Sunday, August 30, 2009
Smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke there's smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke scratch my belly there's smoke smoke smoke smoke smoke
So, I've been gone for 25 days and I expected Las Gatas* to have a word or two about my return. But these two haven't shut up since I've been home. They get done with Affection Time, walk away, sit in their various sit places and still they're talking. Jason P. suggested they're trying to tell me about the fire. If they were dogs, they'd be pulling my pant leg, running in circles around the door, dragging buckets of water over to my desk. But these two are literally lounging around and complaining about the smoke.
I guess it's true what they say: Where's there's smoke there's a bunch of know-it-all felines yowling about it.
*This is not a cat blog.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Don't you love it?
You're in town for a few days so your good friend Irene says "Hey, you want to be on a radio show?" Sure! (you say.) So you and your handler Corey head downtown to the studios of Fearlessradio.com, the web's premiere radio station. Chicago Joe is rolling the dials and Irene is handling the insta-chat/facebook/g-mail/twitter traffic when Corey and I roll in just in time for "Songs you hate to love." As you all know, my entire musical life is based on songs I hate to love so we go straight to Winger's "Seventeen" (a house favorite, it turns out). In the following discussion, I discover Irene was not born in Vegas and Joe only got into Iron Maiden six years ago. Once again The Power of Winger heals and brings the truth! To celebrate our newfound knowledge of one another, I whip out Paul Gilbert's "I'm Not Afraid of the Police Today" (off of the masterful Burning Organ). And then, it's over! One hour of hoo ha laughs and rock gone, just like that. We all pack up and head out. It's another great day on the radio in the City of Brotherly Bits.
Corey works the phones and sets up my next appearance (which turned out to be Pot Belly's).
Monday, August 24, 2009
So, I'm off the train and in Chicago. Bam! Local hero Corey R. picks me up and says "You hungry?" I say yes. "You like giant burgers on pretzel bread served by tattooed waitresses amidst the onslaught of the heaviest of metal?" I figured I'd spare the tears and the "dream come true/coming of age story" that welled up in my heart and just nodded. So Corey took me to a place, a place called Kuma's Corner.
We walk in. The Megadeth is blasting. The beer is flowing. The waitstaff is working. And then this happened.
Now, in case you're asking yourself "Ed, is that an egg on your bacon burger?" The answer is "yes." It's an absolute Simpson's joke. It's an absolute crime against God and colon. It's also absolutely fantastic. And I washed it down with one of these.
That's a Cherry RC, my friends. The Waitress called it "A Cherry Ridiculousness." Just in case you need some reference point to how much Ridiculous was in this thing, I include this:
And if you're suddenly worried about me, forget about it. You should worry about Corey.
It's called The Mastedon and I don't even know what's under the onion rings.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Something in which to put our hopes and dreams. Something in which to store our painting supplies. Something which we hit with sticks when we're young and black. Something with which we can haul our water. Pickle. It's America's Bucket. And it holds our secrets. Who shall spill the bucket and its contents? Me and my camera. America's Bucket. I see you.
Friday, August 21, 2009
If I lived in New York, I'd have euphemisms for all the train lines. In Chicago, all the lines are designated by color, hence:
"I don't know what happened. We're talking about Christmas plans and then suddenly she's yelling about that girl I slept with before we met. It was nuts."
"Sounds like somebody's on the Red Line."
"I can't believe Howdy left his wife of 20 years. It doesn't make sense."
"Unless he's riding the Brown Line."
"Jimmy thinks he's so cool in that tricked out Escalade with those stupid spinning rims and that idiotic sound system. Who needs a stupid tricked out Escalade anyway?"
"Sound like someone's on the Green Line."
"I'm not going out tonight. I'm all sad 'cause my sports team lost, I drive an unpopular car and I'm not winning in life."
"Come on, Hans. Let's go get up in some lady stuff. That Blue Line crap is for sissies."
Damn, Mr. Chilton, I drank all the beer. I need to hit the Yellow Line and how. I'ma flood the Loop!
I would think "The N Train" would be a fun euphemism for slipping up and saying "nigger."
"Reginald was really bothered that Gary got that promotion. When I told him Gary didn't even want it, Reg went nuts and jumped on the N train. Rode it all the way to sensitivity training and a mark on his permanent record."
"Take it easy, Lawrence. That's my wife you're talking about. What say you climb off the N Train and join is here in 2009. You stupid cracker-ass redneck."
"I heard Charles punched Tim in the neck."
"Yeah. Tim ran over him with The N train."
"Wow, I'd liked to have seen that. Tim's a dick."
"Oh, I got it with my Iphone and put it up on You Tube."
Being a denizen of The Coolest City on Earth allows me access to The Coolest Places in Earth. One of these places is called RARE. It's a fresh rooftop bar on Lex and 37th.* I'm hanging out with the gliteratti and the coolest people and I think "I'll snap a pic to doc the moment." ** Of course, this is what pictures of the cool looks like.***
*That's Lexington Avenue and 37th Street, you plebeians.
** That is, "I'll take a picture to document the moment." I don't expect you people to know this stuff.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
JP, my friend watching the place while I'm touring the world, e-mailed me this picture. According to him, no one claimed responsibility or said anything as he disposed of it. So, either Black and Bridgett are working on some skills and they want me to know about it. Or perhaps they're playing some sort of "Truth or Dare." Perhaps it's a warning. Whatever it is, I'm glad I'm not the one going in there tomorrow.
You wanna know what is most excellent? I'll tell you. Sitting on my sisters stoop (she has a stoop!) in Astoria waiting for the arrival of the babies from their big day at the park and the pre-paid for sushi. There's wireless internet, trees rustling in the breeze (she has trees!), and the breeze doesn't smell like rich people's houses burning down. I love it.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A friend gave me a camera to use while I'm here in NYC. So, I figured it was my chance to balance out the art world. There just are not enough pictures of rock piles, trash in parks, or little black kids playing in hydrants so I figure I'll do my part. Here's the first work in an 837 piece installment I like to call "A Return to Artography: A Picture May Be Worth A Thousand Words but What if The Words Are Wrong? My Journey. And I have A Camera."
#524 - Adrift in Reflection
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
It rained tonight. I had to walk in it. I had to go out and get drenched in it. I needed the heavy, hard rain to penetrate my soul and cleanse my heart. I had to let it consume me and get in my hair and wash away the fakery of this lie of an existence I lead.
And I needed a Snapple. The store was over two blocks away. I almost drowned!
Monday, August 17, 2009
So, George (he's 9) wants to see DISTRICT 9. He needed someone to guide him to Times Square. Someone to take the trains to just the right stop, get out, buy the tickets and watch the movie with him.
And I was that man.
So we went a watched hordes of strange looking aliens scavenge for garbage, eat junk and horde shiny trash. And of course, theses freakish aliens just want to go home.
But enough about Times Square.
Bam! Take that New York!
NYC 0, ECG 1
Sunday, August 16, 2009
So, I'm riding an empty N train back to Astoria and I decide sitting's for chumps. So I make my way to the other end of the car, lazily swinging from bar to pole to bar. I guess I was being a little too lazy because as I'm swinging my arm up to the next bar I accidentally pop a lady in the glasses. She was drinking water out of a bottle and almost did a spit take.
I apologized profusely but, of course, there's no taking back a blow to the head. So, I expected her to be surprised. I expected her to be pissed off. But I didn't expect her to take it so personally. She leered at me hatefully. "Yeah, wow."
"I'm so sorry. I guess I need to watch my hands."
"Yeah, you do need to watch your hands." Her attitude seemed to say "I can't believe you walked all the way up this empty car just to pop me in the head."
Here are three things I did not say:
1) Yeah, that's right. I just walked all the way up this empty car to pop you in your big ol' head. Now give me that fuckin' New Yorker. I'm 'bout to get into some Shouts and Murmurs.
2) Surprise, bitch. Your metro experience just got real.
3) Sister, you better check that 'tude. I ain't hit anybody twice today.
In leu of saying any of these things, I just turn to the door and wait for the next stop. As I was waiting there, I continued to not say things.
1) Wait, I changed my mind. I'm not getting off. You're getting off.
2) This train blows. I'm transferring to the 5, find some interesting people to hit.
3) Don't follow me. You had your chance and you blew it.
New York - 1, Ed - 0
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I'm back in New York City and I remember why I like it. It's all about the BAM and the POW and the super hot brunette stealing your cab while she's screaming into her cell phone. "Trevor, I'm bleeding to death here! Sell the whole fucking block! And pick up some good wine for dinner. Dad's bringing his new girlfriend!"
Thursday, August 13, 2009
No, I am not late in this. I was yelling about TROPIC THUNDER before your mom was even working your dad's neighborhood so don't start with me. What I would like to point out is that Robert Downey Jr. is a movie star. Now, think about that. What does that mean in this day and age? In past decades it meant a lot and could be applied to a lot of people. John Wayne, Elizabeth Taylor, Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway, Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, that Mommie Dearest lady, on and on. There used to be a lot of movie stars. Today, we have a lot of people in movies. Some are even actors. But this guy here? Movie Star. Go ahead. Try to name some current Movie Stars. And if RDJ isn't one of them, you're doing it wrong.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Well, I saw the newer Hulk movie. I liked the first one but this one was good too. I'll let the geekerati battle out the finer points of which one is closer to the comic books but the Ed Norton Hulk has something the other one doesn't: Liv Tyler in the rain. Sure it's a Spiderman rip off. But personally, I don't mind if you rip off the hero-pretty-girl-kissing-in-the-rain routine over and over again. In fact, I hereby declare that I will not see any movie that does not have the hero kissing a girl in the rain. Take that, Hollywood!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Now, I know I'm gonna lose some people here but that's okay. I'm a truth teller and sometimes that means having your best friends turn on you, stab you in the back, deny you in public, sell you out to the cops and salt your yard so flowers don't grow.
First of all, Bo tea is still top notch. Sweet and good. Tasty and all you can drink until you fall over and it spills out your ears. So, everybody's fine there. But it seems to me the spicy chicken just isn't that spicy anymore. You might be saying "Wait, Ed, maybe your taste buds have changed." True enough. Maybe my addiction to nuclear food has upped my tolerance. But here's how I know that's not what it is. My mom can eat it. And she can't tolerate the spicy stuff. And the fries had no spicy orange sand on them. None!
So, you guys can sue me and stand up in the court room and point and say "He's the one! Get him!" but I have to tell the world in the hopes that everyone in a position to do so will walk into the nearest Bojangle's Biscuitry and say "Enough! Bring back the spicy! Bring back that yummy dirt for the fries! And for the sake of all that is Holy and Greasy, please expand beyond the western border of Tennessee."
UPDATE: Today I took another shot at the Bo and found it surprisingly familiar; same ol' spicy chicken, same ol' tasty tea. And I asked for cajun dirt for my fries and I got a lot of it. So, you're back in, Mr. Bojangles!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Well, I watched a movie. The glory of on-demand means you can get into anything you want without any financial consequences. It's like the stock market. Or buying a house in 2008.
So, THE RUINS was okay. Not great. Not awful. Line of the Night: After the Med Student breaks and amputates the German's legs to avoid infection, the Brunette howls "This is so not okay!"
And that's what I've got on THE RUINS.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
So, after a lovely dinner at The Salem Tavern (different Salem. The Witch isn't locally grown), I nicked the Black Volvo and headed East. That's right, I rolled over to Carrboro for a little home-grown improv fun. I played The Armando-style monologue show at DSI, Carrboro's improv theater. It was the most fun I've had on stage in a long, long time. My host, Zach Ward, was delightful and even bought me a snack after the show. Thanks, Zach!
So, my Mom's got this 1993 Volvo 940 Wagon. 90,000 miles. Great speakers. Sunroof. Turbo. Everything a growing boy needs to enjoy a drive to the store for more bacon.
Now, my moms doesn't like her car. The clock's busted, the gas gauge doesn't work, it needs "detailing." A few busted things just makes it a real Volvo in my mind. And I don't even know what "detailing" is.
I'm not sure why I'm talking about this car. I guess it's because when I drive it, I feel like I'm free. And fast. And black.
It's a new America, everybody.
Friday, August 7, 2009
So, here it is, three a.m and I've just watched THE TERMINATOR and APOCALYPSE NOW. I was thinking I'd be in bed by midnight. A few chapters of a good book and I'm out. But no. The parents have the full cable package, the 60 inch plasma, and a high-boy style snack stash. Four hours later and I'm right back where I always end up when I come home. Up too late, M&M residue all over my shirt, empty Ginger Ale bottles liter the floor and everybody else is asleep. Hell, even the dog is out for the night. When I come home, more than any other time, I am forced to look in the mirror and ask myself "Who am I?" and "What have I become?" and "Is it worth watching a whole episode of Real Sex IV just to see a titty?"
I've changed. I really have.
Wait. No I haven't.
Some day this war's gonna end.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
When I left Vegas in April of 2003, I spent three months tooling around this great nation of ours in my old '88 Volvo 245, rental cars, and airplanes. I slept in said cars, various friends' couches, KOA Campgrounds, I even shacked up at a gas station / fruit stand in Oregon. I met a ton of people and had a boatload of fun. I documented the whole thing with a series of e-mails sent from public libraries across the country. I called it "Tales from the Road."
I think. I need to check on that.
Anyway, after a fair amount of drubbing at the hands of LA and it's big public university, I decided to head East. School's out and bbq is calling. N to the C, y'all. I got a one way ticket and I might not be coming back.*
And so I present: Tales from the Road II: Return to the Road
*That's not true. I did buy a one way ticket to NC but I will return to Los Angeles. I'm just not sure when. So, I hit the ground running. I got plans. Big plans. Big dangerous plans. Who knows what I'll do? Gamble away my loan money in Reno. Read the dictionary. Get busted for prostitution, fall in love with the arresting officer but ending up with the powerful but attractive DA because, after all, she's the only one who truly understands what it's like on the street. Who knows? The month is young.