"Have you seen my garden? It is most peculiar. Have you seen my garden? Nothing there that grows looks anything at all like plants. I hear their voices. Let's take the whole day off" Oingo Boingo from "Whole Day Off"
It started out like any other day, or so I thought. I was, as per the norm in this psychedelic fun house, shackled to my bed awaiting the arrival of my antiseptically scrubbed Florence Nightingale from the depths of Hades. My body quivered in negative withdrawal from my daily Dixie cup of addiction fixers, but they didn't arrive. What the hell was going on? The damned nurse called in sick leaving me unmedicated and longing for the affections of my state appointed care taker. A dreadful feeling came over me. What if something serious happened, what if she was never to come back, what would become of me? Then I heard the steroid swollen orderly say that the nurse was out on some rich guys yacht for the day. What a bitch.
The general plan of how to spend a sick day was once laid out to near perfection in a little romp of a film called "Ferris Bueller's Day Off". It was a film that set the bar for how to play ditch at a level too astronomical for the average hooky player to achieve. I mean, seriously, how often do you just happen on a midweek parade? And on the same day as a big league matinee no less. No, that day isn't near perfect, I mean Scarlett Johannson is near perfect, that day is absolute, Stairway to Heaven, perfection.
As for my day of leisure it would begin, if we are talking a perfect day, by me waking up next to a very horny woman with perhaps an accent and an oral fixation. We would wake after an excellent night s sleep to make love as we called in to our jobs and finagled the day off. After bringing each other to the zenith of ecstasy we would adjourn the bedroom for the patio to enjoy coffee and cigarettes while I finished the New York Times crossword puzzle.
I would then leave my strumpet for a spell, hopping on the Harley and bombing down Pacific Coast Highway towards Long Beach where I would pick up comics from Atomic. Of course it would be the day that the new Garth Ennis trade comes out. We would chat comics and movies while watching a Hawaiian Tropics Bikini Contest from his balcony. Inevitably the contest would be short a couple of judges, they would spy us on the balcony, and of course we would help them out. Atomic would end up scoring a sun soaked model and I would hop on the bike and head for Pasadena.
On the way I would get a call from a literary agent telling me that my latest script was just bought for a seven figure payday. Sick day no longer, I would be quitting my job tomorrow. But, on to the City of Roses, where I would spend an hour or two hanging out with the Weezer Kid doing what we do best. We'd listen to the the Red Album as we enjoyed some of natures finest greenery.
I would grab lunch at "The Hat", for pastrami and chili fries, before heading off to see the new Scarlett Johannson/Jessica Biel lesbian love story action flick. With red vines in hand I would enjoy. The sun would be glowing amber in the late afternoon sky as I leave the theater sure that the film will win a bevy of Academy Awards.
The woman with the accent meets me for a romantic dinner of prime rib, baked potato, and Heineken before driving us back to her place where we pick up where we left off before coffee. I would fall into a deep sleep, waking to the day that I quit HellJob.
What your dream day off?
Dixie Cup of Love: The Woman with the Accent.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Pools of Sorrow, Waves of Joy
"Say the word and you'll be free, say the word and be like me, say the word I'm thinking of, have you heard the word is love? It's so fine, It's sunshine, It's the word, love." The Beatles from "The Word"
In a strange twist of conformity, the nurse burst into my room with the manic cackle of a hyena with an Angel Dust habit. Twirling like a dervish, shiny colorful pills splaying around the room in a rainbow of hallucinogenic medication. Just as she was surely about to slit my throat with the heel of one of her razor sharp stilettos, one of the steroid downing orderlies tackled her with the exuberance of a juiced up linebacker. That mad man with the grape nuts sized sack saved my bacon. As I thanked him, he informed me that it was no problem, he was warned that earlier in the day the nurse had gotten into the medication prior to her shift after listening to The Beatles "Rubber Soul" for an entire week. Hearing that got me to thinking.
This week the wisdom and power of the Beatles has hit me on a few different fronts. First, while SuperMom humored me by sitting through another viewing of "Across The Universe" we got to chat-chitting about how I have to, sometimes, introduce her to songs from her own generation. It doesn't bother her, because she was basically as square as June Cleaver growing up. She graduated in 1966, prime time to be a peace loving, pot smoking, dancing to the music, hippy, but alas it was not meant to be. She wasn't down with the counter culture, not a motivator, innovator, aviator or eating taters. She was all about West Coast surf music, which is a huge influence on me, but that's for another blog. During this Beatles flavored conversation she informed me that "Hey Jude" was her favorite tune from the Fab Four. A later song? I was floored. I figured, if any song, it would be a Meet The Beatles era tune like "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" or "Love Me Do." Never would I have guessed that she would be a fan of a song with the complexities of "Hey Jude".
Those that know me well can tell you that my favorite Beatles symphony is "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", but the reason may elude even the Atomic One. I was thinking about this earlier this week. When I was a wee Cub Scout of a lad I had a friend named Eric Wood. His pop was our scout master, yes I was a Cub Scout so what, and also his dad was the local fire chief. It was at the Wood house that I first remember hearing the Beatles and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" was the song. Now whenever I hear it, I am instantly transported Jason Statham style, back tot he simple carefree times of my adolescents.
As I have gotten older my appreciation for the wisdom of the Beatles lyrics has become a major influence on me as a writer. Not only do I quote them at random, but there are certain lines that seem to speak directly to me. "If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true, and help me understand". I get that on a very non-trusting, I have no clue about women level that has plagued me my entire life. "And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world on your shoulders". Sometimes I feel that I am Charles Atlas and the globe is resting in my not so gym chiseled arms. Though I tend to roll with the flow on most things, I sometimes need to remind myself that I am not everything to everyone. And this last one is just now starting to hit me like a baseball bat to the kidneys. "All these places have their moments, with lovers and friends and I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living, in my life, I've loved them all." I miss my California friends deeply, I miss those familiar places, and I have often fell for the right girl at the wrong time, but my love for them was never in doubt. It was true, pure, and painful. Even the ones that blew it off as a simple crush or something else entirely.
The best thing about a song, especially a great song, is that the lyrics and melody combine to illicit different emotions from each and every one of us. The Beatles have an entire catalog of tunes that will makes us laugh, cry, think, love, and want to die. That's the magic of those four lads from Liverpool.
Songs by them that affect you and why?
Dixie Cup of Love: Them All.
In a strange twist of conformity, the nurse burst into my room with the manic cackle of a hyena with an Angel Dust habit. Twirling like a dervish, shiny colorful pills splaying around the room in a rainbow of hallucinogenic medication. Just as she was surely about to slit my throat with the heel of one of her razor sharp stilettos, one of the steroid downing orderlies tackled her with the exuberance of a juiced up linebacker. That mad man with the grape nuts sized sack saved my bacon. As I thanked him, he informed me that it was no problem, he was warned that earlier in the day the nurse had gotten into the medication prior to her shift after listening to The Beatles "Rubber Soul" for an entire week. Hearing that got me to thinking.
This week the wisdom and power of the Beatles has hit me on a few different fronts. First, while SuperMom humored me by sitting through another viewing of "Across The Universe" we got to chat-chitting about how I have to, sometimes, introduce her to songs from her own generation. It doesn't bother her, because she was basically as square as June Cleaver growing up. She graduated in 1966, prime time to be a peace loving, pot smoking, dancing to the music, hippy, but alas it was not meant to be. She wasn't down with the counter culture, not a motivator, innovator, aviator or eating taters. She was all about West Coast surf music, which is a huge influence on me, but that's for another blog. During this Beatles flavored conversation she informed me that "Hey Jude" was her favorite tune from the Fab Four. A later song? I was floored. I figured, if any song, it would be a Meet The Beatles era tune like "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" or "Love Me Do." Never would I have guessed that she would be a fan of a song with the complexities of "Hey Jude".
Those that know me well can tell you that my favorite Beatles symphony is "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", but the reason may elude even the Atomic One. I was thinking about this earlier this week. When I was a wee Cub Scout of a lad I had a friend named Eric Wood. His pop was our scout master, yes I was a Cub Scout so what, and also his dad was the local fire chief. It was at the Wood house that I first remember hearing the Beatles and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" was the song. Now whenever I hear it, I am instantly transported Jason Statham style, back tot he simple carefree times of my adolescents.
As I have gotten older my appreciation for the wisdom of the Beatles lyrics has become a major influence on me as a writer. Not only do I quote them at random, but there are certain lines that seem to speak directly to me. "If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true, and help me understand". I get that on a very non-trusting, I have no clue about women level that has plagued me my entire life. "And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world on your shoulders". Sometimes I feel that I am Charles Atlas and the globe is resting in my not so gym chiseled arms. Though I tend to roll with the flow on most things, I sometimes need to remind myself that I am not everything to everyone. And this last one is just now starting to hit me like a baseball bat to the kidneys. "All these places have their moments, with lovers and friends and I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living, in my life, I've loved them all." I miss my California friends deeply, I miss those familiar places, and I have often fell for the right girl at the wrong time, but my love for them was never in doubt. It was true, pure, and painful. Even the ones that blew it off as a simple crush or something else entirely.
The best thing about a song, especially a great song, is that the lyrics and melody combine to illicit different emotions from each and every one of us. The Beatles have an entire catalog of tunes that will makes us laugh, cry, think, love, and want to die. That's the magic of those four lads from Liverpool.
Songs by them that affect you and why?
Dixie Cup of Love: Them All.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Shopping At Leftorium
"Now, there's a certain thing, that I learned from my friend, Mouse. A fella who always blushes and that is that ev'ryone must always flush out his house. If he don't expect to be goin' 'round housing flushes. Open the door, Homer." Bob Dylan from "Open the Door, Homer"
When the nurse came in with my morning melancholy makers she was looking a little jaundiced, yellow to be more precise. It wasn't a good color on her. she wore her tight white uniform nicely, bursting out of it in all the appropriate areas, and I'd seen her looking her devilish best after a long day in the sun, burned red as an apple,. But this new color, this discoloration caused by God know what, vitamin deficiency, bad Ted Turner style colorization, or a bad tanning session, it didn't matter, but it looked bad. Yellow, after all, is not the new black.
For the better part of 19 years a family of yellow people have come into our living rooms, never showing the slightest signs of ageing. Kids who have just graduated high school have never known a world without them. They have introduced words into our lexicon, have shaped the way we view nuclear energy, and gave us enough jabs at organized religion that a book was written on their religious philosophies. They are the Simpsons.
It's hard to imagine the world without Homer and Bart. Sure Marge, Lisa, and Maggie mean something to us as well, but it's the males of Springfield that we idolize like rock stars. In the beginning the show focused on Bart. His trails and tribulations with Principal Skinner, Mrs Krabappel, and Krusty the Clown sucked us into the eye of the hurricane. Once we were hooked, fish caught in the net, they turned our attention to Homer. We started hanging out with Barney, Moe, Lenny and Carl. we got to know about Wayland Smithers alternative lifestyle and that more rock bands play Springfield than Cleveland.
My favorite episode of the Simpsons is the one in which Bart becomes a daredevil and announces for the town to hear that is going to jump Springfield Gorge on his skateboard. There's a line from Ott, who as the only adult present thinks that he should say something. His word of advice: "Coooool". But in the end it is Homer who nearly pulls off the impossible. The reason it reigns supreme for me is simple. Truck-a-Saurus.
There are over 300, closing in on 400 episodes to choose from and for some it will be a nearly impossible task to choose a favorite,. Be it a Sideshow Bob episode, Or Bleeding Gums Murphy, or Pattie and Selma, Apu, Dr. Marvin Monroe, Reverend Lovejoy, or everyones favorite neighbor, Ned Flanders the choice is tough. So hard that some won't even attempt to name one, but no matter what, I doubt any of us could imagine a world without what my nephew calls "The Yellow People".
What's your favorite episode? Or Character?
Dixie Cup of Love: Tracey Ullman
When the nurse came in with my morning melancholy makers she was looking a little jaundiced, yellow to be more precise. It wasn't a good color on her. she wore her tight white uniform nicely, bursting out of it in all the appropriate areas, and I'd seen her looking her devilish best after a long day in the sun, burned red as an apple,. But this new color, this discoloration caused by God know what, vitamin deficiency, bad Ted Turner style colorization, or a bad tanning session, it didn't matter, but it looked bad. Yellow, after all, is not the new black.
For the better part of 19 years a family of yellow people have come into our living rooms, never showing the slightest signs of ageing. Kids who have just graduated high school have never known a world without them. They have introduced words into our lexicon, have shaped the way we view nuclear energy, and gave us enough jabs at organized religion that a book was written on their religious philosophies. They are the Simpsons.
It's hard to imagine the world without Homer and Bart. Sure Marge, Lisa, and Maggie mean something to us as well, but it's the males of Springfield that we idolize like rock stars. In the beginning the show focused on Bart. His trails and tribulations with Principal Skinner, Mrs Krabappel, and Krusty the Clown sucked us into the eye of the hurricane. Once we were hooked, fish caught in the net, they turned our attention to Homer. We started hanging out with Barney, Moe, Lenny and Carl. we got to know about Wayland Smithers alternative lifestyle and that more rock bands play Springfield than Cleveland.
My favorite episode of the Simpsons is the one in which Bart becomes a daredevil and announces for the town to hear that is going to jump Springfield Gorge on his skateboard. There's a line from Ott, who as the only adult present thinks that he should say something. His word of advice: "Coooool". But in the end it is Homer who nearly pulls off the impossible. The reason it reigns supreme for me is simple. Truck-a-Saurus.
There are over 300, closing in on 400 episodes to choose from and for some it will be a nearly impossible task to choose a favorite,. Be it a Sideshow Bob episode, Or Bleeding Gums Murphy, or Pattie and Selma, Apu, Dr. Marvin Monroe, Reverend Lovejoy, or everyones favorite neighbor, Ned Flanders the choice is tough. So hard that some won't even attempt to name one, but no matter what, I doubt any of us could imagine a world without what my nephew calls "The Yellow People".
What's your favorite episode? Or Character?
Dixie Cup of Love: Tracey Ullman
Friday, July 18, 2008
Two Isn't Always Better Than One
"So much for a movie ending romance, Revise and rewrite. I'm uninspired, the script is tired, The cast is looking at me with murderous minds." Math and Physics Club from "Movie Ending Romance"
Debating in the Asylum is a lot like talking to yourself. Sure you can make some stunningly astute observations, but no one is even pretending to listen. Such was the case last night as the nurse and I got into a heated argument about sequels. Her contention was that no sequel has ever surpassed the oringinal in entertainment value. Though for the most point I agree with the little tramp, there are a few spectacular exceptions to the rule.
In general I will admit that when I see a number two or the word "again" after a movie title my first reaction is disgust. Sitting through "Big Momma's House" once was brutal, even with Paul Giamatti trying his darnedest to save it. The thought of subjecting my precious buttocks to another hour and half of Martin Lawrence in a fat suit and dress would border on sado-masochism. As much as I love hammering my own ego into dust, that's the most self induced punishment that i will tolerate.
However there are those sqeuels that match, if not exceed, their primordial ancestors. Officially, if this is what you rank things by, the Godfather Part 2 has been the only sequel to win the Oscar for Best Picture, though Return of the King is, I guess, a sequel of sorts. The reason I discount Return of the King on a sequel level is that it's the end of the trilogy, and the Oscar may have been awarded for the entire effort, not the singular film. It was the end of the Lord of the Rings story, where as The Godfather Part 2 was an excellent companion to the first. Equal in quality of story, originality in story telling, casting and tone. The third Godfather film, though somehow nominated for the most prized of awards, is a huge blunder and stain on the Godfather name. It turned Michael into a pussy, crying in the kitchen for his trecherous dead brother. Then, as if that wasn't enough, the horrible nepotistic casting of Sophia Coppola as Mary, well, it was the cement shoes that sunk the flick like a mob snitch in the Hudson.
When it comes to being better, the only one I can think of at the moment is X-Men II. Better characters, tighter story, more action, far superior to the O.G. Then X-Men III, you lose the director, you lose the cohesive vision. Bryan Singer should have left Superman for Tim Burton and Kevin Smith to fight over,. X-Men franchise killer, Brett Ratner. Some will say Spiderman II and I will have a hard time disagreeing, in the first one it was a huge mistake to hide Willem DaFoe behind an immovable mask, what a waste of an actor.
There are two possible contenders in theaters now that may change my mind. The Dark Knight might just be better than Batman Begins, certainly looks that way on the commercials, and then there is Hellboy II which would have to be spectacular to get my vote, but it's possible.
Got a favortie sequel? Or ones that you hate?
Dixie Cup of Love: Francis Ford Coppola
Debating in the Asylum is a lot like talking to yourself. Sure you can make some stunningly astute observations, but no one is even pretending to listen. Such was the case last night as the nurse and I got into a heated argument about sequels. Her contention was that no sequel has ever surpassed the oringinal in entertainment value. Though for the most point I agree with the little tramp, there are a few spectacular exceptions to the rule.
In general I will admit that when I see a number two or the word "again" after a movie title my first reaction is disgust. Sitting through "Big Momma's House" once was brutal, even with Paul Giamatti trying his darnedest to save it. The thought of subjecting my precious buttocks to another hour and half of Martin Lawrence in a fat suit and dress would border on sado-masochism. As much as I love hammering my own ego into dust, that's the most self induced punishment that i will tolerate.
However there are those sqeuels that match, if not exceed, their primordial ancestors. Officially, if this is what you rank things by, the Godfather Part 2 has been the only sequel to win the Oscar for Best Picture, though Return of the King is, I guess, a sequel of sorts. The reason I discount Return of the King on a sequel level is that it's the end of the trilogy, and the Oscar may have been awarded for the entire effort, not the singular film. It was the end of the Lord of the Rings story, where as The Godfather Part 2 was an excellent companion to the first. Equal in quality of story, originality in story telling, casting and tone. The third Godfather film, though somehow nominated for the most prized of awards, is a huge blunder and stain on the Godfather name. It turned Michael into a pussy, crying in the kitchen for his trecherous dead brother. Then, as if that wasn't enough, the horrible nepotistic casting of Sophia Coppola as Mary, well, it was the cement shoes that sunk the flick like a mob snitch in the Hudson.
When it comes to being better, the only one I can think of at the moment is X-Men II. Better characters, tighter story, more action, far superior to the O.G. Then X-Men III, you lose the director, you lose the cohesive vision. Bryan Singer should have left Superman for Tim Burton and Kevin Smith to fight over,. X-Men franchise killer, Brett Ratner. Some will say Spiderman II and I will have a hard time disagreeing, in the first one it was a huge mistake to hide Willem DaFoe behind an immovable mask, what a waste of an actor.
There are two possible contenders in theaters now that may change my mind. The Dark Knight might just be better than Batman Begins, certainly looks that way on the commercials, and then there is Hellboy II which would have to be spectacular to get my vote, but it's possible.
Got a favortie sequel? Or ones that you hate?
Dixie Cup of Love: Francis Ford Coppola
Thursday, July 17, 2008
"Sometimes it's fine, Sometimes I know just what it's all worth. Sometimes it's fine, Sometimes it feels like heaven on earth." Stiff Little Fingers from "Cold"
The nurse brought me with a sandwich with my Dixie cup of Dopamine doublers. I don't know what caused this ingestible gesture but after dealing with the cafeteria food for so long I was grateful for the outside edible. As I unwrapped the hoagie I noticed that it was half eaten. What the hell? That's when the nurse smiled like a ghoul and told me that it was her leftover lunch. Worse than that it was a hot sandwich which was now cold. Fantastic, she's so good to me.
When it comes to the kitchen, I can get around with the dexterity of a cat with attention deficit disorder. Not just a heat and eat guy, I can make a batch of cookies, cheesecakes from scratch, and plenty more. But I also know when to save the microwave and enjoy my left overs cold.
Some foods, not all mind you, but some taste wonderful when served straight from the ice box.
Chief among them greatest cold left overs is SuperMom's meatloaf. A sandwich, mayo, ketchup, a slice of cheese and a healthy, or completely unhealthy, slab of cold meatloaf can be a meal all in itself.
Now, any college student or poor person worth their salt knows that while pizza straight from the Queen of Coins delivery service is awesome, it can be even better the next day, cold. Not all ingredients make for a good cold slice. Pepperoni isn't my favorite, ham and pineapple, though, that's the stuff of dreams. Supreme pizza, the veggies tend to loose their snap in the fridge so I would pass on that as well. I'm sure the Queen will have some excellent advice for you on this.
Spaghetti. Mixed with a nice marinara meat sauce, is delectable when frigid. I have been known at times to place cold spaghetti between two slices of Wonder bread and wallowed in the carb load sandwich. It's decadent and bad for you, but isn't the best stuff always bad for you?
What's your favorite cold leftover?
Dixie Cup of Love: MeatLoaf, cause naming yourself after a glob a meat is tough.
The nurse brought me with a sandwich with my Dixie cup of Dopamine doublers. I don't know what caused this ingestible gesture but after dealing with the cafeteria food for so long I was grateful for the outside edible. As I unwrapped the hoagie I noticed that it was half eaten. What the hell? That's when the nurse smiled like a ghoul and told me that it was her leftover lunch. Worse than that it was a hot sandwich which was now cold. Fantastic, she's so good to me.
When it comes to the kitchen, I can get around with the dexterity of a cat with attention deficit disorder. Not just a heat and eat guy, I can make a batch of cookies, cheesecakes from scratch, and plenty more. But I also know when to save the microwave and enjoy my left overs cold.
Some foods, not all mind you, but some taste wonderful when served straight from the ice box.
Chief among them greatest cold left overs is SuperMom's meatloaf. A sandwich, mayo, ketchup, a slice of cheese and a healthy, or completely unhealthy, slab of cold meatloaf can be a meal all in itself.
Now, any college student or poor person worth their salt knows that while pizza straight from the Queen of Coins delivery service is awesome, it can be even better the next day, cold. Not all ingredients make for a good cold slice. Pepperoni isn't my favorite, ham and pineapple, though, that's the stuff of dreams. Supreme pizza, the veggies tend to loose their snap in the fridge so I would pass on that as well. I'm sure the Queen will have some excellent advice for you on this.
Spaghetti. Mixed with a nice marinara meat sauce, is delectable when frigid. I have been known at times to place cold spaghetti between two slices of Wonder bread and wallowed in the carb load sandwich. It's decadent and bad for you, but isn't the best stuff always bad for you?
What's your favorite cold leftover?
Dixie Cup of Love: MeatLoaf, cause naming yourself after a glob a meat is tough.
"Sometimes it's fine, Sometimes I know just what it's all worth. Sometimes it's fine, Sometimes it feels like heaven on earth." Stiff Little Fingers from "Cold"
The nurse brought me with a sandwich with my Dixie cup of Dopamine doublers. I don't know what caused this ingestible gesture but after dealing with the cafeteria food for so long I was grateful for the outside edible. As I unwrapped the hoagie I noticed that it was half eaten. What the hell? That's when the nurse smiled like a ghoul and told me that it was her leftover lunch. Worse than that it was a hot sandwich which was now cold. Fantastic, she's so good to me.
When it comes to the kitchen, I can get around with the dexterity of a cat with attention deficit disorder. Not just a heat and eat guy, I can make a batch of cookies, cheesecakes from scratch, and plenty more. But I also know when to save the microwave and enjoy my left overs cold.
Some foods, not all mind you, but some taste wonderful when served straight from the ice box.
Chief among them greatest cold left overs is SuperMom's meatloaf. A sandwich, mayo, ketchup, a slice of cheese and a healthy, or completely unhealthy, slab of cold meatloaf can be a meal all in itself.
Now, any college student or poor person worth their salt knows that while pizza straight from the Queen of Coins delivery service is awesome, it can be even better the next day, cold. Not all ingredients make for a good cold slice. Pepperoni isn't my favorite, ham and pineapple, though, that's the stuff of dreams. Supreme pizza, the veggies tend to loose their snap in the fridge so I would pass on that as well. I'm sure the Queen will have some excellent advice for you on this.
Spaghetti. Mixed with a nice marinara meat sauce, is delectable when frigid. I have been known at times to place cold spaghetti between two slices of Wonder bread and wallowed in the carb load sandwich. It's decadent and bad for you, but isn't the best stuff always bad for you?
What's your favorite cold leftover?
Dixie Cup of Love: MeatLoaf, cause naming yourself after a glob a meat is tough.
The nurse brought me with a sandwich with my Dixie cup of Dopamine doublers. I don't know what caused this ingestible gesture but after dealing with the cafeteria food for so long I was grateful for the outside edible. As I unwrapped the hoagie I noticed that it was half eaten. What the hell? That's when the nurse smiled like a ghoul and told me that it was her leftover lunch. Worse than that it was a hot sandwich which was now cold. Fantastic, she's so good to me.
When it comes to the kitchen, I can get around with the dexterity of a cat with attention deficit disorder. Not just a heat and eat guy, I can make a batch of cookies, cheesecakes from scratch, and plenty more. But I also know when to save the microwave and enjoy my left overs cold.
Some foods, not all mind you, but some taste wonderful when served straight from the ice box.
Chief among them greatest cold left overs is SuperMom's meatloaf. A sandwich, mayo, ketchup, a slice of cheese and a healthy, or completely unhealthy, slab of cold meatloaf can be a meal all in itself.
Now, any college student or poor person worth their salt knows that while pizza straight from the Queen of Coins delivery service is awesome, it can be even better the next day, cold. Not all ingredients make for a good cold slice. Pepperoni isn't my favorite, ham and pineapple, though, that's the stuff of dreams. Supreme pizza, the veggies tend to loose their snap in the fridge so I would pass on that as well. I'm sure the Queen will have some excellent advice for you on this.
Spaghetti. Mixed with a nice marinara meat sauce, is delectable when frigid. I have been known at times to place cold spaghetti between two slices of Wonder bread and wallowed in the carb load sandwich. It's decadent and bad for you, but isn't the best stuff always bad for you?
What's your favorite cold leftover?
Dixie Cup of Love: MeatLoaf, cause naming yourself after a glob a meat is tough.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Getting the Wind
"Pick it, pack it, fire it up, come along and take hits from the bong. Put the blunt down just for a second. Don't get me wrong it's not a new method. Inhale, Exhale - just got a ounce in the mail" Cypress Hill from "Hits From The Bong"
As the nurse came in for my morning pharming expedition she sneezed. Customarily I would intone a blessing upon her, but I didn't want to waste any of my good kharma with the G man on her. I guess it was rude of me, bad manners and all. SuperMom taught my siblings and I to be the perfect picture of well adjusted normals in public, but at home the real heathen side came out. I don't know quite how she achieved this since when I look around today kids are about as well mannered as sports fans in Philadelphia (ask someone who likes sports if you don't understand). And then there are other issues of proper etiquette that often come to my attention.
People are constantly coming up to me on the street and saying "Hey Mike, when I'm in the "Circle of Chinese Eyes" what's the proper etiquette?" Okay, so it doesn't happen all that often, but as a once proud consumer of "the Chronic" I have a few things to say on the manners associated with marijuana.
What to call it. Weed, pot, Mary Jane, Cheeba, Aunt Mary, wacky tobaccy, reefer, Goofy stick, loco weed, the Yellow Submarine, call it whatever the hell you want, there are more names for "Acapulco Gold" than there are for God. Which is why some think of "Mowing the Grass" as a religious experience. I've never smoked a blunt and seen Jesus, but then I don't usually toke with people of Hispanic heritage.
Which way to pass. Left or right. If your biggest problem is not knowing which person to hand the spliff to, then I guess you're doing better than the rest of us. For my part, I like being in a "Ring of Fire" that has a joint going one way and a bong load going the other. It keeps those involved in the moment and doesn't allow for the dreaded "babysitter", you know that person that holds onto the "pocket rocket" as if they are trying to get high through osmosis of the fingertips. Puff, puff, give. That's all one needs to know in a "Tour de Fatty".
When to say when. When "Burning the Broccoli" there are those among us that inhale at an alarming rate. A quick rule of the thumb is to "bomb the bud" until one starts to get the "tingle of the mingle". As it does take "the Assassin of Youth" a while to come to full effect, some smoke into a place we like to call "coma". That's when they can no longer move their limbs without intense thought and have a hard time staying awake. Nothing worse than sleeping off a "bake sale". Smoking with people that are of the same tolerance level as yourself is a key component. Novice and "brown frown" smokers who are firing up some "kind bud" need be cautious.
When is the best time to blaze. The myth of 4:20 states that at that particular moment in each day, it's the best time to have some "laughing leaf". Truth be told if you're a "wake and bake" specialist who puffs just as your eyes open, a Price is Right fan who waits until just before noon, the "All My Cheeba" afternoon specialist, the "Drive Time Doobie" traffic toker, or the "Nighttime is Righttime" kind of person there is no prescribed time of day when the "Green Goddess" is gonna get you any more "Squirrel eyed".
Should I smoke out the dealer. A common misconception is that the guy selling you the "Northern Lights" is just rolling in bags of "Kush". Does a car salesman have extra cars sitting around in his driveway? It's just common courtesy to ask. There are times when you, yourself aren't ready to hit that "nickel bag". In times like this explain that you would, but whatever it is that you are about to do requires that you be "straight", most likely going to court or work, and that next time you will "fire up a bowl of cereal" for your guy. And do always call him "My guy". Male or female, doesn't matter, when it comes to the "purveyor of potent smokables" no one wants to be referred to as a dealer. Those people are slimy. My guy is a facilitator.
As more questions come to me I will try to answer them, but I gotta be honest, I'm a few brain cells short of Stephen Hawking at this point, so I may not remember.
Questions? Comments? Queries?
Dixie Cup of Love: Nancy Botwins of the World.
As the nurse came in for my morning pharming expedition she sneezed. Customarily I would intone a blessing upon her, but I didn't want to waste any of my good kharma with the G man on her. I guess it was rude of me, bad manners and all. SuperMom taught my siblings and I to be the perfect picture of well adjusted normals in public, but at home the real heathen side came out. I don't know quite how she achieved this since when I look around today kids are about as well mannered as sports fans in Philadelphia (ask someone who likes sports if you don't understand). And then there are other issues of proper etiquette that often come to my attention.
People are constantly coming up to me on the street and saying "Hey Mike, when I'm in the "Circle of Chinese Eyes" what's the proper etiquette?" Okay, so it doesn't happen all that often, but as a once proud consumer of "the Chronic" I have a few things to say on the manners associated with marijuana.
What to call it. Weed, pot, Mary Jane, Cheeba, Aunt Mary, wacky tobaccy, reefer, Goofy stick, loco weed, the Yellow Submarine, call it whatever the hell you want, there are more names for "Acapulco Gold" than there are for God. Which is why some think of "Mowing the Grass" as a religious experience. I've never smoked a blunt and seen Jesus, but then I don't usually toke with people of Hispanic heritage.
Which way to pass. Left or right. If your biggest problem is not knowing which person to hand the spliff to, then I guess you're doing better than the rest of us. For my part, I like being in a "Ring of Fire" that has a joint going one way and a bong load going the other. It keeps those involved in the moment and doesn't allow for the dreaded "babysitter", you know that person that holds onto the "pocket rocket" as if they are trying to get high through osmosis of the fingertips. Puff, puff, give. That's all one needs to know in a "Tour de Fatty".
When to say when. When "Burning the Broccoli" there are those among us that inhale at an alarming rate. A quick rule of the thumb is to "bomb the bud" until one starts to get the "tingle of the mingle". As it does take "the Assassin of Youth" a while to come to full effect, some smoke into a place we like to call "coma". That's when they can no longer move their limbs without intense thought and have a hard time staying awake. Nothing worse than sleeping off a "bake sale". Smoking with people that are of the same tolerance level as yourself is a key component. Novice and "brown frown" smokers who are firing up some "kind bud" need be cautious.
When is the best time to blaze. The myth of 4:20 states that at that particular moment in each day, it's the best time to have some "laughing leaf". Truth be told if you're a "wake and bake" specialist who puffs just as your eyes open, a Price is Right fan who waits until just before noon, the "All My Cheeba" afternoon specialist, the "Drive Time Doobie" traffic toker, or the "Nighttime is Righttime" kind of person there is no prescribed time of day when the "Green Goddess" is gonna get you any more "Squirrel eyed".
Should I smoke out the dealer. A common misconception is that the guy selling you the "Northern Lights" is just rolling in bags of "Kush". Does a car salesman have extra cars sitting around in his driveway? It's just common courtesy to ask. There are times when you, yourself aren't ready to hit that "nickel bag". In times like this explain that you would, but whatever it is that you are about to do requires that you be "straight", most likely going to court or work, and that next time you will "fire up a bowl of cereal" for your guy. And do always call him "My guy". Male or female, doesn't matter, when it comes to the "purveyor of potent smokables" no one wants to be referred to as a dealer. Those people are slimy. My guy is a facilitator.
As more questions come to me I will try to answer them, but I gotta be honest, I'm a few brain cells short of Stephen Hawking at this point, so I may not remember.
Questions? Comments? Queries?
Dixie Cup of Love: Nancy Botwins of the World.
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