Wednesday, May 23, 2007

'Sup, Chewbacca?

The sandal season is upon us. Praaaiiiiise Jayses.

You see, the foot yearns to be free, feel the wind through its foot hair, and dry off after a long winter of sweating in a leather shoe. It deserves to be free! Nay, it demands it.

There are some gnarled-ass feet in this world. Now is their time. Ready to spring forward into the bare, brash light of the world and strike innocent observers to stone with their hideous little piggies and vein-popping foot bones. Jesus H. Christmas.

Look, it is okay to WANT to wear sandals or flip flops...even Birkenstocks you fucking hippie. But the question is...Should you? Really?

Do you have...
  • Abnormally stubby or long toes?
  • No toenails? (get some!)
  • One long toe, especially if it is the second toe, and it is hanging over the front of your shoe?
  • Excessive, patchy hair?
  • Yellow toenails?
  • Hammertoes?
  • Veiny feet?
  • Skeleton feet?
  • Crusty feet?
  • Open sores? I mean, come ON, people.
If you still decide you have to expose your freakshow feet to the world, don't be surprised if the world fights back by dropping an anvil on your big lizard feet. You are kind of asking for it.

Thanks. Godspeed. Now go put on some fucking socks.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Smoking Update: That Which Does Not Kill Me Will Ultimately Force Me to Kill You

...or, I've got the

Jimmy Jammies
Heebie Jeebies
The DTs
Kicky Feet
Jumping Jehoshaphats
Kill Me Now Blues

I don't know what you call it, but it is simply horrible. How to describe?

Remember when you were young? You know, youthful, full of youth, youthlike? Did you ever have days when it felt like something was pulling you from the middle, your gut or your heart, and all you wanted to do was cut class, get high, and go hood surfing on the Turnpike? You know, when you seriously wanted to kick out the jams, howl at the moon, eat a coconut cream pie, bite somebody, and spray paint obscenities all over...I don't know...the world?

This pull is an awful thing...I think it is the physical manifestation of Impulse, that great ghosty in the machine that can make you kick a cat, flip off your boss, steal a Chevette, and basically jack up your life most sincerely. Apparently, it is also the last death throes of nicotine addiction. This is the last week. I am only chewing a piece every 4 to 8 hours. My body is telling me to find some crack and now, goddammit, now.

To say this feels edgy, cagey, cranky, or otherwise bitchy is only scratching the surface. This is the precipice between a normal life and a Missing poster pinned to a corkboard in a bus station. They say that alcohol is a gateway drug, right? It leads to pot which leads to acid which leads to speed which leads to coke which leads to meth or some combination thereof? They should add the Smoking Withdrawal syndrome to that list. The pull is a gateway to impulse control problems. It feels too empty and too full all at once. It is impossible to know how to kill it. It feels larger than smoking even, which is depressing and infuriating. Is this a nicotine fit? Or is my life completely worthless? This is the range of madness I've been dealing with for about 5 days.

Tick tock. Tick.


Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Keep the Terror Alive

I am planning a visit home to my beloved Wichita, Kansas. Since I am bringing the boyfriend, I've been searching for fun activities that will keep him busy and reacquaint me to my memories of olde.

I've got a nice list going so far (the zoo, bowling, a bar that promises a non-smoking area but we will see about that) and I was really hoping beyond hope that the Joyland Amusement Park would be open again. It has been shut down due to financial reasons (I think) plus many of the rides need work as they are from the olden times (1949!). It looks like it is still closed, indefinitely, and this is truly a sad thing to behold.

I was happy to see that there is a Wikipedia entry for it. Check it out, for it is a very cool old park and the roller coaster is truly terrifying. Many will claim that it not only creaks and moans, but you can feel it sway as the car clinks up that first lift hill. It has been years since I've been on it, but I can recall that it was very scary and awesome.

The park also has a freaky Wacky Shack that is sufficiently weird and unsettling and far better than most haunted house/house of horrors rides out there...and that's including the big, shiny parks. The park as a whole has a supremely freaky feel to it, with its rickety rides and old greenery, but the one thing that tops everything else is a singularly terrifying sight that greets you as you stroll about, wondering where the hell that organ music is coming from. As you approach it, the organ music booms louder and louder, and when you first see it, you have to rub your eyes. Is that a miniature person playing it?

No. Not a person. A clown. A mechanical clown. And apparently this little freak has a name. Read the Wikipedia entry for more details.

If you never have had the paralyzing pleasure of experiencing it, let me inform you: It is terrifying. Especially to children. You see, it "plays" the organ with its wicked little fingers. If I remember correctly, the head moves back and forth. To organ music. You could seriously pee your pants.

I love Joyland. Wichita, get it together. Keep the Terror Alive. That can be your rally cry. My gift to you. Let all the little children know the fear and remember Wichita always as it should be: that spooky ass town with that freaky clown, man.

See him play?

He's looking at you. He's remembering you. He's going to visit you in your sleep.

Bye bye! Come back soon...children.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Brooklyn Bridge, May 6

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited;
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City's fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year . . .

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.
--Hart Crane

I went to a friend's wedding in Manhattan on Sunday, May 6. On the way home, I managed to take some passable pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge. As my camera was sat upon most unceremoniously in Big Gay Paree, it is a bit stupid and out of focus now, even at its very best. The funny part? The best photo of the bridge (above) was taken while in motion, swerving, and with one hand. Go figure.
Approaching the Bridge

Downtown Brooklyn (looks like Wichita, non?)

Cheezy Cloud Interpretation for the Photo above: Weeble Boy standing tall and saluting his audience while riding atop a giant frog wearing ug boots . Yes, the drugs are kicking in.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Train Stories

As people may (or may not) know, I take the local to and from work on account of my intolerance for the express trains (waaaaaaaaaaaay too much time between stops = trapped in a metal stink-tube with the killers and the liars and the thieves, good Gawd). This allows me the opportunity to people watch, if I'm zen, or people glare, if I'm feeling the crazy.

Yesterday, I was plugging along on Guns, Germs, and Steel (and I'm going to finish it this time around dagnabit) when two people sat next to me. I was sitting on the inside of a front-facing seat, the woman sat next to me, and her companion sat in front of me in a side-facing seat. They were completely silent, but the motion of their hands caught my eye. She held his hand in both of hers and I could see that she was signing onto his hand. He would lift his hand and sign to her then grab for her hands so that she could respond. He was wearing a button that said "I am deaf and blind."

I agree that the city is full of wonders (and horrors, c'mon) but I had never seen a person who is deaf and blind, so I had never seen the way that they communicate. It was amazing. I tried not to stare (much), but most of the car in viewing distance stopped to watch. It wasn't a sideshow thing, though you might assume it--it was simply astonishing. How did he learn it? How did he live? What must his world be like? I paid attention to the things outside of my sense of hearing and sight: the shift and pull of the train, the air, the smells, the vibration of sounds in the floor and at my back. How is it not disconcerting for him when someone unaware plops down beside him on the train? I suppose that is why they held hands the whole time, to keep in safe contact if not to communicate.

What was best of all, perhaps, was the context in which I saw him. The section I was reading related to the spread of languages and how some adapt while others die. And while we are talking about centuries of change, it still reminded me that people will change when they must, and they can learn if given the proper tools to do so. While I might wonder at this man's ability to adapt to his handicaps, it is probably not much of a wonder to him at all.

Monday, May 07, 2007

First-ish Love

Can you tell which one I am?

His name was Keith and I thought he was a fox. I think mom let monkeys cut my hair. And look at those chompers. I was seriously the bomb. What was he thinking? We would have had the cutest snaggletoothed spawn.