Knoxville Blues

I made this.

It was my only sale at the Knoxville T-shirt Dealey.

Which makes me proud that someone wanted it...

but also jealous that they now have it and I don't.

Pathetic, no?

By the Farmer's Market

Knoxville Tee Postmortem

Holiday Cheer

It's 5 a.m. on Christmas day (the birthday of our Lord, Jesus Christ!) and I am sitting in the darkness, typing...

I am typing on this, the best of all possible computers (dude, its a Dell!), in the best of all possible condos (sure it's a little "beige", whatever), in this, the best of all possible towns... Phoenix, Arizona, for the uninitiated.

It is truly the best of all possible worlds.

*Yeah, okay, I've just re-read "Candide" and for those of you who don't care for the philosophy of optimism, maybe you'd better just take your christmas goose and get it stuffed somewhere else, comprende? I suppose you could always ask for your money back, but no, wait, that's right, I'm doing this for free - and you're just along for the ride, so maybe you should just kiss my big hairy ass if you don't like it!

(Long Pause)

Sigh. On the other hand, I do write this crap for a reason, ego gratification or whatever, so maybe I could be a little more, you know, diplomatic or whatever. So, okay, just forget that whole "kiss my ass" thing. Sorry. I'm just feeling a little vulnerable right now, okay? Seriously. No, seriously, dude. Seriously, dude! Oh, just f*ck off, then!

Anyway, the festivities started Friday when T showed up from L.A. and we hoofed over to Carly's for a cold one.

The plan had been to meet up with a couple old buddies, in town for the holidays, and enjoy a rousting boys night out, just like old times. At least that's how Seal had pitched it.

J didn't get the memo, however, and when he brought his girlfriend, the door was opened to a considerably wider demographic. Subsequently, Boys Night Out turned into something more like Holiday Family Fun - cool, but not the same - and T & I ghosted* after the 2nd bar.

Back downtown, we met up with M at the Lost Leaf. M, meantime, had just fallen off the wagon and after 4 dry months was quickly making up for lost time.

Accordingly, we settled in with her at a table next to the bar, hunkered down, rolled up our sleeves, and prepared for a night of "good cheer" (not to mention a little game of "catch up").

A few hours and many drinks later, M, my girlfriend, took advantage of a gap in conversation, to make the following pronouncement:

I sometimes fantasize I have a penis.

And that was just the beginning of the weekend.

*ghosted - vanished: dissappeared: became invisible or unnoticeable

X-mas

Ball

Hick Sheep

In preparation for an evening on the town, I changed out of my work duds into a hoody/suit-jacket/tattered-jeans kinda thing and swaggered towards the door. Once there, I paused and turned to M.

What I meant to say, was:

Am I hip, chic*, or what?

What came out of my mouth:

Am I Hick Sheep or what?

After rolling around on the floor for a bit, M got up and we went to dinner.

The waiter was a jerk, too.

* "Chic," here, is pronounced "sheek." Duh.

A Different Reality

I was driving down Central Avenue last weekend. Up actually. The streets are all torn up with Lightrail construction and it's pretty slow going.

Near the library, while trying to navigate my boat of a company truck safely between flashing safety barriers and shards of jagged edged asphalt, I saw her.

She was possibly the most unnappealing woman I have ever seen, at about 5 foot tall, weighing around two and half bills, with a mop of unkempt hair, a large hairy facial mole and lips pulled back in, what appeared to be, a well practiced snarl.

She was poured into a pair of grimy, threadbare sweatpants and an equally grubby hoody.

The hoody had been unzipped to reveal a t-shirt with the following, written in large colorful letters:

I have the Pussy
-so-
I make the Rules!

What's my point?

At the time, I assumed the shirt was pretty much a "f*ck you!" to the world, but I now find myself wondering...

Could she have been oblivious to the sentiment on her shirt? Perhaps she was mentally handicapped or indifferent, even - maybe so poor she literally couldn't afford to care.

Or it could've been a Zen thing - detachment from worldly things and all that. The clothing was funtional, after all. Who cares about some stupidly worded sentiments? Hell, maybe the snarl wasn't even a snarl - maybe just a natural deformity.

On the other hand, she could be truly delusional - believe she has power over men (and/or women) based on the addictive quality of her sex.

But I like the last possibility, best.

What if the shirt was brazenly proclaiming the truth? What if, somewhere, she actually has a devotee? Maybe even a whole slew of them...

All hooked on that nooky.

Final

Night Rain

Thanksgiving Eve

What it shall be...

What it is

Photoshop gone awry

I'd spent about 14 hours producing the above image for a Knoxville t-shirt thingey in connection with my sister, due by Thanksgiving.

The time did not include actual photography and editing, of course, but after burning the midnight oil, then springing forth like Perseus from the head of Zeus (or whatever) I asked my beloved to give me her input.

M sat at the computer, readjusted the screen, stared for a moment, then with furrowed brow, said:

"I'm not quite sure what you're going for here."

I thought about mentioning the subtly ironic christ-like tones, but, instead, went and laid down on the couch in the fetal position.

Sigh.

Back to the drawing board.

Or, if you like , click on the above for a larger, printworthy image, and you kids at home can be the proud owner of a "He is Risen" Iron-On.

Or whatever.

Science

1st & Pierce

Tree

Morning Soup

I was on the balcony this morning, eating M's mexican chicken soup, observing the people milling around in the street below and listening to our downstairs neighbor bitch about the construction, when a large green balloon flew past.

It was the size of beachball and appeared to be descending towards the Farmer's Market at a pretty good clip, just a few hundred feet away.

"Gonna pop itself on that fence," I predicted to myself, and subsequently watched it's descent.

It zigged off course for a moment but then, sure enough, zagged back towards the top of the spiked fence, which it hit directly.

Now here's the interesing part:

Not only did the balloon not pop, but after rebounding from the really pointy spike it continued on in an upward trajectory. And not just for a few feet.

It dissappeared behind a tree, where I thought it had foundered, but then re-appeared, a hundred feet beyond, soaring into the sky.

It continued ascending until, finally, it literally dissappeared from sight.


*Interesting Side Note: While surfing balloon images for this post, I came across a balloon fetish site. Who knew?

These Things

Halloween '07

Mid Day

First Light

Survival of the Fittest

I recently read this online on another blog entry and found it rather amusing. Thought I'd share it:

Survival Of The Fittest

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 2007-08-30, 2:03PM EDT


Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

3 things...

Night Moves

Photo Cred to M

3 things that have nothing in common.

I'm currently reading 'Blindness', and so far I gotta say, it's not bad. My itunes has been playing the 'On An Island' CD by David Gilmour, and it's a perfect blend of sound for lazy Sunday afternoons. Even when Gilmour bends the strings of his Gibson loudly, it definitely floats through the house pleasantly. Last night I ended up at this place near my home called 'The Vig', off 40th St. and Indian School. It was a nice surprise of ambiance. Check it out, and get in the bocce ball if you can.

I'm going to go eat now.

Atmospheric

Legends, Myths & Folklore from Mexico.

My blog partner, Ad-man and his gal, M, invited me to the Phoenix Art Museum last Sunday afternoon for a viewing of the film 'Blue Velvet'. Having not been to the museum in a couple years or whatever, I realized I missed it. So, I had thought about going again this coming Sunday to trip around and see things I didn't get a chance to see last weekend.

In case you were wondering, this weekend the Phoenix Art Museum is hosting the 'Mexico in Words & Music' event. Tell you what - save yourself the $10 admission and swing by my house any day of the week and you'll get all kinds of Mexico in words and music to enjoy.

A Day in the Life

Woke up this morning 'round 6:30 and decided to greet the day*. In other words, roll out of bed, find M's Camera and stumble blearily out into the street.

Yes, this is yet another photog of the Westward Ho, but as Dr. Hannibal Lecter so succintly put it, we covet what we see. In fact, I've told M we will one day reside there, or own a business there, or maybe just go to a party, but damnit, we're getting inside! (If we could only get those pesky disabled and elderly people out of the way. Able bodied people have to live somewhere, am I right?!)

Here's a picture taken behind the abandoned building across from our place. I stuck my head in the hole, believe it or not, to see if there were any pictures worth taking inside. That and to make sure I wasn't disturbing anyone. In retrospect, popping a head into someone's domicile is probably more disturbing than a camera flash, but hindsight's always twenty-twenty. Neither photographic topics nor inhabitants were discovered, incidentally.

This was taken from across my bank, where, synchronistically**, I was headed to withdraw funds. The light you see is actually reflected off the Chase Bank Building onto this parking structure. Pretty f*cking cool, hunh?***

This fireplug is on yet another side of the bank building. I'd passed it, the went back to study it when I became aware of a short, frumpy, hispanic woman peering out at me from the bus shelter, just a few feet away. I quickly snapped the pic and moved on.

My father and his girlfriend have a tradition I was reminded of at his 60th birthday party****. They exchange postcards or photos upon which they've written numbers, referencing them to tongue-in-cheek, virtual catalog they've created . Simply put, all images refer to either the male or female sex.

"A bit phallic," said M, when she saw this pic.

"Naw," I told her, "it's an 'n'".

"'N' As in nookie?" she asked.

Which reminded me of the postcard thing.


This next photo is an ode to the tale of El Gato Perdido, which is too long to recount here, but accounts for the dissappearance and subsequent reappearance of Slacker the Cat. Just imagine yelling "Slacker!" over the fence at a bunch of construction workers all hours of the day and night and you get a hint of the sleep deprived mania gripping both M and myself.

Here's one across from our place, again. It's actually the front of the abandoned building (the one with the broken window) pictured above.

Finally, I was dozing off while trying to read "A Brief History of Time" and I looked outside to witness this sunset.





*M said I'd been beerily snoring -but- point of fact, I'd drunken nary a beer the previous evening - nothing but Captain-n-Cokes all night long, on my honor!

**Ode to my father for this word, which I'm not even sure exists.

***Yet another line lifted from my father, aka Big Bucks Buzz!

****Hey old man, look at my life! I'm a lot like you were...