So what would happen if you’d put spaghetti-taco expert Robert Thompson and professional man-on-the street Greg Packer in the same room at the same time? Just wondering.
Category: Uncategorized
You Can Keep Yer Hippie Peanut Butter
No one’s ever going to confuse me with a hippie or a vegan or an organic-type person. I don’t shop at Whole Foods because it’s too expensive. I will never join the Park Slope food co-op because I did not go to college and grad school so that I could spend the time I’m not at my fulltime job bagging groceries, stocking shelves and hanging out with people so sanctimonious about their “religion” they make Sarah Palin seem like a heathen.
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Live, at The Brazen Head
That’s right, I’m reading at my favorite bar. I’m joining comic, Brazen Head bartender and friend of mine Kendra Cunningham and a few musicians, see below, to raise some funds for another our friends, Lee Greenfeld. If you hand out at The Brazen Head or The Henry Street Ale House, you’ve probably seen Lee working, DJing or consuming books at an alarming rate. Lee blew out his back in a major way and the costs are piling up like crazy. As a fellow Brazen Head inebriate, reader and back-pain victim (I had surgery a couple years ago), I felt compelled to pitch in. To be honest, I just couldn’t pass up a chance to read at the Brazen.
When: Wednesday, Sept. 29
Where: 228 Atlantic Ave., Brooklyn, NY 11201
Time: Doors Open at 8 p.m.
Cover Charge: $10
Other goodies: Raffles for prizes including a signed copy of my book, gift certificate from Brooklyn Tattoo, mystery gifts from The Brazen Head and a gift bucket from Dead Flower Productions. (I don’t know what a gift bucket is, but I want one). Also included, according to one flyer: inebriation, hedonism and lechery.
Lineup:
The Comedy Stylings of Kendra Cunningham (Check out her blog)
A reading from The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival, by me.
Live Music from Benjamin Howard Smith from The Brought Low (acoustic)
and
Justin Angelo Morey and Herb Wiley from The Black Hollies (acoustic)
Video of the Brooklyn ‘Tornado’
I don’t know exactly what hit Brooklyn yesterday. I’m just happy I was in Manhattan at the time and that my neighborhood was spared. Some are calling it a tornado. I guess the jury’s still out. But this video caught something that looks really bad-ass.
And this one.
My Beautiful Brain
So I got a call from the neurologist yesterday. After diagnosing cluster headaches, she’d sent me in for an MRI just to be safe. As I explained yesterday, cluster headaches are basically man migraines. According to some of the literature they’re brought on by alcohol and preserved meats high in nitrites — pretty much the only two food groups I eat on a regular basis. The neurologist, however, sort of rolled her eyes at the literature and said they really had no idea what the hell caused them (not surprising, considering I found that drinking actually made them go away!).
At any rate, a part of me was hoping the MRI would turn up the dormant nubbin of an evil twin just hanging around in my head somewhere. It would explain so much. But no. The scan came back clean. Indeed, the neurologist said it was beautiful. So I got that going for me.
“Say baby, did you know I have a beautiful brain?”
You Thought Pandas Were Cute?
They will eat you and/or your denim jacket.
Gullible for Gurus
I didn’t get past page three of Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat Pray Love.” I physically could not read any further. I’m an eye-roller. And by that point, my eyes had pretty much locked into a backward-facing position. “Oh, c’mon,” was the reaction I kept having. It’s not that the writing was bad. It wasn’t. I just felt like I was listening to a rich white woman whine about her life. I also knew how many women had fallen for this garbage. Here’s a secret, folks. Unlucky in love and at a transitional stage in your life? All you need is a few hundred thousand dollars and a trip around the world. Amazing what a vacation can do! Of course, what it can’t do is guarantee you love or enlightenment that lasts.
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Self-Discipline and Your Dead Relationship
I’m a big fan of self-discipline. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m any good at it. Anyone who’s seen my behavior with a bottle of whiskey — or even a tin of Altoid mints — realizes I have control issues. Still, I’m a fan. Give me a goal — a half marathon or a deadline for a novel — and I can be pretty good about self-discipline, especially if there’s a reward at the end.
One other time in life when I seem to have developed pretty decent self-discipline is when standing in the smoking crater of a destroyed relationship. And if I may be allowed to say so, more people should be like me. The world would be a better place.
Case in point. Some time ago, a friend of mine dumped her boyfriend after years of dating. As one would expect, he didn’t react well. None of us ever do when we’re rejected on a personal level after a years-long relationship. (And I think guys are often caught off guard in these situations, because if the woman isn’t nagging or screaming at us, well, the relationship must be perfect, right?) He was angry. And he made this anger known. Initial outbursts are okay, sure. But then you have to bottle up your rage and go home. You’re not going to win her back.
Easier said than done.
Recently my friend told me she’d gone camping. Oh, and that the ex had texted her a couple of times. They were camping-related texts that weren’t so nice. “I hope you get raped by an angry bear.” That sort of thing. (Okay, he didn’t text that. But my example is funnier than his.)
As a friend, my initial reaction was what you’d expect. “This will not stand! We shall march to his house and unleash rabid ferrets into his boxer-briefs!”
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Montauk and the Hunt for Martian Jesus
Lately, I’ve noticed quite a few people in my Twitter stream or on Facebook or in fleshworld mouthing off about going to Montauk. I guess after City Locusts have finished destroying the Hamptons they’ve moved farther east to finish off the rest of the East End. But I can’t blame them. Montauk is a great place.
I should know. I was traipsing around Montauk back before Montauk was cool. Let me tell you something, ya little Johnny-come-latelies: My friends and I were climbing the Danger Bluffs of Montauk before you even knew the word existed.
Her Life in Oil
My friend Carolina Miranda offers up a pretty good post featuring photos by her old man, who worked in the oil industry for about 50 years. She writes:
I’m one of those bleeding-heart crunchies who likes to think I can maintain a low carbon footprint. I ride a bike, keep clothes until they’re worn out and recycle my batteries. . . . Looking at the pictures, however, made me realize that my life, in a direct way, has been made possible by the extraction and processing of oil (and nickel and copper). Oil is what put food on our table.
Check out the post. And check out the photos.
And keep in mind that 60 years from now, we may see something similar from someone who’s parents worked in the lithium mining industry.
KEN WHEATON 