Bob. So, did you know?
Did You Know? Stuff lifted and painstakingly typed from Michael Pollan's
Book for you
1. On why cats chase catnip, and "It's 5 o'clock somewhere."
"I learned later that catnip contains a chemical compound, called "nepetalactone,"
which mimics the pheromone cats produce in their urine during courtship.
This chemical key just happens to fit an aphrodisiac lock in a cat's brain
and apparently no other. It was amusing to watch a plant derange my cat,
but also unsettling; for that brief interlude, Frank would wobble through
the garden as though he were literally beside himself. Yet he'd be back
again the next day — though, curiously, never before five."
Internet delivers trove of funny weed animal pictures.
2.
On the sea changes in drug laws concerning marijauna (and as a result,
on the plant itself) since the early '80s, when the pot was on the verge
of social acceptance, if not decriminalization, to today.
"By the end of the decade the plant had suddenly acquired, or been endowed
with, extraordinary powers, which, among other things, rendered my story
[wherein the amateur and paranoid author's two plants are nearly discovered
by the town sheriff] a period piece, quaint in its goofiness and not at
all likely to be repeated. A couple of facts will illustrate the change:
The minimum penalty for the cultivation of a kilogram of marijuana (the
size of my harvest, more or less) in [Connecticut] has, since 1988, been
a mandatory five-year jail sentence. (Other states are harsher still:
growing any amount of marijuana in Oklahoma qualifies a gardener
for a life sentence.)
"Jail time would not be my only worry were I so foolish as to reprise
my experiment. If the New Milford police chief happened to find marijuana
growing in my garden today, he would have the power to seize my house
and land, regardless of whether I was ultimately convicted of a crime.
That's because, according to the somewhat magical reasoning of federal
asset-forfeiture laws, my garden can be found guilty of violating
the drug laws even if I am not...So do things stand in America today that
yielding to the temptation of a forbidden plant not only can get you temporarily
expelled from your garden but can get your garden taken away forever."
But image Googling Belladonna = porn.
3. On what
I would've been doing in medieval times
"For most of their history, after all, gardens have been more concerned
with the power of plants than with their beauty -- with the power, that
is, to change us in various ways, for good or for ill. In ancient times,
people all over the world grew or gathered sacred plants (and fungi) with
the power to inspire visions or conduct them on journeys to other worlds;
some of these people, who are sometimes called shamans, returned with
the kind of spiritual knowledge that underwrites whole religions. The
medieval apothecary garden cared little for aesthetics, focusing instead
on species that healed and intoxicated and occasionally poisoned. Witches
and sorcerers cultivated plants with the power to 'cast spells' —
in our vocabulary, 'psychoactive' plants. Their potion recipes called
for such things as datura, opium poppies, belladonna, hashish, fly-agaric
mushrooms, and the skins of toads (which contain DMT, a powerful hallucinogen).
These ingedients would be combined in a hempseed-oil-based 'flying
ointment' that the witches would administer vaginally using a special
dildo. This was the 'broomstick' by which these women were said to travel."
By now you may have heard the news: CoorsMiller (?) has agreed to remove caffeine from Sparks, "in a deal with 13 states and the city of San Francisco, who had contended the drink targeted young drinkers."
Sparks Artifact, 2005.
Reactions on the street:
Sparks
Artifact, 2005
Shauna: how will i put myself at risk properly now?
Dave: this is the end of the best 6 years of my life
Rebecca: it certainly is targeted to young drinkers
however, it does not at all reduce your sense of intoxication
it ups your sense of fun
now we're going to have to concoct sparksicolas
More Alcohol News
Over a couple of 3.2 beers at Bob's Pig Shop, Chez convinced me that I
don't really care too much about that Stupid Rick Warren.
Uganda mom sends disturbing emails, takes up national pasttime.
From: Mom
Subject: Hi Honey! (excerpted, pieced together)
...we have electric so I've got a date with the first season of WEST
WING...and a glass of amarulo. Have you ever tried that? It's made in
kenya from some nut that grows there wild...elephants LOVE it and get
drunk on it...so why not people? The fun couple we met in Kitgum who dig
boreholes and have a real love for animals (over people, I think) and
run a bar and restaurant...who I NEVER saw sober, turned us on to it...plus
the place that carries it in kampala. I think one could easily become
an alcoholic in this place. Oh yea...half the continent is. Only they
mostly drink very dangerous home brewed crap. Wow...sorry.. .rambling.
And I'm not even drinking yet! Watch the blog for an article on male circumcision
celebrations. Crazy men.
We're not really sure where we'll end up. I do think we'll be doing lots
of work up in Mbale and in the manafwa district. So....we may have to
move up that way. It's just very behind (electric, water, etc) and kind
of slummy and pretty dangerous. But we can't very well stay in Kampala
and have projects going on up there without watching over them and rolling
up our shirtsleeves. We're still thinking and looking...The mountains
up in Mbale are beautiful. i'm just trying to get past the dangerous stuff.
One of the nights we were there, RIGHT after we got back to our guesthouse,
some drunk crowd of people pulled a car over just to harass them. They
actually killed two of the people in the car and beat the crap out of
the others. For no reason. They just get drunk all the time...and mean.
That's pretty much continent wide. Drinking is a REALLY big problem.
From RT/Chicagoist: Blagojevich
Stockyard Queen takes stock of the Year in PBR at "Turn Him Out!"
I'm very careful about how I get my "news," on account of my anorexically
thin skin, tendencies to rageaholism,
and extreme prejudice. So when Shauna sent me this
from Huffpo today, coupled with its idiot comments, I could easily have
fallen into a dangerous-yet-boring Angry Hole. But like life-long sufferers
of any chronic illness, I've learned how to manage my condition. I take
a couple weekly doses of Jon Stewart, a few of Colbert, and a Wonkette daily.
It sure goes down easy at Wonkette: Defensive
Obama Team Defensively Defends Stupid Rick Warren (Kicker: Jesus People).
In high school, she played three sports. "I grew up on a
lot of John Hughes movies, so by calling myself a jock I don't want you
to think that I was a dick," she says. "I was a cross between the jock
and the antisocial girl who bit people," she says, referring to The Breakfast
Club, Hughes's generation-defining movie. "The Ally Sheedy character.
And who was Judd what's-his-face? The outsider. I wanted to be the outsider
so bad. But I was the jock and that bad-hair girl."
What I do, mostly, is read Achewood,
which hasn't been updated since Monday, on account of, Do you know Onsted
writes blogs for all his characters? What's wrong with that guy? He's addicted
to workahol. If you are not, you might start with Nice
Pete's (recent entries: "Quizno's" and "Where Rachael Ray Lives"), and
Philippe's (Thanks Giving
It's Friday!).
If you want an exciting road trip blog, you might try next
door. I stayed in the house for 40 straight hours, then today walked
to the video store. We were returning The
Happening (meh) and the documentary In
the Shadow of the Moon (yes). Mike
Collins, the guy who stayed up in the orbiter while Neil Armstrong and
Buzz Aldrin frolicked on the moon, and Alan Bean were adorable. Bonus: Astronaut
Alan Bean's Art Site.
I was going to rail about all the gay
men getting murdered in DC (reader comment on
DCist: "DC cop cars should just broadcast Benny Hill music at crime
scenes"), but....ugh. Just remember, if you're going to be gay, please
always walk in groups of 12 or more to avoid being killed. If you ARE killed,
the DC police won't call it a hate crime. In fact, it's likely they'll downgrade your murder to "involuntary manslaughter," on account of you were probably making a pass at your assailants, like any sane person would do.
Speaking of contracting things, I was walking barefoot on this pier of bloody pools and fishooks. Here we spotted a dirty knife laying beside a decapitated squid, which we were admiring
when the lesbian pictured said, "Wanna see its head?" Then she
swung the head at us, much like a boy would, or a dad. From what I could
gather circumstantially, that is her partner fishing behind her, and they had two
sons or a son and a friend with them. 
Oh, earnest '80s.
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