Last night I played the Mistress of Ceremonies to the Lonely Hearts Club bar quiz. Seeing as how the game is over and the results are in I can now feel free to do what I’d like with these questions.
So here is what I’d like to do.
I’m going to post all three rounds of questions up here. The first person to post the correct answer to all questions including bonuses will win ten bucks (hey that’s at least two decent beers people) which I will paypal to you.
I’ll be accepting answers in the comments section or emailed either here or to any number of my email addresses. Try saradevil at places like yahoo and gmail. I will be checking time stamps which means you increase your chances of winning beer by being fast. I already know you people are going to cheat using the world wide web, so this is more a race to see whose search skills are the best.
The actual quiz night will be written about later. Right now I’m working on recovering from the fifteen shots of tequila I had.
Remember that’s $10.00 cashy money.
Let the games begin.
1. In the series Futurama Captain Zapp Brannigan is faithfully served by:
A) Dr. Zoidberg
B) Hermes Conrad
C) Kif Kroker
2. In the movie Clue Tim Curry plays the butler that keeps everyone in line and fills in the various pieces to the puzzle. What was his characters name?
3. No good super hero can carry on without a good manservant. Bruce Wayne is certainly no exception. His trust companion is:
4. In Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Earnest" Algernon, a wealthy young Londoner, frequently finds ways out of social obligations by heading to the country. Who would be the butler packing his bags?
5. On the long runny sketch comedy show Kids in the Hall included the popular series "The Pit of Ultimate Darkness" starring Sir Simon Milligan "a man possessed by many demons-polite demons that would open a door for a lady carrying too many parcels-but demons, nonetheless." and his manservant, the spawn of Satan himself. What was the manservant, played by Dave Foley, named?
A) Manservant Balica
B) Manservant Lucifer
C) Manservant Hecubus
6. In Robert Altman's Gosford Park the viewer is taken inside the lives of the upper class and those that serve them. Mrs. Wilson has been kept on for years and it is her secret that will eventually be the undoing of her employer. Who plays her in the film?
C)Kristin Scott Thomas
7. In the Harry Potter Series Hogwart's is in the charge of the cantankerous old Squib Argus Filch. Filch is aided in his efforts to curb youthful enthusiasm by his cat. What's her name?
8. It's the story of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely girls. But she wasn't doing it on her own. Name the live in nanny from the Brady Bunch.
9. If you stay in a fancy shmancy hotel with a good maid service what, according to Miss Manners, is a reasonable tip for the housekeeper?
A) 2.00 dollars
B) 3.00 dollars
C) 4.00 dollars
10. What are the proper accessories for a French Maids costume, excluding dress, lace panties, and apron.
In the long running US comedy (and late night Korean T.V. fare) "The Nanny" Fran Fine works for the rich producer Mr. Sheffield. The nasal voiced brunette is played in this decade long running series by who?
Cops and Robbers
1. What is Eric Estrada's character name on the long running cop drama "Chips"?
A) Lou “The Pomp” Cabron
B) Chacchi “Chip” Arcola
C) Frank “Ponch” Poncherello
2. In 1982 this Korean police officer had an argument with his girlfriend. Afterwards he stopped by the police armory, drinking and stockpiling weapons later used in a killing spree that ended after he took his one life. The finally tally left 58 dead and 35 wounded in the longest killing spree in the country's history. What was his name?
A) Lee Jae-ho
B) Woo Bum-kon
C) Kim Dok-hyung
3. This famous Canadian gang lead by Edwin Alonzo included among other's a peg legged hair dresser and violin player come revolver shooter. Notorious for drinking, boozing, jail breaks and bank robbers these darlings of the Canadian west robbed, among others, the Bank of Montreal. While two members of the gang were hanged in 1952, the leader Edwin was released on parole in 1966 and spent his later years on the west coast of Canada until his death in 2002. What was the name of the gang?
A) The Boyd Gang
B) THe Niagra Fallen
C) The Flannigan Gang
4. High school students in Daegu started the democracy movement which overthrew the Syngman Rhee regime. The Memorial Park (you know that park across from Burnham's Burgers) commemorates their courage. When did the Daegu uprising happen?
a. August 15, 1948
b. April 19, 1960
c. February 28, 1960
5. What famous Australian outlaw was hanged in Melbourne in 1880. His take down included battling through the bushrangers home-made plate metal armor and helmet.
A) Martin Cash
B) Ned Kelly
C) Dan Morgan
6. A 17th-century Korean novelist wrote the first Korean novel to take the standpoint of an outlaw. What is the name of this character, often called the "Korean Robin Hood"?
a. You Suck-bum
b. Kim Du-hwan
c. Hong Kil-dong
7. In 2006, an ex-pat couple caused a nationwide sensation when their baby was found dead in their freezer.
what country were they from?
8. Robin Hood is the hero of anti-heroes. He robs from the rich and gives to the poor. He stood up to the man and he gave him what for. In the abysmally bad 1991 film "Prince of Thieves" who plays the only bright spot as the evil but charming Sheriff of Nottingham?
C) Alan Rickman
9. This long running T.V. series followed the straight faced L.A. cop Joe Friday as he worked to take down crime. This series is named after an actual police term meaning a system of coordinate measures for apprehending suspects. Name the term.
10. When Al Capone was running liquor way back in the day his series of criminal enterprises were made considerably easier by the invention of what would later become the machine gun. If you are a true Chicago land gangster what do you call it?
A. The Bradly
B. The Tommy
C. The Capone
What country has the world's largest police force?
Discipline and Punish
1. The hero Odysseus often finds himself on the wrong sides of gods and goddesses particularly when trying to get home. After several years on the ocean playing Poseidon’s bitch, what does he do to get back in the sea god's good graces?
a) walk inland with an oar on his shoulder.
b) sacrifice his son to the gods.
c) sail for three weeks beyond the pillars of Hercules.
2. Whether it's cold hard steel or wrapped up in furry faux leapord, what is a favorite restraint for kinky play behind closed doors?
3. By opening with a story of a brutal execution of Robert-Francois Damien’s, Michael Foucult begins his biting work on the ever changing state of incarceration. From prison to the teaching the “carceral continuum” that pervades current society through surveillance is exposed. What is the name of this classic text?
a) Bind and Bruise
B) Bound to Justice
C) Discipline and Punish
4. According to a Russian proverb, there are three things which benefit from being beaten. Which of the following is not one of them:
a) a dog
b) a mule
c) a wife
d) a walnut tree
5. In the classic Cohen Brother’s flick “The Big Lebowski” the Dude finds himself on the wrong end of any number of crimes. Of the many items stolen what was the only thing the Dude wanted back?
A) His Credence
B) His Rug
C) His car
6. In the Gospel of Mark, what body part does Jesus recommend cutting off if it offends you?
7. What was the original reason for the invention of the guillotine?
a) to slice meat.
b) to execute Henry VIII wives
c) to execute criminals humanely
8. This "Philosophy in the Bedroom" author spent the better part of his life locked up and writing from the asylum at Charenton. Perhaps one of the most scandalous literate libertines of all time, who is he?
9.Captial punishment, or the death penalty, is the end game of many the criminal justice system. Which of the following countries has abolished the practice:
10. The story "Venus in Furs" details the trials of a man in love with a vicious woman. This Venus sits abed decked in furs while taking great pleasure in tormenting her would be lover. The book is considered a classic text of submission inspiring films and even songs. Who is the author?
A) Arthur Masok
B) Marquise De Sade
C Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch
What, according to Jayne Cobb, is the chain of command?
Friday, August 31, 2007
Last night I played the Mistress of Ceremonies to the Lonely Hearts Club bar quiz. Seeing as how the game is over and the results are in I can now feel free to do what I’d like with these questions.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
I swear this woman could sell glasses to the blind.
This is a commercial for 17 tea. I will have you know that 17 tea tastes like bon-de-gi (boiled silk worm larva). It's awful. But the prospect of being able to drink it with her would make me buy a case.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The writing I’m being paid to do is annoying me at the moment and so I thought I’d take a break and write something for free. Always a change. More vacation stories may follow or they may not. It depends on how I’m feeling or how much I want to divulge. Hard to say.
In the meantime I shall instead tell a story of yester-eve which is more amusing to me at the moment. On with the show.
It wasn’t raining, but the sky was dark and overcast as I left my apartment. I met Australian chicky at the French Mediterranean restaurant downtown. The weather is insanely hot and impolitic and upon discovering the reasonably priced smoke salmon salad it was agreed that the only thing that would cut it for dinner on an evening for the rest of the summer was this. She orders muscles in something fresh and savory and I get bruschetta for us to share. We split appetizers and fill up on salad with crunchy greens, bitter, topped with salmon and tomatoes and chives and horseradish dressing. We eat freshly made French bread and discuss life. We plan to go shoot pool.
We sit on the porch of the fine restaurant overlooking an old and dark parking lot. I watch the skies full of clouds and lighting licks the night again and again. I have no umbrella and neither does she, so with our bellies stuffed with greens and fish we head out hoping to make the bar before the rains come down. The night has turned cold after so much heat in my fair city. The temperature is hardly 25 degrees but if feels like 20 and our skin prickles under the cold. We clasp arms for warmth and scurry down the un-crowded weeknight streets.
The air conditioners both run in that bar at full turn but somehow the bar still manages to be warm and dank. It smells of stale smoke and is filled with the wafting of gentle conversations. Only seven people out tonight including us two girls and the bartender and his friend. The bar is a male haven on most any weeknight, we will be the only women around this evening. Our status as both of us “one of the boys” amuses and we put our names up on the boards for pool, order drinks, sit, chat and smoke. Someone has loaded the playlist up with dark trance and new wave music and so we listen to dark spinny trance and talk about
We are up for pool and Austirlian chicky breaks. Her break is for shit and I mention this as I look at the cluster of balls on the table. I shoot and sink one. Then two. I run that table like it is a pet, like a cooing animal coming at my command. I put down five balls in call before I miss a straight shot, growing confident and cocky with my success. She shoot and sinks as well, lining up impossible shots and so we play a game the two of us, watched by the lifers who remark that if you did not know us it would look like we were to sharks on the table unfettered by anyone to grift that night. She beats me with a long bank shot of the eight ball which looked impossible. No one wants to play so we shoot again.
The second game is a smooth as the first. We play by British rules and she misses her shot trying to bank off another corner and come back round and hit her ball. Mine are too cluttered around the table and she doesn’t have a good shot. I’m up for two shots in a row and I turn it into six before handing it back over. This time I win the game on my third turn and people step up to play us.
So it goes, I manage to pull out the next game against of the bar experts and am up for a third. One of the students just back from the
I win again and hand the cue over to the owner for the next game. My shots come easily but I miss a few elementary plays and am annoyed with myself. The owner of the cue however is having worse luck with his stick and I’m back to my familiar bar cue. I win again much to my amazement and get set up for the final game. The owner passes his cue off to another player. I thought a lifer but it turns out his last night will be on the morrow and a party is planned. I’ll go out to see him off. We play and he plays with the new cue and it is like a magic wand when he shoots with it. The owner names it the “power cockstick” and he plays it luck such. He beats me handily while I watch all my balls still on the table with barely a turn. The single shot I get to make I miss and scratch putting him two shots up and handing him the game.
It was pool hall magic. While we played the rains started to thunder down around us. We drink cold drinks in the dark cool bar and plan the party for the evening, all of use trying to figure out how to transition pool hall magic to the great waiting world. It rains all night and I sleep in under the sounds of the pitter patter against the building, sounding very much like the cue hitting balls on the table. I dream of pool tables from my past and wake up ill at ease.
It's raining again today.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Porn for a Better World Nothing says saving the world like "Tit Collection" or the Hand Job Shrine.
I love living in Asia sometimes. You must understand before you read the following however, that porn in Korea leaves a lot, and by a lot I mean like a good five or six inches and an uncensored peach fish, to be desired.
When I first arriaved I had not had a chance to see any porn here. About two weeks after I landed a new teacher also landed. The director at my school at the time was not prepared for the teacher so he was put up in a love hotel.
I remember meeting him that night over beer, talking, the general getting to know you sort of thing.
"How's the room?" I asked, genuinly curious.
"It's alright. Small."
"Has a VCR though and a gigantic porn collection at the end of the hall."
"Huh. Anything good?"
"Well, from what I've seen so far sex in Korea invovles a short conversation, followed immediatly by what looks like thrusting into the wall next to the girls, and then crying in front of your parents."
"He definately wasn't on her. And if he was I'm not sure he knew what he was doing."
Porn in Korea. Good times.
Whenever I teach a class about movies my students will invariably yell out "Air-o" as a category. It took me a while to figure out that was "Ero" short for erotic. I make a point of teaching them the correct word much to the Korean teachers amusement and encourgament. From what I understand some of the KT's have even included a paragraph about movie categories including Erotic on reading tests to see if studnets are paying attention.
If you have nothing better to do then to watch a telathon, then I reccomend this one.
Adult satellite network Paradise TV is poised to hold its annual charity telethon, promising to get physical with its philanthropy, according to Shukan Taishu (8/20-27).
For the weekend of Aug. 25 to Aug. 26 Paradise will donate its airspace to the "24 Hour Telethon Porn Can Save the World."
All proceeds of the telethon will be donated to the Japan Foundation for AIDS Prevention, and there are plenty of porn programs and saucy projects planned for the weekend, Shukan Taishu says.
Among the features of the telethon will be "Oppai Bokin (Tit Collection)," where contributors to the charity fund are permitted to knead the breasts of an adult movie actress; and the Tekoki Jinja (Hand Job Shrine), where a cash handout will be returned with a hand out of an entirely different kind.
For those who would rather have a more material reminder of their contributions, there's the Charity Auction, where punters will be able to bid to get their hands on a variety of stick flick starlets' steamy mementoes.
A special feature of this year's telethon, the weekly says, is the addition of a new site to complement the Paradise TV studios, with club Shinjuku Marble providing a host of erotic adventures being performed by older porn actresses.
Paradise TV has also produced special T-shirts for this year's charity telethon, presenting them to anybody who donates 3,000 yen or more.Regular features of the telethon will also continue in 2007, Shukan Taishu says, including "Bijin Mashi no Datsui Maajan Nama Chukei (Live Telecast of Beautiful Mahjongg Player Getting her Gear Off) and the too-raunchy-to-show-in-the-morning "Oshikko Bia Gaaden (Piss Beer Garden)."
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Before heading out on vacation I’d made a short trip to my classroom. I grabbed essential things from the room that I might need. I did a look around and appreciated how clean it was, how in order all things were stacked, how the posters that I’d taken three hours to hang by myself really brightened the room. It finally looks like an American classroom, the money spent was worth it, the time deservedly spent, and it’s ready for another semester of students. I happily patted myself on the back and flew to
When I arrived back in
I shook all this off anyway and walked the muggtacular (it needs words created to appropriately describe it) walk to school. I managed to arrive red faced and panting because of the humidity. It’s so thick you could cut it with a chainsaw and see scars in the air. Yeah, yeah, it’s hot. Nonplussed, even with the heat, I drank two cups of water and sat down to do my prep before my classes could file in.
I don’t have a class during the first period so I stayed in the teachers office. During my summer trip they knocked a wall out of the teachers room and expanded the office by about ten feet, which makes a huge difference. Since I was gone for two weeks it was only polite to stay and sit and greet everyone appropriately, ask about their trips in Korean and try to listen to the descriptions with as much of an un-blank face as possible. I don’t always understand everything but I catch enough if I pay attention to make a go at it.
I walk into my building and notice that the walls have a new coat of paint. How nice I think. This new principal is really doing a great job in making this school look less rundown. Great work. I walk up the stairs not really think much more about it. The library across the hall had been getting renovated during the better half of last semester and I could see the new glass doors and shiny and spangly. I didn’t think anything of it.
Then I got to my room. The cleaning cabinet was amiss. Huh, I thought. Then I looked up.
Then I was indescribable. It was not quite rage, but I was not happy. I was also panicking. I had thirty minutes and what I stumbled onto when I got to my room was a classroom that was not the perfectly neat everything laid out room of two weeks ago, but instead a room that had had a cantankerous Korean painting crew come through it and just push everything into the center and go. I unlocked, dropped my class prep, and ran down the stairs to the office for back up. There was just no way. I convinced one of the teachers who was laughing at me that she should really come look.
She came up and looked around and just turned to me and said “So will you teach next period or just have the students put the class in order?”
I gapped at her.
“It’s unprofessional.” I said in my indignant rage. “It’s unethical. It’s unheard of.” I should have just said “It’s
I started to clean. It was then that I discovered my wall materials. All the posters that I had taken so much time to hang, had spent so much time designing or having shipped half way round the globe, had been ripped off the walls and slapped on a table, taped sides sticking to pictures sides. They were ruined and destroyed. I started shaking. I think I might well have wanted to have a panic attack but I didn’t have time for it. I started taking my job in vain and then the kids showed up. My back up sent by the Korean teacher, eight 13 year olds.
I started barking orders in Korean. I didn’t have time to make this a teachable moment. We worked and got the class together and I tried not to take too much time mourning my posters. I was angry and upset and I had 42 16 year old Korean boys coming up the stairs. I didn’t have time. And I wanted to be angry.
I was greeted with numerous “Hello teachers” and “What’s wrong” teachers. Considering that this was my dreaded class last semester I was surprised. I’d been having a great deal of trouble with the class. It annoyed because they are some of my brightest students. I finally figured out that the biggest problem was the Korean co-teacher who was also their homeroom and English teacher. They were spending almost twenty hours a week with her, and she spent about fifteen of those swearing a blue streak in Korean that would make me blush. I recommended swapping the class with a different teacher and she agreed to it. For the first time in a semester the boys who had been my biggest problems were suddenly shy to talk, well behaved, and working efficiently. I was impressed and relieved all at the same time. We’ll see how it goes next week, but I’m hopeful, as ever. The following class of girls was lovely and afterwards I had time to reflect. I went from hating my job to loving it again in two hours.
The room, which was upturned completely, made me curse a system in which most of administration forgets that I lack understanding. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for the students. It’s funny how the students who give me the hardest time in class are always the first to walk up to me after a vacation and talk to me about my summer, their summer, plans, everything they did. I know I’m appreciated even if they occasionally have trouble processing that enthusiasm into group work.
Another semester begins.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
There is what most people do which could be called traveling. Traveling in and of itself can be a mildly pleasant experience that results in relocating the body from one area to another for visits, times with friends, relaxation, or randomness. While there are those people who travel work most travel for purposes of having some sort of extended stay. Then there is what I do. It’s not traveling. It’s power traveling. To power travel you must take a short amount of time and cram into it as much activity as human possible, as many states, and as much car time you can, without going completely crazy. Oh, you will go crazy, but hopefully you will avoid complete craziness.
Thus during my very short vacation I experienced power traveling. To appropriately power travel I need to visit no less then five states from times ranging in one hour to one day, with no more then five hours in transit at any time. Power traveling. If the time zones don’t kill you the trips to the airport might.
For power traveling it is important to consider the following.
1. Never wear a bra.
Bras are pointless anyway (in my particular case) but wearing a bra to power travel makes no sense. It is best to be as comfortable as possible while traveling between point A and point B. Comfort is a must for the serious power traveler. Plus nipples really make getting through airport security so much easier.
2. Don’t put anything in your pockets ever.
The thing with pockets when you are power traveling is that you might be wearing the same clothes for three days in a row. Putting things in your pockets will invariably result in losing everything important. Instead just put it in your underwear. That way you know where it is and you will limit yourself to only the bare necessities. Which is usually nothing.
3. If you can’t carry it on you, you probably don’t need it.
For the true power traveler you might travel with a suitcase. However the suitcase will live at home base designate during your power traveling. While power traveling you will learn to use a backpack and a tote bag. Anything that can’t go in the back pack or tote bag is unnecessary. You learn to pack really well to power travel. Also, a tote bag can substitute for pockets which is very useful.
4. Always put a dildo/vibrator in your carry-on.
I’m sure some of you out there are thinking to yourself “What the hell? I’m not putting a dildo in my carryon bag on my trip to see my grandparents!” My friends, you would be wrong. I’ve discovered in my last four power travel trips that having a dildo/vibrator in your carry-on is a great time saver. I have watched every time I’ve traveled and stand there as they scan my bag. The scanners eyes will double in size and he calls over a friend. They both look at the X-ray of my bag together and quickly discuss something in hushed whispers. Then they pass my bags through and avoid all eye contact as I jiggle braless into my backpack and head on my merry way.
I believe the conversation goes something like this.
“She appears to have a bottle with liquid that is more then three ounces in size and it is not in the FTA approved clear zip lock bag.”
“Yeah, but she also has a dildo.”
“You go through her bag.”
“I’m not going through her bag, you go through her bag.”
“No, you do it.”
“No, you do it.”
“Screw it, she’s not going to take over the plane with a dildo and a bottle of lube”
For those of you out there considering taking up power traveling I hope you find the above tips extremely useful. Personally even with all the traveling to and fro I found the experience to be for the most part pleasant, exhausting, expensive, and busy as fuckall. However, at least it’s always exciting. I can guarantee that there will be power traveling in my future.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
I'm not exactly sure how it happened. Skimmel and I were sitting around wondering what to do since our evening dinner plans had been rearranged by the boy, the dog, international banking and credit cards. The original plan had been to go to Little Italy and eat Godfather style with friends. Those plans fell through so we decided to order Italian from some place that would have a similar menu and get enough food for us, the boy, the dog, and a small army. I live in
Aside from the lasagna there was pasta ordered for Skimmel and a pizza for the boy and cannoli to go around. I thought it would be nice to have a little desert. Skimmel and I had conversation while we awaited the arrival of food and the boy and entertained the mellow mild mannered giant orange puppy who was sweltering in the heat of the temperature regulated 72 degree apartment. The boy and the food arrived at roughly the same time and we all sat down to enjoy some dinner.
Have I mentioned that Skimmel has fantastic taste in eateries whether it is eat in or eat out she knows where we can find fun, nutrition and copious amounts of food. And we had. The lasagna was fantastic and made with real things. I can't begin to describe real things, but it had real things. Like sauce made from real tomatoes that some Italian grandmother had been making all day. And ricotta cheese made from real ricotta that tasted so real and so rich that I thought my brain might melt at the prospect. There were lasagna noodles that tasted handmade. None of that store bought dried noodle crap. It was all so real and so delicious.
It was after dinner as we all sat staring at protruding bellies that the cannoli came out. I wanted mine with coffee so I did not join in as Skimmel and the boy polished off the cheese stuffed pastry. I made some coffee and let dinner digest a bit so I could appreciate the cannoli a little more. Skimmel also has the best coffee and coffee presses in all the world so it was nary twenty minutes later that I had a steam cup of coffee with a hint of irish cream to lend it flavor and a cannoli about ready to be consumed.
You must understand at this point that I don't believe that I've ever had real cannoli before. I do believe if I recall correctly that the only thing I ever had that was called cannoli was some sort of pastry stuffed with sweetened cottage cheese that was edible but not the kind of delectable that might make you crawl on your hands and knees across the floor and beg for more. It was good but not mind-blowingly good. So what I was presented with as I had my coffee was real cannoli. I was not prepared.
The cannoli is a rather innocuous looking confection. This particular variety coming from an authentic enough locale was huge, roughly the size of a ample piece of cheesecake that had been rolled up. It had a nice hard shell and the cigar shaped roll was adorned at both ends but what we speculate to have been pistachio ground and sprinkled about the end. At this point Skimmel, the boy, and myself were deep into discussing Shimer tactics which had colored a great deal of the last two days of conversation. These tactics may be explored in depth later. It is important to know that at this point in the evening, around 9:30 p.m. I was lucid enough for a logical and involved conversation in a true Shimerian sense. I had no alcohol that night and had perhaps had a glass of wine or maybe some cognac the day before but the drinking had been minimal at best for this trip home. So I was stone cold sober, full of lasagna, sipping coffee and about to embark on cannoli. The world will never be the same.
I tasted my coffee first. It was perfect. Warm and melty and making the tongue leap and squirm and sing fantastic songs about the luxury of genuine beans picked from the ground and roasted to perfection. I picked up the cannoli and hefted it in my hand appreciating the weight of this sizable cold sweet goodness. I took a bite and swirled it on my tongue appreciating the blend of flavors and textures. The stiff and almost chewy nature of the wrapped dough, the sweetness of the filling, the offset and subtle texture of the pistachio. My mind stopped processing everything else for a moment and the only thing in the world that existed was the cannoli. It was no mere cannoli, it was THE CANNOLI crafted perhaps by Ceaser himself as a way to celebrate his conquering of the world. This was no mere confection but the sweet key to the universe that would open paths to parallel universes, eliminate paradox, and make all things perfectly clear. This was a cannoli that would make the Goddess herself weep for the bitter taste of ambrosia when she could have had cannoli.
I sipped my coffee and appreciated the second wave of absolute goodness. Coffee on cannoli, what barbarians are the Koreans that they never thought to craft goodness like this. Bitter coffee with a bite of sweet and the soft after affects of Italian crafted love teasing of my taste buds and turning over my brain. The discussion continued with occasional pauses while I continued to consume my cannoli. At some point I tried to describe without words how good it truly was but even crude hand gestures could not completely elaborate the experiences for the company. I was alone with my understanding. And that's when it got weird.
Having never taken psychedelics of any kind I cannot really attest to whether or not I was tripping as I'm not quite sure. I've been stoned* on an occasion or two in my life and it wasn't really like that at all. It was definitely not drunk. It was more of an out of body experience. I finished the last piece of cannoli and the world subtly shifted. Things where just a touch out of place. There was movement in the walls that should not have been there. The floors were rippling rivers and I was awash in it. I remember trying to stand up the first time I tried to stand up, but I don't really remember too much.
"I think…" I remember saying. But I don't think it was a sentiment that was finished. The eyes of Skimmel and the boy and the dog turned on me and tried to fathom who I was but I was no more me then I was you. I was everything and the cannoli.
"Are you okay?" asked someone and I said I might maybe should lay down a few minutes. I left my coffee unfinished and stumbled towards the couch where I flopped on my stomach and passed out. It was more like passing in, there were colors and there was nothing and I was unable to express it. I didn't sleep I just didn't move. I was moving and I wasn't. I was on the cannoli and it was leading the way and I wasn't quite sure where it was going to lead. The couch shifted and took me with it and I don't recall what happened after that expect what was pieced together later with the help of Skimmel, the boy, and my faint recollections.
The last thing I remember saying was trying to figure out which cannoli I had eaten.
"It's the red cannoli you have to watch out for. The green is okay, but the red cannoli will open the doors and show you how far the rabbit hole goes." Apparently what came out when I said this was incoherent mumbling followed by uncontrolled giggling until I well and truly passed out.
I stumbled about Skimmel's apartment, stumbled into her bedroom, stumbled around and looked a things. I remember that my heart was racing and I could not figure out why I felt hot and cold and nothing. It was a blur. I was, according to the watchers, more then a little apologetic and completely incoherent. The two of them together convinced me to get into bed through the use of logic or force. I remember waking at three and the world was still spinning. I woke at five and went to the bathroom and the world was calmer then. People were asleep and I felt more human.
Then I slept again. Then I dreamt. There was running, rushing, sand and water. I was alone and naked in a storm and rushing. I was rushing and hiding and trying to figure out what was wrong with everything. I was cowering and lost. I was watching trapped. There to figures a courtesan and her lover. She wore thick skirts and had them hoisted up but still so thick that nothing could be seen. Her lover was behind her and she bulged in her bodice as he pushed her forward. She reached up and touched her face which had become a mask and he unmasked her and it was horrid, terrifying. And then he took off the second mask and they kept coming off, and there were train cars flying and I tried desperately to get to my email there as important word and I needed to read it and then I snapped awake. Cannoli inspired madness in my dreams.
There has been some speculation that perhaps someone dosed my cannoli, though both Skimmel and the boy also had some strange effect from the cannoli but theirs merely resulted in an earlier bedtime. I though maybe it was just a little sugar rush.
"Sara you were stoned."
Alright fine, I was tripping on the cannoli. While I'm capable of handling any number of things in my life apparently I'm not ready for Itlian sweets. There will defiantly be spinach lasagna in some future of mine. But never again cannoli.
Never again the cannoli.
*It should be noted that I don't condone the use of drugs or cannoli for the purpose of recreation. For enlightenment or medication, hey why not, but recreation is a no no.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
My trip has been hectic. I will write about it soon as I return to Korea tomorrow. Tonight I shall have the finale with Skimmel and company at the Parthenon. I will not eat meat (lamb, pork, or otherwise) but plan to fill up on some excellent good foods none the less.
To those who I've gotten to see in this trip, thanks for having me.
To Skimmel, you are freaking amazing, you know that?
To those I missed, I'm sorry. I'd send up a white flag of peace but I doubt you'd forgive me anyway.
Things I shall have to tell you about include: Travel, Shopping, and the Cannoli, and dreams.
There is a lot and a little of each.
My dreams last night are biazarre. I dream of faces I can't place and faces that I can. I say names that are forbidden to me and chase them down in the dark. There are trains rushing past trying to derail me, to throw me up, kill and choke me and I hide from it to be well. I am naked and floundering. I'm lost. There is water and sand. There is nothing. There is sex and violence and unmasking and I wake up. Sort of like my trip.
Check back for more soon.
Monday, August 06, 2007
So I log into my email, I do, and I have a note waiting from the lovely John of disassociated.com. It is in regards to a contest that was being run to determine who could brighten up the day and promote disassociated in a hundred words. I took it to heart, made a hundred word entry, posted it, and promptly forgot about it, however I did not forget disassociated which I managed at some point to subscribe to.
As it were time passed and I get's this email I do.
And guess who won.
As the new owner of a shiny electronic hundred dollar bill I'd like to take this blogpost to say thanks to John and Mandi for picking my entry. Actually I'd like to thank them for reading the entry at all, you guys rock. I'd also like to extend my sincere thanks to Jose Cuervo whose late night companionship and tequila fueled mania kept me reading the blogs of others long after my bedtime and who, in his infinite golden wisdom, convinced me to write my entry for the contest. I'd also like to thank the red bathrobe for keeping it covered and the monsoon rains for making it cool enough to be up late that night writing.
If you haven't yet, do yourself a favor and check out disassociated.com it's a wild little subversive ride. Kinda like me.
To see the original prize winning entry: check it this out.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Can you tell I’m on vacation? I can.
Last night I go with Skimmel and we head towards a tiki party. It did not rain as we left and so we throw care and designated driving to the wind and walked the streets towards the third floor apartment that would host the house warming luau. I did not know we were going to a tiki party when we left, only that it would be fun and the alcohol would flow freely.
We climbed up easily to the third floor to the smell of cooking pig and people with tiki glasses, the blender purred in the background and we were told to choose our glass. The mugs lined the shelf around the ceiling, hundreds of tiki mugs, different sets and styles to choose from. Does the tiki drinker choose the tiki glass or does the tiki glass choose the tiki drinker. I wore pink to the party so I picked a blue parakeet to be my erstwhile companion in my dive down rum lubed lane and filled a glass from a pitcher which was cheerily called Blackbeard’s Punch.
Tiki Master #2 worked hard to concoct the next round of drinking devilry entitled “Never Say Die” which was most parts alcohol and some parts well wishes, with a few parts prayer for the hangover it might inspire on the morrow. I sipped from the parrots skull and he remained blissfully silent, while Skimmel chugged from her tiki barrel stolen from so long lost tiki bar that had fled the city looking for a more affable local.
The place is cool and we find seats, we mingle, we move towards the small balcony. To get to the balcony you must climb out the window. I succeed the first time in one feel swoop, swinging my leg across the ledge, straddling the frame and hooking over my other leg. I manage to make it look graceful at first. That was when Blackbeard commandeered my stomach and posted and “Ahoy matey” to my brain that the party was started and I would no longer be allowed to remain a sober scurvy dog.
At bathroom time I tried to repeat my earlier performance with the window but instead scrapped my arm rather hard. No skin pealed back but I feared a bruise. On my second attempt out the window I knocked my shoulder hard enough to make my head shake and the drink in my belly, at this point a Black Zombie, roll around and scream for brains. Or at least scream that my brains stop rattling. On the third attempt at the window I went more slowly but have still managed to my dismay to bruise rather badly the inside of my thigh. Fortunately that Mosquito that was now floating round in my blue parakeet numbed me so well that I did not feel the pain.
“We got the recipes from these old tiki books from the 50’s” Explain Tiki Master #2 while Tiki Master #1 (Ziki Tiki) manned the blender to concoct some other master work of liberal libation. He shows us the books with pirates and dancing caribbean women and implores us to choose a drink. “Something more to the juice end, we need to slow this party down a bit.” At that point the party was a rum fueled mellow layback, so I think it was more a concern for no one being overboard drunk. We walked the plank, a fine line between drunken unhinged and mellow enticement, it was perfect.
The nipple pierced islander in the red sarong starts to play a drum. I call for a wind instrument, a flute, a recorder a pipe, and someone puts a long piece of plastic to my lips for me to blow. I test it with my fingers and find all the right spots, lick my lips and lay into it, pushing air down the plastic shaft and finding a rhythm to match the drummer. I close my eyes and just feel it, let music happen. I don’t make music, I’m a vehicle for music, I’m the blue parrot singing his song with his belly full of liquid illusion. I find the notes in the air that want to be played and weave them into a tiki transition that is joined shortly by one, two more drums. The party sways and my eyes stay closed seeing the notes in my head, bending and breaking and spinning on a dime. We play for days, we play for years, we play for a minutes and when I finally release my plastic toy there is applause. I blush to match my pink blouse, and go to find where my parrot as perched and the party continues.
We move back and forth between juice and drink until finally after a few minutes on the third floor deck it is obvious the rain will drive the smoking inside. We sit a few minutes and Skimmel and I wonder if it’s going to rain, and then the sky claps for us and the rain starts to come down. We go in search of something to munch on to cool the rum barrels in our belly’s and I find bread and cheese and she cold pork that “is exactly how cold pork should be, the sauce doesn’t over power it and the meat falls off the bone.” I appreciate the description and eat my bread and cheese. We realize after sustenance that we have to walk back through the rain. Food makes us realize the tiki terror in our future waking and it’s time for going.
I say goodbye to my parrot, which now I will miss. We grew to like each other, blue bird and I. He told me stories of all the drunken girls whose bosom he had filled with sweet liquor and I was memorized by his tales of island wild nights in the middle of the urban jungle.
We stumble down the stairs and I think about the bird. I turn to Skimmel. “I’ve never been to a tiki party before,” I say. We giggle like schools girls while we skip in the rain, with our rum fueled brains working overtime in the 3 am darkness of the city.