I’ve Got More Tickets Than Muddy’s Got Blues

Look! Piles of them. Mountains, even. Mashed into the glove box and sticking out at the hinge.

Covering the floor like carpet, with mudprints and crumbs and Doritos stains. Down inside the seat beyond the reach of my fingers.

The date on this one reads,  “November 1, 2007,”   but I don’t even remember getting it.

It seems the city has wasted whole forests on me.

Jackie on the Run

I told her, “I just don’t trust anyplace that doesn’t have ‘Texas’ in the name.”

I mean, why would I? What has Oklahoma ever done for me? Or Kansas. Let’s talk Kansas. Can somebody sit down with me right here and now and explain Kansas to me? Kansas, simply, and Kansas, succinctly, in a way even I might understand?

Why, I heard there’s even a place called “French Lick, Indiana,”  although to tell you the God’s honest truth, I have some doubts.

A Hint of Areola

Three and a quarter years.

I have been writing this blog for three and a quarter years now.

Do you have any idea how long that is? Can you even begin to wrap your tiny brain around just how old that makes  “Lesbians in My Soup!”?

Three and a quarter years is longer than Jesus Christ’s ministry (and he never posted a single word!). It is longer than Kurt Cobain was famous. Three and a quarter years is longer than the lifespan of the American newt, and it is even longer than it took the ship to sink in that Titanic  movie back in the Nineties (and I feature 100% less Celine Dion).

Why, this blog is 62 years old in blog years!

Sententious Twaddle

I don’t have any words for you today.

All I have are these goofy manipulated photos of my face.

I hope that is okay. 

I promise I will bring some words for you next time. Until then, you are on your own...

I Went to See Neutral Milk Hotel

As I write this, I am sitting on my roof and I am watching a homeless lady push a grocery cart down the street. I am timing her to see how long it takes for her to push the grocery cart from one end of the block to the other end.

It takes her twenty-two minutes.

This might seem like a very long time to you, but it is a very long block and a very slow lady.

The reason I am writing is because I have been wanting to tell you that I went to see Neutral Milk Hotel play the other night. This was at Warehouse Live, just east of downtown, back on February the 19^th.

A Prickly Future Passed

I have seen the future and it looks like this:

It’s not too far from when we are – from the time we’re living now – when we get to the age of the Brig Pock Craze. It is coming, and if you want to be surprised then, well then, you should stop reading this right now. There be SPOILERS here!

As near as we’re able to tell, it all starts with Phase One and the show. The show. Some hip hop performance at some random awards show, just a few years on from today. It does not matter which one and it does not matter who.

What matters is it happens. What matters is Hip Hop Guy walks out on the stage with his jeans hanging low. I mean very low. I mean very, very, extremely low, low to where he’s showing neck, if you know what I mean. Not a lot. Just a peek. But it is enough.  

It is enough where the cameras keep rolling and the people keep watching, and by morning, half the country is up in arms, offended, while the other half is considering whether they should show some neck in public, too. Well, not half the country: That would mean all the guys, obviously, and not all guys are built for this particular fad of fads.

Which becomes a real problem soon enough and later on.