Reality Bites

"Sitting in my armchair thinking again and again and again, going round in a circle I can't get out. then I look around thinking day and night and day, then you look around - there must be some explanation." Killing Joke from "The Fall of Because"

I could hear the nurse in the hallway talking to the steroid riddled orderly about The Bachelor or Beauty and the Geek, or some such reality show. The nurse was bending the Hulks like mans ear off about how she would never stoop to the level of appearing on such an objectifying show. This from a woman who got her nursing degree from the University of the Lap Dance. But her indignation over the so-called television programs got me thinking about the state of reality TV.

I heard about this program that is somehow supposed to entertain us this summer from the wonder brains at G4. Granted most of you have no idea that G4 is actually a television network, but I assure you it is. A video game centric network, which I generally have no problem with. This new show they are launching for the outdoor season is to be called "Hurl". According to what I heard the gist of this train wreck is that contestants gorge themselves on food then have to participate in physical challenges. The last one to vomit, wins. I shit you not. These so-called challenges consist of things like roller coaster riding, mechanical bull wrangling, and high dive belly flopping. I'm sure the combatants will be Pulitzer and Noble prize winners, one and all.

What's next? How about a show called "Big Brotha". In this show I see like 9 members of rival gangs living in a 2 bedroom crack house in the middle of the inner city. The challenges will be something to the effect of stereo theft for speed, the 100 yard television carry, and the Baby Daddy challenge where they try to simultaneously knock up as many crack whores as possible. Those that fail are evicted in a Drive-by ceremony.

Or, maybe I could get you interested in "Kicked in the Crotch". Sounds like a winner already doesn't it? In this game contestants take as many knees, punches, and stilettos to the Man Bag as possible without screaming in agony. The finalists must ejaculate into a specimen cup, lowest blood content wins.

But why stop there? Let's all watch "The Fart Game". One player lies on his back while another takes a "Beef Stew" position over the lying players face. If you can't handle the wretched stench of your punisher, you lose. However if you happen to Cracker Jack a fart and accidentally shat on your competitor, you're out. The finals involve dueling port-a-potties sans air vents. Last one to pass out is the winner.

My final suggestion is just cruel. It's "Nic Cage Film Rag" which subjects contestants to film festivals starring the "actor", once a player utters the phrase "God he sucks." they are eliminated. It opens with "Face-Off" which usually cuts the playing field in half. The finals involve an actual conversation with Cage, last one to punch him in the snout, wins.

Got an idea for your own show? Sickened by the state of reality television? Setting "Hurl" on your TiVo now?

Dixie Cup of Love: The only good reality show - The Joe Schmoo Show.

Working in a Cold Mind

"Welcome to the workin' week. Oh I know it don't thrill you, I hope it don't kill you. Welcome to the workin' week. You gotta do it till you're through it so you better get to it." Elvis Costello from "Welcome to the Working Week"


When I took my meds the nurse looked at me with a different glint in her eyes. She was sensing that another chapter in my shackled down - doped up life was about to begin. How she knew this, I have no idea. I'm sure that some would call it ESP or female intuition, but it was she, herself, that dispelled the questions. "I heard you got a job in the laundry room. You're gonna be getting out of this room a whole lot more often." Apparently there was a memo going around. No witchcraft, no ESP, no black smoke monster, just a memo.

Yes it's true. Today I start my new job. What does this mean for the Asylum? Well, it means I may not get to blog comments until the evening, so if you're interested in my keen insights to you stellar observations you may have to check back in tomorrow. It also means that I need to kick it up a notch so that I can start writing for a living, giving me more time to be directly involved with you, my (gulp!) fans.

It also means I will be adding some much need coins to my coffer so I can start visiting some of you in person. As you probably figured out by the "Sota Saga" I have always suffered from wanderlust.. I need to get around like Lindsey Lohan testing rehab facilities. Through this blog I've got to know some of you, really know, not in an Internet predator facing Chris Hansen after chatting with a faux fourteen year old for some kiddy loving way. I'm involved in your lives, I speak of you, I think of you, I worry about you, and I want to shake your hands, have a cocktail, and just talk to you. So the job, it's not a bad thing. It will end up helping in the long run.

As will my Truth Box. I installed it so that I could get a gander at what some of you really think. Figuring that anonymity would allow some of you to say what's really on your mind in regards to the Asylum and myself. Here's what I've managed to figure out. A lot of you think I'm holding back, that I'm not challenging myself or you. I never really thought that I was meant to push you into deeper thought, if it happened once in a while that would be outstanding, because I get so much out of reading what you write. However, my main objective, my mission statement, my mantra has always been "We aim to Entertain." That's all I ever wanted to do, write a series that people would enjoy, along the way I'd clue you into some of the things that make me, me. Now I want you to do me a favor. Go to the Truth box, here, and tell me what you would like to read about. Is there a topic that you would like to hear my opinion on? Is there something more you expect from One Man Asylum? What would make you happier? We are nearing two hundred subscribers yet only about a quarter leave comments on a regular basis. I would like to hear from the quiet masses. I would be curious to know why you don't leave comments. And if you or the regular commenters have the fortitude to tell me what you think in the comments section of this blog, I look forward to reading those too.

Dixie Cup of Love: The First 200

Summertime Series - The Day The Music Died Part 4 of 4

"And the three men I admire most: The father, son, and the holy ghost, They caught the last train for the coast The day the music died." Don McLean from "American Pie"

The nurse was staring at me as I tried to open my crusted shut eyes. She shook the Dixie cup in from of me rattling the pills in the bottom. Yet, somehow I knew I wouldn't get them until I was done with the Minnesota saga.

With my darling dear Cari headed off to college to improve the size of her big old brain, me and the fellas were poised to rock at Wee Fest. This event is an all day concert, several different bands, lots of beer, and even a little blow. I was amped, for obvious reasons, to see the spectacle not because I was a fan of country music, no not I, but there were two performers on the bill that I was Bang Zoom to the Moon over seeing. One was the legendary Merle Haggard, come on, he's a staple of country and stone cold drinking machine, someone to be admired. Then there was the headliner who had me giddy like a school girl at Sadie Hawkins. The one, the only, Ray Charles. Oh Daddy! I was pumped. I endured Trisha Yearwood, drank my way through Merle, and then with a healthy buzz cooking I was ready to be dazzled. A little Minnesota summer rain started to fall and Ray pulled the plug on his set after two songs. Didn't even get to What I Say. I was crushed, pissed and too drunk to care. I booed him harshly and left.

All the remained was closing the Hotel. As winter digs didn't come so easy and Cari was getting her knowledge on, I decided to drive my $400 Ford Fairmont back to California, no one thought it was gonna make it.

Closing night at the Hotel is a combination of celebration and painful goodbye. There are moments of of joy followed by tears of separation. Jeff, Travis, and I all worked until Rick, the owner and all around booze hound, told us to join the festivities. We did, with gusto. I was scheduled to depart the very next morning, the car was already packed. I knew I would be hungover and I knew that wasn't going to matter, the night was for us.

As I look back on that summer, and yeah I romanticize it more than I probably should, but ti was the greatest time of my life. I knew I would never feel at home in LA again, I did, but I always longed for my small town. Guess now I have it again, and if Jeff, Travis, Angie, and Cari were here I would be content to stay forever, but I"m getting off the closing night festivities, sorry.

As the evening started to wind down, meaning the doors were locked, it was well after hours, and it was still packed to the rafters because no one wanted to leave, a yearly tradition took place. The singing of Sangria and Wine by Jerry Jeff Walker, a song I came to know there and haven't heard since, was the first of the two. The last song of the night was American Pie, by Don McLean. You have to imagine 100 drunk Norwegians yelling at the top of their lungs through the entire song, awesome I know. Jeff, Travis, and I, arms over each others shoulders were powering through it until the line "The three men I admire most" when from our right we heard Fudgie, another of the bartenders, yell "Travis, Mike, and Jeff" Instant tears from me. The other two held their shit together until "The caught the last train for the coast" The reality that I was heading back out west hit and my boys wept. Perfect ending. I drove back to California the next morning never to return and taint my memory of the perfect summer, the perfect time, the perfect place, with the perfect people.

Ever have a summer that stands out as the best one?

Dixie Cup of Love: The good People of Detroit Lakes, circa 1993

Summertime Series - The 4th of July Part 3 of 4

"She's waitin' for me, when I get home from work, oh, but things ain't just the same. She turns out the light, and cries in the dark, won't answer when I call her name" X from "4th of July"

The nurse was sitting at the edge of my bed, with holding my meds until I made with the details about the biggest weekend of the summer, so in order to get my high I continued the tale.

One of the things you have to understand about Detroit Lakes, Minnesota is that Playboy magazine once rated it the 4th best place to get laid over the Independence Day holiday in the nation. Lake Havasu was #1, Palm Springs #2, and Bea Arthur's Hollywood Mansion rounded it out. In DL, as the locals called it, the population of the sleepy lake town exploded like a zit on a nerds back. The beach was packed, the streets were chaos, and the bars, they had lines like Hyde in Hollywood. It was the one weekend when I was told not to drink too much while working. It was perfectly acceptable to be enjoying a Captain and Coke on a regular shift, but over the holiday I was expected to remain sober and be on my toes.

This busyness was hell on my budding love with Cari, though I was certain she would show up at the hotel sometime during the weekend. I was wrong about that. She was nowhere to be found. I worried, but there wasn't much I could do, as I was up to my ass in North Dakota State coeds trying to get into the overly crowded Hotel. I was sure that everything would return to normal once the tourists left. And it did. However, you know when you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach like everyone is hiding something from you, yeah, you know what I'm talking about. And I had a case if it that would make a tape worm feel like an antacid. Something was up in Norwegian World and she was hiding it from me.

A couple of days later she confessed, to something that I , as a retarded youngster, could not look past as just youthful exuberance. I was destroyed by news that I knew was coming. And I drank myself into feeling better, as was the custom of my 20's.

Eventually we got past it, but it was never the same. What had been Mike, Travis, Angie, and Cari turned into Mike, Jeff, and Travis. I even tried, one drunken night, to make a play for Angie, but she wasn't having that at all. So, the boys would run wild. I started hanging out with them less and less, blaming it on my search for winter accommodations as the Hotel closed just after Labor Day. Even managed to find a partner for some naked aerobics, but it was short lasting, not the sex, the relationship.

I have always regretted the fact that I treated Cari like, well, I treated her like a whore and I really had no right to do so. She was being young and we had no binding relationship other than friendship and a crush, both of which I almost ruined. So, I take a moment to apologize to her.

We did patch up our relationship enough to remain friends. It was a difficult day when she had to head back to school in St. Cloud. It was late August by then and there were only two important events left in the season. Wee Fest and closing night at the Hotel.

Ever regret ruining a friendship because of jealousy?

Dixie Cup of Love: This one's for Cari.

Tomorrow the conclusion.

Summertime Series - People Are Strange Part 2 of 4

"People are strange, when you're a stranger, Faces look ugly when you're alone. Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted, Streets are uneven, when you're down" The Doors from "People are Strange"

The nurse wouldn't give me any meds until I told her more about my Minnesota adventure. In order to achieve the blissful high of my pills, I relented.

I had arrived in the land of Norwegians and Hot Dish ( a casserole concoction made in a large Pyrex casserole dish, its ingredients are still a mystery to me) as the green of spring had taken hold. My first days were of acclimation and pinball. There was a great golf themed machine at the Cormorant Pub, they had a good burger basket (burger and tots) as well. The dialect was baffling, ya, the pace was relaxing, oh ya, the water in Lake Sally still pretty cool, oh goodness ya. Being that the cabin was on the lake getting my wayward luggage delivered was a chore. We ultimately had to go pick up my bags at a boat repair shop, a small price to pay for a change of unmentionables.

One night, in my second week there, the happy couple had themselves a tiff. For the sake of everyones sanity and their privacy I decided that it was high time( hee-hee high time) I checked out the Hotel Shoreham. The name is a bit of a misnomer as the Hotel isn't really a hotel, not anymore. It was at the turn of the century, like 1908, but now it was a restaurant and bar with a kick ass pizza shack across a small fenced in quad. I headed in and took a seat at the bar. There I met Tom, he was a different guy in a really sweet yet kind of creepy way. As I downed mad quantities of Captain and Coke we talked and I was informed that the Hotel needed a bouncer for the season. The next morning I met with Rick, the owner, I was hired, and offered a room in a cabin on the Hotel property, leaving Dave and Julie alone and to their bickering.

The cabin was located conveniently between the beer cooler and the "Love Shack", a small one room cabin that was the residence of the cook, Travis, and his dog, Duncan. We became friends over many a night of drinking cheap beer and listening to Tool. Also a new pal was Jeff, he was a bartender at the Hotel, but he doesn't factor in to this til later. As Travis and I bonded over barley and hops, he introduced me to XXXX beer, a butter ale that is as smooth as Alicia Keys complexion, two other key components to my summer were also introduced. Angie and my Cari. Being fresh off the scar of Michelleworld, I have no idea how I fell for Cari like a bag of bricks being thrown from a high rise. Bust she was not feeling the same way, a theme for me, so I started my pathetic attempt at wooing her.

For the next few months we was like peas and carrots. We drank, God did we drink, we camped, we boated, we fished, and I did my best to woo my Norwegian strumpet. I did this by almost never leaving my cabin, playing enough Sega to give me a blister on my thumb the size of a Kiwi. The thing about Minnesotans is that they are cooped up all winter so when it hits 60 they are constantly outside. Being from Los Angeles, nice weather didn't mean bull crap to me, just another day. But someone, I was getting somewhere with Cari. I have no idea if she just felt bad for me, or was trying to coax me out of the house, but on day in late June we kissed. Little did I know that the biggest holiday of the summer was about to break me in pieces. The day is legendary in Detroit Lakes, and nothing you can do can prepare you for the 4th of July.

Ever crush on someone and had it become something more? Are you enjoying this story?

Dixie Cup of Love: Travis, Jeff, Angie, and Cari.

Tomorrow: The 4th of July

Summertime Series - The Pinball Wizard Part 1 of 4

"Well, he ain't got no distractions, can't hear no buzzers and bells. Don't see lights-a-flashin', he plays by a sense of smell. Always has a replay, 'n never tilts at all." The Who from "Pinball Wizard"

One word can bring a Noah's Ark like flood of memories. The nurse mentioned that she spend her Sunday laying on the deck of her latest sugar daddy's boat. Poor sap probably has no idea that at her demon core she is nothing but a succubus. I would warn him but with the package that she presents, it wouldn't matter. So hot, so evil. I want so badly to hate her but the drugs she brings me make everything so tolerable. I decided to put up with her for a bit longer, as I drifted off thinking about the strangest thing, pinball.

When I was twenty-three a pinball machine by the name of Fun House changed my life. Sounds as ridiculous as hearing the words "And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to William Shatner", but I'm telling you it's the truth. See, at the time I was fresh off the dissolution of my relationship with Michelle, working at a mattress store, and drinking like Jim Beam was about to close up shop. There was a bar, there's always a bar, that I hung out at, Norm didn't go to Cheers as much as I was at Lucky John's and they had a Fun House pinball machine that I could play for hours on a pair of quarters. These marathon sessions were widely ignored by the bar populace with the exception of Dave. He also enjoyed the flipper fever and since his wife Julie was a cocktail waitress there, he too spend uncountable hours within the smoke filled walls.

One night Dave got the the machine before me, so I was resigned to drinking and watching. While he played Dave informed me that he would soon be relinquishing control of the tilt box to me for good. He and the Mrs. were moving. I liked Dave and Julie so I was disappointed to hear this. So we drank. We drank like it was free, like it was our first day out of jail and our last day of freedom all wrapped into one. As the night turned into morning I heard Dave say "You should come to Minnesota with us." Somehow I think he expected me to decline the invitation, but a trip to the land of 10,000 lakes sounded like the perfect remedy for what was ailing me.

I had a couple of grand saved up, sold my car, quit my job, and 72 hours after hearing about Minnesota for the first time, I was aware it was a state and that it snowed, nothing else, I was on a plane headed to Fargo, North Dakota. That being the nearest airport to what was going to end up being a place that I still to this very day consider to be Paradise on Earth. The town of Detroit Lakes, Minnesota.

Dave and Julie picked me up at the airport, they had arrived a day earlier, to find my luggage didn't feel the need to accompany me all the way to Fargo, as it only went to Denver, then it decided to stay. So with a carry on bag full of three changes of clothes I left the airport and got my first hit of Mid Western air. It was clean, non-toxic, brisk, my lungs rejected it instantly. I would, as it turned out, build up a tolerance for it. We drove the 50 miles to Detroit Lakes, through fields of corn, a site that a Los Angelino had never seen, fields of corn, barns, lakes, no I was a city boy. We arrived in town, went through both stop lights, down two lane highway 22 until we arrived at their cabin on the shore of Lake Sally. And right next door was the Hotel Shoreham.

Ever take a trip like that, on a whim? Ever escape a bad break up by changing latitude?

Tomorrow: People are Strange Part 2 of 4

Dixie Cup of Love: Dave and Julie.