Do you have one of those great new digital sized mega printer jobs? Print a poster of me! Yay! Just for fun.
Since childhood that word “chard” has had me transfixed, and its a spiral eyed hallucination fascination that continues to this day. When I was in grade school I was heavy into collecting crystals, the kind that occur naturally in rocks not the kind known on the street as rock. You feel me? Also, I had a thing for trolls. I remember one day in 4th grade the entire class was to bring in a collection of their own to share and tell for the whole school.
The morning of that day I arrived at school so freaking early, with several large black trashbags bursting full of hundreds upon hundreds of trolls, some dating back to pre-World War II, some new human sized ones, etcetera. It was early because my mom, a middle school substitute at the time, had to be at her school to teach about forty minutes before I was even picked up by a bus. Into my classroom I hauled in the trashbags of trolls, and I was fat in 4th grade so I trucked, along with an extra trip back to Mom’s car for some of the heavy crystals. For good measure.
Then there was the Jim Henson movie, “The Dark Crystal” which featured the oracle troll in the space observatory (who resembled my sister, I shit you not) (and one more set of parantheses about word usuage… planetorium?), compulsively removing and replacing her detachable eyeball and shouting to the Gelflin about his chard questions. There’s a lot of my child self’s pent-up anxiety contained in the following quoted passage:
“JEN: Augura, what do I do with the shard? AUGURA: Heal the Dark Crystal. JEN: But how?! AUGURA: Questions, questions, too many questions! You want a shard? Here! (Dumps a boxful of them on the floor) JEN: Which one is it? AUGURA: Don’t know. (Sits) DON’T KNOW! Listen, Gelfling, there is much to be learned, and you have no time!”
Sounds like words my sister might speak. DON’T KNOW! There is much to be learned and no time silly gelfling. Except that the species in question was down to just one male and one female and so of course what needed to be done was done by Lucas and his gaggle of Gelfling fluffers behind the scenes. Survival of the species, baby, don’t have no time for stops off at the Reststop for Best Friend Loving Bitches. Wave your arms if you feel me. In any case, whether or not the reader understands the coded language and is/is not waving arms right now, the Dark Crystal and that best friendship in particular had pull over me, like a full moon, not something I noticed at the time.
But now in my adult professional life this bedeviling “chard” rears again its mysterious head. For my job as a young waiter expecting El Dinero and scrilla majilla I must know a lot about chardonnay wines by the glass and bottles, and swiss chards in the kitchen, so that the lighting fixtures above my employed head have many chards (those be chandeliers) and not flourescent soul-sucking vacuum beams. Food and wine knowledge luckily dovetail beautifully with my new workout plan: weed and wine. No beer, no liquor, no crack with the dobermeins and the pinchers and the bad dogs.
If I am going to be drinking something then I might as well be learning something, you feel me. And the bong police haven’t been notified, so my spider senses tell me I’m onto something good. Look at it all this way… I deposited thousands of dollars in my offshore accounts, got a new TV, learned all about West Australian Chards and Shirazs, changed up my animated GIFs, bought a blackmarket Nintendo Wii from “New England’s Sceeviest Video Game Dealer” (my title for them) in New Hampshire. Oh yes, they had illegal Chinese machines… I promised I’d be back again soon.
Things are on the up.
Only for the dedicated. Look how vibrant Jesus is.
Clearly needing a milkshake. Gotta speak the McLingo.
Bon voyage to Quarter Pounder Cliffs.
Seen the movie “Casual Sex?” with two broads and Andrew Dice Clay the other day. I do feel remorse for my gross inability to name the two main actors (females), but it was only because the hairy Dice Man had me absorbed. In chest hair. At the end of the movie, no longer high and tired, I nevertheless rewound and played a minute long clip of the transformation of the Vin Man. He being the character Dice plays.
“I don’t feel like hittin’ on women. I don’t even feel like drinkin’ milk outta carton. I feel… I don’t know. Serious. Like I’m in the midst of some heavy changes. I forced myself to take a closer look at the Vin Man. You know, open him up, pull him out, dissect him. Like a frog. And I decided to go after a more sharply tailored, finely pleated, subtly striped look. And I discovered I have a creative side to my personality. Dush! Dush dush dush! Anyway…”
Really there was always more than meets the eye to the Vin Man, to a matter of speaking. Anyone watching the movie or actually on vacation at the Oasis Spa outside of Los Angeles in 1988 surely thought to themselves, now there is one hairy Jew from Jersey. But the thing was, on the one hand, the Vin Man and Andrew’s character Dice both considered themselves to be Italian. A strange and very funny delusion. On the other hand, the hairy one, his eyes! He is both irresistable and titillating, like the wild squirrel loose on the plane back from Hawaii, but unlike that as well in his hairy waters run deep kind of way.
Definitely made the film for me, but not the reason I watched it for in the first. The initial allure and catalyst to my casual one night stand with this movie was the title. A question! It takes balls, I’d say, to release a film with its title in the form of a question. Balls or the type of backing that comes from Hollywood bigwigs who obsess over Jeopardy. The sleazy fat cats who keep score in their homes and tape all the Teen Tournaments. And of course the title has the words ‘casual’ and ‘sex’ right there. But moreover, the question allure.
What indeed is eating Gilbert Grape? As Diceman does on stage (though now he hates its singular popularity and regrets writing this joke) “Three blind mice. See how they run. Where the fuck are they going?”
This morning I am waking up at 8 AM and showering and eating before saddling up with my aunt Judy and riding down to the Grand Opening of the new Gamestop seven miles away to purchase the new Nintendo Wii. As a personally preset condition on this purchase I will no longer be going out to bars, except rarely, for my health and to lord over my electronics like a wireless hawk. I feel serious!
If it all works out my aunt is going to videotape me going up to the store rights as it opens and snatching up the rare, hard to find Wii and hopefully Wii Play with the extra Wii-mote as well. And I’ll have owed it to a random phone call I made today while conducting business on the internet to a Gamespot I had never heard of opening seven miles away from my familys house. It was after several other calls to various dealers of games that had all ended up in the “Sold Out” response.
When I called this number someone picked up, I asked my question, “Do you have any Wii?” and the tone on the other end of the line turned annoyed. “We are not even open yet! I am up on a ladder…” Don’t get down, son… I told the boy, but tell me when you open up you little ladder riding laddie! He said tomorrow 10 AM and that they will have Wiis so in the AM I am saddling up to ride over the 5-6 inches of frozen slushed streets to the Grand Opening.
The weatherman on NBC 30 said that “5-6 inches of ‘stuff’ fell yesterday.” The Nintendo thing, if done right, if it feels proper, will draw parallels in my life to the Circuit City parking lot tailgating party I went to from 11PM to 12:08AM the night Windows ’98 came out. Before open-source cool, we were all greasy nerds. Now this Wii thing is serious, and I’ll be reporting on it live throughout the weekend. Perhaps if everything goes correct 3rdarm.biz will have an Everybody Votes and Forecast Channel by next week. Crossing my fingers.
By the fireside tonight, during the so-called blizzard of 2007, my aunt allowed me to finish off a pint of vanilla ice cream right out of the container. Once finished, as goes tradition, I held the pint down to almost carpet level for the family cocker spaniel to finish off. Hannah, as she’s called (not that she comes when called, necessarily), got her entire head inside the empty pint to lick all the way around the inside.
“Oh God!” I shrieked at my aunt, calmly relaxing across the room reading “Green Empire”, a history of the Gulf Coast, in a yellow rocking recliner. “Hannah has vanilla all over her head! Get a baby wipe, quick, and wipe her. I can’t wipe her!” Calmly, my aunt wiped the dog’s face, and then picked the ookies out of her eyes. Thoroughly disgusted, I averted my eyes so that I didn’t vomit. The dog’s head was covered in gross vanilla.
It reminded me of some pictures my sister and I took with the dog during the course of my sister’s recent holiday visit. Pictures of a small dog in a similar situation. Except minus the vanilla ice cream and plus plus a larger empty tin that had housed poppycock caramel popped corn. These poppycock cans are quite the commodity during my sister’s visits, because she grazes on at least one whole cannister of Poppycock a day. In addition she swills at least thirty cans of my diet soda each day of her visits, but I digress.
During the final days of her most recent visit, which ended the first weekend of January, she allowed me to hold out an empty cannister of the sinister popcorn to carpet level for Hannah the dogbarian to conquer. Although feeling disgusted about teaching our family cocker spaniel to behave like a filthy city pigeon, we did take pictures. And… enjoy.
“Get your head right in there!”
“LOVE IT, you filthy city pigeon spaniel.”