Saturday, January 30, 2010

Home Again, Home Again

Being a total doof face, I managed to leave my camera at my mom's house, so this is the only proof I have that I was there. But OH, what proof it is. It is both SHOCKING and fantastic that Wichita and Kansas City are the only places I have found on this earth, thus far, with the greatest Thai food, ever ever EVER. The panang gai is sweet, hot, and rich; the tiger cry beef is a salty burning pop; and the pad thai??? Jesus wept, I wept, the children at the orphanage wept. Every bite is a flaming surge of flavor. I swear: I made noises at that table that should have gotten me arrested. I should do sound loops for Cinemax. I should be handcuffed to a tree. I should ever be so lucky to eat like that twice a year, let alone all year long. People of Wichita! Know your wealth! Revel in the extreme succulent blessings of Thai Traditions and drop to your knees in thanks.

Fools, you don't even know.

Anyhow, my trip out was some kind of wonderful, with no elbows at my side and plenty of space to spread out and relax. I had enough layover time in the St. Louis airport to sample Wolfgang Puck's Cafe, so I bought a salad and received a mountain of Chinese crisps with a sprinkling of cabbage. The chicken was good, so it wasn't the biggest waste, but the joke of the plains is that you can't get a real salad in the Midwest. This is painfully true in my hometown, but it was nice to see that St. Louis honored that tradition, too. In Wichita, thus far, every salad has either been a pile of toppings with five pieces of iceberg lettuce or a mound of wrinkled, dry romaine. Look, it's the middle of the country. They have to import green.

My first night in Wichita was spent realizing that I no longer have the capacity to endure smoke-filled rooms, no matter how good the music is. (PS. Liesl, please remind me of the band's name because I want to add them on Facebook. Coming from a limplover of music, this is huge compliment, so do it, do it now.) We met at Kirby's where something called Meatfest was happening: It was basically bands playing and barbecue outside. All of my sister's boyfriends were there...even the dead one, in memory, forty thousand of her closest friends. All in a space the size of your first dorm room. I had multiple blank faced people tell me, "Oh. It's you. Yeah, she was REALLY excited you were coming" in tones that expressed that, now I was there, they were underwhelmed with the reality of me. I guess I should have remembered my top hat, monocle and nipple clips to impress. Next time!

The majority of the trip was hanging with the moms and a whole lotta shopping. I danced through the aisles of WalMart, never realizing before how wonderful and shiny it was before. Soooo many THINGS. All for 88 cents! In the weirdly religious Hobby Lobby I had one mantra running through my head: Calm down calm down calm down. Because I was waaaay too excited. There were chickens. Everywhere. At one point I over heard one elderly lady tell another, "Chickens must really be in this year." Hell YES. Chickens are in every year, mama.

The highlight of the trip was seeing my nieces. They are both in especially interesting stages in their lives. One is a teen, the other is five. You can imagine how amazing these kids are. I spent a wonderful morning with Rori, the twee beeb, having a tea party and enjoying her particularly moving Martin Luther King, Jr. song, which I believe she was taught at some point in class or perhaps at her Buddhist learning center. It started pretty predictable with "Martin Luther King just wanted some peace..." but then I *think* she started riffing (I mean, who knows, maybe MLK had Rori's problems, too) with: "Martin Luther King just wanted the teenagers to be nice to their sisterrrrs." She sang this throughout the morning, most memorably at one point while pile driving her sister's back. She was bringing the peace and, I quote, "some treetom" (freedom). Yes!

At one point in the morning, Sage, the elder, started playing piano. I didn't initially realize it, but it was confirmed that the beautiful music she was playing was, in fact, her own. People, there is NO SHAME in crying. And I did. I've heard her play guitar and sing before and I have to say, without reservation, that this little woman is nothing short of a miracle. She's incredible. I hope one day you can hear her, too. You will cry. And you will not feel shame!

Mom and I had great times watching HGTV and her programming, but what I loved most was just spending time...talking or driving around, whatever. She deals with my whims pretty well, which is what most of my visits home are comprised of, so she gets a gold star for that. She didn't even yell at me when I drove the truck like a maniac. It seems, after all, that I am a bad driver no matter how much I limit my driving per year.

The trip back was not as idyllic. There was an odd moment in the Wichita airport when a frightened little bird flew frantically around the terminal, banging heartily against the glass to get out. He was corralled and made it out to much ado and clapping. However, with all prejudice and spite, I must declare that O'Hare airport in Chicago is the devil's buttstain and must be cleansed of it's evil with a Handiwipe of Righteousness. I was getting sick at that point, so the run/fast trot/lunge from way-the-hell-over-here terminal to bum-fudged-Egypt terminal over there was never going to be remembered as a ladies day at the garden. After hearing final boarding call, I knew I should have given up at my starting point, but I pushed it and when I actually made it (by the nick of a hair's time) I still had the wherewithal to be annoyed when the gate-asshole said, "Ohmygod, are you OK?" With my bronchial shrieking and beet red face, I would have thought the obvious answer SO. I made it, but got dog sick and was out of work for two days because of it. But whatever. It was totally worth it. I love going home! I love seeing Crumb Castle, the river, the totally hokey, "artistic" additions on river bridges and by Riverside Hospital that suggest a quiet yet sweet desperation to be KOOL, and I miss the known places of home: 21st street, the railroad tracks, Century II, the canal route, Towne East Mall, Rock Road, WSU, turning right on a red, Kellogg, Broadway, North High, most loved. Hearts hearts hearts.

See you in the summertime...

Wednesday, January 27, 2010


We discussed the big unveiling today in our production meeting. It jacks the Kindle pretty hard. One of the peeps mentioned how it was a regrettable name and, since this video is 2 years old, it would seem Steve Jobs would have known that the association was a possibility? I don't watch Mad TV or think this is particularly funny, but it is 10 KB funnier today than it was yesterday.

Real NYC Living

I've literally thought all of these things, silently screaming to myself, especially the very last bit. YAY MTA!

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Jersey Win!

It is so wrong. So, so wrong. And clearly: Just Right.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Eddie and the Cruisersssss

During my long vacation home...not home, home, but at my apartment, I got to re-experience the magic that is Eddie and the Cruisers via Netflix. You remember it, right?

My favorite song, however, was always this angsty little freakshow, the reason why Eddie had to run into the night and take a header off a pier of whatever...

The real mindcrank was the inclusion of Eddie and the Cruisers II, which I can attest, with no hesitation or other sign of Pause, is the One of the Worst Movies Ever Made. Michael Pare (Eddie) transforms from Male Model to Rode Hard Heroin Hero in one movie's time, and, let's face it, there's really nothing else to the story, is there? The whole premise of the second movie is, in total, The Music Matters. It really matters, man! Ugh. Vomit. Chunks and chunks!

After watching the first movie, I was a bit weirded out by how well I knew all the songs...I had to think about it for awhile before I remembered Why. It is truly amazing how much falls through the cracks...but finally I did remember that my freshman year roommate was more than just a little obsessed with the movie and played the soundtrack almost nonstop. Can you imagine how bizarre it was to try to remember how the hell I knew every single word? And how it took way too much reflection to finally remember where all those lyrics came from? It's like someone slipped me roofies in the early 90s and it took until now to understand how I knew every single word to "Wild Summer Nights." It wasn't my obsession, but it left its weird taint all over me.

Eddie, whatever happened to you?

Oh. Life. Like what happened to the rest of us. *sigh* I wonder how Michael Biehn is holding up.

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Hello, Grossface

Why do I eavesdrop on other people's conversations? Especially cheezwhiz-glazed douchebros on the streets of my hood which, I might add, stank suspiciously of fish tonight...not just fish, but FEESH, major chumstank, and the whole neighborhood, my brethren. I was running errands, just trying to be a responsible citizen, when I passed by one bro showing another bro a picture of a "hot piece" on his iPhone. Amidst the OHH!s and other exclamations of gruntery, the one bro told the other bro, "Bro! I hit that hard, bro. She's hot, right? Right? Bro? Aww yeah. She was worth the $500 an hour, bro. I mean, I can't hit it like that all the time--she's too freaky for me, bro--I mean, I'm like 32. I'm too old for that scene, bro. You knowwwwww? But she's all class, she's got a place in Hoboken, bro, $500 an hour, bro." Something to that affect.

$500 a freaky hour, bro, you know? So I bought some wine and ran all the way home.

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