my morning view of asheville

asheville view from porch

Originally uploaded by distorttheinfo

here are a couple of shots of the views from my windows.

it sure is purdy up here.

the shots are fuzzy because i shot through the windows’ mesh bug screens or because i bought a crappy camera. i’m not sure.

out.

kinda like wildebeest

the neighborhood scene on a sunday morning:

the couple across the street are on their porch with one set of parents.

ma and pa are on the porch swing.

the wife is sitting at the feet of her husband.

the husband is on the edge of an adirondack chair playing the guitar.

…i can’t make fun of the scene. it’s just too damn cute.

(sorry, no photo evidence of this because my camera doesn’t zoom in close enough. as an amateur cultural anthropologist, i’ve learned that you can’t get too close to your subjects because you might startle them. i don’t want to get trampled by a smokey mountain men stampede.)

only in asheville ?

it took a minute for me to grasp what this sign implies.

to me it means that on a couple of weekends a month you can see wiccan witches and warlocks (or is it priests and priestesses?) in orange safety vests picking up coke cans and cigarette butts along patton ave.

…witches and warlocks in orange and black…this serves as my halloween entry.

(sorry, the photo is fuzzy. i took the pic from the car. to be honest, i was a teeny bit freaked out by the possibility of the sign being under 24-hour wiccan surveillance. i bet this sign gets stolen alot. if i were a 13 year old ashevillean, i guarantee i would have swiped one of these for my bedroom.)

another first

i saw my first hummingbird today, ever.

i read that they were small. but i had no idea.

i thought it was a butterfly.

scandinavian pied piper

no, this is not video from a weekend in downtown asheville. though i heard there is a weekly drum circle near the town square.

…bjorn… oh, bjorn…

dear readers, if we ever meet and i seem distracted, it’s because i’m thinking about bjorn.

now HE is a radical faerie.

he’s scary and exciting at the same time.

too bad he litters.

BYOT (bring your own towel)

this is a true story from new orleans:

my dog didn’t just dig up something in my mother’s backyard. he caught something in my mother’s backyard.

the day after i gave my sister my old computer, mine stopped working. so i brought mine to best buy to get fixed.

i had to go to my mother’s to use my sister’s computer.

i brought my dog. i put him in the backyard and left the french doors open so he could come back in.

after about 20 minutes i hear the dog running up and down the hallway; he’s sprinting back and forth.

i go see what’s going on.

he’s got something in his mouth.

what does he have?

a dove. a fuckin’ dove.

he caught a dove ?!? my dog killed something ?!?

i make him drop it. the bird is still alive.

there is a dazed and confused dove in my mother’s hallway.

i know i’ve got to get the dove out of the house. but i don’t want to touch it because of bird-flu or rabies or whatever. so i get a towel from the bathroom, drop it over the whole bird, then grab it to take it outside.

the bird cooperates. i set it down in a shaded corner of the backyard. the bird does not immediately fly away.

i think ‘oh, shit. the dog really caught and killed a dove.’

i don’t turn back to check on the bird. i couldn’t deal with the consequences. for all i know, the bird is still there.

no blood on the dog or the hallway. but there were a lot of feathers. hopefully he just shook the bird and got it dizzy. so now the bird is back flying around with its other birdie friends.

i can’t return to my mother’s backyard for fear of finding a dove skeleton.

(btw, it was not the white dove of peace or the catholic holy spirit. it was one of those light brown ones, but definitely not a pigeon. again, listen carefully, my dog did not kill the holy spirit!)

also if you ever go to my mother’s house, bring your own towel. the bird-flu infected one is still there somewhere.

out.

link courtesy of ashvegas.squarespace.com

scenes from the blue ridge parkway

in another week the colors will be much more vibrant. that’s why i came here.

i can’t wait.

i’m grateful for having a convertible with a full tank of gas in the smokey mountains during fall. that’s what will be going through my mind during grace at thanksgiving dinner.

let’s clear the palate

ok, enough social commentary on race.

i guess kara walker’s work got me all riled up.

let’s clear the palate by watching a video of my cute dog.

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.

whitney museum: kara walker

prejudice is bad.

but if it could be eliminated, what would people do with all their extra time and energy?

Kara Walker: My Complement, My Enemy, My Oppressor, My Love

October 11, 2007 – February 3, 2008

Whitney Museum of American Art
945 Madison Avenue at 75th Street
New York, NY 10021

General Information: 1 (800) WHITNEY

Olympus Stylus 790SW

this thing came on saturday.

watch out, people. i’m gonna be a photo-taking fool
for about a month until i get bored, break the camera,
or fall into a winter funk.

yep.

ok, friday i went to “the craft fair of the southern highlands” at the asheville civic center.

there were lots of interesting work. i especially liked the modern style of woodworking taken by some of the exhibitors. though the arts and crafts movement of the 1900’s is still the governing influence on independent furniture makers.

i guess you have to make what people want to buy.

i thought the highlight of the visit was going to be this overheard conversation in the main exhibit hall:

lady in her early ’60’s: “this (the asheville civic center) is the ugliest building i’ve ever seen.”
lady’s mother (late 80’s): (pauses her wheeled-walker in mid-glide, straightens-up to look around, and says) “yep.”
lady in her early ’60’s: “what a shame.”
lady’s mother (late 80’s): “yep.”

the real hightlight of the trip was a realization that hit me about 20 minutes after hearing the ‘yep’ lady.

what was that realization?

i was the only minority in the room.

ok, to be honest, i can pick and choose from a variety of minority affiliations depending on my mood. today i was feeling particularly asian.

i noticed something about an hour after arriving at the exhibit hall. the sense of being the odd-man-out kinda creeps into consciousness. all the dolls are white; quilts cost $3,000; i get ‘the evil eye’ more than once in a 30 minute period. these, and other things, individually don’t mean much. but taken together it means: ‘this asian man walks alone.’

i love this feeling.

after realizing the situation, i pay close attention to my fellow fairgoers. from the back, every brunette and badly-dyed blonde is inspected to make sure i’m still the only one. for the next 20 minutes, i am the only one…

…the only one in a room full of 5,000 people. i am unique. i am singular. i am a rock star!

i’ve been in this situation many times before.

my goal became to remain the only asian fairgoer. who came and went to the fair when i wasn’t in the center didn’t matter. without cheating (rushing through the exhibits, keeping my gaze to the floor, etc.) i would win if i didn’t see another one like me until i left the building. i don’t know what i would win, i would just win.

all around the mezzanine level, no problem. down to the main hall… a chubby korean girl selling hotdogs, she was working the fair, not an attendee. she didn’t count. there’s a japanese guy selling pottery; he doesn’t count.

i round the corner to walk up the ramp leading to the exit. i had been at the fair almost 2 hours.

i was literally 75 feet from the exit.

there he was.

a 20 year old cambodian with a ponytail, a man bag, and his older, gentleman friend.

fuck.

cargo pants

do you ever wonder what happens to clothes when their time in the fashion spotlight ends?

for example, what did stores do with all the leftover bell bottom jeans when the punk/new wave scene started to gain traction in the early 80’s?

who is wearing all the juicy couture velour track suits from 2001?

i don’t know about those two examples. but i do know where all the cargo pants from 1997 ended-up. somehow they’ve all gathered in asheville, like the swallows of san juan capistrano or the salmon returning to spawn in alaskan rivers.

sure, i had cargo pants. i’d just love to know how they got from my local salvation army store to western north carolina.

oh, and crocs! please don’t get me started on crocs.

 

 

refreshing vacuum haircut

i just found out today that i have lesbian neighbors.

yeah!

it’ll be great to have lesbian friends.

they came over to the house today to introduce themselves while i was outside watering my plants. (actually, they are the previous owner’s plants. but she didn’t take them with her.)

am i alone in thinking lesbians are the only people who bought ‘flowbee’ hair trimmers in the early 80’s? how can so many of them end up with the same haircut? what other explanation could there be?

ok, for you young’uns, i quote the official flowbee site:

“Using the suction power of your vacuum cleaner, the FLOWBEE draws the hair evenly into the recessed blades and cuts it precisely. The results are a refreshing vacuum haircut.”

what is the difference between the typical lesbian haircut and the one being modeled in the photo?

none, i say ‘none’.

kate and allie (not their real names) seem very nice. i’ve been in my house a month. but i guess because they have a kid, we don’t have the same schedules since i never see them around.

i had no idea a lesbian couple owned that house. there was no subaru in the driveway.

as i’ve said many times, ‘lesbians love their subarus.’

C U

p.s.
for $59.95 plus shipping and handling, this is what you get.

bye-bye, Millie

my sister’s dog passed away today.

Millie was the perfect lap dog.

we took many naps together.
i slept on my stomach.
she slept on my back.

5 pounds of friendship
in animal form.

bye-bye, Millie.

damn! she was a cute dog.

what is part of millie’s legacy for us?

she helps to remind everyone of the power
of a good haircut.

she is older in the photos with the shorter hair,
but looks like a puppy again in her new ‘do.

she was nine, but could have passed for 1.

is it me ?

here’s an observation about north carolina:

lots of fuckers don’t return messages.

in 2 weeks my list includes:

landscaper
banker (Wachovia)
attorney
furniture repairman
realtor (no, not you, jude)
art dealer

i’m not getting an asheville landline.

could it be that the 504 area code is confusing people?

or

is it because i call them ‘fuckers’ when they don’t call back?

where is the mason-dixon line ?

i went to kinko’s yesterday to print and fax some loan documents for the additions i’m putting on the house.

at 10:00am in asheville the average customer profile at the kinko’s matches the AARP’s demographic.

as i’m waiting for my fax confirmation at the check-out counter, the 70-something year old couple i saw struggling with the collating features at the self-serve copiers come over to pay for their copies.

this is the memorable quote from their conversation with the clerk:

kinko’s employee: ‘may i help you?’

the couple: ‘well, we were being helped by the colored man before. is he around here somewhere?’

ok, this is interesting to me for a couple of reasons:

1. as i write this, i cannot remember if the husband or the wife said this. but neither one seemed to think it was weird.

2. the kinko’s clerk’s (a white guy) reaction was subtle but slightly reassuring. he noticed what they said. and there was a slight pause before he answered their question. so even though he didn’t comment on their question, he at least was uncomfortable that they said it. that’s gotta count for something, right?

3. did they want to see the ‘colored man’ so he got credit for the sale?
if so, that means they didn’t want him to lose his commission?

4. it seems oddly appropriate to me they the couple drove away in a 1988 lincoln town car. i don’t know why. it just does.

by the way, i must admit i love kinko’s.

why start ?

i was thinking about starting a blog.

what happened in the last 2 days makes me think i have to or i won’t remember
half the stuff that goes on.

1. ricky the lawn jockey came to cut the grass.
he said he saw a snake in my yard that barely escaped being cut-up by
his lawnmover.

i have snakes in my yard ?!?

2. the architect of the project told me he’ll probably rent one of my
apartments because
he is selling his house and building one for his himself and his wife
(his partner in the firm) so they need a place to stay as their new
house is built.

hallelujah!

so that would mean one place is rented even before construction
begins. and since he might live in the place he’s designing, i hope
that will be an incentive for him to keep on top of the contractor to
ensure good work.

3. i had to stop my car in the street in front of my house because a
possum was crossing the street. a fuckin’ possum, like grannie would
roast on the ‘beverly hillibilles.’

4. at kinko’s tonight i was printing some of the loan documents for
the construction line of credit; a radical faerie with a prince
valiant pageboy haircut was giving me the evil eye.

i need to buy a camera.

do you think it OD’ed on crystal ?

the week is starting on a bad note compared to last week.

yet another first for me in asheville,
i had to remove a dead squirrel from my backyard.

rigid limbs, bugged-out eyes and surrounded by flies…

the squirrel wasn’t looking to good either.

(ohhh, i’ve got a million of these jokes.)

yes, i’m talkin’ to you

ok, now, here’s a story to make you smile:

i am still buying shit on ebay for this imaginary life i’m creating
for myself. i bought some coffee tables. they were too big to send
ups, so the ebay seller sent them through greyhound. greyhound now
supplements its bus ticket sales by shipping packages around the
country in their excess luggage compartment space. (i guess the
average greyhound customer doesn’t bring their entire louis vuitton
luggage collection on trips.)

anyway, i get a call from the local bus station that my package
arrived. i say to my self, ‘yeah, more new shit!’ i plug in the
address to the gps system i also just got for the car and head off to
collect my tables.

i get to the station just as the 3:30pm bus to knoxville is loading passengers.

i say ‘oh, oh.’

the station manager shows me the box. it is huge. the seller put 2
coffee tables into one box. he tells me to pull around back so i can
load up the car. that means i have to park next to the bus. plus that
means to fit the 2 tables in the car i have to stand next to the bus
unpacking the box to remove the packaging to put the tables in the
back seat.

then the tables don’t fit into the car by sliding the front seats
forward. so, YES, i have to lower the top on the black mercedes
convertible clk 430 to fit my $500 coffee tables into the backseat. i
turn on the engine to lower the top. i forgot the ‘best of blondie’ cd
is in the cd player. then i forgot i also had to take the
wind-deflector off from above the backseat.

a busload of mexican day laborers, white meth addicts and black ladies
with screaming babies watch all this happen.

time moved very slowly. i was dying inside.

they looked at me like i was the biggest asshole they’d ever seen. i
felt like the biggest asshole they’d ever seen.

……so, does that story make you smile?

if it did, then my job is done.

goodnight.

you did what in the woods ?

 

here are a few more firsts from this week.

i picked-up my first rocking chair. mid-1960’s, very cool.

i got invited to the neighborhood potluck dinner.

i pissed in the woods.

relatedly, i did other things.
but they weren’t for the 1st time.

out.