Am I showing my old age when, at the mention of "mushrooms," the first thing I think about is pizza & not psychedelic drugs?
But it's true, nowadays eating good food trumps heady hallucinatory experiences. Good food is also what's in the forefront of my mind when vacations loom. I have to go to my nephew's wedding reception in a month &, while I'm happy for the little doofus, I will be happier to be in Dallas to eat at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. Interestingly, I don't think they use mushrooms in Ethiopian food.
In fact, the wife & I are traveling to Columbus next week to go to delicious vegan restaurants there, & especially to this place, which is an amazing vegan bakery.
Well! All this talk about food is reminding me to eat lunch. Ciao for now!
P.S. Like melons last weeks, mushrooms are another food I don't much like. What the hell is wrong with me?
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
That One Friday Moment
"Did you drop this banjo?" the not-well girl said to the sleep-deprived man, pointing at a paper airplane on the pavement.
The sleep-deprived man did not hear her, but he did see her. He was convinced he was walking down a street in a dream. As a rule, he was sure he heard no sound in his dreams, believing instead that everyone in his dreams communicated telepathically, & because of his sleep-deprived state, his brain shut off his sonic comprehension when it perceived the not-well girl in front of him was moving her lips. Speaking! In a dream! It didn't happen.
The not-well girl seemed to be having trouble staying upright, but despite her swaying, she managed to stay vertical. While she wasn't exactly having hallucinations, it was true that her vision was impaired, & in addition to that, circuits misfiring in her brain were confusing words. She held up a hand to the sleep-deprived man & said, "I promise, no one has ever repainted the salt & pepper shakers!"
The sleep-deprived man has recently suffered some sort of major loss - a job, perhaps, or a fond relative - & found himself unable to close his eyes. Like drink, lack of sleep kept him intoxicated & forgetful. The not-well girl did not look like she was doing very well, & despite her pitiful silence, she seemed emphatic in her miming. He moved closer to her just as she began a collapse.
He fell with her.
"It's like watching paint peel!" she screamed as they fell to the sidewalk. The sleep-deprived man hit his head on a rusty bolt securing a public trash receptacle to the concrete, & it cut into his skull so that a trickle of blood began to roll down the right side of his head & onto his ear.
Three bystanders had gathered around the sprawled pair, the sleep-deprived man under the not-well girl, the one stone-still with eyes wide open, the other frail & twitching, pale as morning light. Cell phones were out & the passers-by who didn't want to get involved still managed to slow their pace & have a look.
The sleep-deprived man thought he saw the entire sky about to come down on him, but he felt, at that moment, that he perhaps deserved it, & with the pressure on his chest he thought was his body full of righteous adrenalin, he silently bade it come.
The not-well girl, who had no idea what was happening to her, still managed to understand that a kindness had been done to her, & she turned her thin face to stare directly at the sleep-deprived man's bloody ear. "I have done fruitful things," she said gratefully.
The sleep-deprived man did not hear her, but he did see her. He was convinced he was walking down a street in a dream. As a rule, he was sure he heard no sound in his dreams, believing instead that everyone in his dreams communicated telepathically, & because of his sleep-deprived state, his brain shut off his sonic comprehension when it perceived the not-well girl in front of him was moving her lips. Speaking! In a dream! It didn't happen.
The not-well girl seemed to be having trouble staying upright, but despite her swaying, she managed to stay vertical. While she wasn't exactly having hallucinations, it was true that her vision was impaired, & in addition to that, circuits misfiring in her brain were confusing words. She held up a hand to the sleep-deprived man & said, "I promise, no one has ever repainted the salt & pepper shakers!"
The sleep-deprived man has recently suffered some sort of major loss - a job, perhaps, or a fond relative - & found himself unable to close his eyes. Like drink, lack of sleep kept him intoxicated & forgetful. The not-well girl did not look like she was doing very well, & despite her pitiful silence, she seemed emphatic in her miming. He moved closer to her just as she began a collapse.
He fell with her.
"It's like watching paint peel!" she screamed as they fell to the sidewalk. The sleep-deprived man hit his head on a rusty bolt securing a public trash receptacle to the concrete, & it cut into his skull so that a trickle of blood began to roll down the right side of his head & onto his ear.
Three bystanders had gathered around the sprawled pair, the sleep-deprived man under the not-well girl, the one stone-still with eyes wide open, the other frail & twitching, pale as morning light. Cell phones were out & the passers-by who didn't want to get involved still managed to slow their pace & have a look.
The sleep-deprived man thought he saw the entire sky about to come down on him, but he felt, at that moment, that he perhaps deserved it, & with the pressure on his chest he thought was his body full of righteous adrenalin, he silently bade it come.
The not-well girl, who had no idea what was happening to her, still managed to understand that a kindness had been done to her, & she turned her thin face to stare directly at the sleep-deprived man's bloody ear. "I have done fruitful things," she said gratefully.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Ripe Melons On The Vine
It's too bad the word "melon" has naughty connotations. Every time I say it I feel my inner Benny Hill coming out.
(Benny Hill died a lonely death, in a chair, in front of a television. I need to read a biography of him, because I am a little obsessed with how lonesome his life was.)
But I managed not to mention "melons" in the sense of "women's breasts" at all on last night's Self Help Radio. Which means it is therefore fun for the whole family. Hey! & if you want to make your family listen to it, it's on the vine at selfhelpradio.net!
Just watch where you spit those seeds!
(Benny Hill died a lonely death, in a chair, in front of a television. I need to read a biography of him, because I am a little obsessed with how lonesome his life was.)
But I managed not to mention "melons" in the sense of "women's breasts" at all on last night's Self Help Radio. Which means it is therefore fun for the whole family. Hey! & if you want to make your family listen to it, it's on the vine at selfhelpradio.net!
Just watch where you spit those seeds!
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sleepiest Of Sleepies
I've been eating nothing but melons for an entire week & boy are my teeth tired. Do you know the saying "Too many melons makes Mark a cranky case?" No? That's weird, I hear it all the time amongst my melonheaded friends. In any event, I am not sure there's enough to sustain us, even on all these melons, but I have learned to spit watermelon seeds very, very far.
Did you know that the watermelon was cultivated in China over a thousand years ago? But the Vietnamese claim they had the watermelon before the Chinese. Indeed, they have a legend about Prince Mai An Tiêm, who was an adopted son of one of the Hùng Kings (as opposed, you know, to the Wel Hùng Kings). Says the Wikipedia, "When the prince was exiled unjustly to an island, he was told that if he could survive for six months, he would be allowed to return. When he prayed for guidance, a bird flew past & dropped a seed. He cultivated the seed & called its fruit western melon, because the birds who ate it flew from the west." But wait! Doesn't that mean the bird (is "dropped a seed" a metaphor for pooping?) got the seed from somewhere? Like Africa, where it is thought watermelons originated?
That's neither here nor there, of course, as I am not a prince nor am I related to the Hùng Kings, & I think my skin is turning orange from all the melon I've consumed. Do listen to me regurgitate all the melons have taught me this week tonight on Self Help Radio, which will air at midnight on 88.1 fm WMUL & then later it'll be archived at selfhelpradio.net. & from tiny seeds shall fat melons grow!
Did you know that the watermelon was cultivated in China over a thousand years ago? But the Vietnamese claim they had the watermelon before the Chinese. Indeed, they have a legend about Prince Mai An Tiêm, who was an adopted son of one of the Hùng Kings (as opposed, you know, to the Wel Hùng Kings). Says the Wikipedia, "When the prince was exiled unjustly to an island, he was told that if he could survive for six months, he would be allowed to return. When he prayed for guidance, a bird flew past & dropped a seed. He cultivated the seed & called its fruit western melon, because the birds who ate it flew from the west." But wait! Doesn't that mean the bird (is "dropped a seed" a metaphor for pooping?) got the seed from somewhere? Like Africa, where it is thought watermelons originated?
That's neither here nor there, of course, as I am not a prince nor am I related to the Hùng Kings, & I think my skin is turning orange from all the melon I've consumed. Do listen to me regurgitate all the melons have taught me this week tonight on Self Help Radio, which will air at midnight on 88.1 fm WMUL & then later it'll be archived at selfhelpradio.net. & from tiny seeds shall fat melons grow!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Whither Melons?
You: Yeah, what's up with that? You don't even like melons!
Me: How... How did you know that?
You: You're very vehement in your dislike of melons. I'm sure you've mentioned it many times before.
Me: I have?
You: Doesn't that sound like something you'd do?
Me: I don't have to like the subject I pick for the show. I did a show about butchers...
You: Just to make people sick about eating meat.
Me: That's not true!
You: Are you saying you don't have an agenda?
Me: Oh, I'm sure that there are things I feel strongly about which I...
You: I bet you don't even like watermelon gum.
Me: Actually, the "melon" taste of candy is different from the taste of the fruit which...
You: I once saw you spit out a Jolly Rancher.
Me: That's a weird thing to say.
You: I think you're trying to curry some kind of favor with your wife or something.
Me: What?
You: She's always eating some kind of melon.
Me: But she doesn't even listen to the show!
You: You are a hypocrite.
Me: Me?
You: Eat this melon.
Me: No! No! I won't!
You: It's sweet & juicy & very, very ripe.
Me: No! I don't like melons!
You: You must eat this melon!
Me: Can't I just play a song about it instead?
Me: How... How did you know that?
You: You're very vehement in your dislike of melons. I'm sure you've mentioned it many times before.
Me: I have?
You: Doesn't that sound like something you'd do?
Me: I don't have to like the subject I pick for the show. I did a show about butchers...
You: Just to make people sick about eating meat.
Me: That's not true!
You: Are you saying you don't have an agenda?
Me: Oh, I'm sure that there are things I feel strongly about which I...
You: I bet you don't even like watermelon gum.
Me: Actually, the "melon" taste of candy is different from the taste of the fruit which...
You: I once saw you spit out a Jolly Rancher.
Me: That's a weird thing to say.
You: I think you're trying to curry some kind of favor with your wife or something.
Me: What?
You: She's always eating some kind of melon.
Me: But she doesn't even listen to the show!
You: You are a hypocrite.
Me: Me?
You: Eat this melon.
Me: No! No! I won't!
You: It's sweet & juicy & very, very ripe.
Me: No! I don't like melons!
You: You must eat this melon!
Me: Can't I just play a song about it instead?