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.

(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.

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.

the addition to the house is coming along.

the biggest news is that the klansman is now apparently the construction foreman.

my complacency created a middle manager.

sorry.

i went to 12 years of catholic school. so, of course, now i don’t practice any religion. i’m kinda like the guys who work at baskin-robbins that don’t eat ice cream after the first week on the job…

…it’s just too much.

but even wayward christians seem to go to church on easter.

the holiday and last week’s obama speech on race have me thinking about the power of the spoken word.

when i saw this video of ms. taylor, it reminded me of the passion and desire to connect with your fellow brothers and sisters that a good revival meeting can inspire.

her speech is not religious per se; but it does remind me of the emotional power an inspired preacher, or speaker in her case, can bring to an audience.

i teared-up listening to her because i felt the intensity of the self-revelation she was trying to explain and remind us of.

Brava to her
and
kumbaya to you

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.

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 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.

(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!

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.

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.”)

i took the dog to a park that has a pond. he now swims to fetch sticks. the first couple of times he went in i kept the lease on him in case i had to drag him out like a lobster fisherman.

now he jumps in on his own.

yes… yes…, i know most of you lead much more interesting lives so you have no time to fawn over wet animals. but, to me, this is a big deal.

given my background and personality, i shouldn’t have a dog. and even if i did, it should be one of those tiny, neurotic, yippy dogs named ‘chantal’ or ‘alexandra’.

i somehow ended up with a cool dog.

(thanks, ray-ray.)

there has been a boatload of emails asking how lil’ TT is doing in her new home.

to be honest, once i handed her over to mrs. e, i didn’t look back.

but my sister doesn’t have the willpower i do. so she had to know how the puppy was doing.

this is her email report to me:

I broke down and called Ms. E today. She seemed fine..neither happy nor sad to hear from me. I told her who I was and said I just wanted to know how it was going. She said, “we have a biting phase we have to get through”.I thought, “ut-oh”.
She said the dog has bit her a few times and has drawn blood.
YIKES.
She said they have a talk everyday about who is really in charge! I said, “I hope you are happy that you got her.” She kept saying, “we have to get through this biting phase”.

She also said that she started “puppy school” last week and that the puppy has already learned how to “Sit”. They are working on “down” now. She said that T.T. was hiding behind her legs the whole time…and finally started to try and play with the other pups once the class was over..she said she was much smaller than the other puppies.

She said that she took her to the vet to get her rabies shot and that it went well…and she now weighs 5 lbs. She said that she tries to bite her other dog Sugar and that Sugar snaps (but doesn’t bite her) and that the puppy will run to hide under the bed…all the while whimpering/crying and when the lady looks under the bed for the puppy she is there holding up her little foot…trying to get attention.

I said she is a little drama queen. She said “yes that is what i call her” and I said, “oh yeah, what is her name now?” and she said, “Muffin” but that her husband calls her “Banana Nut”.

I asked if she likes to cuddle and she said “No” but that she always wants to be around people…she will follow the lady or the husband from room to room but doesn’t want to be picked up and cuddled….the puppy does climb onto the sofa and lay on their laps or lays next to them…but it is more on her terms. She said her other eskies were the same way at times.

At one point I said, “Well I hope you love her”…and she said, “Oh yeah I do…she is so sweet BUT we have to get through this biting phase”. She then went on to say that maybe it is bc she was the runt and the runts always have to fight for what they have.

Ut-OH!!!

I told her good luck and that I hope everything went well and that I hope puppy school would help with her manners.

so the dog went from being ‘letitia’ to ‘muffin’.

i don’t know about you, but i find that hilarious.

banana nut muffin ?!?

hilarious.

good luck, muffin.

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

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

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, 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.

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.

the foster puppy is in it’s new home. but as you can see my dog is still sufferin’.

when it’s too cold to go outside and the camera’s battery is fully charged, i can sense the dog getting nervous that a photo session is in the works.

i don’t want to go into the details as to why, but i had a boutonnière in the fridge.

so when the dog didn’t seem particularly busy…

snap, snap, snap…

…another cute doggie picture on the internet.

in the grand of tradition of twisting political speech into a pretzel of half-truths and partisan spin, i present a self-serving excerpt from martin luther king’s ‘i have a dream’ speech:

“…sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank Dog* Almighty, i am free at last!”

why bastardize the words of the civil rights leader on the memorial day of his life’s work?

well… besides being topical, it’s the best way for me to express the relief and joy i feel at having gotten a permanent home for ‘lil TT.

now the only thing biting, snarling and peeing in the house is me.

thanks to ‘mrs. e’ for adopting ‘lil TT.

i’ve been accused of not bonding with ‘lil TT because of my subconscious misogyny.
…i’m not paying for therapy again. so i guess we’ll never know.

what i do know is “free at last, free at last!”

here is my description of TT and i’s last moments together:

i met mrs. e at the vet’s office last night.

she got there before me. the whole fucking receptionist staff was also waiting.
6 mountain women in their puppy-and-kitten print scrubs were waiting to see the blind date between mrs. e and TT.

when mrs. e held TT for the first time, some of those receptionists started to tear up.
no joke.

i think the staff waited for me to get there so they could see this first meeting because 10 minutes after i got there 4 of the receps went home.

these mountain people are extremely sentimental or they got nothing better to do.

(*as many a lesbian’s bumper sticker has taught me,
‘god spelled backwards is dog’)

i wrote about bongo playing the other day. so to continue with the percussive instrument theme, i thought i’d share this video.

this film has nothing specifically to do with asheville, new orleans or new york.

but if you want to infer widespread, cross-cultural anthropological meaning from a half-a-second snapshot of people doing some arbitrary activity, feel free. that’s what i did.

here’s what i found out:

• your own kids are cute; other people’s, not so much.
• teenagers are sullen little shits.
• women get a new burst of energy after menopause.
• not many sullen little shits make it to their 90’s.

my favorites were:

• 26
• 37
• 49
• 53
• 73
• 78
• 83
• 91
• 98
• 100

special shout-outs to #91 and #100. you, ladies, rock.

out

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.

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!“

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.

that, my dear, is a good picture, if i do say so myself.

go on, you know you can skip your daily second venti latte for a week and forward some $.