sunday in the park with “george”

the funniest thing that happened to me recently:

i take my dog about 4 times a week to a dog park so he can run around and swim. by this point, i’m on a first name basis with many of the other regulars of the dog park.

one guy there all the time has lost the bottom part of one leg from the knee down. we’re not friendly enough for me to ask how he lost part of his leg. but i have seen him enough to say, ‘hey, how are you? how are your dogs doing? nice weather, huh?’ he seemed friendly enough, very chatty.

a couple of weeks ago he was excited because he was getting a new prosthetic leg because as he said ‘the one i have now sucks ass.’ i said, ‘well, that’s nice. good for you.’

i show up at the park a few days ago.

he got his new leg.

he got a designer model.

the plastic part that covers his knee and connects to the metal rod leading to the shoe has a design on it.

the man got an artificial leg completely emblazoned with a confederate flag.

our conversation was something like this:

i said, ‘i see you got your new leg.’

he said, ‘yep, it feels much better than the old one.’

i said, “uh-huh. well…uh… what’s up with the flag on your leg?”

he said, ‘this is the one i liked the best. the other patterns available were weird.’

i said, ‘they didn’t even have beige?’

he said, ‘nope.’

i said, ‘well… i’m kinda scared of you now… i’ll see you later.’

if we were better friends, i’d offer to take him to michael’s to buy modge podge so we could decoupage his leg with pictures of unicorns or butterflies. it may be sexist, but even decoupaging nudie pictures from playboy would seem more reasonable to me.

completely true story!

come on, “george”… just bite the bullet. learn spanish, start buying hip-hop albums and get yourself invited to at least one lesbian commitment ceremony this spring.

you’re bound to enjoy at least of these things.

it’ll get you out of your racist rut.

mother’s day

(click photo to view video)

my mother is not from long island; nor, does she have red hair or a penis.

but the attitude is the same.

Editor’s note:
yes, ma. all you’re gettin’ from me is this damn blog post.
it’ll teach you a lesson, not to have a 12 year old mow the lawn in august in new orleans.
i coulda died it was so hot.

mommy, i’m scared.

i don’t know why i’ve been on a computer-related writing kick lately.

on that front, this video scared the crap out of me.

in 5 years when that thing has a laser gun and my credit report, i’m a dead man.

nice knowin’ ya.

i’m gonna go hide in the woods for a while.

out.

relational databases are the new astrologers

the ingles database has given me a look into the future.

do you think my ben and jerry’s ice cream discount was subsidized by the medical industrial complex? …kinda like a pusher gives kids a couple of free samples before he starts charging for the meth.

“here, lil’ bro, have some chunky monkey.”
“wow! thanks, mister.”
“when you need your blood sugar checked, you know where to come, right?”
“uh…, yeah. sure. …do you have an extra spoon”
“ok, here you go. now move along. …who’s next?”

$1.52 every once in a while can quickly be recovered in blood sugar monitor and syringe sales.

…and, No!, smartie-pants… i didn’t have all 4 pints at once while watching shawshank redemption with the lights off and a box of tissues next to me on the bed.

“I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

i rejoined netflix last week. since they are now competing against apple tv, they offer unlimited movie downloads in addition to their usual dvd rental through the mail.

95% of the downloadable films are crap; stuff you’d skip over if you were old school channel surfing.

the troubling part of modern netflix recommendation algorithms is the ‘we think you’d like…’ movie lists.

let’s say you’re a 13-year old queer kid in rural western north carolina with a family netflix account. Maybe you download some alternative lifestyle documentary while mom is at the dollar palace.

you might end up with the above recommendation list on the home screen when mom logs on to put her 700 Club 20th anniversary disc in the dvd queue. i’m going out on a limb to say, ‘no straight teen is going to have that particular list made for him’.

lil’ billy is gonna have a lot of explaining to do.

he won’t have to wait until the thanksgiving break of his sophomore year of college to come out to granny. netflix’s computers have made sure of that.

watching 2001: A Space Odyssey was the first time I noticed the danger of a computer out-thinking us mere humans.

 

Dave Bowman: Hello, HAL do you read me, HAL?
HAL: Affirmative, Dave, I read you.
Dave Bowman: Open the pod bay doors, HAL.
HAL: I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.
Dave Bowman: What’s the problem?
HAL: I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.
Dave Bowman: What are you talking about, HAL?
HAL: This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.
Dave Bowman: I don’t know what you’re talking about, HAL?
HAL: I know you and Frank were planning to disconnect me, and I’m afraid that’s something I cannot allow to happen.
Dave Bowman: Where the hell’d you get that idea, HAL?
HAL: Dave, although you took thorough precautions in the pod against my hearing you, I could see your lips move.

it’s 2008. fiction is now reality. time to get really scared.

who knows what computers have figured out about me and who they’ve told.

don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine. but cross your fingers for young billy; or ms. billie, for that matter.

jeffrey kalinsky can kiss my ass

i left new york for the same reason mrs. jackson likes to shop at the dollar palace.

after a certain age, you just don’t feel like putting on a show for the neighbors.

for example, if you’re not planning on seeing the same people over the next few days, or even a week, let’s say, what’s the point of changing clothes everyday?

a nice pair of scrubs can take you from day to evening and back to day again.

if your bits ‘n pieces don’t stink, why bother?

“Sparkle, Neely! Sparkle!” is a hard lifestyle to maintain.

i don’t fit into any of my ten suits thanks to this newfound respect of drawstrings pants and ingles’ bakery department.

i’m tired; admittedly, not as tired as mrs. jackson, but tired nonetheless.

i just want to sit and have cake.

heritage pride is not a hate crime

this truck has parked in front of my house for a week.

ok, here’s my point:

if i’ve said it once, i’ve said it a thousand times, “moral outrage is a luxury of the young.”

i admit that for a minute i thought of complaining to the general contractor about the klan’s regional rep working on my project’s construction crew. (those are his bumper stickers on his ford F-250.)

‘hey, mr. contractor, what’s up with the grand wizard assigned to work on plumbing?’

yes, of course, i could have asked that question.

but i didn’t.

this fucking garage has taken months to get started. am i willing to wait until every construction worker involved in the project is vetted to ensure they all appreciate a rainbow coalition utopian ideal?

HELLLLLLL, no.

as long as i can’t hear him saying i represent everything that’s wrong with america, i will have no part of slowing down this job site.

i figure i can cleanse his bad mojo by asking my jewish black trannie wicca lesbian friend to take the first official dump in the toilet he worked on…

…flush his negativity down into the sewers.

(the scariest part of all this is that mr. wizard has access to my house keys.
that’s why i’m just gonna keep smiling pretty and saying, ” good mornin’. how ya doin’? you’re lookin’ especially aryan today. you musta got a good night’s sleep; no rally last night or did it just end early? …ok, have a nice day. bye-bye.”)

a $250,000 rothko ?

would you believe this is the latest rothko painting up for auction at sotheby’s?

…ok, it not.

but i only got this shot by agreeing to spend $250,000.00. so it’s just a bit behind the current prices fetched for similarly derivative modern art.

to me, these are more important and stress-inducing than owning an uninsured rothko during hurricane season.

the excavator didn’t show up to finish the dig for the garage addition i’m putting onto the house. so the huge hole in my backyard has just been a poo pad for the dog. after a week of taking the dog out in the morning, i’m very familair with every nook and cranny of this hole.

so i decided to harness my nervous energy towards a creative exercise and document the dig.

to defray the compounding interest of the construction loan while i wait for the fucking excavator to get out on bail and finish his job, i’m open to selling prints of my abstract expressionism.

here’s another one:

here’s the hole when not using the telephoto lens:

instead of shooting pictures, i should just shoot myself…

… $250,000…

…OMG

play the bongos in your underwear

I am slowly, but surely, learning the rules of conduct for living in the happiest place in america.

a neighbor told me that no one will be bothered if i decide to play the bongos on my porch …in my underwear, no less.

the implication is that this is a ‘live and let live’ kinda town that doesn’t limit creative expression

…well, except for one thing…

i have to “stop playing the bongos after 10pm on sundays” because people have to get up early to go to work on monday.

damn…

i feel all stifled and shit.

happy happy joy joy

 

 

 

 

surely abc’s 20/20 friday episode about the search for happiness will be the talk of asheville for a while. this morning i had an email inbox full of warnings that i’m living in the happiest place in the USA.

nonetheless, as of this writing, i decided i won’t move yet. i’ll wait for my property value to go up in light of this breaking news, then i’ll sell and move to maine. (the central coast of maine will be the seattle of 2023… i’ll bet you a dollar.)

the producers of 20/20 got lucky and were able to slap together an hour about finding happiness from ideas out of The Geography of Bliss: One Grump’s Search for the Happiest Places in the World.

i’m not sayin’ Mr. Weiner is wrong about asheville being america’s happiest place. i’m just sayin’ my back hurts; i’ve got a 6-figure mortgage; and the new dog won’t stop pissing on my rugs. that’s all.

in case you’re not as happy as me, here’s my attempt to remedy that:

abc news has a companion piece to the show. a quote from the article:

Community, that’s the key. Community is why happiness can be found along with the high taxes in Denmark, the harsh rules in Singapore and the crushing poverty in India. One study found that the people living on the streets of Calcutta are happier that those in California. The homeless in Fresno may have more access to food and shelter, but what have the “houseless” in Bombay got? They have each other.

ok, the game is similar to adding ‘in bed’ to the end of the sentence from your fortune cookie.

replace every highlighted word in the quote with ‘asheville’.

Community, that’s the key. Community is why happiness can be found along with the high taxes in Asheville, the harsh rules in Asheville and the crushing poverty in Asheville. One study found that the people living on the streets of Asheville are happier that those in California. The homeless in Fresno may have more access to food and shelter, but what have the “houseless” in Asheville got? They have each other.

it’s funny ‘cuz it’s true.

out.

this is your brain on drugs

(editor’s note: the link below is NSFW. trust. it’s information superhighway roadkill. but i couldn’t look away.)

asheville seems like a popular place for rich hippies to retire.

i gather that from the wide range of people who talk openly about their use of pot. this is an expensive place to live. maybe pot eases the nausea that comes from writing their mortgage payment checks.

i hit high school during the reagan administration. as a result, i was terrified of AIDS and illegal drugs. nancy reagan’s impact on me was huge in that respect. bitch. imposing fear without education.

if the ‘eggs in a frying pan’ metaphor doesn’t stop your descent into drug abuse, the following blog entry should do the trick:

http://keithiskneedeepinmud.blogspot.com/2007/10/crack-is-whack.html

aren’t you dying to know what the guy had in the shopping bags?

out.

2007 ends with a (dog’s) whimper, not a bang

my friend in new york asked me if i got laid on new year’s.

that didn’t happen. but i did get fucked.

first, a little background:
my sister is an over-educated, over-worked, underpaid social worker. a typical bleeding heart liberal …not that there is anything wrong with that, bless her heart.

she lost her dog a couple of months ago. so we’ve had lots of dog-centered conversations lately.

while we were driving down to new orleans together for christmas, she got a call from a friend who found an abandoned puppy and needed someone to take it in.

that’s where i come in.

it was ‘a perfect storm‘. my dog is great. i’m bored being ’semi-retired’. i had been thinking about doing volunteer work. it was the middle of the holiday season. and puppies are cute.

so i said i’d take the dog.

that’s when i got fucked. i fucked myself, actually.

i got ‘lil’ T.T.‘ on the 1st.

so far, i’ve been bitten three time. my hardwood cherry floors are stained with pee. and i’ve had to pick-up the most disgusting poop i ever had the displeasure to see.

she is a snarling, moody mess of white fur. she’s an orphan from the wrong side of the tracks. so i’m giving her some slack.

my patience will last as long as this box of band-aids does.

i should have taken up golf instead.

ouch.

( i am acting the martyr today. but, no, the pic is not of my stigmata.
it’s dog bite damage.)

don’t tread on them

don’t fuck with the avett brothers !

trust.

that’s the second most important lesson i’ve learned about living peacefully among the locals of WNC.

the most important lesson is not to go to ingle’s between 5pm to 6:30pm on a weekday. the first and last time i did that it took 45 minutes in line to buy 3 items. people started to get testy; itching for a fight.

i’d rather pay CVS prices.

i complained about the lack of musical options on local radio. the original visuals (which i have since revised), not the written part, on the post may have implied that the avetts were part of the problem. let’s be clear. i did NOT write any such thing.

i heard grumblings of torches and being tied up like a pig for slaughter if i even look at the avetts funny; let alone question their sanctity.

again, i didn’t say nothin’ ’bout them boys.

please don’t hurt me.

little pink houses for you and me

that damn hurricane hit over 2 years ago.

lots of people ask me ‘how’s it going in new orleans?’

all the places tourists go are fine. new orleans’ economy runs on the hospitality industry. everyone there would LOVE you to go visit. without the energy of visitors, the locals are apt to keep looking backwards, like miss havisham.

but in the suburbs of new orleans, it’s surreal bureaucracy.

my mother lives in those suburbs. the flood waters washed away soil under the foundation of her house. so foundation cracked from the weight of the house. now the house tilts to one side.

a couple of weeks ago she finally got a letter from the government saying her house qualified for a foundation repair grant.

the approval took 800 days ?!?

here’s the cherry on top:

the letter also said there is presently no money in the redevelopment fund to issue a check; maybe in next year’s budget.

huh?

here, darlin’, have a donut. i beg you.

i don’t cook. that’s why i’m at the bobo grocery store delis all over the city.

the organic, locally grown, raw food vegans i’ve seen there are not the shiny, happy people one would imagine based on their earth-conscious eating habits.

most have a ‘zero-carb sneer’.

i want to gather them all up and turn them back toward the light.

carbohydrates and trans-fats bring a peace and contentment that can be found no other way.

trust.

ps

i want to trademark ‘zero-carb sneer’.

please don’t buy that website name.

i plan on doing that sometime next week.

autumn bites me in the…

i’ve raved about the beauty of the smokey mountains in more than one entry.

i still maintain that the last couple of months have been a pleasure to experience… pretty, pretty and more pretty.

now it’s time to pay the piper. autumn has turned to bite me in the ass.

there is about a half inch layer of leaves covering the yard. i thought i’d wait for them to turn into mulch on their own. but so far nothing’s happened. i guess my trees are all the anti-spontaneous-decaying-into-mulch varieties.

the neighbors have started to notice.

i did sweep the porch once. and wouldn’t you know it, the next door neighbor, a lovely woman by the way, saw me and walked over with a rake in her hand.

‘hi. would you like this? i have an extra one.’

‘uhh, well, i… uhh…’

‘please take it. i don’t need it back. i have 2. by the looks of it, you don’t have any.’

‘uhh, well, i… uhh…’

‘here, please, it’s fine. nice to see you. byeeeeee.’

fuck.

i guess i have to go rake the yard now.

decline of the american empire

if emperor nero had a quadcab from which to view the burning of rome, he would have played his fiddle while swinging in one of these.

it’s not gay marriage or the imminent collapse of the social security system; this thing is the absolute proof of america in decline.

y’all had better start studying chinese.

out.

lone gunman theory

thanks to everyone for their advice about what to do about my shooter.

here is some of the advice i’ve gotten so far:

• move back to new york
• sell the fancy car
• change from a louisiana to a north carolina license plate
• buy night vision goggles for a stake-out
• stop blogging about the neighbors
• hurry up and get the garage finished

these are all under advisement.

meanwhile, i remain on the lookout for the perpetrator(s).

if you see a teenager that looks like (s)he has ever even thought of holding a paintball gun, go ahead and kick him in the balls. he may not have shot my car, but i’m sure he’s done something worth getting busted for.

a preemptive strike, as the bushies would say.

the ball-busting won’t work on a girl, so just call her ‘fat’.
that will hurt just as bad.

the price of fame

thanks to blogasheville.blogspot.com

they just included me on their list of asheville bloggers.

do you think it’s a coincidence that on the same day i get listed, my car also gets shot at?

no, i don’t think so, either.

my razor-sharp insights into the workings of the smokey mountain man mind have started to ruffle some feathers around here. ‘the man’ (probably a bearded man with a plaid flannel shirt, cargo pants and sports sandals) wants to silence me before i can wake the local populace from its home-brew and american idol stupor to form the activist coalition that will teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

the car was shot with a paintball gun, not a beretta or AK-47. that may make it harder to trace. but after i post this entry, i am straight onto google to find a forensic paintball ammunitions specialist willing to work pro bono.

cher’s character didn’t back down to ‘the man’ in ‘silkwood‘ so neither will i.

if it wasn’t a conspiracy to scare me into silence and just some bored asshole teenager; nevertheless, no stone will be unturned to bring the perpetrator to justice.

by justice, i mean that when i find that little shit i will strip him down and individually pluck every pube from his tiny postpubescent nutsack.

thank you for your support.

sweet potato pie

let’s be clear. i didn’t say my neighbor dismembered his wife. i just wondered what’s up with the digging

i was simply brainstorming.

i’ve decided that it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that the loving couple noticed one of the sweet potatoes in the pantry had started to sprout eyes. so as an interactive learning opportunity, they decided to plant the sweet potato near their child’s playpen so the baby could learn about the beauty of watching food grow.

the majesty of mother nature at work.

i mean from a distance a medium-sized sweet potato can kinda look like a clenched fist.

…that reminds me. who’s looking forward to johnny depp in ’sweeney todd’?

out

french quarter franchise news

here’s another asheville business that is stripping new orleans of its heart and soul.

all the memories of the hairdresser i dated from eclipse new orleans came flooding back when i saw this sign. what’s the point of having moved 700 miles away if the ghost of lost loves can still find me?

renter prejudice

i woke up this past sunday to a cool, clear day. very nice. i open the blinds in the bedroom to survey the homestead.

i saw something unsuspected. the neighbor in the rented house across the street was digging a hole in his side yard.

why is someone digging a hole at 8am on a sunday morning?

let’s just say he doesn’t seem like an avid gardener… about 27 years old, shaved head, florida plates on his truck and amateurish shoveling technique. in a t-shirt and fleece vest, he’s digging a hole with one hand, the other hand shoved into his pocket to keep warm against the cold.

i was intrigued.

the hole ended up being about 1 foot across and about a foot deep. he went to the far side of the house and came back with something in the shovel. whatever it was, it was beige about 8 inches by 4 inches. he dumped it into the hole and covered it up with dirt. then he shuffled back into the house.

commonsense tells me that it was a mouse he caught in the house or his daughter’s pet gerbil. BUT, why would he bury a mouse he caught in the kitchen? wouldn’t he just put it in the trash? his daughter is about 1, why would he bury a pet 4 feet from the kid’s sandbox? first of all, the kid wasn’t with him to witness the burial ceremony for a beloved pet. so it wasn’t to give closure to the kid’s grief. plus, would a parent put a decaying animal within crawl distance of his child’s play space?

my theory is that he finally got feed up by the constant nagging by his chain-smoking, banana-clip-wearing common-law wife; chopped her up and is disposing of her a little at a time. maybe he decided to start with her left hand.

who wouldn’t be tired of hearing, “i hate this fucking place; fags and hippies everywhere… when are you gonna to get a job? …i never should’a left tampa. it’s fuckin’ cold… my momma said you were a loser. i should’a listened to her. i should’a stayed with dwayne… stop buyin’ so much fuckin’ bud…i’m tired of lil’brittnie’s cryin’. i’m tired. you go see what’s wrong with her.  …fuck… why do i have to do everything ’round here? …why did i ever listen to you? …fuck you, you fucker.”

i’m fed up just imaging her whiny chatter.

ok, my theory may be wrong. but i’ll never think he was just planting tulips for spring.

out.

that’s stupid

my subaru project is on hold.

i have family visiting for a couple of weeks from new orleans.

when my aunt asked, ‘what are you taking a picture of?’ i explained about the subaru epidemic in ashevile.

she just looked blankly at me and said ‘uh…huh?’ which translated means ‘that’s stupid.’

that takes the fun out of the project. i can’t be on the lookout for my next shot when, in my peripheral vision, i can see her shaking her head in disbelief.

i’m still gonna do it. i just have to wait until i get her back on the plane to new orleans.

i’m not sure how ‘buzzkill’ translates into japanese.

out.

it ends today

while walking the dog this morning, i slipped on a frozen patch of grass in my backyard.

my honeymoon period with asheville is now officially over.

ouch.

p.s.
no, that’s not me in the photo.
i use a messenger bag, not a briefcase.

but i’m guessing the pain and embarrassment are the same.

things i love

i love when white people are rude to each other.

as i said before, i count as a minority under many different categories. so when white people are rude, nasty or short-tempered to me, i assume it’s just an example of their prejudices affecting their behavior. of course grandpa walton shot the bird at me when i cut him off on the highway because i’m part latino; not because i’m a reckless driver.

whitey runs america. i assume there is an unspoken camaraderie among the powerful. why should they lash out at each other when there are so many of ‘those people’ they can be mean to?

here’s what made me smile today.

i was at linen ‘n things to pick-up an internet order. the manager was having trouble printing my receipt. a good ol’ boy (let’s call him dwayne.) came up to the register and asked, ‘i know you’re busy. but can you tell me if these sheets are a good deal at this price?’

the manager sighed, looked him up-and-down with an evil eye, and said in a dismissive tone, ‘yeah, they’re fine. that’s a great price.’ of course, her evil eye hadn’t looked into his cart to see what type of sheet set he was talking about.

dwayne’s eyes dulled, his shoulders sank and he wheeled himself away to ponder more bedding coordinates. she may have even mumbled, ‘idiot,’ as he walked away.

if the manageress had done that to me, the least i would have done is ask, ‘what did you say?!? i don’t need that kind of attitude from you.’

white-on-white rudeness. i love it.