Bad Trivia
During a game of Trivial Pursuit last night I was forced to read this unwholesome question:
What type of examination are you enduring if a doc gives you a “finger wave”?
Billy Ruff Sells Drugs
This little public service announcement posted on the large dumpster that my neighbors are using while remodeling their house, left me doubled over in laughter yesterday. I’m not sure what makes it so funny but I love it nevertheless. I like to bring it to people’s attention. At my local coffee shop, after receiving my drink, I let the barista know in slow hushed tones, “Hey, did you know. . .Billy Ruff Sells Drugs”.
My suspicion is that Billy Ruff attends the Catholic School at the end of my street and he has now been ratted out by one of his classmates. A middle school drug deal gone bad in the back of drama class.
Too bad they didn’t leave Billy Ruff’s phone number on the dumpster. It’s always good to know where to get the neighborhood hook-up.
Mustard Seeds for the Soul
Last night was a frightening night to be an American who doesn’t see the world through the same M21 sniper scope that George W. Bush does. The prophetic undercurrents of manifest destiny, empire building, and privatized hypodermic-crazed health care were all just polite ornamentation on a foreign and domestic agenda that punishes those who don’t live in fear of the rapidly growing holy war.
I poured myself an extra strong drink and made a break for the television early. I was surprised to find Reverend Billy Graham soaking the prime-time NBC airwaves with his usual shtick. The show was at some stadium in Oklahoma. It was just the last five minutes of the program and things seemed to be wrapping up. Billy was requesting people to come up to the stage and embrace Jesus Christ. The last few moments were long angle shots of the masses filing onto the floor. Everyone swaying to the creepy empty organ music being broadcast over the stadium PA. And then just like that, a brief roll credits, and then fade out. Fade back in and it’s George W. Bush walking into the House Chamber with soft spoken Tom Brokaw commentary. The whole transition was enough to send an icicle shiver down my spine. That did not just happen. Then, and I’m wondering here if I was the only one who saw and heard this (it could very well be as I was still in a Billy Graham hypnotic trance), Bush picked up a cute African-American girl in the audience and gave here a quick hug. As he was handing the child back to her father, someone near to the president and the microphone gave a low guttural laugh and said “Oh Man, that’s the shot of the night”.
Trance broken!
So, that’s how it’s going to be?!?! Shallow on-camera action. This is better than reality television. Time for another drink.
And so the president talked. Shots of the audience included people who were; bored, asleep, confused, uncomfortable, hostile, scornful, distrustful, and in Donald Rumsfeld’s case, very happy.
The president’s ambitious plan for improving relations around the Arab world and “cutting the barriers of hateful propaganda” by creating “a new television service” that will “begin providing reliable news and information across the region”, made me very excited that Rupert Murdoch was going to get a chance to expand his FOX NEWS monopoly into the households of those confused and ‘unbalanced’ Arabs. What the hell? Are you telling me Mr. President that my tax dollars are going to fight your ‘objective’ stance that the Arab news channels aren’t filming Americans with the right lighting and correct aperture? Are you sure images of Paris Hilton on the boob tube will sway your enemies over to a more modern capitalist mindset. I’m not convinced.
As the President’s speech wound up I felt things had come full circle. It was back to Billy Graham time and the higher power rhetoric that commands our nations leader to torture and kill. I was reminded of the time when Bush said “Reverend Graham planted a mustard seed in my soul.” That mustard seed has now turned rotten. Thankfully, I’m a ketchup man myself and I’ve always hated mustard.
For Every Defeat There Will Be a Victory
Oh man, who do I have to bribe to get one in the win column these days? It’s not even the end of January and yet Defeat seems intent on a pile-up. First, my football team lost at the hands of those putrid Eagles and then my candidate comes in a distant third in Iowa. January is a cold gray month. The worst kind of month for football fans and politicos. Perhaps I should have stayed in Mexico.
Let’s face it, Patriots versus Panthers?? I couldn’t think of a more boring football game to watch. And John Kerry, as democratic nominee?? Well ditto goes for him too.
What are they putting in the drinking water down there in Iowa? Being from Minnesota, we’ve got a whole arsenal of Iowa jokes but I’m going to hold off on that right now. I would like to know why 75% of those polled at the Iowa caucus disapprove of the Iraq war yet it seems these were the same folks that voted for John Kerry (A war supporter)? That don’t compute.
I was involved in some vicious bidding wars, over some prized Danish Modern Furniture on eBay last night (and hey, I actually won a few of those, so that’s something right?). While chastising other eBay snipes and waiting to pounce, I tuned C-SPAN on in the background and enjoyed the chaos that is our democracy. It was in full action in Dubuque, Iowa. My favorite part came after Kerry won Dubuque and the Chair for that precinct asked the Captain of the Kerry folks to go choose the six delegates they had won. “Remember affirmative action” the Chair noted. The Kerry Captain smiled and said something like, “No problem, we’re all white”. Ah Iowa, I love you. Bring on the State of The Union!! I’m ready.
Ten Minutes to Wapner
My television has a new channel. It’s called the Style Network and it just appeared out of nowhere this weekend. I’m not sure if it’s here to stay or if they’re just giving it to me to take for a test run. Most likely they want to get me hooked on their channel and then they’ll come sweeping in my door and take all my money. Shit, I probably won’t even get a make-over out of the deal.
Now, I should note that I had many a far greater things happen over the weekend then the discovery of a new channel on my talking picture box. The weekend was well-rounded, balanced, perhaps downright wholesome in its content. But the only thing I feel like writing about right now is the Style Network. Well not really the Style Network in its totality (It’s still too early to weigh in on the entire network), but I will weigh in on a show I saw that has quickly risen to take over the number one slot in my cultural index of the ‘Decline of Western Civilization’.
I’m sure the pitch at the Style Network went something like this: “The show is a combination of ‘Queer Eye’ and ‘The People’s Court’.
The show is called Style Court. But sadly, Style Court has none of the sharp investigative powers of a probing Doug Llewelyn interview and frankly my Cuisinart has more make-over potential than the gaunt unemployed Cost-cutters workers they found for this monster. For those of you who haven’t had the privilege, the show goes like this: Plaintiff calls defendant ‘out-of-style’ a.k.a. ‘guilty of style crimes’, plaintiff and defendant bring their case to a judge and a ‘celebrity jury’, everyone laughs and pokes fun at the defendant because she wears sweatshirts all the time, then the judge gives a verdict of ‘guilty’ and the defendant, broken and despondent, is whisked away for a make-over, defendant then returns without sweatshirt, hair is pulled back, lipstick has been applied, everyone is happy.
My favorite part is the ‘celebrity jury’, which is made up of three people, whom I don’t think even the most culturally astute people could recognize. Could it be they just make up the fact that they are celebrities? Who would really know? The people on the celebrity jury just look hateful. Their faces all have the same singular resolve: when i am done here, I must kill my agent pronto!
Style Court like many of the current Turn Your Shitty Life Around type of shows leaves me scratching my head. I wonder where on earth they get people for them. Before this weekend, I hadn’t ever even heard of Style Court. Do you mean to tell me that there were already people lined up ready to take their spouses, brothers, mothers, co-workers and best-friends to Style Court? My new theory is that all the people who go on these shows are from Arkansas. Q.E.D.
Vacation Snaps: Part Dos
Seven more snaps from vacation land. See ’em here. I can barely bring myself to look at them as the gray weather and cascading thermometer now mock my every move. It’s as if the Minnesota weather is out to teach me an exceptionally bitter and destructive lesson. A punishment for my week long abandonment and sordid latin affair.
Wanted: Virgin Killer
In the course of the last few weeks, The Misses has mad the dubious realization that the last two books she has read have come straight off the Reading with Kelly Ripa Book Club. Now, being the sensitive nonjudgmental gentleman that I am, I can’t pass up the opportunity to hold this one over her head – almost constantly in fact. But I can only take it so far before this pot gets called a kettle black. Even last night as I was reading Fargo Rock City: a Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North Dakota, I realized that when I first stole Virgin Killer by The Scorpions from the garage of my record burning Christian Right neighbors that my fate was sealed. Indeed. The Scorp’s were the first to blow an ugly wind into the sail of my adolescent low-art skiff. And thank god for that, eh? I remember being absolutely terrified of that Scorpions record and not just cause I captured it in a bit of vinyl piracy from my neighbors. Everything about the packaging was straight up wrong. It took me a month before I ever put the damn thing on the turntable. Somewhere along the line I lost the record and now I must have it back. So if anyone has, or knows how to get, The Scorpions’ Virgin Killer on vinyl, please get in touch with me.
Vacation Snaps
Round one of the Mazatlan snaps can be viewed here. More to follow.
Hola Chicuelos
Well folks, all I can say is that it was certainly better when the weather was a sunny 85 degrees and the Green Bay Packers were winning. Now that I have returned to the frigid tundra and my football cheering season has come to a harsh and untimely close (a most brutal homecoming), it will take great strength to get through this week. I will need a heavy discipline to fight all my urges to continually look in the rearview mirror for a warm sandy beach and brightly painted cityscapes. Ohh the colors!
Attention Americans: We Need More Color! The word for 2004 is Saturate.
To fight the cruel grey winter and duo-tone landscape that I have returned to I will be painting the kitchen a bright orange this weekend. And dammit if the dinning room couldn’t use a little deep blue.
Enough whining though. It was a good vacation. I feel rested and ready and that’s where I need to be. Strange place that Mazatlan. You definitely get the feeling that it was the pinnacle of paradise just a short while ago. Back in the days when John Wayne had a house there and Jack Kerouac a boat, Mazatlan must have felt like a gentle Miles Davis record – a sleepy slow fishing village with european flare and reason to stay hidden. The ghosts are everywhere. Hints of that old cool place are still prevalent in Mazatlan but you have to look pretty hard and you have tune out so much tourist non-sense that the practice can by painstaking.
Today, there is a constant hustle on the streets of Mazatlan. If you’re not careful your vacation in Mazatlan can be not all-together relaxing and more like vacationing at a used car dealer. Many attempts to inquire amongst the locals as to where I could find some interesting off-the-beaten-path sites and rythems, were replied unanimously with the Mazatlan Mantra: “Senor, you want go to Senor Frogs. 3 for 1 Pina Coladas all de night”. It’s as if every citizen of Mazatlan has been lectured and trained like an apt Border Collie to corral the Gringos and have them herded into a Senor Frogs Restaurant and then onto the ‘Official’ Senor Frogs store. And judging from the number of Senor Frogs tee-shirts being worn by Minnesotans on the return trip back home, I can conclude with certainty that I live in a land of sheep.
If you move past the tourist zone (Zona Durado) and take a taxi just a bit further South into Old Historic Mazatlan, things change drastically. The whole vibe is much more pleasant and relaxing. You can sit around the zocolo at one of the many low-key restaurants and peacefully drink Tecates while munching on marlin tacos. Get a full belly and then wander around some great locally owned art galleries, museums and old theaters. Then walk a few blocks west to the beach and sit on the pier for a heavy sunset. Good times.
The only real shopping I did was at the local record store: “Musicassett’s Solo Exitos”. I wanted to see if I could pick-up some newer stuff with a Mexican pressing but they were lacking in that category. I did pick up the new Plastilina Mosh CD (the WEEN of Mexico) and have been rocking it ever since.
I also got a sweet wood cane. And wait…before you laugh people, let me just say that the cane will become the fashion icon of double-o-four. That’s right. You heard it here first on the fashion pages of Afrojet. The man-cane will be all the rage. Unfortunately, I had a little trouble getting the cane on the plane. I didn’t want to check the cane in as luggage. Instead I preferred to carry it on the plane with me. But when attempting to get through the metal detection phase of an orange alert, they informed me that I couldn’t take it on the plane. Being the pathetic and ingenious person that I am, I quickly concocted a Keyser Soze style limp ailment in my right leg and made a huge fuss about needing the cane to walk. And what kind of heartless monkey would take away a man’s cane? I demanded someone push me around in a wheel chair if they were going to take my cane. They weren’t about to do that so they let me keep the cane. Unfortunately, from then on, I had to actually limp around the whole damn airport in my unwholesome attempt at being handicapped. Worse yet, the officials were not buying my acting job and when it came time to board the plane, and as I limped up to give my boarding pass, pausing to balance on one foot as I handed over my passport, I was gently escorted aside for the full and detailed search. As I watched the other passengers pass by exchanging dirty looks, I removed my shoes and belt and was again interrogated about the cane. They did multiple tests on the cane. I even got to balance on one foot again while they swiped the detector over my person. This was an oscar worthy performance. With evil stares they finished there terrorism check on me and let me board the plane. Again I had to fake the limp as I walked down the boarding dock. With my weight on the cane I didn’t get more than five steps before the cane shattered into 4 gnarly pieces of wood. Ha. Total humiliation. But just like that I was healed. No more limp. I quickly gather my broken bits of cane and began jogging away down the dock. I didn’t dare look back to see if the officials had seen my collapse. And that was my final moment in Mexico.
Greetings from Mexico
Live and direct from the internet station at the beautiful Sun Garden Resort in Mazatlan. For some reason the keyboard I{m using doesn’t have any bracket keys and everything is turned around. Very limiting.
I don’t have many minutes left here but I just thought I’d drop in and say high. Weather is perfect here. Yesterday, was a good day of walking. I went to two cemetaries and then took a bus down to Old Mazatlan which is far less commercial. Went to some sweet art galleries and and had a beautiful dinner around the zocolo. Some clouds started coming in around dusk, which made for a beautiful sunset.
Watched the Packers take down Seattle in a cute little beachside bar. The bar was filled with Seahawks fans but I think the fact that everyone was watching the game in 80 degree heat and drinking Pacificos made it so everyone got along very amicably.
Other than that it’s been very tranquillo. Lots of time at the beach, and kickin’ it by the pool. The other day they had a fashion show around the pool. A little runway for the models and everything. It was damn funny.
People are giving me strange looks. I think my time is up. Later.