Oh yes yet again!
Going to Columbus now... We'll talk tomorrow.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Friday, May 07, 2010
I've Been To Lonelier Parties
Kristin stumbled over cracked concrete. She smoothed her skirt mechanically with her free hand, the cigarette in the other letting some of its ash fall. Behind her, she heard Alex do nearly the same thing - only in heels.
"Where the fuck does he live?" Alex said.
The street was dark, the lights strangely unlit though it was past dusk, early evening. Clouds had rolled in but decided to stay. Last night the moon was almost full, & the summer stars had been weirdly bright.
"That's his SUV," she said, though she didn't point. Or Alex couldn't see if she had.
They could hear laughter & chatter on a dark nearby porch. The plastic creaking of a cooler opening, followed by the rustling of wet ice as a bottle was lifted out, gave clues to the women though they still couldn't see anything or anyone.
"Someone didn't pay their bills," Alex muttered.
"I think they just haven't turned on any lights," said Kristin.
They heard the sounds of some Eagles' greatest hits record as someone opened a door, & Kristin turned to Alex & said, "Of course they're listening to that shit."
"Snob," laughed Alex, as she stood side-to-side with Kristin at the top of the sidewalk.
"Kristin!" a voice called out, & David was soon in front of them, holding a sweaty beer, pleased to meet Alex, offering her a damp hand.
The Eagles were replaced over time with Hall & Oates, or perhaps a band doing Hall & Oates covers, because the lead singer was a woman. Alex had been sitting on the back porch watching a small group start a fire, which they stood around, watching. Occasionally an insect zapped itself to death in unearthly blue at the far end of the porch, but Alex had gotten used to that sound. She had said something to someone earlier about wishing she had not quit smoking.
Kristin said, "Hey."
Alex said, "Hey."
Kristin said, "Are you ready to go?"
Alex said, "You want to go already?"
Kristin said, "Well, it's nearly one. Didn't you have that brunch thing?"
"I don't feel like I drank anything at all." She felt for the beer bottle at her side, shook it to remind herself it was empty.
"Hey," Kristin said, "you missed the whole porn party thing."
"What porn party thing?"
"David's friend George has a video camera," Kristin said. "He has apparently been visiting these web sites that are supposed to be like amateur porn filmed on parties. He spent the night trying to get people to have sex on camera."
"Oh no."
"He kept coming up to women & asking us to pretend it was Mardi Gras."
"Good lord."
Kristin laughed. "Someone took his camera away. Then they videotaped him throwing up in the bushes outside."
"Ha ha," Alex said.
"Do you mind," Kristin asked, "if I have one more cigarette before we go?"
"Sure," said Alex, & Kristin went inside again.
A sudden light in the corner of the backyard was shone on a balding, pudgy guy with a ponytail urinating by the back fence. The light came from a video camera. The handful of people in the backyard burst into laughter.
"Fuck you!" said George. "Fuck all y'all!"
"Where the fuck does he live?" Alex said.
The street was dark, the lights strangely unlit though it was past dusk, early evening. Clouds had rolled in but decided to stay. Last night the moon was almost full, & the summer stars had been weirdly bright.
"That's his SUV," she said, though she didn't point. Or Alex couldn't see if she had.
They could hear laughter & chatter on a dark nearby porch. The plastic creaking of a cooler opening, followed by the rustling of wet ice as a bottle was lifted out, gave clues to the women though they still couldn't see anything or anyone.
"Someone didn't pay their bills," Alex muttered.
"I think they just haven't turned on any lights," said Kristin.
They heard the sounds of some Eagles' greatest hits record as someone opened a door, & Kristin turned to Alex & said, "Of course they're listening to that shit."
"Snob," laughed Alex, as she stood side-to-side with Kristin at the top of the sidewalk.
"Kristin!" a voice called out, & David was soon in front of them, holding a sweaty beer, pleased to meet Alex, offering her a damp hand.
The Eagles were replaced over time with Hall & Oates, or perhaps a band doing Hall & Oates covers, because the lead singer was a woman. Alex had been sitting on the back porch watching a small group start a fire, which they stood around, watching. Occasionally an insect zapped itself to death in unearthly blue at the far end of the porch, but Alex had gotten used to that sound. She had said something to someone earlier about wishing she had not quit smoking.
Kristin said, "Hey."
Alex said, "Hey."
Kristin said, "Are you ready to go?"
Alex said, "You want to go already?"
Kristin said, "Well, it's nearly one. Didn't you have that brunch thing?"
"I don't feel like I drank anything at all." She felt for the beer bottle at her side, shook it to remind herself it was empty.
"Hey," Kristin said, "you missed the whole porn party thing."
"What porn party thing?"
"David's friend George has a video camera," Kristin said. "He has apparently been visiting these web sites that are supposed to be like amateur porn filmed on parties. He spent the night trying to get people to have sex on camera."
"Oh no."
"He kept coming up to women & asking us to pretend it was Mardi Gras."
"Good lord."
Kristin laughed. "Someone took his camera away. Then they videotaped him throwing up in the bushes outside."
"Ha ha," Alex said.
"Do you mind," Kristin asked, "if I have one more cigarette before we go?"
"Sure," said Alex, & Kristin went inside again.
A sudden light in the corner of the backyard was shone on a balding, pudgy guy with a ponytail urinating by the back fence. The light came from a video camera. The handful of people in the backyard burst into laughter.
"Fuck you!" said George. "Fuck all y'all!"
Monday, May 03, 2010
The Secrets Of The Postal Service Revealed!
I could send it in a letter to you, but I'd rather play it on the radio if you don't mind. Tonight! An entire Self Help Radio dedicate to women named Brown. Not performing, but, rather, in song. Jenny Brown, Lucy Brown, Bonnie Brown, Fanny Brown, even sweet Georgia Brown. Miss Brown, they'd say, to you. Doesn't that sound cool? It is!
Tonight, as I've said, at midnight sharp, on 88.1 fm WMUL in Huntington; archived later on selfhelpradio.net. If you name is Miss Brown - or even Mrs. Brown - the show is dedicated to you!
Tonight, as I've said, at midnight sharp, on 88.1 fm WMUL in Huntington; archived later on selfhelpradio.net. If you name is Miss Brown - or even Mrs. Brown - the show is dedicated to you!
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Whither The Lovely Miss Brown?
I once heard a story about a martial arts master who would tour high school auditoriums (auditoria?) & provide demonstrations to the students of the arts of self-defense &, if the audience were perhaps older, in meditation & the Eastern philosophies which provided the underlying reasons for entering into the discipline in the first place. The sinister secret was that the reason this martial arts master did what he did, going to elementary, middle, & high schools to throw children around, was because he was a convicted pedophile, & in fact (this was in the days before sex-offender databases), most of the time he was around the children it was quite illegal & could have gotten him thrown back into jail, if the authorities knew he was embracing children to "teach" them how to defend themselves. The fact was, this man was not trying to help the children at all; he would use the process to select his next victim, & in fact gain their trust so he could abuse them later.
I heard another story about him in which he travelled & taught not because he was a pervert, but because he had had a child who had been attacked & killed by a mugger or a bully & he regretted not teaching his child how to fight off such an attack because, you know, he wanted his child to study & become a doctor or lawyer or something "better" than he was. This story ends with the martial arts master by sheer coincidence teaching the selfsame bully who had killed his child &, recognizing him, breaking his neck on the spot. He goes to jail, maybe even gets the death penalty, but he has his revenge.
Both versions of the story appear to satisfy some lurid desire in the teller (&, the teller hopes, the listener) to either reiterate how vulnerable our children are or to satisfy our sense of revenge &/or irony. In both cases, though, the story is most definitively false, based on some banal backstory, embellished to have a point, be it shock value or a storyline. I happen to know that backstory, which goes like this:
There was a martial arts master in a medium-sized suburb who had a small strip mall "academy" & who would occasionally visit nearby middle schools & do a canned, dull demonstration, which mainly consisted on him throwing around his assistant. The long-suffering assistant was also his mistress, who had somehow fallen for him & his corny charisma, & on whom he took out his frustrations, & for whom he promised he'd leave his wife but never would. At one school, a teacher who had been reading contemporary accounts of child abuse & devil worship in child care centers, fueled by the false-memory-syndrome debacle, became convinced that the martial arts master, who, as I said, would occasionally talk about the Tao or perhaps Zen, was a Satanist & imagined that he was "collecting" children for devious rituals, & began to enlist parents in her concern. The martial arts master, unable to prove that he wasn't a Satanist, lost his school gigs, & eventually his students at his "academy" disappeared. He was fortunate to avoid criminal charges & jail time, but of course his marriage was broken & even his assistant left him, both women in his life unsure whether this man whom they thought they knew was really a pedophile. He began to drink & spent the rest of his lonely life working in a convenience store in a part of town nowhere near a school.
Okay, I confess I don't know if that's the real story, but I like it better than the first two.
I heard another story about him in which he travelled & taught not because he was a pervert, but because he had had a child who had been attacked & killed by a mugger or a bully & he regretted not teaching his child how to fight off such an attack because, you know, he wanted his child to study & become a doctor or lawyer or something "better" than he was. This story ends with the martial arts master by sheer coincidence teaching the selfsame bully who had killed his child &, recognizing him, breaking his neck on the spot. He goes to jail, maybe even gets the death penalty, but he has his revenge.
Both versions of the story appear to satisfy some lurid desire in the teller (&, the teller hopes, the listener) to either reiterate how vulnerable our children are or to satisfy our sense of revenge &/or irony. In both cases, though, the story is most definitively false, based on some banal backstory, embellished to have a point, be it shock value or a storyline. I happen to know that backstory, which goes like this:
There was a martial arts master in a medium-sized suburb who had a small strip mall "academy" & who would occasionally visit nearby middle schools & do a canned, dull demonstration, which mainly consisted on him throwing around his assistant. The long-suffering assistant was also his mistress, who had somehow fallen for him & his corny charisma, & on whom he took out his frustrations, & for whom he promised he'd leave his wife but never would. At one school, a teacher who had been reading contemporary accounts of child abuse & devil worship in child care centers, fueled by the false-memory-syndrome debacle, became convinced that the martial arts master, who, as I said, would occasionally talk about the Tao or perhaps Zen, was a Satanist & imagined that he was "collecting" children for devious rituals, & began to enlist parents in her concern. The martial arts master, unable to prove that he wasn't a Satanist, lost his school gigs, & eventually his students at his "academy" disappeared. He was fortunate to avoid criminal charges & jail time, but of course his marriage was broken & even his assistant left him, both women in his life unsure whether this man whom they thought they knew was really a pedophile. He began to drink & spent the rest of his lonely life working in a convenience store in a part of town nowhere near a school.
Okay, I confess I don't know if that's the real story, but I like it better than the first two.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Preface To The Lovely Miss Brown: Have I Ever Known A Miss Brown?
I don't think I have. I knew a few dudes named Brown in high school, but I don't think I knew a girl named Brown.
This is weird, because, according to the wikipedia, "According to the 1990 United States Census, Brown is the fifth most common family name in the United States... essentially identical in frequency to Jones." & I've known a couple of women whose last name was Jones.
I will research famous Miss Browns for the show. In the meantime, if you're a woman I know whose surname is Brown & I've forgotten about you, do let me know. I'll dedicate the show to you.
I'm a little weirded out by this - I just went through my old email - I apparently don't know any women whose last name is Brown.
I am going to go out in the rain right now to meet some!
This is weird, because, according to the wikipedia, "According to the 1990 United States Census, Brown is the fifth most common family name in the United States... essentially identical in frequency to Jones." & I've known a couple of women whose last name was Jones.
I will research famous Miss Browns for the show. In the meantime, if you're a woman I know whose surname is Brown & I've forgotten about you, do let me know. I'll dedicate the show to you.
I'm a little weirded out by this - I just went through my old email - I apparently don't know any women whose last name is Brown.
I am going to go out in the rain right now to meet some!
Friday, April 30, 2010
The Untimely Cat Cartoon Intervention
For this particular animated feature, Gus intended to subvert the whole cat vs. dog paradigm. Not a cat which outsmarted a dog - that had happened thousands of times - but a cat ]who was simply physically stronger than a dog. & not a giant cat versus a tiny dog, no; a normal sized tomcat versus your average cartoon bulldog. It would be unexpected & hilarious.
Gus' son, also named Gus, who often lent his voice to his father's cartoons, disagreed. "I don't understand, papa," he said, "why is the cat strong?"
"He's just strong," said the father.
"Does he eat spinach like Popeye?" asked little Gus.
"No, he's just strong."
The youngster couldn't wrap his brain around it. "Does he exercise? Does he take a pill? Did he find a genie? Is he magic? Is he a cat from another planet? Is he a cat from the future?"
"No, no, no," the older Gus tried to explain. "He just happens to be stronger than the dog. It's just how he's built. Have you ever known someone who, even if he is small, he's still stronger than a bigger guy?"
Young Gus thought about & said, "I guess so."
"This cat is like that! He just happens to be stronger than most other cats!"
"But even stronger than a dog?"
Gus nodded happily. "Yes!" he said. "That's what makes it funny!"
"But," said his son, "it doesn't make any sense!"
Gus thought about that sentence for a long time, & wondered at what age - if it happened at all - children understood absurdity. & then he rewrote the cat versus dog cartoon so the weaker cat outsmarted the beastly dog.
& his son Gus laughed & laughed.
Gus' son, also named Gus, who often lent his voice to his father's cartoons, disagreed. "I don't understand, papa," he said, "why is the cat strong?"
"He's just strong," said the father.
"Does he eat spinach like Popeye?" asked little Gus.
"No, he's just strong."
The youngster couldn't wrap his brain around it. "Does he exercise? Does he take a pill? Did he find a genie? Is he magic? Is he a cat from another planet? Is he a cat from the future?"
"No, no, no," the older Gus tried to explain. "He just happens to be stronger than the dog. It's just how he's built. Have you ever known someone who, even if he is small, he's still stronger than a bigger guy?"
Young Gus thought about & said, "I guess so."
"This cat is like that! He just happens to be stronger than most other cats!"
"But even stronger than a dog?"
Gus nodded happily. "Yes!" he said. "That's what makes it funny!"
"But," said his son, "it doesn't make any sense!"
Gus thought about that sentence for a long time, & wondered at what age - if it happened at all - children understood absurdity. & then he rewrote the cat versus dog cartoon so the weaker cat outsmarted the beastly dog.
& his son Gus laughed & laughed.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Officious; Meddlesome; Prying
That's my favorite definition of "busy": officious; meddlesome; prying. It really only survives in the phrase "busy body."
My second favorite definition of "busy" is: ornate, disparate, or clashing in design or colors; cluttered with small, unharmonious details; fussy.
Fussy! If there's one thing Self Help Radio is, it's fussy.
Don't believe me? You can't be too busy to listen to last night's Self Help Radio show, which had the theme "busy busy busy!"
Go to selfhelpradio.net & download it. Listen to it when you get a break from your busy day. Or while you're doing busy work. Or if you're just trying to look busy.
My second favorite definition of "busy" is: ornate, disparate, or clashing in design or colors; cluttered with small, unharmonious details; fussy.
Fussy! If there's one thing Self Help Radio is, it's fussy.
Don't believe me? You can't be too busy to listen to last night's Self Help Radio show, which had the theme "busy busy busy!"
Go to selfhelpradio.net & download it. Listen to it when you get a break from your busy day. Or while you're doing busy work. Or if you're just trying to look busy.
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Busy Night Tonight
You know, because I have a radio show to do. Might you take time out of your busy night to listen? It'll happen at midnight here in Huntington on 88.1 fm WMUL. Self Help Radio starts then; Sugar Substitute starts at 1:30. I get busy on both programs.
Too busy? Then please take some time out of your busy week to visit selfhelpradio.net where I will archive the program after it's done, probably tomorrow afternoon. You can then listen to it anywhere! & while you're on-the-go!
Self Help Radio - butting into busy lives since 2002.
Too busy? Then please take some time out of your busy week to visit selfhelpradio.net where I will archive the program after it's done, probably tomorrow afternoon. You can then listen to it anywhere! & while you're on-the-go!
Self Help Radio - butting into busy lives since 2002.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Whither Busy Busy Busy?
Eeep! I don't know what to write in this entry! I've been staring at a blank screen for too long! I am writing things like "eeep!" I am also thinking of rhymes for "busy"! There aren't many, actually: dizzy izzy lizzy tizzy. Unless you want to include hip-hop terms, like fo-schnizzy.
Oh, there's also citrusy. Is that a word? It's a delicious word! Maybe it counts as a "close rhyme."
Then there are words that look like they should rhyme with busy but don't: jealousy, lousy, mousy. I mean, they end with "usy" don't they? But they don't rhyme. Not even with each other! Now my brain hurts.
I love close rhymes, by the way. I think they're clever. Some folks, though, hate them & don't think they're rhymes at all. Fuck 'em, I say. If it sounds like it rhymes, it feels like it rhymes, it motherfucking rhymes.
I did have a problem this week, while trying to think of "busy" songs, of accidentally thinking of "dizzy" songs. Like the song "Dizzy" by Throwing Muses. I could have sworn the song went "busy busy busy in my head."
Here's a video of Throwing Muses performing that song live: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhlwhorM1uA.
Did that answer the question posed above? Was it supposed to?
Oh, there's also citrusy. Is that a word? It's a delicious word! Maybe it counts as a "close rhyme."
Then there are words that look like they should rhyme with busy but don't: jealousy, lousy, mousy. I mean, they end with "usy" don't they? But they don't rhyme. Not even with each other! Now my brain hurts.
I love close rhymes, by the way. I think they're clever. Some folks, though, hate them & don't think they're rhymes at all. Fuck 'em, I say. If it sounds like it rhymes, it feels like it rhymes, it motherfucking rhymes.
I did have a problem this week, while trying to think of "busy" songs, of accidentally thinking of "dizzy" songs. Like the song "Dizzy" by Throwing Muses. I could have sworn the song went "busy busy busy in my head."
Here's a video of Throwing Muses performing that song live: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhlwhorM1uA.
Did that answer the question posed above? Was it supposed to?
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Preface To Busy Busy Busy: Too Busy To Write In The Blog
Is it ironic that the week before the busy show is a busy one?
For example, yesterday, Friday, I travelled over four hundred miles, most of them in Ohio. If that's not busy, I don't know what is.
& on Thursday, I emceed a local Earth Day event. I'd like to tell stories about it but I'll wait until I'm a safe distance away.
On Wednesday, I did something I am ashamed of. I think I did it more than once. I also think that it wasn't until I did it more than once that I was ashamed.
On Tuesday, I slept because I was up late Monday doing a radio show. That's also something I am ashamed of.
I was busy on Monday day & Sunday, too, but the theme wasn't officially "busy busy busy" so it doesn't count anymore.
Today? I was too busy even to write in this blog. Until. Wait. I did!
For example, yesterday, Friday, I travelled over four hundred miles, most of them in Ohio. If that's not busy, I don't know what is.
& on Thursday, I emceed a local Earth Day event. I'd like to tell stories about it but I'll wait until I'm a safe distance away.
On Wednesday, I did something I am ashamed of. I think I did it more than once. I also think that it wasn't until I did it more than once that I was ashamed.
On Tuesday, I slept because I was up late Monday doing a radio show. That's also something I am ashamed of.
I was busy on Monday day & Sunday, too, but the theme wasn't officially "busy busy busy" so it doesn't count anymore.
Today? I was too busy even to write in this blog. Until. Wait. I did!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Into The Wilds
I'm going to The Wilds today.
What is The Wilds? "The Wilds is one of the largest & most innovative wildlife conservation centers in the world. Located on nearly 10,000 acres in southeast Ohio, it is home to rare & endangered species from around the world living in natural, open-range habitat, as well as home to hundreds of indigenous species. In addition to innovative, in-depth science & education programs, the Wilds offers guided experiences to the public on selected days May through October."
I have a feeling that the old rhinoceros there will think I'm deliberately mocking him. Just by the way I look. & then he'll charge!
What is The Wilds? "The Wilds is one of the largest & most innovative wildlife conservation centers in the world. Located on nearly 10,000 acres in southeast Ohio, it is home to rare & endangered species from around the world living in natural, open-range habitat, as well as home to hundreds of indigenous species. In addition to innovative, in-depth science & education programs, the Wilds offers guided experiences to the public on selected days May through October."
I have a feeling that the old rhinoceros there will think I'm deliberately mocking him. Just by the way I look. & then he'll charge!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
4/19 Is Mushroom Code
(I am reprinting this from the alerts I send to my Facebook fans. Do YOU want to be a fan of Self Help Radio on Facebook? You can do that by clicking here!)
So last night, someone called & said to me, "Oh wow! I can't believe you're doing a MUSHROOM show on 4/20!" I confessed it was entirely coincidental, which disappointed the caller, but the more I think about it, even though my show is on at midnight, which is technically the Tuesday, *I* still think it's Monday. I say "Monday nights at midnight." So I didn't do a mushroom show on 4/20 - I did it on 4/19.
Which, as everyone knows, is police code for "fat naked man talking to himself at bus stop in deserted neighborhood." Which is perfect for Self Help Radio!
The show has sprouted virtually overnight at selfhelpradio.net. The playlist is below. It's up to you to decide which mushroom songs are poisonous & which are safe to listen to. I am not a mycophagist.
Thanks for listening!
So last night, someone called & said to me, "Oh wow! I can't believe you're doing a MUSHROOM show on 4/20!" I confessed it was entirely coincidental, which disappointed the caller, but the more I think about it, even though my show is on at midnight, which is technically the Tuesday, *I* still think it's Monday. I say "Monday nights at midnight." So I didn't do a mushroom show on 4/20 - I did it on 4/19.
Which, as everyone knows, is police code for "fat naked man talking to himself at bus stop in deserted neighborhood." Which is perfect for Self Help Radio!
The show has sprouted virtually overnight at selfhelpradio.net. The playlist is below. It's up to you to decide which mushroom songs are poisonous & which are safe to listen to. I am not a mycophagist.
Thanks for listening!
Monday, April 19, 2010
I Read That I Recited
Do you remember haikus? I used to read haikus from listeners on Self Help Radio many moons ago. I would also archive them here, on this blog. For example, here are the haikus from my "sleepy" show nearly four years ago. Four years ago! I'm old.
The reason I bring up haikus is that, on tonight's show, which is about mushrooms, John Cage will read a haiku about mushrooms. It's a recording of course. He's long since passed into that avant-garde silence called death. I will not be trying to impersonate John Cage on the radio. I can barely impersonate a literate fellow.
What's that? Tonight's show? Yes! Self Help Radio will be on at its regular time, midnight, here in Huntington, on 88.1 fm WMUL, & of course archived later at selfhelpradio.net.
Only one haiku per toadstool, though.
The reason I bring up haikus is that, on tonight's show, which is about mushrooms, John Cage will read a haiku about mushrooms. It's a recording of course. He's long since passed into that avant-garde silence called death. I will not be trying to impersonate John Cage on the radio. I can barely impersonate a literate fellow.
What's that? Tonight's show? Yes! Self Help Radio will be on at its regular time, midnight, here in Huntington, on 88.1 fm WMUL, & of course archived later at selfhelpradio.net.
Only one haiku per toadstool, though.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Whither Mushrooms?
Does it bother you that the toad - the TOAD! - is the only animal in the animal kingdom that gets its own stool? THE TOAD!
Sure, elephants can sit anywhere they damn well please, & most scary carnivores get offered whatever seat is available by virtue of the fact that seats empty when they arrives. Yet it is the lowly toad - THE TOAD! - who, over & above all the fauna, gets a designated place to sit. It is an outrage!
Look at it from the point of view of the fungus as well. The mushroom - the toadstool oh how I hate to use that word - is merely the outward part of the fungus, used to send spores out for reproduction. The real action is happening below the ground. You know as well as I how attention-shy most fungi are, but still - imagine if one part of you were designated a "fly lounger" or a "mouse chair" - when really it was your right temple, or perhaps your left elbow - & that was all people talked about in regards to your anatomy - wouldn't that grate? Would you not feel chagrin?
The modest fungus must burn with embarrassment & resentment when a part of it is called a "toadstool."
Though I confess it must be worse when the toads use the toadstool as a stool.
What is the fungus to do? Who made the decision to partition a part of itself & designate it, not just as a general sitting place for smaller forest creatures, but for the much-despised toad - THE TOAD! - who did this? Who? Who?
The answer is likely lost, like many other injustices, in the haze of time & its shrouded past.
Self Help Radio seeks vindication for the poor fungus whose mushrooms got labelled toadstools.
I mean, really, THE TOAD!?!
Sure, elephants can sit anywhere they damn well please, & most scary carnivores get offered whatever seat is available by virtue of the fact that seats empty when they arrives. Yet it is the lowly toad - THE TOAD! - who, over & above all the fauna, gets a designated place to sit. It is an outrage!
Look at it from the point of view of the fungus as well. The mushroom - the toadstool oh how I hate to use that word - is merely the outward part of the fungus, used to send spores out for reproduction. The real action is happening below the ground. You know as well as I how attention-shy most fungi are, but still - imagine if one part of you were designated a "fly lounger" or a "mouse chair" - when really it was your right temple, or perhaps your left elbow - & that was all people talked about in regards to your anatomy - wouldn't that grate? Would you not feel chagrin?
The modest fungus must burn with embarrassment & resentment when a part of it is called a "toadstool."
Though I confess it must be worse when the toads use the toadstool as a stool.
What is the fungus to do? Who made the decision to partition a part of itself & designate it, not just as a general sitting place for smaller forest creatures, but for the much-despised toad - THE TOAD! - who did this? Who? Who?
The answer is likely lost, like many other injustices, in the haze of time & its shrouded past.
Self Help Radio seeks vindication for the poor fungus whose mushrooms got labelled toadstools.
I mean, really, THE TOAD!?!
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Preface To Mushrooms: Pizza?
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?
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?
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?
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Preface To Melons: No, Not That Kind Of Melon
If one wants one's mind cleared up about difficult definitions, one could do worse than to visit the Urban Dictionary. Here, for example, are five of its entries for the word "melon."
1. n. cranium, skull, brain case, brain box
I slipped my hat onto my melon today in hopes of keeping my scalp from getting sunburned.
2. n. A single breast. See melons.
One melon was larger than the other.
3. n. someone stupid or someone performing an activity with seemingly no intelligence; shortened form of "melonhead"
He just ran into that fence. He's a melon!
4. n. A round & juicy fruit that is usually about the size of a football. It is commonly sliced up & de-seeded before serving. There are quite a few variants of the fruit including the popular watermelon.
Might there be some watermelon in your fridge?
5. v. The act of smacking another's forehead as a sign & act of derision.
That wicker fool done gone swiped my pewter so I gone & laid a melon on him.
Definition number 4, of course, is the one Self Help Radio will be focussing on & of course the most common use. But wow! I totally forgot about calling one's head a melon! Bugs Bunny would be mad at me.
& definition number 2 is inappropriate for the radio.
1. n. cranium, skull, brain case, brain box
I slipped my hat onto my melon today in hopes of keeping my scalp from getting sunburned.
2. n. A single breast. See melons.
One melon was larger than the other.
3. n. someone stupid or someone performing an activity with seemingly no intelligence; shortened form of "melonhead"
He just ran into that fence. He's a melon!
4. n. A round & juicy fruit that is usually about the size of a football. It is commonly sliced up & de-seeded before serving. There are quite a few variants of the fruit including the popular watermelon.
Might there be some watermelon in your fridge?
5. v. The act of smacking another's forehead as a sign & act of derision.
That wicker fool done gone swiped my pewter so I gone & laid a melon on him.
Definition number 4, of course, is the one Self Help Radio will be focussing on & of course the most common use. But wow! I totally forgot about calling one's head a melon! Bugs Bunny would be mad at me.
& definition number 2 is inappropriate for the radio.