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.

what’d you say, floyd?

floyd is a service manager at the mercedes dealership in greensboro. he’s originally from waynesville. but i guess the bright lights of the triad lured him away from the mountains. he was fine to work with, except for not even attempting to spell my last name and giving me one of those ‘you ain’t from ’round here, are ya, son?’ looks when i walked in his office.

that happens everyday. so that’s not my point.

i needed my car serviced. i haven’t heard good things about the benz dealership in asheville. i especially didn’t want a trainee here working on the car. my sister lives in greensboro. so i could say ‘hello’ to her and get the car checked in the meantime.

besides the scheduled maintenance, there was only one thing i needed them to check.

when the A/C was set to medium speed, it made a weird noise, kinda like a playing card put against spinning bicycle spokes. but it didn’t make the noise if the A/C was manually set on ‘high’.

i thought a fan blade was loose or a piece of paper that i put in the glove compartment slipped into the A/C vent.

i was wrong.

i got floyd’s interim report about noon. here’s how i remember the conversation:

floyd: well, we found out what was making the sound in your A/C unit.
me: oh, OK, that’s good. what was it?
floyd: uh, well… it seems a rat built its nest in the system and that was interfering with it’s working properly.
me: what’d you say, floyd? (said a la diff’rent strokes’ “what you talkin bout willis?”)
floyd: uh, well… i’ve heard of it happening before. if a car is stored for a long period or kept on a field, small animals can climb-up into the engine compartment to set-up a sweet little den for themselves.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well… we know it was a rat because the technician was using pliers to pull-out the nesting material and one of the things he pulled out was the rat’s head.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well…we can keep the head for ya if you wanna have a look when you pick up the car. the tech still has it.
me: what’d you say, floyd? …

so it seems that every time i turned on the heater this winter my A/C was slapping a rat in the head, like moe slapped curly in the “three stooges” films.

the moral of this story is to quit smoking.

what?

i smoke. i knew smoking affects the sense of taste. but now i know it affects the sense of smell to the point where i don’t notice the odor of a decaying rat in my car.

wow and yuck.

“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.

fill my hole

(oh, puns. i am powerless against the power of the pun.)

my hole is now full of something that looks like a building.

but there is still a little room around the edges of my hole.

my hole has to be approved by the city’s inspectors before it can be completely filled-in.

come on, mr. inspector. help me fill it up!

oh, yeah! mr inspector, sign that form and complete me!

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.

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

of course we’re in recession

math makes me sleepy.

insomnia has been my bed partner for 15 years. she’s a bitch. but i’m used to having her around by this point. besides rozerem, one sure thing to drain her power over me is math.

looking at a spreadsheet or a financial report is an instant yawn inducer. i’d rather have a root canal surgery than do a page of calculus problems.

this is just to say i am no judge of the economic indicators of whether the US is in recession or not. rumor has it that we are.

today i got practical evidence that the gloomy economists are right.

the chair i won on ebay came today by UPS.

no one bid against me on the item. so i got a $600 chair for $130. that is my first clue.

then the seller decided he didn’t want to spend money on packaging. that is the second clue. the fucker just taped the chair in a layer of bubble wrap (one layer, i want to note.) and slapped a shipping label on the seat.

but here’s the main reason i know times are hard.

UPS accepted the chair for shipping!

The UPS store clerk must have been so happy to have any customer he didn’t laugh the seller out of the store for his half-assed wrapping. the clerk just smiled, said ‘thank you, sir. PLEASE come again.’ and accepted the chair.

oh, brother.

les poppys

les poppys

sometimes i think i should have taken french in high school instead of spanish.

but i wanted an easy ‘A’.
(mi tita hablaba español y vivio con nosotros haste que tuve cinco años.)

oh well, ‘c’est la vie‘.

happy mardi gras

happy mardi gras, y’all.

today’s super tuesday primary elections have knocked the yearly carnival bacchanalia off the front page.

but as you sit watching the results on CNN tonight, raise your wine glass to toast your brothers and sisters in new orleans who are celebrating this political season in the most appropriate way possible…

…drunk and partially nude.

out.

ps
a million thanks to Brian Postelle, Mountain Xpress, for the mention of my little writing exercise, distort the info.

to answer Brian’s question, i am a he, unless my home equity loan and mexican visa come through in time for the 2008 guadalajara trannie expo in april.

the transformation is complete

i moved to asheville in the first week of september 2007.

i didn’t think it would happen so quickly; but today my transformation into an ashevillean is complete.

i can no longer look at this place from an outsider’s perspective when i’ve succumb to so many of the traits that make ashevilleans, ashevilleans.

the latest part of this personal evolution was when i handed over my credit card to pay for a north face jacket at the frugal backpacker today.

fucking north face, for goodness sake.

that wasn’t the only evidence of my quick assimilation into granolaville, the other stuff was:

• i used homeopathic medicine to calm the anxiety of the puppy.
• i went to a radical faerie party.
• i save yoga class schedules.
• i had a 20 minute conversation about the textile art of rural indonesia.
• i drove past a flock of canadian geese feeding on a neighbor’s yard, but didn’t freak out and wreck the car.

at this point, the only thing that could make me more ashevillean is if i have gender reassignment surgery to become a pot-smoking lesbian with 4 cats, a subaru outback, and a student loan for massage therapy school.

it’s obviously too late for me, but save yourselves.

turning ashevillean doesn’t hurt; but knowing it happened is kinda creepy.

namaste, y’all.

36 hours in new orleans

taking inspiration from the new york times ‘36 hours in …’ travel series, i present ‘what the fuck did i do for 36 hours in new orleans?’

the itinerary suggestions the last time new orleans was highlighted by the ny times were fine. i’ve gone to every place on their list. there is not one clunker among their choices.

but using the photos i took from my christmas trip back to new orleans, how about this?

first, white linen tablecloths and gay waiters don’t come cheap. leave less than a 20% tip and you’ll get an every so subtle snear.

so sometimes quantity is better than quality. since the clock is ticking down to your flight home, just get a few hubig’s pies and a jug of your favorite beverage.

since you’ll be too woozy to drive, call united cabs (the drivers love to talk about race relations [i.e. benign racists, bless their hearts]. but they’ve seen it all. get them to talk about their weirdest fares and you’ll have a good time.)

where are you going?

well, of course, to the suburbs to see the ho’.

now that you’re drunk, broke and riding a sugar high, feel free to go ahead and get crazy.

make sure to stop by church to ask forgiveness for what you just done did before heading back to the airport.

“Laissez les bons temps rouler!“

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.)

separated at birth

i’m not implying nothing. i’m just saying they look alike.

that’s all.

please don’t hurt me.

my favorite new phrase

i didn’t think of it. neither did the guy who said it to me.

maybe it’s just the alliteration, not the subtext.

here it is:

“everything i resisted has persisted”

out.

sucks big hairy chunks

asheville radio sucks big, hairy chunks of badness.

the fact that public radio earnestness runs right next to evangelical diatribes on the dial was funny for a minute. now that i realize that’s basically all there is, it’s not so funny.

the lettering on the ’scan’ button of the car’s radio is faded from my having pressed it so much in the last couple of months. i can program up to 9 stations on the car stereo system. so far, i’m using 3.

i realize catching radio signals in the mountains may be tough. there’s a huge antenna on mt. pisgah, use that for something worthwhile.

i wondered ‘who is going to pay for radio?’ when sirius and xm radio debuted. now the stiletto 2 is probably going on my amazon wish list.

yes, i have an ipod. but it’s a closed system. you only hear what you put in. there is no chance to be excited about a new band you just happen to catch on the way to the grocery store.

there’s an opening in the marketplace…come on, creative class, start researching how to fix this problem.

clear channel communications started somewhere.

out

ps
WRES is doing their best, bless their hearts.

editor’s note: (12/9/07)
the original post was edited after receipt of intelligence reports that in its original form the post would have lead to social unrest. if you are in possession of a screen capture of the original, unedited post, please destroy immediately. thank you.

bumper car philosophy

after new york, asheville is the most liberal, progressive place i’ve lived. or least that’s what many people living here like to tell me about their town.

for good or bad, asheville seems the perfect bobo paradise.

the most fascinating aspect of this place is the tug-of-war between real progressive action and the bumper sticker approach that feigns action.

would the last city council voter participation numbers have been higher if every person who has a bumper sticker on their car, also made sure they went to vote?

progressives are very good talkers. but changing words into action doesn’t seem their forté. is righteous indignation their goal, not their starting point? …oh, and smug. those suckers can be smug.

(i’m not judging. i’m just typing out an observation. obviously, i’m no better.)

damaging your car’s paint job with a bumper sticker is a slightly sad and ineffective way to attempt change.

nevertheless, the variety of topics i’ve seen on asheville bumpers is impressive.

C U

chamber pop

does everyone know about this musical classification?

while digging through amazon.com, i saw the genre, chamber pop. i’d never heard of the category before.

here’s the quote from wikipedia:

Modern baroque pop, characterized by an infusion of orchestral arrangements or classical type composition within an indie or indie pop setting, is often referred to as CHAMBER POP, and sometimes chamber rock. This style, leaning heavily in an indie-rock direction, has sometimes been identified as a common feature of many of the most influential and widely-known indie bands in Canada; many of these bands are quite large for rock outfits and make full use of the additional personnel to create a fuller-bodied, more orchestral sound.

it seems the genre covers: arcade fire, the national, antony and the johnsons, sigur ros, interpol, rufus wainwright, etc. etc.

i like them because all their music seems to written in a minor chord.

please buy some music from antony and the johnsons. quirky souls like him deserve to be rewarded, not fergie or maroon 5.

out

ps

here’s a little gossip for you:

rufus and i went to the same gym in new york…probably the gayest gym in the tri-state area. we both liked to relax in the sauna after our training sessions. that’s where i noticed his little buddha belly… very cute.

he’s a belter in concert, kinda like ethel merman. but his strong diaphragm is hidden under rolls.

rufus rolls.

 

 

 

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.

a quick dedication

this entry is dedicated to lil’ ray-ray.

see, ray-ray, i understand the kind of energy you’re trying to put out into the world.

out.

just about right

i have no idea how scientific this evaluation is.

but on an emotional level, i think it’s about right
because i laugh at the same things 11 year olds laugh at.

as my aunt says, ‘treat men like little boys because they never grow up.’

note:
i found the evaluation at pleasuresaucer.blogspot.com
i don’t know where this fellow ashevillean found it.
if you go look at his site, be warned that you might see some titties.

(ha! i got to write the word, ‘titties’.)

…sorry, but i feel compelled to write it again:

titties

no, please, anything but that

why no comments allowed on this blog?

well, my goal is to be funny. if someone doesn’t find an entry funny, i see no need to make it easy for them to tell me so. let them write an email if they have to vent.

nonetheless, i don’t want to be hurtful.

i especially don’t want to come off as snarky…
anything, but snarky.

like trix, sarcasm is for kids;
in adults, it’s just annoying.

if ’snarky bugger’ has ever crossed your mind as you’ve read this blog,
please let me know.

distorttheinfo@gmail.com

thanks

agnostics, pagans and grinches, oh my!

the last entry was how city life and country life can be different. both places can be wacky. they just head to wacky town in their own way.

today is how both the city and country can both be a pain in the ass; namely parades.

new yorkers complain about the puerto rican day parade, the gay pride parade, the st. patrick’s day parade, etc, etc.
they aren’t necessarily against hispanics, the queer community, drunken child abusers, etc. etc.

they just hate the disruption in traffic.

new orleanians suffer through the same problems during mardi gras. (though you should go visit this coming year to help the local economy. they’re hurtin’.)

asheville had a christmas parade on saturday…a beautiful day for fresh-faced families with strollers and folding chairs to visit downtown and begin the joyous holiday season.

just one problem…

every major street in downtown was barricaded.

even though i went to catholic school for 12 years, i have nothing against religion or the celebration of quasi-religious events (the parade is co-sponsored by the asheville merchant corp., uh-huh.).

it’s just that i had things to do. having moved here only 2 months ago, i only know one way to go to each of the places on my to-do list. when downtown is closed off, i’m fucked.

if asheville is the progressive town it heralds itself as, i propose that the city issue a bond initiative to cover the cost of GPS systems for all new residents that do not want to celebrate any holiday with a parade. the machines can be distributed through the county library system to ensure only residents get the systems. there can be a one year borrowing limit after which the systems have to be returned.

come on, how reasonable is that?

i’m not saying saying ‘cancel the damn parades.’ i’m just sayin’ help the uninterested get around them.

i envision a grand coalition of agnostics, pagans and grinches rising up to demand easy access to malls, dry cleaners and chinese restaurants 365 days a year. i’m sure greenlife will let them set-up a petition table at their entrance…

or just contact your local representative.

thank you for your support.

SAT and GED, not LSD or GHB

today i used the word ‘lackadaisical’ in a conversation without planning to.

it kinda just popped-out… like an erection at cheerleading tryouts.

to be honest, i surprised myself with that word choice. i used it correctly and nonchalantly. harold bloom couldn’t have done better.

see kids, all the studying for your SAT’s or GED’s is worth the time and effort.

out

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