Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Hangover on Every Tree!

Apparently Christmas Eve is a big party holiday in Milwaukee, judging by all the vomit and broken glass on the sidewalks Monday morning. Maybe just a warm-up for New Year's Eve... oh, and I just heard that they rescheduled the Packers and Bears game for that very EVENING, as if there wasn't going to be enough beer sold! Then the Badger's play on New Year's Day. I'd say the best strategy might be to not start drinking until the Packer's game STARTS, and then stay drunk THROUGH the Badger's game the next day. The winner will face the winner of the methamphetamine brain damaged deer hunters vs. deer hunters with dementia death match in the Kohler Coliseum in February.

I went to see Apocalypto on Christmas Day, hoping to start a new tradition, and indeed, the green of the forest along with the blood decorated bodies, topped with bleeding, throbbing just removed hearts, made for a festive color scheme. I was really hoping that the extreme, graphic nature of the violence would make up for the clich├ęd action and story and make me physically ill, but I'm afraid that I was already desensitized by the nachos I made the mistake of buying to hold me over until post movie Paul's Omega. They consisted of a very rattley plastic bag of tortilla chips and a plastic tub of warm, runny, orange cheese substance, which ran all over my hands, my coat, my pants, the seat next to me, and the little kid in the family next to me. As long as it was hot it was edible, I guess, which is, I guess, back to the movie, why they started cooking animal flesh in the first place. Anyway, in the head to head grossness contest, the nacho cheese spread beat out the wild pig testicles… sorry!

Monday, December 11, 2006

Mia Farrow

I’m sitting at the counter of The Plaza where it is entirely too hot—everywhere I go in the Midwest it’s too hot—when they aren’t cranking up the air conditioning they crank up the heat. It’s too hot everywhere. I can’t even spend a half hour in the Main library, it’s always so hot, and airless. What’s with these Midwest people and their heat? I thought we were supposed to be a bunch of farmers and Germans, up early milking the cows, all that. How did we get to be a bunch of grandmas in rest homes—85 degrees, with blankets over us. I think it’s because people no longer have any circulation because they drive everywhere. The typical person in the Midwest doesn’t walk more than one block at a time (ample parking!) and then not every day. I’m wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt of some cotton material, but I’m sweating like a pig! That’s why I always put on a liberal amount of patchouli—it blends well with the sweat and body odor—at least as far as I'm concerned! And the ladies seem to like it.

I’m looking across the counter and I see that there is a bottle of SKOL vodka sitting on the shelf (below number “11”—the places at the counter are marked with numbers) That’s ODD—I’ve never seen anyone in here drinking vodka.

A woman came in by herself—rare for a diner!—but not rare for this place, really—she’s pretty attractive—she looks like Mia Farrow. She immediately takes off her shirt—she’s a little warm, I guess, and she’s wearing a white turtleneck underneath. (No wonder she’s hot—turtlenecks almost kill me no matter what the weather.) Maybe she’ll keep taking shirts off. I think it would be cool if she would be sitting here in her bra. But no—a guy comes in to join her—they’re meeting here. He’s talking non-stop, now. Though I did hear HER say something about how it’s almost the first day of winter. But it’s surprisingly warm out, though it looks like it should be cold—all overcast and dreary, and it got pretty cold last week. But now it’s warm again, and humid, and all gross and moist.

She didn’t say that. That was me thinking about the weather. She is quiet, now, just nodding. She is listening attentively to the guy talking non-stop She’s a good listener—nodding, interested—then suddenly she gets a call on her cell phone and has to go off and take the call—but at least she leaves the room. She comes back shortly, sits down, and the man takes a breath and gets back into his long oration. Her phone rings again, she looks at it, frowns, and excuses herself again. The man looks really annoyed this time. I wonder if people who are good listeners are good cell phone listeners—I mean, people who you know you can call and they’ll answer. I get a feeling that it’s her kids calling—they are caught up in this and that.

It occurs to me that since the advent of cell phones it’s even WORSE to be a parent than ever before. (I mean, speaking of the drawbacks of parenthood—I know there is the good side!) You can NEVER get away from your kids now. Every time they have a question or a problem, they are going to call, and you HAVE to answer! I know this sounds like I’m a kid hater—it’s not THAT so much—though I HAVE chosen NOT to have kids—that I’ll admit. But what I’m complaining about here is not the kids—it’s just their nature to be impatient and call out to the parents for an answer—it’s the cell phone part of that equation—because cell phones are ADDICTIVE. The instant connection at your fingertips is addictive—your brain starts to transform—think differently (the nature of addiction) so that when you feel the slight twinge of a yearning for connection, you call. And whenever someone else feels that way, they call you (answering is also an addiction). It’s the same a s cigarettes and sugar, candy, food at hand—and TV—and the internet, email, checking your email constantly, looking things up on Google 100 times a day. (Not as a quest for knowledge, but for satisfaction!) The day… it’s quiet, you’re lonely, you feel a strange emptiness, you eat something, or get in your car and drive, the motion making you feel temporarily better, speed—you go somewhere you can spend money—shopping makes you feel better. Buy some cigarettes, smoking makes you feel better, or smoking weed. At least smoking weed tells it like it is. I’m going to go smoke some drugs!

I mean, not me. I’m just sitting here at The Plaza writing this in my notebook. It’s a healthy activity. I’d write more here, too, but I’ve got to get going, over to NODE and check my email.