Thursday, October 25, 2007

To Hawkeye Rachel:

This is Rachel. I don't know Rachel, but in a previous blog on MySpace I definitely named her in my "A List Of People I Hate Because of Their Flixster Reviews." I don't know if this profile picture was put up specifically to scare me, or if she just likes to appear as the rough and ready 20 year old from Dubuque, Iowa she is. Wait, she's from Iowa, this is her "Hawkeye" look.

She found my blog on MySpace today, presumably by searching for her own name, and left the comment, "
Excuse me, but I have to inquire what it is you hate so much about my Flixster reviews." This is a good question, one that I cannot exactly remember the answer to. I decided I hated her on August 7 - that's like decades ago. But, I made that list based on people who were completely stupid in their reviews, i.e. they have bad taste, they cannot express themselves intelligibly, whatever. So, Rachel, I said I hate you because you have bad taste. That's all. Nothing to give the old Hawkeye about.

Now, in doing some research, aka talking to one of my friends on gchat about you and my friend googling you, we found out that you made the Dean's list. Way to go, Rachel! But you know, non-acquaintance, dean's list doesn't equate to having good taste. So keep on studying and being a member of CLEAN (Clarke Leads Environmental Action Now). I appreciate that, even though On August 7, I said I hated you.

As a side note, today my mother referred to me as "caustic". I have no idea what she's talking about.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Molly is not good with children until they turn 15.

My interactions with children can best be expressed by a scene from the sitcom, "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia."

Charlie: Ok, here we go fresh air. Have a seat. Breathe it in fresh air.
Obnoxious kid: You suck
Charlie: You suck
Obnoxious kid: You suck, and you have an ugly face
Enter waitress.
Waitress: What are you doing?
Obnoxious kid: I’m drunk
Waitress: He’s drunk?
Charlie: He’s not drunk
Obnoxious kid: I am drunk.
Waitress: He sounds drunk.
Obnoxious kid: I am drunk,
Obnoxious and drunk child vomits.

I am a literate Charlie Kelly.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

I.A. or J.L. Stendal died and I bought one of their suitcases.

I went to an estate sale on Saturday and purchased the coolest piece of luggage, um, ever. It's a cream leather Skyway bag, 18"x18"x11", and though it is OLD, it's in great shape. I love it more than I should love a material possession.

When I brought my new treasure home, I opened it and found some travel left-overs. I find that I am one of the only people who checks every pocket of a suitcase before storing it.

The bag is monogrammed with the initials I.A.S., but the identity on the inside of the bag is
John L. Stendal 2336 NE 39th, Portland, OR AV1-0462

I also found, 2 pencils, 2 matchbooks from the Plaza when the phone number for the hotel was still being written as 212 - PLaza 9-3000, 2 chips good for one free drink at Club Cal-Neva, 2 Golden Horseshoe Inn - Williamsburg pins, 2 ten cent blue chip stamps, 1 matchbook from Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour in Portland, and 1 little can of saddle soap, which I used to clean up the leather a little bit.

No real treasures, but I know that the bag is one thing that has been to Reno and didn't come back five mother-may-i-sized giant steps closer toward white-trashiness, which is no small feat. Way to go new-to-me suitcase! And who knows, maybe someone on ebay wants some matchbooks.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Grandmother Willow’s Brief History of Manhattan

Dedicated to Lady Jooj, Captain Ali & Sister Sara

Gather around dears, and let me tell you a tale that has long been forgotten, about the very beginnings of New York City. Forget everything you’ve heard about The Astors or Carnegie, listen to the true story, from the mouth of someone who lived through it all.

It all started in the year 1402, a primitive time in America, Trump Tower hadn’t been built yet, and Columbus wouldn’t come along for another six years bringing the Pilgrims & our first President, John Smith, on the Ninja, The Pinto and the SS Minnow. The Island of Manhattan was comprised entirely of rocks, and only 103 brave souls lived there. Specifically, 82 Poles and 21 Americans. After kicking the original inhabitants off in 1398, the Poles and Americans got along fairly well, but that all changed when a natural supply of hydrogenated oils were found in Little America.

The Polish settlers grew jealous and figured they could win against a group a fourth their size, and they were right. There was a lot of bloodshed, and metal-infused-solid-at-room-temperature oil stolen. Following the battle, the 8 remaining Americans were forced to live off of the 215th St. subway stop. With the Americans out of the way, the Poles developed and cultivated the rest of the island, under the leadership of King Jagiellow and probably the most famous Pole, Duane Reade I. They built pharmacies and a park in the center of the island, to remind them of their homeland. They lived together in the Park in a commune situation promoting free love and the worship of L. Ron Hubbard.

After a few years of living in squalor and segregation, the Americans decided that they needed to take back their precious natural resource in addition to gaining power of the island, but knew that 8 people could not a difference make. They decided to go recruiting people from other boroughs and lands. They attracted people with lies about freedom and endless possibilities, a lie we still capitalize on today. The Polish governing class was excited about the population increase, and taxed heavily (and failed to represent), causing a greater rift between the two cultures.

By 1974, Americans were all over the island, while the small, inbred Polish population only had control of Central Park, with their leaders living in Mr. Belvedere Castle. There was a lot of hostility between the two groups, mostly fuelled by the fact that every night for a month, on the one channel in NYC, there was a six hour long SOAP marathon. Artists of all kinds reacted to the Hatfield/McCoy-esque feud, and the social injustice they were suffering. Playwright Tennessee Williams wrote a play about the tension between the two groups called, “Menagerie of Street Cats Named Spandex.”

The Americans had tried unsuccessfully a few times to stage rebellions, but somehow it never seemed to pan out. That is until that fateful night. I don’t think the writers of Welcome Back Kotter could have known what they were doing when they wrote the episode, “Inherit the Halibut,” but they were setting the stage for the greatest insurgence in human history. The Americans came to Central Park, and pushed them back. They pushed them back, WAAAAYY back. In one brief battle, the Americans conquered Manhattan and sent all of the Polish governing class to Coney Island. Woody Allen replaced Duane Reade CDLXVII as King of Manhattan, allowing New York City to become the land of plenty of imitation Coach bags it was destined to be.

I’d like to say that all of the hostility has died down between the two groups by now, but sadly it hasn’t. Relics of the Polish legacy still pepper Central Park and the rest of the island. The Poles use Coney Island as a playground for pain. They designed a roller coaster, so cruel and menacing that it gives every rider not only the roller coaster induced elation, but also mean cases of whiplash and night terrors. They also have an on going event they call, “shoot the freak” where they make an innocent American run around and get pelted by paint balls, and they don't even provide counseling for PTSD. But every day, you can make the choice of who you want to support. When you visit a vendor on the street, what will it be, a Hot Dog or a Polish Sausage?

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Covering The Universe

I love good covers. Personal Jesus - Johnny Cash. Can't Get it Out of My Head - John Paul White. Space Oddity - Langley Schools Music Project.

I have to say I tend to be pickier when it comes to covers of Beatles songs. Example: I really like Ben Folds. I LOVE the song Golden Slumbers, but didn't particularly enjoy their convergence. I thought, until this afternoon, it was because I care so deeply about Golden Slumbers that I feel affronted every time I hear Ben warble it out. Not so.

I saw Across The Universe today. I'm not going to tell you what I thought of the movie itself, because I'm still working that out in my mind, but I will tell you that I felt everything that is positive and good while Martin Luther was singing one of my favorite Beatles tunes, While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Martin Luther (while acting apparently he's using his fill name, Martin Luther McCoy) is one of the most talented people around today. I've been a fan of his collaborations with The Roots for a long time, and have just ordered one of his solo albums on amazon, but holy guac - I did not see this coming.

Maybe it's his seamless blending of Babyface and Hendrix, or how he is pure sex. But as far as I'm concerned, listening to that song is four minutes and two seconds of "every strand of me feels weakened by the desire to kiss you."