Monday, August 23, 2010

I Love You, Brian Regan

I watched the 2008 special tonight because he won my heart FOREVERMORE back when he did that skit in the 80s. I dunno. It is hard to explain. The first time he did the BIG YELLOW ONE IN THE MIDDLE IS THE SUN I basically just peed and peed. Laughing, of course.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Air Rage

I rarely have it. I have LOADS and LOADS of road rage to share with people, but I rarely have air rage. I think to deal with what used to make me weep uncontrollably I had to make a deal with my brain. It went something like this: Gooo to sleeeep, brain. Shhhh, shhhh, shhh. You are many millions of miles in the air and yet it doesn't maaaaaaatter. Something like that.

So, this dude, an air steward, had a total shit fit last week.

Here's the story of my feelings on the subject, in a bulleted, numbered list:

  1. The first I heard the story I thought, heh, funny. I think that's what MOST people thought. Because we saw it for what it was: A dude, in a job, lost his shit, said some swears, grabbed some beers, pulled a switch, rode a slide, rode off into the sunset to get it on with his boyfriend before getting arrested. The. End.
  2. I thought: People like it because we can all relate: Dude has job, he says FUCK IT for whatever reason, then pulls a major cowboy move, pulls a slide in a dramatic fashion, and rides off into infamy.
  3. Then I thought: Well, shit.
  4. Because the Media, in all their self-satisfied supremacy, will turn it into some Guy-is-Hero then Guy-is-Buttshit, just you watch.
  5. And they did. For the first two days, it was all fakey-fake exclamations about the "cult hero" who "struck a nerve." Mind you, I still beleive that the majority of folks just saw it as a Heh. Just a basic Cowboy Drama Move and certainly nothing so extravagant as "heroic."
  6. For the past several days the Media has lived up to my basic expectations: Put the Boy Wonder up on that Pedestal, then spend the rest of the time finger wagging and making hay about how shame, shame, shamity it all is. SHAME ON HIM. And the ever so honorable Powers That Be back it up with their official finger wagging: Pulling that slide COULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You know what, Genius babies? So could I, with a Bic Pen. Or even a generic pen full of Chinese lead. But your smart asses aren't taking that away from me when I board the plane, are you?

My "Issue" with this present phenomenon? Let me explain:

  1. First, the Media are WHORES. Trust none of them. Their whole imperative is to FUCK YOU UP. They churn the blood, churn the blood, fling the chum: Why? Because it is about sales, my folks. They do not care about the truth, they care less about perspective. They just pump it hard to get their pennies worth. They will shill for your tears (look at the armless orphan without a face!), play your fears (Obama hates your middle class life and is working hard to burn your retirement shekels), and blind your ears with worthless, grubby, monotonous fear-based mongering that tells you that while no one else is, they are on your side, getting the story, making the difference, all in HD! Fuck them with a pair of scissors, sideways, upways, all ways. They haven't understood their purpose since they were granted the first amendment and summarily shat on it.
  2. Second, in the "effort" to "protect us" the powers that be have asked us to chuck our lighters and put all of our shampoos in Ziplock snackbags. YAY. Because the SHIV I call a PENCIL could certainly not do any kind of damage, ya? Was it not something as bland as a box cutter that lead to the 9/11 catastrophe? I appreciate the effort, I really do, and the more I travel the less I care about stupid shit like shampoo and lighters. I make do when I get there. It's more the PRETENSE. The bullshit facade, the GAME. Because only a drooling monkey would fall for that line of crap: That the "security measures" in place are really making us all safe. Lighters are EXPLOSIVE...but I guess also the source of fire, yeah? So every time I've flown with matches I guess that's just...harmless? And my lethal Bic pens and No. 2 pencils? I guess I could never really stab someone in the neck with a box cutter? My point? The powers that be are out of control with their bs rhetoric. And the powers that back them up ramp it up. Imagine it: A flight attendant pulls a slide and runs away. What do you do? Overreact, of course? Not because it is really dangerous? I am too cynical to believe you really care about THAT anymore. I think the powers that be yearn to take a Tough Stand. And this poor fool, who probably just lost his shit and would probably take it back if he could, is going to do hard time because SOMEONE or SOMEBODIES want to appear Tough on Terror. Yay for everyone.
  3. Third, he is NOT a hero. He's just a guy who lost his cool. I find it ironic that a culture that basks in the hideous red light of violence and corruption as entertainment would so easily turn on its newest Cult Hero. After all, don't we all cheer for Bruce Willis in all the Die Hards, Keanu Reeves in the Matrices, and all the many, many others who portrayed car chases, footraces, and other high octane violence ridden movie moments? I mean, all those innocent sillies who got smashed, crashed, shot, slapped, and generally kilt were all just...extras, right? It's weird, just weird, that we, as a society, might dig the idea of a guy blowing an explosive charge to activate a slide to freedom. That being a more tame version of the usual Stick It To The Man shit we usually worship.

So, my final thought? He fucked up, he was a good employee, he should be fired, he should get community service and probation, and he should be remembered, innocently, as the "guy who lost his shit and pulled the slide." Fin.

Sunday, August 08, 2010


Not usually worth a repost, but this one made me cackle repeatedly so:

Via Very Demotivational, 'pon the Cheezeburger network. Icanhashawhaws.

Saturday, August 07, 2010

Joyland 4ever

Before I post my trip memories (and there are SO many) I wanted to give a shout out to the ghost in the room, who could not attend due to Wichita's lack of interest in its true, best history: So much has been torn down and forgotten. So much has been homogenized. I raise a tiny fist against replacement windows (in honor of my sis) and the Fake Old in Oldtown. I hate you! Mostly Wichita, I spit in your general direction (collectively) for not dedicating your whole heart to bringing the magic of Joyland Amusement Park back to life.

Joyland features one of the oldest working (?) wooden roller coasters in the country. See below.

Don't miss the special irony of this video being shot on my 18th birthday. Can you say sentimental value?? If you've ever ridden the Cyclone in Coney Island (a superior ride, but similar visceral experience), you have a sense of its awesomeness. What makes it special, however, is its general lack on maintenance, which makes the whole thing creak and sway as you ride it. Imagine the terror! It was a wonderful ride and it is a sad loss.

The Wacky Shack is hard to describe. Watch it here:

You have to really pay attention to the silences, I'm afraid. No video can really reproduce the freakyness of the Wacky Shack. It is weirdly quiet, with bursts of loud honks and mental instability that few haunted rides can boast. It is minutes of uncertainty in the dark.


Here is Louie, hatless.

It is hard to describe how terrifying this clown is. People with fear of clowns no doubt have formative experiences such as this: entering your first amusement park, filled with wonder and some worry (what is an amusement park? will I be hurt? or amused?) and you see this sight, a capering animatronic clown playing an organ. And no matter how many fun rides you partake of (the roller coaster, the wacky shack, the train that rides past piles of forgotten litter) the memory of that herky jerky clown lingers. In your life as a Wichita youth, it is the one thing that binds you all, whether nerd or not, you all can share that one memory together: Remember the clown? Remember? *shiver shiver shiver*

Help Joyland come back to life! Louie awaits patiently, motionless but forever staring, packed away safely to be brought back to his post at the entrance of Joyland to greet and terrify new generations of Wichitans. The facebook page is here.

The Story of the Reunion, 2010

Hello. I am back, and fully dedicated to my incarceration in this apartment. The last part of any good vacation is ME in this APARTMENT, living the DREAM. I am watching 2012 right now, which is some fine ass trash to imbibe in over a long, long weekend. The deets:


I knew it was going to be a beautiful trip when, in the LaGuardia ladies room, a mother and daughter entered the stall next to me and the daughter, being somewhere around 6 years old, proclaimed: "Mom, this is GREAT!" When the mom indicated "what" the daughter made clear that she meant this trip, this airport, and hey, even this bathroom. It was uber cute, to be sure, but more importantly, I knew it was a SIGN.


First, my phone. I don't know what it's called. I don't care. It allows me access to Internet, email, and facebook. How could I complain. I did try to stay off of it while I was there, but the newness did intoxicate.

Second, my new sheets...I LOVE TARGET!!!!! Because it is full of wonder and sheets. They are dark plum and luxuriant. I slept on them last night and all I can say is zzzzzSNORTzzzzzdrool.

Third, lots of Gates barbecue sauce. I spoke with my shiny, Yasmin, a few months ago about what type of BBQ is best: She, being Canadian, preferred the "rub" since she's been brainwashed by her Texans, but I stay dedicated to the juicy succulence of BBQ sauce...meats both bbq'd in sauce and then slathered with it. Have you HAD Gates, my friends? It is the hottest, juiciest, most delicious sauce around. I've been marinating my mouth in it since I got back and can I just say: Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Fourth, my tea tree shampoo and conditioner. I stormed JC Penney's hair salon to use the bathroom (using the universal WHERE IS IT in a heated, beady-eyed delivery to get my way) then reemerged to find they had the Paul Mitchell stuff I love so much. So I scored some sweet hair products. This isn't to say they can't be bought here, but as I've explained to those who simply do NOT understand: Malls. Are. Awesome. If you don't live in NYC without a CAR, you don't seem to understand what it takes to purchase multiple things in one day. I can buy a phone, new pants, a DVD, get my nails done, get an eye exam, and get new glasses in one day, in one location. If you have ever dragged your sorry ass all over Manhattan and Brooklyn to achieve these things--all with the added blessing of the shittiest customer service you've ever received--you will understand the appeal of the Midwestern mall.


There's no way to express the joy that I experienced spending quality time with my prom dates and their respective hot men. I felt sandwiched between hard muscles and sweet, sweet man musk. Was it awesome? Do you have to ask, really? It was lovely getting predrinks and postdrinks with these fellas, mostly because after many years we've bonded like family. I would Rambo a fleet of Aliens for these boys and I'm sure they'd do the same for me.

It's weird to remember what a life bomb their lives would have been "perceived" to be back when we were 28, 30 or even 33. But these boys are fearless now. They came with their men, they brokered no compromises, and the class of 1990 accepted them, at least to my perception, with little or no drama. I'd be comforted to know that the times have made this situation a reality. I know what they went through in high school; it would be a sweet pleasure to know that their "alternative" lives are nothing more than a bland interest to our classmates. We all have loved ones, and there is nothing exciting about that, other than who they are and how they act when they are introduced to our alumni.

Ahem, Bill. Come on, now. You know you loved that reunion shit!

I spoke to many, made some memory connections, and felt that I got my money's worth. Of course I enjoyed my one on one time with my boys the most...listening to Bryan carefully explain the address to the taxi (denied!), feeling up Mark on the sly (hot guns!), getting some confirmation of love from my Tony (who hates me), and getting a wet willy from Bill, who reminded me graphically of why wet willies are so damned horrific.


I GOT MY MR. T DRAWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This was earned through some level of drama and angst. I understand that much churning and burning must go into every work of art, but even I have to call BS on the ONE YEAR it took to get this motherfucker. Sage, it is great. I love it so much! I am getting it framed.

In case you've never encountered one, this is a genuine Hambone in her natural habitat (i.e. with a captive audience):

Can I just tell you how much looking at these pictures again made me laugh? Which I think is the purpose of the Hambone. Always entertaining.

People in the Know know that the family situation is complicated right now at best. I managed to spend time with two warring factions, not without total uncomfortable self awareness. It was unavoidable, excruciating, and sad. But I got to see a good cross section of beebs, none of which ever asked to be in the middle of this horror. I think they've stood up to this the best that any kids their age could ever be asked to do. I'm only sad I didn't get to see Gabby, the little butterbean I held in my arms when she was only just born, still premie enough to still need to live in a protective chamber. Maybe she'll know one day how galvanizing that experience was for me and how it made me understand how fragile, perfect, and dear a baby is. Yes, for me, it takes a first hand experience to get the idea. But I did! And I'll never forget her translucent skin, little chirps and beeps, and the one miraculous moment when she opened her eyes and looked right into mine, all innocence and sweetness in one suspended moment. You can only dare to hope for something like it.


Here is the story of Alex, the surprising miracle of the trip: My best friend from childhood is only found consistently through her work. So, this is where I go to track her down. I went there a few days before I had to leave, but was told that she would not be on until the next week. So, one day before I left, I tried again, this time with Mom in tow. We approached the counter and asked for Lisa. We were told she was on break. We asked when she would be back. We were told it was uncertain, since she was pumping. I responded, NO, Lisa XXXX, to emphasize that they of course had the wrong person.

Nope. When my mother and I scooped our jaws off the floor we turned to see our Lisa returning. I basically tackled her, apologizing for being a bad friend and yelling my congratulations. It was a pile on of gooey love and tears. She showed us pictures from her phone and we made a date for the next day.

When I held Alex, I felt so happy. I'm usually totally uncomfortable with kids. I don't know what they want, what they are thinking, or how to make them happy. With him, I just had to get used to him rooting around, smacking his head into my shoulder, and basically being the Wiggle Worm to end all wiggle worms. Once he settled down, it was a series of grunts and muffled bleeps, coupled with shifts and squirms easily managed and quickly adored. OH MY GOD. This kid wiggled and squirmed right into my black coal of a heart. What a sugar beet! I love him completely!

Finally, to play us out (somewhere Bill O'Reilly is screaming fuck it! I hate this fucking thing!) I give you John Cougar Mellencamp, who I managed to experience WAY too many times via the radio during my trip (what the hell, Kansas?). Enjoy.