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.

please don’t tell PETA

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.

free at last, free at last

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.

bye-bye, TT. i guess i luv ya, but my cold, cold heart won’t let me admit it.

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

out

bang the drum slowly

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

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.

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!“

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.

even though i don’t like red…

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 $.

home sweet home

it’s hard for me to explain why this picture makes me miss new orleans. but it surely does.

if you need a recipe for fun , its:

• diaper
• wig
• make-up
• gun

she’s crazy, but i love her. (i’m talking both about the guy in the photo and new orleans, itself.)

out

oh, and a tiara. a tiara is always good to have around… just in case.

you can open a bottle of beer with it; you can pawn it for bail money; you can use it to signal the rescue plane when you wake up in the swamps after a really, really bad date…

…you know… just in case.

brad pitt tastes bad

sorry, i meant to say, ‘brad has bad taste’.

his commitment to rebuild a part of the 9th ward area of new orleans is admirable. my sister and i went to see the ‘pink houses’ during our christmas visit. there was an exhibit on view to highlight the development process of the proposed home designs to go up in the area.

most were novel approaches to building on the flood-prone, long, narrow lots typical of new orleans.

the model shown above is the one i think is in bad taste.

katrina pushed, pulled and upended everything in that particular neighborhood. why would building a house that looks like it’s cracked in two be a good idea? it’s too soon for architectural irony… too soon.

in 10 years when the original owners sell, that area is going to be one super hot neighborhood.

here are the other house designs.

out.

ps

a couple of days before we went to see the development. my aunt went. she was driving around the area. a lady stopped her and asked if she had a minute talk.

she said ‘sure’.

exit p.r. assistant; enter mr. pitt. he asks my aunt, ‘are you having a good day? yes? great, i’d glad to hear it. bye.’

thanks to that slighty strange conversation, you, dear reader, are now only 5 degrees separated from maddox.

how cool is that?

what you doin’, girl?

here’s the latest on the puppy front:

lil’ T.T. keeps trying to suckle from my older dog’s penis pocket.

she’s 2 months old. at what age will she realize that ain’t her momma’s titty?

in the last couple of days, i’ve also learned that my older dog has the patience of a saint.

poor baby.

a creole christmas

i went back to new orleans for christmas.

new orleans is a wonderful place, a radiant phoenix rising out of the swamps.
(the cynical among you may think my cheerleading has to do with trying to sell my fucking condo there. shame on you. i excrete sincerity.)

i drove down with my sister who also lives in north carolina. she hadn’t been down for 2 years. one of our goals was to get a sense of the state of the city.

the most heartening single development i saw was on world famous st. charles ave.

borders is renovating the termite-infested former bultman funeral home. i know most people would prefer to keep the avenue all residential. but the location has been commercial forever. so the building, as it was, could have easily become a chinese buffet or a t-shirt shop.

that reno is going to cost a fortune, bless their hearts.

more stuff about 2007 new orleans to follow.

CU

the blizzard of ’08

i experienced my first snowfall in the asheville mountains this tuesday.

i lived in the snow country of japan for 2 years. i never got a day-off then because of snow. those people don’t let a blizzard, let alone 2 inches of snow, keep them from work. before i got a car, i had to bicycle in the snow to get to work. they’re the #2 economy in the world for a reason. those bitches don’t play.

after 10 years in new orleans, LA and orlando, i got as nervous and excited as any other snow virgin.

i was too scared to drive the car, terrified of driving on ice with summer tires. so i had a snow day with the dogs. the older dog was confused for a minute. but he was running around like gazelle on coke for the rest of the day. the puppy just licked at the snow a bit, pissed and whined to go back inside.

another example of youth wasted on the young.

out.

ps
i’m not saying people around here have no common sense. i’m just curious why the gas company employee who came to the house to mark the underground gas lines prior to construction on the garage sprayed the yellow lines on the snow.

this is not antarctica. there is no permafrost.

the snow will be done in a day; won’t the pipeline marks be as well? if the contractor cuts a gas line and my house explodes, i’ll sue…

…right after i get out of the hospital.

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.)