PorkChop's Legacy Tells All

Thompson, Manitoba

2006-08-25T13:05:00.001-05:00

Have I ever had myself a little adventure.

Anticipating the month of hunger (TAs get their first paychecks on October 1st, and nearly half is shuttled directly off to pay "segregated fees) I signed on for a gig with the department of Forest Ecology, collecting data on the impact of climate change on the boreal forest in Thompson, Manitoba, about 750 kilometers north of Winnipeg. As my friend Cameron put it, I was prepared for a "mossome" experience.

HOWEVER. We were accompanied by "Kaitlyn," a 21-year-old tattooed, pierced undergraduate from bustling Black Earth, Wisconsin, who made it known immediately that I was persona non grata. Literally every comment I made was met with derision, condescension, eye-rolling, etc., and this continued for the entire 6 days, two of which were spent in a UW Fleet van. She claims, additionally, to be allergic to my dog, and wouldn't let him set foot on the first floor of the house we shared. While everyone else drank beer, watched movies, etc., I was minding my dog outside or in the 'slaves' quarters' in the basement. I spent the last week, friends, shaking with anger.

But I am back now, and with friends. Further, I did befriend some of the grownups on the trip and will be hanging out with them tonight. Lastly, though, one of my new internet friends painted me the following tableau, and I feel oddly vindicated:

"Kaitlyn with a K. How quaint. Was she one of those people with a chip on her shoulder the size of a city block? Perhaps she just missed her favorite bull from back home, some stocky redneck guy wearing coveralls, a straw hat, and toenails that poke holes through his former brother's sneakers. His name wouldn't be important, but the fact that he insists on drinking before fucking her might be of some use. Maybe they met one sweaty summer night at some bonfire out in the middle of Sauk county when they were both 14 years old. He told her she was cute, either because he meant in the sense that her buckteeth weren't as long as the others or because she put out. I'm sure their romantic swoon in mashed down piles of yellow grass co-mingled with dog crap paved the way for what was meant to be a long, arduous road filled with farms, an engagement ring with a stone the size of an eyeglass screw, bratty filthy little kids with no shirts and no diapers, and an orange painted kitchen filled with yellowish stains from both greasy cooking and cigarette smoke. Of course, this relationship would commence with his untimely and unfortunate death from exposure after getting drunk and locking himself out of the house one January, and she'd raise two felons, a prostitute, and a black sheep who went on to satisfy his dream of owning a bird/nature trinket store in Madison. She'd go one to live alone in an assisted living facility with a cigarette protruding from her tracheotomy tube.

Or, maybe she was on the rag."

I may have to nail this dude.

Thompson, Manitoba

2006-08-25T13:05:00.000-05:00

Myspace interface

2006-08-17T22:38:00.000-05:00

Seriously, I fucking love myspace. Where else would I meet "SHADOW" from Burnett, Wisconsin (pictured above)?

Here's Ryan's blurb:

SHADOW's Blurbs
About me:
Well I get along with most ppl ,I'm honest about all subjects that I talk about. the trueth is the best way to go nomatter who you are with and what you are doing.I love going out and haveing fun shooting darts and listening to music ,sometimes I dance at the bar.I like to take long walks and at night just to lay back and look at the stars because it is so peacefull.There is alot of fighting in this world. Me I had alot of ladys in my life that just used me and just looking to go out on dates just to see what is out there for now for me!!MY mom died when I was 11 years old ,SO I help out my dad still makes me sad . fantasy layout @ HOTFreeLayouts.com love / music / movies / frazy
HotFreeLayouts
Who I'd like to meet:
I like to meet someone that don't take advantage of me and is kind hearted, that likes me for who i am and to me it doesn't matter what age you are as long as you are 18 and up because love has no age limit and no boundary's.

Okay, I confess. I fucking love this dude. I want to go to his house, huff some paint, and ride on ATVs all day. Maybe pretend they're unicorns. Shit, I don't know. I ain't never huffed before.

Anyway, I will be in Thompson, Manitoba for the next ten days, collecting moss for the Forest Ecology department. Hey, it's a gig. Plus, the O-man gets to come, so it's a working honeymoon, sort of.

When I get back, I start TA-ing. I can't wait 'til they let me at those little fuckers. Teach them there are people who don't have cellphones, and shit.

It's been a long time

2006-08-13T16:36:00.000-05:00

and I'm still too lazy to post. There was a return from Tokyo, and about a month and a half of organic farming. Now there's waiting for school to start, and a war with my transient alcoholic neighbor who insists my dog attacked hers a year and a half ago.

Meanwhile, I find this eerily fascinating.

Those Asians.

All "SJ Ranch" an' shit

2006-07-04T20:53:00.000-05:00

So I just got back from the "supermarket," which is more of a glorified bodega tweaked to appeal to Midwestern college students with its "Beer and Milk [arrow]" neon sign all in cursive and shit. Since I am now making $350/month (I calculate 30 hours/week x 4 weeks = 120 hours or just UNDER $3.00/hour) I have no call to be all buying my personal hygienies at "Studio Quest" and such, and am nearly out of shampizzles, I sprung for a $2.05-bottle of VO5, like, "Tropical Classics" shampoo or something. Honestly, the last time I deigned to use VO5 I was straight rocking it anorexic-style at SJ Ranch horsie camp for girls in Butt Plug, Connecticut, so this will be a hella blast from the past.

Some background: having finally given up on getting a "real job" (complete with a boss who acts like he's making straight 40K more than he is, "successories" on the wall, and radios tuned to "light rock favorites") I joined up with P_ H_ Farms in Stoughton, Wisconsin, for a summer internship.

As many of you know, "internship" is code for "slave labor," but that's cool if you really like your Massa, and he ain't livin' all high off the hoggie hisself. More info on Massa and the crops later, but suffice it to say I have a kind of sunburn "Guernica" going on as a result of rotating my shitty shirts - also I got stung by a damn bee on my first day, and with my "stipend" I will net just about NEGATIVE $50.00 for the summer.

That said, I fucking love it. More later, stinkbombs.

Further dispatches from the East

2006-07-02T14:30:00.000-05:00

Here goes: Tropic of Caitlincorn, Part II

Hi, Mom!

Oh, sorry about your flash flood. We had one here on Tuesday while I
was wandering about from Ekoda to Sakuradai, and all my stuff is wet. I
am going to have to replace my 40 dollar kanji dictionary, I suspect.
Because it is the rainy season it is wet all the time - humid in the
day, damp cold at night.

Oh, my little O. How I miss him. Now it is *beef soup* - more
accurate. I was a little concerned about your continuing to refer to it
as *kale soup* when *meat porridge* was more to the point. I missed him
especially yesterday when I saw a photo of a baby corgi on an ad on the
train (which could have been an ad for just about anything - the ads
here are so ridiculous) and then when I returned home, exhausted from
the day:s walk around the Imperial Palace (it:s HUGE) and through
Yasukuni Shrine) to find, on channel 6, a TV program about elderly
Japanese people teaching their baby puppies to do ridiculous tricks.
There was even a training montage, the background music to which was the
theme from *Flashdance.* Ridiculous. I realized that if I put O-man on
a raised platform and told him to jump over little obstacles he:d find a
way to tell me to go fuck myself, then he:d lay down in my spot on the
bed. I love that little bastard.

As far as I know, Peter is now in a British hoosegow. He apparently is a
50-year-old vegan who did not have these cats spayed or neutered due to
misdirected animal welfare sympathies, which means that we currently
have NINE cats, but the number could increase exponentially in very
little time. In order to put the kibosh on this situation, another
vegan, Liz, has contacted some agency which finds foster homes for
troubled kitties like ours and is, in the meanwhile, taking care of four
of them. One of these cats has decided that it belongs to me and I have
even once come into my locked room to find him on my pillow. This would
be irritating enough if it weren:t for the ever-present threat of fleas,
on the one hand, and my debilitating allergies, on the other. Still and
all, it:s hard not to pity these wretched creatures. It:s not their
fault they:re cats; it:s not their fault they were accumulated by some
irresponsible crazy man with a precarious visa situation.

Anyway, I love you guys and miss you. Have fun on the boat (hahaha)
Today I will go to Shinjuku, the Tokyo one sees in pictures, with all
the neon lights, etc. There is apparently an observatory on the top
floor from which one can see all of Tokyo. Also there is *Piss Alley*,
a tiny little row of buildings which miraculously survived the 1923
earthquake - amid all the skyscrapers, some tiny little wooden restaurants.

As for food, I:ve been trying to eat one big meal a day, around 3 p.m.
This way I can economize without eating rice and gyoza every day, like
all the other tenants here. I of course want to go to restaurants, the
more *authentic* the better, so I look for places which appear to be
closed because the sliding doors are closed, the menus are only in
Japanese, etc. The first day I had a big sushi plate, telling the
sushiyasan to give me whatever he thought appropriate. He gave me a mix of
various things. I asked for wasabi, having forgotten that wasabi is put
into sushi here, unlike into America, but he gave me a weird look and
gave me some. Because I was one of the few people there, and the only
American, and I am pitiful and obsequious and nice, he gave me an extra
piece of sushi gratis. Alas, it was another piece of squid, and I had
had a tough enough time choking down the first one. I thanked him
profusely and fought the almost overwhelming urge to haku (puke)

The second day I found a tiny tonkatsu place in Nerima. Tonkatsu,
incidentally, is my new favorite fat-girl food. *Ton* means pig, and
tonkatsu is a big hunk of pork breaded in panko flakes and fried, served
with a spicy-sweet sauce, shredded cabbage and, of course, sticky rice.
It:s delish.

Yesterday we stopped at a little cafe where I had kani (crab) chahan,
basically fried rice. I hadn:t the foggiest idea what I was ordering,
except that the suffix -han refers to rice, but I was moderately pleased
with the result. This cafe was near Tokyo Eki and so was more Western,
less tasty, and more expensive than my previous choices, but my feet
were by then so tired that sitting down was the priority. The waiter was
unable to convey to us the difference between the faintly yellow-tinged
water in our glasses and the faintly yellow-tinged water in the carafe
on our table, so instead of pouring ourselves glass after glass (we
tested it, rather intrepidly: it tasted the same) he returned time after
time with 8-ounce glasses of the stuff. Bizarre.

Anyway, I:ve got to go soon if I:m to do anything today. The blisters
on my feet are a problem. I have decided to suffer it out, but it:s not
easy. The ones just below my big toe have me in constant agony, but I:m
not here to lay around with my feet up. Today, at least, I will be on
my own, so I won:t be struggling to keep up with a Polish dude who
thinks I:m being a pussy for sitting down. I spent much of our time at
the Yasukuni Shrine Museum yesterday sitting on the little benches
beside elderly Japanese dudes, pretending to read the little didactic
pamphlets only available in Japanese to alleviate the blinding pain in
my feet.

Okay, love you.

I gotta take my 100 yen shower, then I:m off to Shinjuku. Perhaps I
will toss my hat in the air all Mary Tyler Moore-stylie. I:m gonna make
it after all!

-Cake

Everything's terrible/organic farming/race relations

2006-06-27T23:09:00.000-05:00

Okay, so here's a mini-update on my humiliating life. First, I have been searching for a job that doesn't involve suits, excessive A/C, shitty coffee, or jokey e-mail broadcasts. I have found two organic farming internships, but they naturally don't pay very much, you know, MONEY-wise. The first guy's name is Rob, and I spoke with him this afternoon. He is just SO weird that I may be in love with him, all talking about his seven strains of garlic and such.

I took a long walk with the O-man, around Lake Wingra where all the homeless dudes get together to drink and shoot. I seriously don't give a shit what they do; as a die-hard Democrat I vote to increase funding to help these wretched slobs every chance I get. But I would really, REALLY like to be able to take a walk without having my body described to me in lurid detail. I understand that black men prefer "a big backyard," so to speak, but I don't need to be reminded of what, in my culture, is considered a BIG (haha) shortcoming. Honestly, a white man will never follow you, saying, "Now THAT'S a big ass," because 1) he doesn't think it demands applause but correction; and 2) he appreciates that it's totally humiliating. My friend Sarah, whose ass is exponentially bigger than mine, was unfortunate enough to walk past a black man with a microphone on Landsdowne Street in Boston; said man followed her, chanting, "Now THAT's a BIG ASS!" until she broke down in tears.
I guess what I'm saying is, regardless of your sexual preferences, try to be a little considerate. If I had a fetish for acne scars, you FO SHO would not catch me hanging out at the bus stop yelling out to otherwise attractive people "DAMN, YOU GOT SOME ACNE SCARS! THAT LOOOK GOOOOOOOOODDDDD!"

Lastly, the O-man got into a scrap with a pit bull today. Honestly, I don't know what it will take to make him act like a normal dog. We pulled them apart by the legs, and I didn't notice (despite screening him) the puncture wound under his left front arm until about an hour ago. So tomorrow we head to the vet again.

Everything's terrible. Tune in for back-blogs on Tokyo, later.

Mickey's pissed

2006-06-24T15:37:00.000-05:00

Stolen from flickr, what else?

Retro-blog Tokyo: "Tropic of Caitlincorn"

2006-06-24T14:55:00.000-05:00

It's never to late to J-blog. I didn't blog from Tokyo because I was on a shared computer in a common area fighting for internet time - instead I sent a series of broadcast e-mails, starting with:

TROPIC OF CAITLINCORN

Sorry for the delay in e-mail; the last two days have been, to say the
least, hectic and disorienting. This trip is so far a mixture of Kafka
and Henry Miller.

To begin, I sat on the plane with my new penpal, a handsome
Korean-American kid from Houston who is just back from Iraq and was on
his way to Seoul to visit friends. Honestly, a 13-hour flight is an
ordeal that makes lifetime friends. If you can survive the flight
cramped in like veal calves and still speak to each other, you have a
special bond. He is returning to Tokyo, but alas, not until after I
have left.

I managed to get to Ikebukuro by *limousine bus* which is a lot like the
airport shuttle from Mishawum Station, except that the anti-maccassars
(sp?) are lace, the curtains are silk, and the overhead announces in
Japanese and then the Queen:s English, *please do not use your
cellphones on this bus, as it tends to annoy the neighbors.* Excellent.

Once in Ikebukuro, the closest JR stop from Oizumi, where I am staying
(the central loop around central Tokyo, Yamanote-sen, is owned by JR,
the national railroad; the spokes radiating out from this hub are owned
by various private corporations, such that, in order to get around, I
have to buy two monthly passes, each about 10000 yen, or 100 USD: one
from Seibu Department Stores, who own the Seibu Ikebukuro line which I
have to take to get to the central loop; one from JR, to get from
Ikebukuro Station to all other central destinations. I make up for this
expense with my cheap lodgings, of course, but more on that scene below)
I wander around in search of Oizumi. The sense of disorientation is
strong here, even when one has not been awake for over 30 hours, but
after the flight it was too much. I had intended to walk to Oizumi from
Ikebukuro - the nice people at Narita (and they really are VERY, VERY
nice, provided that one demonstrates effort in speaking the language and
bows obsequiously) had told me it was a 10-minute walk. NOT SO. After
walking in circles for a little over an hour, I found Tokyo Metropolitan
Plaza and the Crown Plaza Hotel, a bastian of Western-ness in a
distinctly un-Western part of town. The bellhops and I spoke Japanese;
they disabused me of the idea that walking from Ikebukuro to Oizumi was
a good idea. For this I am forever indebted to them.

I managed (somehow) to figure out my way by train to Minami-Oizumi, but
only after getting off at Nerima-ku and wandering around. My first
impression of Nerima is that it is extremely beautiful; although the
houses are small, it truly is a country of aesthetes, all of whom
display meticulously-kept semi-tropical plants. My second impression?
*Damn, but there are a lot of whores here.* To their credit, they:re
really meticulously-kept semi-tropical whores. After another two hours
of walking around in the dense, humid air, past pachinko parlors, sake
bars, and the like (resisting the by now almost overwhelming desire to
stop for a hot sake, ooki no o, kudasai [the big one, please]) I found a
worker:s union with a tiny restaurant where two middle-aged Japanese men
gave me directions back to the station and photocopied a map for me.
Like a number of people that day, they complimented me on my Japanese
(nihongo ga jouzu desu ne!) A lovely young Japanese waitress from the re
staurant, Arishia, walked me back to the station where, in frustration
(it was by now 8:30 p.m., my plane having landed at 3:30) and on her
advice, I splurged and enlisted the services of a single-fare cab (ie,
anywhere in the area for 650 yen, or just under $6.50) Money well
spent. For the next hour he and I drove through streets so impossibly
narrow that the average American sedan would have a hard time of it -
these were, however, TWO LANE streets, so we careened through Lombard
Street-like curves nearly missing oncoming garbage trucks and private
cars. Also, my cabbie gave off a strong smell of whiskey and water. In
his defense, he was about 5 feet tall, so it probably didn:t take that
much Suntory to suffuse his little system. Having driven in circles for
about 30 minutes, we stopped and used his cellphone to call the
venerable Yoshida House for better directions, but there was no answer.
*dame,* we repeated, in defeat, *inai*
(no good; there:s no one there) I confess that, despite my postmodern
sympathies, I was raised to believe that one can get places with a map
and the correct address. Not universally the case. Every four blocks
or so we would find a home whose owner was so extravagant as to have
purchased street numbers, and we would get out, scratch our heads, say,
*dame,* and get back in. At the end of a long alley by a tiny river we
found this truly odd-looking little structure, a tiny cabin enclosed in
vegetation, with two little tables with ashtrays, an odd assortment of
garbage, an antediluvial naugahyde loveseat, and cement statues of
Buddha. *Kore wa nan desu ka?* I asked, and he replied he hadn:t any
idea. Seeing a light through the vegetation, etc., I asked to get out
to ask directions of whoever was inside. I got out and saw a funky
little sign adorned with a mosaic of what I think is supposed to be a
whale and the words, in English, *YOSHIDA HOUSE*

*YO-SHI-DA-HAU-SU!* I yelled. *Kimashita yo!* (*we:ve made it!*) The
driver leapt out, exclaiming, *yokatta! yokatta!* - *YES!* and I
followed. We gave each other a high-five and I was so happy I teared
up. I gave him a generous tip by Japanese standards, 20000 yen (2 USD)
to compensate him for having spent an hour navigating Minami Oizumi with
me for less than the price of the gas consumed, and he looked at me
quizzically. *Okanemochi desu ka?* he asked (Are you a moneybags?)
and I replied, no, but you were such a good driver. I was exhausted,
elated, and had a Suntory contact high.

By now it was 9:30. I sought out an open door and found one ajar. I
pushed it open with my free hand to find a stark naked Japanese dude who
said, without any register of indignation, or even surprise, *oh ,
um...* I slammed the door shut, apologizing in a panic, and walked
around until I found another Japanese-style sliding door, open about 1
inch, and called in, in Japanese, *excuse me, I just arrived from
America. I am Meagher-san. I am to stay here.* I was met at the door
by a truly enormous, and not unattractive, Frenchman named Geoffrey, who
let me in and showed me my room. *Vous etes Francais?* I asked, and he
was floored. He asked whether I spoke French and I replied that while I
had *plusieurs annees en etudiais, je nai pas l:occasion pour le
pratiquer.* He was ecstatic. He is from Lyons, but I told him about
mon petit frere qui joue le baseball a quelque chose-sur-Orge. He
replied, in French, *I didn:t know there was baseball in France.* I
showed him h
avebatwilltravel.com to confirm my claims. He was duly impressed.

Soon my first naked Japanese came in - I have seen, in my day, fully
naked half-Japanese and half-naked Japanese, but this was the full
Monty, (fu-ru mon-chi) so to speak. I apologized again but promised, in
Japanese, that *chinchin ga mimasen deshita.* (I did not see the penis)
In fact this was true. It had happened so quickly that I didn:t think
to look down, even if I had been so inclined and, let:s face it, I would
have been. I:m a scientist, after all. I seek to know.
He thought this was hilarious, and looked relieved. Geoffrey proposed
that this was only because the chinchin was so miniscule, which met with
laughter and broke the ice.

I told them I knew Peter was on vacation, but that I had arranged to
stay the month. They let me in on the truth: Peter is not on vacation
in Bangkok, he is in a detention center, having been deported for visa
problems (which apparently plague about a third of Yoshida:s tenants)
Peter left in a hurry, shackled, no doubt, to some humorless immigration
official, abandoning his NINE CATS, who prowl about begging for food;
the ad-hoc cat policy being not to give them any, in the hope that they
will take the hint and scadoodle. One of these cats has twice followed
me into my room; another tries to jump on me every time I sit down. My
room, though carpeted, comes with a broom, which has proved an
invaluable tool in Caitlin-cat relations.

As for my room, it is the worst place I have ever seen in my entire
life, but there is something about its abject squalor that makes me want
to tough it out. My floor is sunken in several places; the *bed* is an
army cot covered with several quilts to signify a mattress, which I am
instructed to air out every week or so to kill fleas.
Exhausted, I lay down and slept better than ever before, but was awoken
by immigration officials conducting an impromptu sweep. When asked in
Japanese whether I lived here on my way to the shower (one building
over!) I responded, in Japanese, *yes, since yesterday* and was left
alone. The other tenants were in hiding, peering out their windows from
their rooms or playing possum.

Thus I began my first full day in Japan, eight full hours of which I
spent in search of an ATM that can read American cards. I spoke to
about forty Japanese during the course of the day, each time reciting,
*jidoukikai wa America no ka-do ga yomenaindesu ka. Amerika kara kitta
bakari desu yo. Komatte ne.* (Your ATM does not read my American card.
I have just come from America, and this is a terrible problem.) I was
met with flattery for my language skills, sympathy, and regret that they
hadn:t the foggiest idea where I could find an international ATM.

My quest took me, finally, back to Ikebukuro, where I found, in the
basement behind an upscale gourmet department store (*fat kid Disney,*
as I have named it) at the end of a seemingly endless hallway, a
citibank ATM which, alas, cannot for security reasons dispense more
than 50000 yen or 500 USD per day to foreigners. So I was able, after
an eight-hour (no, really) trek to pay my rent, but nothing more. Today
I will return to Ikebukuro to withdraw another 50000 yen. This is an
excellent money-saving device: merely accessing one:s money is such an
ordeal, one is more reluctant to part with those cartoon-colored bills.

So today I will return to Nerima-ku, where I will speak to Maho Cavalier
of dclanguage about Japanese lessons, and I will perhaps make it to
Shitamachi by the end of the day. In this country, one can:t take
anything for granted.

It:s now 9:30 a.m., so I have to be off. More adventures in Tokyo later.

Love you all,

Cake

Pre-flight jitters-Catherine's plus-size store

2006-05-19T22:43:00.000-05:00

Ugh, so I'm leaving for Tokyo in about 36 hours. I spent today at such places as Target, Old Navy (I know, I know - sometimes a girl just needs a $35.00 jean jacket, okay?), and eventually ShopKo in search of, among other things, a bathrobe. The guesthouse where I am staying has a shared shower and I'll be damned if I'll be wandering the hallways in a towel. Anyway, it appears there's no such thing left for sale in this town. After several hours of shopping, an activity I like just less than sprinting, I left ShopKo and saw, to my right, a "Catherine's Plus Size" store. I have never seen this store before in my life, but it seemed like the sort of place one could find a $20.00 cotton bathrobe, at least, on the logic that enormous ladies of a "certain age" don't wander about in their skimpy things to and fro the bathtub. In desperation I lowered my head and embarked.

The "stars and stripes" window display was a little off-putting, but I persevered. I entered immediately after a very poorly proportioned lady in a "Harley Davidson" leather jacket - one of those women who looks sort of like an apple on a stick, who told the "greeter" she had some items on layaway. Yipes. The greeter took her name (Karen - a pseudonym, if "Karen" has any sense of dignity) and then led me to the racks of muumuus and gingham overshirts where, she claimed, bathrobes were located.

In fact there was no such animal. There was all manner of zip-up housecoat and sequined (dear God!) nightshirts. I don't claim to be a small girl: in fact, I've gained more weight than I care to admit even to myself since my move to the Midwest, but the smallest size looked like it could be used to snare wild game by spanning it, cartoon-style, between two neighboring trees. I became short of breath, and made my way swiftly, to the exit, but not before (over)hearing a big-boned blonde on her cellphone saying, apparently facetiously, "Oh, yah, I'll get a mini-skirt."

So. Under 36 hours and still without a bathrobe. Tomorrow pups gets on a plane to my mom and dad; more news then.

OH MY GOD

2006-05-11T00:42:00.000-05:00

It has finally happened: this hot dude I fucked on a dare at NYU is on "Elimidate." (Click "Steven," Wednesday 5/10)

Oh, my God. Maybe one of those lucky ladies ended the night listening to him apologize for his performance. Good times, those.

Also he came over to study once, threw his attache on my sofa and asked me where his dinner was.

Oh, yuh

2006-05-09T16:07:00.000-05:00

Awesome, kind of.

"everything angry"

2006-05-09T03:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think I am obsessive neurotic. Like in Freud's case history, about the guy who trips over a stick and tells himself he will go back and put it the right way and can't get any rest until he goes back and does it? I remember reading that in college, and when Freud wrote that ONs were hyper-sensitive to sound, I was all, "hot damn! So THAT's what's wrong with me!" But then, maybe I'm just a petty cunt.

So,hmmm. I have been trying to edit my little headline to delete "and slut," and add a subtitle that reads, "EVERYTHING ANGRY," the former (and, come to think of it, the latter, too) because one has to relinguish the title when the only action she's seen in like six months is letting a balding Republican go down on her. For real. (It's been a rough semester, porkies.) Alas, goddam blogger won't let me, so just try to close your eyes and imagine a more accurate and rewarding blogsperience.

Anyway, here's another link to stupid shit. Unless you were at the Chicago O'Hare Hyatt Regency this weekend, in which case you basically got to see it live. Loser.

Oh, my.

2006-05-09T02:07:00.000-05:00

So. I finally shat out a 21-page paper, in about 37 hours, during which I have become more bitter and "spinster-y" (as my mom puts it). I live in a building with 15 units and 2 guest spots. Now, this isn't really an issue anymore, since I usually go out instead of entertaining, but it's irritating that these two spots are occupied everyday by the same two vehicles - one, it turns out, by some bitch who lives in a neighboring building. People just feel so goddam ENTITLED. Bitch gonna get towed tomorrow.

In happier and less obsessive news, I am leaving for a month in Tokyo in less than two weeks. I have hella shit to do between now and then, including giving in and getting a pair of "crocs," but in the meanwhile I've been cruising craigslist Tokyo for miscellaneous weird shit, when I came upon this (shudder):

Be sure to check out the blog, if you like night terrors.

What just happened was hella suck.

2006-03-24T02:17:00.000-06:00

I just wrote a message of apology and explanation to you, my two loyal readers, with really elaborate and flowery descriptions of how entirely miserable graduate school life is, etc., which was then erased with an unthinking flick of the thumb.

Yipes.

In any event, let me update you. I have apparently given myself another ulcer. Sleep is a sensuous pleasure which largely eludes me. I have begun vomiting bile again.

In three weeks I begin my "qualifying exam" process, through which the department will determine whether I deserve to proceed to the PhD level or not. During these two weeks I have two major assignments due in Japanese, as well as a 25-page paper on Japanese media. So I'm shitting my pants.

Here is some e-joyment for you:

http://www.mycathatesyou.com/

Olympics

2006-02-10T23:00:00.000-06:00

The Porkchop professes her ambivalence toward the Olympics.

It seems to PL that the Olympics do not, in fact, overcome politics:

http://www.infoplease.com/spot/mm-munich.html

while they do, in fact, reinforce the http://images.google.com/images?hl=en&lr=lang_en&c2coff=1&rls=DVXA,DVXA:2004-35,DVXA:en&q=+site:www.seatseek.com+Torino+Olympics and inevitability of Western democracy/capitalism.

Wordpress?

2006-02-10T22:56:00.000-06:00

So my ex has encouraged me to move this site to wordpress.com. Does any of my three loyal readers know how to do this?

The paucity of PCL posts has in large part been a reaction to the difficulty of posting and editing...

Anyone?

Who Are You Wearing?

2006-02-04T00:31:00.000-06:00

...to the 2006 Porkies?

For the first time ever the Porkchop has seen a majority of the films nominated by the Academy-to be precise, 3 of 5.

Here are my reviews:

Brokeback Mountain:
If you are in your 30s to 60s and are in a book club, you have likely read Annie Proulx. If you are fond of her style of writing (i.e., elaborate character sketches without any plot development) or you are gay, you will love it. If you are not gay but support the gay lifestyle (like the Porkie) you will support the filmmaker's intentions but will lament the fact that it is just not that good a movie. I frankly agree with Gene Shalot's (sp?) appraisal of Jake Guyllenhall's (sp?) character. It is not a great love story for our time, gay or otherwise. It is a study in human misery and forbidden love, but the story is complicated by Jake's character's apparently insatiable sexual appetite. In a time when Gay men and women are fighting to assert their right to legally sanctioned committed relationshipts, Brokeback Mountain is neither a step forward or backward, all things considered, but not that satisfying in any event.

Goodnight and Good Luck:
A movie you can enjoy with your parents (they can explain it to you): a beautifully shot, skillfully acted little film. It's like NPR: You resist it but it touches youi and you're glad you did it. Maybe more like giving blood. In any event, you don't wanna do it but it feels good when you do.

Crash:
A movie about race relations NOT written and directed (thank God) by Spike Lee--which means that the characters, white and black (though, alas, not Asian or Hispanic) are protrayed in multiple dimensions (which is to say, in contradistinction from Lee's films), more than one dimension.

Not having seen the other two movies, I suspect "Brokeback Mountain " will sweep all categories for political reasons with which I do not entirely disagree. The best movie (as if we were judging such things) is "Goodnight and Good Luck" by a long shot.

The Mystery Can

2006-01-28T21:02:00.000-06:00

So lately every time I try to blog it takes forever for the words I type to come up on screen and then the lights flash off and on. Someone powerful does not want me to bring you the quality absurdity anymore. I fight the power, exercise my First Amendment rights, and bring you..... THE MYSTERY CAN!

A hundred cheeseburgers!

2006-01-26T01:37:00.000-06:00

So there's at least one regular reader whom I know will appreciate this post. The premise is simple: drunk Asian kids in Vegas, apparently inspired by Harold of "Harold and Kumar" fame, decide to take on the (evidently legendary though, til now, presumed apochryphal) In-n-Out 100 x 100: 100 patties, 100 slices of cheese.
I only wish I had had some part in this, planning or execution. Well played, drunken Asian kids! An extra-special kudos to the man in the leather pants!

Good Luck, suckas

2006-01-23T23:17:00.000-06:00

Dear University of Wisconsin library system:

Please be advised that you will get the copy of the "Marx-Engels Reader" (that I snatched up on the first day of school before anyone else could think of it, riding my bike home in the bitter cold with all my books PLUS the "Reader," swerving due to the extra book weight, and have since filled with post-it flags scribbled with marginalia in preparation for my qualifying exams, and which some douchebag has apparently "recalled," having lacked my foresight) when you pry it from my cold, dead hands. How dare you even ask? That sucka's mine until May 30, 2006. SUCK IT.

Scientist Humor

2006-01-17T11:50:00.000-06:00

Well shit, dude. I was just sayin'

2006-01-16T14:39:00.000-06:00

Ah, Ray Smuckles

The White Flecks are Flavor

2006-01-12T02:03:00.000-06:00

So here's a new discovery, "Starvin' With Lou" Lou is an ex-bouncer and ex-chef who shows the good people of Brighton, MA how to eat for cheap. The link leads you into a dark tunnel of Luau Spam Burritos. At $4.00 per, you're better off hitting up Anna's for a CVB.

Blogworthy

2006-01-11T16:15:00.000-06:00

sooooo, my blog hiatus has been entirely justified, as there has been nothing blog-worthy in some time. Following a marathon walk with pups, however, I returned to find that several streets have been blocked off and the Homeland Security Team called in, so that's a good time. Apparently some guy dropped a "suspicious package" into the sewer and we're all going to die. I hope we can survive until evening, though, because my neighbors are having me over for bouillabaise.

Anyway, I love Madison for its Sesame Street feel. During the walk I stopped by my favorite store, the glitter workshop on East Johnson, to pick up a dainty little necklace for tomorrow night's, er, date. Miss Heather, the owner, and I began chatting about our fattitude and love of beer, and she mentioned to me a new weekly event, namely:

Mondays at Mickeys:

OK. Monday nights suck here at Mickey's. Seriously- It's like a fucking
graveyard up in here.

So here's my idea.

A Weekly record party/service industry night. Service industry folks get
$2 shots and $2 taps and Local musicians and scenesters come in and play
music from 10-1:45.

I'm looking to get enough people involved to have three people come down
a week, and a cast of 12-15 regulars. That way you'll only have to
commit to an hour a month. If you're interested in coming down to the
best damn bar in town and playing some music, I'd love it if you would
respond. (If you have names of folks who you think would be good, please
please please give me their email addresses or phone numbers.)

I can't afford to pay you, but I'll definitely make sure you drink free
while you're playing your records/CDs/iPod.

Let me know ASAP, because we're on life support here.

Perhaps you flipped me off today.

2005-12-20T20:39:00.000-06:00

If not, you're in the minority. Because my car ran out of gas on the corner of John Nolen and Broom Streets. Awesome? Awesome. One has no recourse but crying and retaliatory off-flipping.

After my final exam (Japanese) I'm ready to rock out with my cock out, proverbially. See you on the flipside, blogmos.

Meanwhile, here is your Christmas present.

You can avoid my wrath by not talking to me

2005-12-12T16:46:00.000-06:00

So it's been a while. I'm putting the "finishing touches" on a paper on brain death and political resistance (no, seriously) which I have to present to my class tomorrow or Thursday, depending. With my luck I'll get like 5 minutes at the end of lecture and I'll have to be doing my gay power-point presenting while people pack up their shit.

In other news I am just about done with the world's worst group project for Japanese. Unlike most group projects, where I totally dominate and do everything, I was barely involved in this one at all. Mostly because I don't give a shit, since I know they'll fuck me with a BC regardless of effort. Like Goodfellas: "Fuck you, BC." Only in broken English.

The worst part is that I'm teamed up with this pissy little queen who blogged about how he wishes I were more responsible, then asked me to edit his grad.school essay (thank God I did) Today he and the other kid, White Boy Dreadlocks, had a confab in which he shrugged his shoulders and made a concerned face while gesturing in my direction, then instructed me to make sure I "read the paper over a couple times before our presentation." Honestly. I thought I would strangle him to death with his fake cashmere scarf.

The dog is improving after a brush with death this weekend, which involved the vomiting of bile and the projectile shitting of blood. After a trip to the puppy ER (first estimate=$902.00. I decided to pass on the radiography, etc.) he's on bland diet and a cocktail of doggie drugs.

So that's that for now. I leave you with some classic games to put a smile on your inside parts.

Merry Christmas!

2005-11-28T20:56:00.000-06:00

Here is your Frosty the Snowman "personal massager"!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2005-11-24T16:54:00.000-06:00

Porkchop is thankful for her pup, who gorged himself on turkey and buttered bread crusts discarded during the preparation of bread pudding, and ralphed several times throughout the night, thoroughly lubricating her bedding.

Porkchop is thankful for her department, with whom she will be spending the day. She is bringing the aforementioned bread pudding with raspberry sauce and curried carrots. (mmmmm)

Porkchop is thankful for, albeit a little pissed at, her parents, who no doubt will call before the night is over to yell at her for buying a turkey before Thanksgiving when she could have waited and gotten one for $0.19/pound. They will then chide her for living like she is rich although she is poor and she will have to hold the phone away from her ear while she waits for them to tire themselves out.

Happy Thanksgiving, one and all!!!

Merry Christmas!

2005-11-23T14:59:00.000-06:00

Buy me stuff.

Pin the Tail on the Beaver

2005-11-21T20:51:00.000-06:00

here

AHHH!

2005-11-20T23:15:00.000-06:00

This is a fantastic Xmas present for all my friends. Cute, soft, affordable.

Actually I'm thinking of getting myself an 'ulcer,' although 'yeast' is adorable.

I rule.

2005-11-20T14:48:00.000-06:00

First I found $6.00 on the sidewalk (dry, even). If this happened every weekend I wouldn't mind the noisy drunkards disturbing the peace all night. In any event it's a start.

I then checked my myspace profile, and apparently I am still desirable, recent history notwithstanding:

Hi, this is Jim,
I am a single white man in Elgin Illinois. I saw your profile and thought we had a lot in common,,why don't you check out my profile, and if you feel the same way,,you are welcome to give me a call at 847-///-////. I give you my number to put you at ease as anyone willing to give up their phone number is not a person to be afraid of. I also do this to weed out those women just looking for a cyber relationship. I am looking for the real deal and have no patience or time for a woman who wants only a chat buddy or to tell me how horrible her ex was and how devastated she is by this, hey we all have a past, and if you are over the age of 2..you have been hurt at least once in your life. Get over it and move on, life is too short for self pity and wasting time…...If you are ready to pursue a new chapter in your life and ready for a man who is emotionally as well as romantically available then give me a call,,bye for now- James

So now I have $6.00 and a new boyfriend who lives in Elgin, Illinois! Fuck, yeah. Sometimes I'm GLAD I woke up.

It's Bad Art Day!

2005-11-19T17:27:00.000-06:00

I have to say, www.itsablackthang.com has so much bad art, it was a challenge picking just the one, but that's editorial responsibility for you. I rose to the challenge. More shit next week, my interest level permitting. Now I must read until my eyes cross and worry about how I am going to get through the rest of the month on $60.00.

Smmmoooooches, loyal readers.

Bloggity!

2005-11-15T21:18:00.000-06:00

For God's sake. A wise man once said, "it's all fun and games 'til the papers come due." I am in hell right now, writing three big ones by the end of the semester, on: 1) Japanese nationalist sentiment and language policy; 2) Rogers Brubaker and the concept of ethnicity; and 3) undecided - possibly a look at commodification of the body by the state or some such. In any event, I have had to pass up an invitation to Bon Jovi tomorrow night (whose "Slippery When Wet" was my first cassette tape - after all, what would lead my mom to think it might have some objectionable/suggestive material?) and, worse yet, Drink to the Ban heads to Mickey's on Thursday night. You heard me: Mickey's, the only bar that matters. Instead I'm camping out with a stack of library books, some post-it notes, and several 2-liter bottles of Diet A&W Root Beer, which I have recently rediscovered. So fizzy and cloyingly sweet... As for tonight, I'm off to Espresso Royale for some decaf chai to practice for tomorrow's oral exam.

Batshit insane

2005-11-14T21:37:00.000-06:00

Dammit dammit dammit! I had a mini-tantrum today in class when we were discussing sexist language in English and I came up with "hysteria," to which this clique of douchebags responded with laughter, as if *I* were the idiot. It immediately brought me back to the 7th grade when my douchebag English teacher, whose name I am pleased to realize I can't recall, had to lecture my classmates against mocking me since they might learn something. I had half a mind to lay into these fools (one of whom, 'Luke' is just a moron who keeps challenging everything I say, despite the fact that I am always right) but instead sent them the above link. Seriously, if you are unexposed, just shut up and learn. Fools! I am pretty sure this qualifies me as batshit insane, but frankly at this point I just don't care.

Today I'm just very, very tired

2005-11-10T18:13:00.000-06:00

It's been a long day, and it's cold outside, so I've spent most of it bunched up, trying to keep my core temp at some reasonable level. I'm kind of cranky, but I wanted to remind my make-believe readers in Madison that tonight's Drink to the Ban is at Slice's on Pennsylvania Avenue, starting at 7:00.

I will either be out with my department or soaking in a jojoba-scented bubble bath.

Holy Shit! Jon Secada?!!!!??

2005-11-09T22:00:00.000-06:00

Please hit this link with sound ON... please.

Into the rabbit hole

REMINDER!

2005-11-09T18:16:00.000-06:00

It's only 1 hour, 43 minutes until Part II of the Perrin/Fisher "Trading Spouses," my new favorite show. Here is a link to a blog from some dude from Brooklyn

Try as I might, I couldn't find a still portrait of Ms. Perrin on google image, so just take my word, okay?

Blogpression

2005-11-09T16:08:00.000-06:00

Dude, this blog needs more pictures, especially now that blogger has enabled people like me to include pictures without even typing a line of code. (I prefer mouse-clicking, especially when there are helpful icons to show me the way: Thank You, Blogger.com!)Today's image comes to us from Big White Guy, a blog written by a (presumably) more interesting person than me.

Here you go - today's rant is:

Last night I rearranged my schedule to attend a talk on "The Coming of Photography to India," by a renowned British anthropologist, underwritten by the South Asian Studies, Art History and Anthropology departments. As with too many academic lectures, his talk was incomprehensible, and I have a more catholic theoretical background than most. My friend and colleague Krista confided, at the end of the talk, "I haven't the foggiest idea what he is talking about." Thank God. The whole "emperor's new clothes" syndrome in academia is beginning to get me down; the most confident intellectuals assume that if they don't know what the hell he meant by "neo-techno-materialism" or his hasty, self-serving, inappropriate use of pretty phrases poached from works by Benjamin and Adorno (which, incidentally, referred to non-photographic technology, and were written approximately 75 years after the moment he discussed), then they are just underexposed or intellectually limited.

Finally some grand poobah from South Asian Studies raised his hand and asked, essentially, what on earth he was talking about, and the speaker simply answered (this is soooo fantastic!): "Well, that was what I addressed when I apoke of the 'curve of the photograph.' I don't know how to clarify it further without recapitulating the points of the paper I just presented." FUCKING BRILLIANT! After another couple references to abstruse works by Bataille and Lyotard, he presumably took his speaker's fee (shwoinks!) and made off to the nearest pub to laugh at the coup he just pulled off.

I realized that my efforts to improve my writing by making it clearer and more easily comprehensible have been entirely misdirected. From this moment on I will cultivate a style of writing which is so dense and esoteric that only I understand it. When someone asks what the hell I am talking about, I will simply snort at him something to the effect that, if he has to ask, he'll never know.

Movie Review!

2005-11-08T16:34:00.000-06:00

Last night I watched "I HEART HUCKABEES," which apparently was written by a high school sophomore who has just read "No Exit" in Francais Annee Deux and has realized that incomprehensibility = depth = existentialism. Okay, I'll drop my ironic pose - this movie is a steaming pile of shit. But for the moment when Jude Law's character proclaims, "I drive a BMW SUV and I LIKE driving my BMW SUV" and Marky Mark's character attacks him, it was two hours of terrible writing, terrible acting, and a gross misinterpretation of "existentialism." I did, however, come to know myself better by the end of the film. For one, I came to terms with my hatred of Jason Schwartzman or, as I like to call him, the poor man's Luke Wilson. I also came to terms with the fact that I still want to make gritty, Dorchester Avenue-style hobo love to Mark Wahlberg.

No, Really II

2005-11-07T18:20:00.000-06:00

To quote the inimitable Onyx, "b-b-b-but wait, it gets worse!"

This morning I was late for class because, I fucking kid you not, my rear bike tire is flat.

After class I guilted my friend Ben into taking me back to Tires Plus, where they recognized me, of course, and my shitty car. They had to order my tires, and the dudes on the east side fucked up, so I wound up with FOUR ENTIRELY NEW TIRES for a mere $173.00. I have now purchased eight tires in under 48 hours.

Gross

2005-11-06T14:59:00.000-06:00

So this morning I received two e-mails from two exes - the one who just dumped me making a good-humored reference to my mocking him for his recent discovery of myspace, and this, from one who lives in Boston:

... it looks like I'll be in Madison the weekend after next. I still have that key (no, I didn't melt it down to make a vampire-killing bullet) so maybe I'll just roll up and be laying naked, in your bed, covered in Culver's. Little brown hairs (and cheese) everywhere...

I'm so amused, and also horrified, that I felt I had to post this, although he will remain nameless. Porkchop respects a person's right to privacy, even when that person is a raging freak.

Myspace

2005-11-05T21:32:00.000-06:00

So I think I'm pretty much over myspace at this point. I haven't had the courage to end it all yet and commit myspace suicide, even though it would be so simple: delete/zap/no more.

In addition to the fact that my now-ex has just discovered it (which is a little like just discovering "The Onion," really) I get friend requests from guys who: a) are looking for their soulmate, and think I may be it; or b) are gratuitously adding women ages 18-29. Take this turd, for instance.

In other news, Siobhan is trying to set me up with some tattooed math genius named "Jeremy." Frankly some dirty tattoo sex would do me some serious good.

The quest for the perfect vintage aluminum Christmas tree continues.

No, Really.

2005-11-05T21:09:00.000-06:00

No, really, this is really how I spent my day. Swear to God.
1. Piled into the car with pups to take him to Verona dog park (the nice one, in the country)
2. blew right front tire
3. started walking aimlessly, in search of pay phone
4. am rained on
5. picked up by nice guy in pickup with "In His Footsteps: What Would Jesus Do?" paperback on passenger seat; call AAA from his phone
6. return to car/wait for tow, very wet, cold
7. tow to Tires Plus
8. 2.5 hours and $350.00, plus $40.00 at PetSmart to keep us busy while waiting
9. still cold, wet, and now stinky, take newly aligned car to Target for detergent, warm new sweatpants to enjoy at home
10. driving back to beltline, in dark/rain, HIT MEDIAN--
11. BLOW TWO NEW TIRES
12. nervous breakdown; go to nearest store (Milio's Subs) to call cab
13. wait in cold and rain with dog for 1/2 hour for cab; abandon car, go home

This just doesn't happen to normal people

A Song About Blood and Shamrocks, For My People

2005-11-05T01:24:00.000-06:00

So just 26 hours after my attack on the invention of Irish-American ethnicity in my anthro. seminar, Siobhan (Hot Siobhan, of the Shamrock tattoo) invites me to The Kissers' CD release party at the High Noon Saloon. Given my hatred of "Irish Punk" and the High Noon Saloon, one would rightfully expect me to decline, except that I was sorely in need of a night out. After playing "who's fucking Greg's wife?" I amused myself by requesting such numbers as "Bottle of Smoke," "Galway Bay," "Jump Around," and of course, the Corrs' "Leave Me Breathless," the title of which we were all too drunk to recall for the first hour and a half. After intense concentration I squeezed it out of my aftmost brain quadron to raucous applause by my party, disdainful looks from the surrounding tables who apparently take their 'heritage' more seriously. During the encore I yelled out a request for "A Song About Blood and Shamrocks, For My People in Galway" which was not well received. Then I was alternately insulted and hit on by a tiny dude with muttonchops in a satin jacket with "Scofflaws" and "Rancid" patches on it, and decided to go. I am now totally confused by the fact that there are TWO champagne-colored Lexus SUVs taking up spots, one the guest spot and one the handicapped spot. Is this a COUPLE with matching SUVs, both of whom think they are entitled to monopolize parking spaces which they are obviously not entitled to use? The plot thickens.

Excellent.

2005-11-04T00:07:00.000-06:00

There is a word for my private hell.

Here is a message to my classmates:

Fucktards: grow up. Japanese language study is (further) handicapping your chances of seeing real, human pussy. It's paying my tuition and a generous stipend. Seriously, if I suck at Japanese, it's 'cause there are better things out there on which to spend one's time. Trust me; I'm a grownup. Now navigate away from the World of Warcraft forum and get some fresh air.

I may kill myself before my fellowship obligation ends.

Update

2005-11-03T22:15:00.000-06:00

The Venus serenaded Dr. Price of archeology on Tuesday, his birthday. She now lives in an archeology lab. Photos, er, eventually.

Burger Quest '05

2005-11-03T20:58:00.000-06:00

So, fortuitously enough, Drink to the Ban headed this week to the Caribou, so I was able to 1) support a local business suffering as a result of the ban (fuck you, Steve); 2) meet up with some friends from the department; and 3) conduct some valuable hamburger research. The PlazaBurger fiasco made me a bit reluctant about bar burgers, but the 'Bou is for sure a 5 out of 5, provided you don't require such fancy items as lettuce. It's just a fucking delicious burger, with cheese $3.75, fries extra. Fresh vegetables nowhere in sight, although pickle slices come standard.

In other news, I followed some asshole for two blocks who was going about 2mph. Because I have basic trust in people, I opted not to beep or turn on my highbeams, assuming there must be some good reason. The reason was that she was on her cellphone. A bas le road cuntery, for rizzles. I've had enough.

Halloween '05

2005-10-30T01:05:00.000-06:00

Here's the play-by-play here in Little Falujah: I was just taken by surprise by a VERY DRUNK woman screaming in Japanese, followed by two drunken douchebags trying to BREAK our fence because they were unable to see the walkway to Wilson Street or the FUCKING ROAD to Doty. Here's how things went down:

Bro #1: "Matt, dude, I gotta find the way through this fence."
Seriously, dude, I just gotta find the part where you go through.
I just gotta find the, you know, middle part.
Okay, I'm gonna scale the fence." (Scraping of sneakers on wood)
Bro #2 (Matt):"Dude, just break the fence."
KEE-RACK/howling of dog
Porkchop: "DO NOT BREAK THE FUCKING FENCE! SHIT, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
Bro #1: "Dude, how do we get out of here?" (Notice, no "hey, sorry I tried to break your nice fence, which incidentally I probably did, but that's why you pay $200.00 a month in condo fees, right? If you'll excuse me, I'm off to rub my peener against some underaged slut from Iowa dressed like Paris Hilton to the beat of 'It's Gettin' Hot in Here'.")

Seriously, the back parking lot is no kind of labyrinth. I have been nine kinds of drunk in my life, but never to the extent that I couldn't spot a twenty-foot wide driveway to the street and opted to drop-kick my way through a wooden fence. Shit.

Tomorrow I'm shopping for a pearl-handled BB gun, so next year I can one-pump Matt and Bro in the calf the next time the little Einsteins get lost in our fucking parking lot.

Odd.

2005-10-29T23:13:00.000-05:00

This idea does not suck. Tough to implement, perhaps, but gives the Chopper another two months free from her crippling Seasonal Affective Disorder.

God,

2005-10-29T23:08:00.000-05:00

do I hate Sheryl Crow.

Um...

2005-10-29T23:01:00.000-05:00

Hey, these guys seem like a pretty cool outfit! I'm inspired to submit a photo of a bloody hanger and the message, "Why Pro-Choice? The Answer is Clear!" Maybe one of those photos from Abu-Ghraib...

Halloween

2005-10-29T22:44:00.000-05:00

Well, it's Halloween again, and people DRIVE IN FROM OUT OF STATE TO RIOT ON STATE STREET. Seriously, every available parking space is taken by idiots who will take a fucking ROAD TRIP in order to set fire to garbage cans and punch police horses. (Pssst - it's the dude in the saddle who was too stupid to be a gym teacher, not the poor beast.) I have been listening to nearly incessant howling from outside since about 7:30, but O-man and I have settled in for the night, having duct-taped the windows, our medic-alert bracelets within arm's reach.

Last night I pulled off my totally awesome costume, although I left the head off most of the night. This was okay because I was wearing makeup and looking smoking hot, which the archaeologists appeared to notice. Hooray for me. My ridiculous dancing is only enhanced by the presence of a 72" diameter papier mache fatsuit, I realized, so all in all it was a hit. I suspect that I may have contracted tetanus as a result of the errant ends of chicken wire I failed to bend away from my raw, naked flesh, but that's the price of attention-starvation. I have donated the Venus to the archaeologists for Dr. Price's birthday Tuesday. Apparently one of the cute guys I was talking to (but whose name I can't recall, on account of Kyoko's vodka/tonics) is going to interrupt his class on Baltic Archaeology by bursting in, singing "Happy Birthday" in my Venus suit.

I had totally forgotten about the Badger Herald "Shoutouts" until just now, when I did a google search for "Madison Halloween Idiocy." I think it's fantastic that people are so innovative in their quests to get laid, and also that sorrority sisters are getting the derision and abuse they so desperately need.

On an unrelated note, I am still wondering how much more embarrassing President Bush has to get before my neighbor takes her dramatic, idiotic "W: THE PRESIDENT" sticker (for which she evidently paid $6.99!) off her car. Seriously, rescinded nominations, "Scooter" Libby, FEMA... dude, just peel it off quietly under the veil of night, no questions asked, 'kay?

I confess

2005-10-26T22:24:00.000-05:00

I live for shit like this.

BurgerQuest '05

2005-10-26T21:55:00.000-05:00

So my friend Tim and I went to the Plaza tonight to test the PlazaBurger. I hated to admit it to myself (and to Tim, since it was my idea) but the plazaburger disappointed. The "plaza" prefix refers to the special sauce which, though concocted of sour cream, mayonnaise and herbs, had all the tang of semen. I also had fried mushrooms, which were just soft and slippery and flavorless. We plan to hit the Caribou for some 'BouBurgers next time, and I'll fill you in.
Also, I found a site about the best burgers everywhere, and there's a link to Burger Wisconsin. I wondered why I'd never heard of this chain, and it's because it's in fucking NEW ZEALAND. HUH?
In later research, I found this, which is now on my favorites. Lots of gooey money shots of American cheese and such. Mmmm. Foodpron.

Shitty Tipper Database!

2005-10-26T17:42:00.000-05:00

Man, this ROOOLZ.I wish they'd had this back when I was behind the bar.

Venus

2005-10-26T17:15:00.000-05:00

So I've spent approximately $80.00 between Dorn Hardware and Arts and Craft Supply Store, as well as about 12 hours of wire-bending, papier-mache-ing, and sponge-painting to create my Halloween costume, the above pictured 25000 y.o. morbidly obese fertility statuette. When it is finished I will get someone to take pictures of me for uploading purposes.

Go, Onion, Go

2005-10-26T17:08:00.000-05:00

Sorry about my blogbatical; it's been a nasty and hectic month for the newly single porkchop. This is not helping my outlook, although it's probably for the best. I have a number of friendy things planned for this week and so am distracted. Yesterday, however, I was left to my own devices and spent most of the day with pups. While at "Star Books" looking for a copy of Gellner's "Nations and Nationalisms" (no luck) I heard this reported on the radio, which cracked me up. Apparently one of the Onion dudes wrote the President directly in response, inquiring how much $$ in legal fees were spent on this little exercise, and suggesting that such monies might be better spent, say, putting together some sort of organization to deal with, say, natural disasters or something. Like a federal emergency something-or-other. Classic.

Well, tonight I'm off to the Plaza to meet Timmy for some plaza burgers and fried mushrooms. We're going to fryolate ourselves into blissful oblivion.

I hate my life!

2005-10-06T19:26:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it's just so soothing to say, "fuck, I hate my life." I overdrew my account on account (hardiharhar) of the East Asian Studies Department somehow fucking up my fellowship monies and so have to live on credit until it's resolved. Also the cute dude with the innocent crush on me in seminar turns out to be a married swinger. Not that I was gonna do it, but still. It'd be nice to attract some wholesome interest every now and again, rather than bearded zz-top looking guys in cowboy hats driving VW Cabrios. Just saying.

In search of moral support I googled "I hate my life" and came up with this. Frankly this is a buzzkill because I can't even relish my self-pity. Also, this homeless person has failed to mention Rudy Guiliani as a homeless rights "zero" (see, "heroes and zeroes") perhaps the most despicable persecutor of the homeless in memorable history.

Weep. Sip. Snore.

I knew a man, bojangles, and he blogged for you

2005-09-30T20:41:00.000-05:00

Hey, reader. I'm back from what, it turns out, was a two-month bender, er, hiatus. This summer I was so goddam busy (shinu hodo isogashi) that I couldn't see straight, much less BLOG. But normal school is back in session, I'm generally happy (although I may seriously dump my advisor on the basis of gross lack of kindness and supportiveness) and I am starting to really like the kids in my department. It shocks me even as I type it, but shit, they're not so bad.

Things are good. October 1 is payday for fellows, which means I'm flush for about a week. I bought myself a nice, bohemian shirtdress from (believe it or not) Eddie Bauer - think, weekend at the country house with no panties. Further, I'm starting to feel like I'm getting my life together, way behind schedule, but I may someday become a functional adult. And my boyfriend sent me no-reason flowers today, which makes a girl feel like something!

Today's link is of my aunt and longtime childhood idol, Auntie Les.

Hooray for Auntie Les. Now that I'm back on the blogwagon, expect to hear more from PontifiCaitlin.

Ghostdog

2005-08-04T20:58:00.000-05:00

erm, dogs in kendo outfits

There ain't no nothing

2005-08-04T20:53:00.000-05:00

we can't love each other throooo-ooooough. What would we do, baby? shanananaaaaaaahh

Restaurant Review #1 - Quaker Steak & Lube

2005-08-04T00:46:00.000-05:00

When my boyfriend, visiting from out of town, said he was hungry, I ventured to suggest we might go to Casbah for some feta cheese and eggplant. Inside I knew better, and we predictably wound up at Quaker Steak and Lube.

The Steak is decorated with car parts and entire motorcycles which have been made to look as if they had crashed through the dividing glass between the restrooms and bar area. The latter effect is achieved by hanging irregularly-shaped 'glass' pieces from the ceiling with fishing twine, as if it were the class project of a very well-funded eight-grader. That aside, the "Steak" was apparently hosting some sort of bike rally, meaning that the place was rife with drunken girls, ages 16-67, in all manner of mesh and lace. So the entry fee ($0) was worth it at twice the price. Boyfriend and I rejoiced in the ogling and avoided discussing our motivations.

As for food, Boyfriend ordered a ginormous burger "rare as you can cook it," which, apparently, was not very rare." While I declined comment for the sake of good times, it was distinctly gray. Having wolfed a bagel for dins at 5:30 I was only moderately hungry and so ordered some breaded, fried zucchini sticks, a bastardized version of what we in the civilized world call "zucchini fritti." It was accompanied by a horseradish dipping sauce which, while predictable uninspired, motivated me to finish my zucchini-like vegetable product. All in all, two stars. G0, drink strong drinks and mock the regulars, but get dinner first.

PCL

DIY

2005-08-04T00:44:00.000-05:00

Here is a recipe for bacon soap

Snerp.

2005-08-04T00:08:00.000-05:00

So I haven't blogged in a minute, as the hip-hoppaz say. My boss has encouraged me to read Sarah Vowell's book, since she's SOOOO FUUUUUNNY and he, like my boyfriend, wants to bone her. (They also both want to bone Mrs. George W. Bush, so I'm not investing too much envy energy into it.) In any event, I started "The Partly Cloudy Patriot" in the half-hour per week I've reclaimed from this wretched class. Frankly, I find her punchlines tired and predictable, so I was moved to get my blog back on.

In the past few weeks there has been much illness in my family and the families of those I love, plus the overwhelming stress of working and attending an intensive summer class, so I have been hard pressed to shower and pay bills, much less blog, so I extend my deepest apologies to those who have had to endure the hardship of life without the porkie.

Last weekend I drove to Appleton, home of my boyfriend and some paper plants, to spend time with his teenaged sisters. These girls are aged 13 and 15 and are uncannily adult, so much so that my foul language filter (such as it is) lapsed a few times. Also we let them watch "Cruel Intentions," after which I thought to give them a debrief along the lines of, "dude, that's a caricature of teenage jaded-hood. Not cool, as you'll find out, er, not cool. Also, cocaine is not fun."

On the homefront I reluctantly quit my job in preparation for an overloaded fall semester (13 creditzzz, negro.) My boss said that I was obviously "frayed" and that he supported my decision, which is a relief. I have been pretending that I was on some sort of A&E documentary about obsessive-neurotic disorder these days to push myself onward. I'll be riding my new bike on University, turning to an imaginary camera and saying, "see, here's the worst part of my morning. The streets are in such need of repaving, it's like getting hit in the crotch with a blunt hammer every two yards or so."

I have been making jokes about my ganzta dog for a minute and discussed the possibility of making my fortune from a novelty internet-only dog novelty rap track with my dog park friends. To my surprise and dismay my friend Adam came up with a background track and asked me to pen some doggy rhymes. To which I have agreed. Seriously.

I am now trying to figure out my fellowship situation. Apparently I am entitled to some sort of health care. Honestly I just want a plan that enables me to: simulate the thyroid gland I had assassinated in 1997, protect my uterus from potential inhabitants, and keep my mood sufficiently buoyant that I can face a day of school. This should cost, as I see it, less than $100.00/month, so let the bidding begin.

Also, here are some pictures of cats who fell asleep and had things balanced on top of them, then photographed: link

don't call it a comeback...

2005-07-16T15:08:00.000-05:00

i'm such a lazy blogger. It's been busy times lately, what with 20 hours a week of Japanese class, plus my job at the firm. My great aunt Nilde apparently is in worse health than usual, and her baseline is high blood pressure and cholesterol, plus the burden of hating everything. After two trips to the ER, during one of which she apparently lost her pulse she is in a rehab clinic near my mom and has already alienated everyone, which is quick work, even for her.

This weekend I'm on my own, since the boyfriend has work and family obligations and my friends are elsewhere. I am supposed to be in Milwaukee right now at a Brewers game, but I overslept, then pedaled around Lake Monona on one of Madison's famous bike paths. It was sort of underwhelming, since I took "Lake Loop Path," which, for reasons I fail to comprehend, doesn't feature any views of the lake. Rather, it features the same sort of mid-century architectural follies one finds everwhere. It occurred to me at some point that I could very well be in, like, Carver, Massachusetts.

Then I approached Olbrich Botanical Gardens, where some thuggy little bee stung my inner thigh and ran. It was kinda cool, actually, since bee stings don't really occur too often in anyone's life, so it's kind of special that way.

Anyway, the bike thing is a big development. I'm in terribly shape and my crotch is in constant pain from the pressure of the seat, but I'll keep you posted. Eventually I'd like to be able to use it as my primary transportation without resenting it.

One way I almost died today

2005-07-01T00:11:00.000-05:00

Well, I took a quiz this morning for which I was not especially well prepared ("not to be liTOTic", as my undergrad mentor would say) because my friends talked me into hitting "Cheeseburger in Paradise," Jimmy Buffet's theme restaurant, to make fun of people, instead of studying. Was it ever worth it! Livestrong bracelets and QVC heart pendants as far as the eye could see!

So after the quiz I went to work expecting a shitstorm as a result of a mini-coworker sabotage, but everything was cool. Adding to this, I finally got my summer stipend and have gone from poor white trash to relatively flush in a heartbeat, meaning that I can pay my credit card bill (for dog ER services) AND buy my bike so I don't have to ride the bus with the poor folks anymore.

I was driving back from the Verona Road Guaranty Bank (where the teller, when asked by a dude with $600 in quarters, "what's 1% of $100," answered "$10.00." I mean, shit! That's one of the FEW things one should really need to know to be a bank teller, right?) when I saw that the road split into two lanes, one straight only, the other right turn only. Though it was poorly marked, I shifted into the straight-ahead lane and was FOLLOWED by the minivan which had been in the turn-only lane, its driver giving me the finger, into the Home Depot parking lot, where she pulled up next to me and cursed me out since she apparently thought she had her left blinker on and assumed that that meant it was my job to yield while she shifted into the correct lane. It quickly became apparent that this obese bra-less woman, small black child in the passenger seat, was not only insane but a little drunk. Because I lack the "back off, it's not worth it" chromosome, I just kept saying, "uh huh, right. See, I had the right of way, though. See, you were in the WRONG lane. Okay, thanks, bye. Uh huh, see, you're wrong, though," while she insisted, "You don't know who you're dealing with" and, believe it or not, "YOU could have started an accident, and I woulda had you." WTF????? Because I cannot fucking help myself, as she drove off I yelled, "Okay, happy parenting!" which, needless to say, started Round II. I think I was emboldened by the number of witnesses. Anyway, then I bought my floodlights and was happy. The end.

the best laid plans...

2005-06-26T18:35:00.000-05:00

The plan for this weekend was to drop $27.00 for a Madison Mallards game and unlimited stomach lube courtesy of the Great Dane. Around 5:20, however, I noticed that the O-man, while still viciously chasing the other dogs with bared teeth, was doing it on three legs, his left back paw held up at a 90 degree angle. So he limped along at shockingly high speeds for a few minutes until I was able to get him on my lap, to find that he had torn one of his nails from the bed. To make a long story short, several hours and $250.00 later my dog was fucked up on puppy Halidol and had a little blue boxing mitt around his back paw. We went for fish fry at Quivey's Grove, where the couple next to us ate in silence while the male half stared intently at me, occasionally smiling suggestively. Then they each threw in some cash contemptfully and took off.

Yesterday we went to the most awkward graduation party ever, then we went to Border's. I was disoriented when I found that the Social Sciences aisle had been consumed by Gay Studies and Women's Studies overspill, and was told that it had been relocated upstairs, next to test prep and computer science manuals. DUDE! It's not bad enough that "Anthropology" is a (now) three-shelf olio of every goddam thing, from travel journals to 'eastern philosophy-inspired' self-help, I now have to trot past the eight aisles of doughy techies and Asian chicks in bowl cuts to the bottom three shelves next to the fucking bathroom. Aargh. Seriously, there were more copies of some shit called "Something Borrowed" than there were real Anthro. texts.

Then we got schnockered on peach-flavored wheat beer and I reigned at Trivial Pursuit.

Here is something interesting.

hisashiburi desu ne

2005-06-24T00:34:00.000-05:00

So I apparently installed some sort of awesome software that makes my computer work reeeeeaaaaaallll slooow like it's making love to its childhood crush or something. In any event, as I type this I wait for 20-30 characters already typed to show up. Good times. I guess my main grip these days (and for the last three weeks) has been my Japanese class, populated entirely by people whose lives are dedicated to scoring some Asian pussy or being able to read MANGA. It's basically a hilarious documentary before editing. I'll fill you gaijin in briefly, since I don't like waiting to see what I've typed.

First, there are the ryugakusei (exchange students) all of whom have private tutors and don't work. What an honor it is to make room for them when they come in 20 minutes late because they needed a double latte from Starbucks.

Second are the enlightened "Buddhists" from such exotic places as upstate Iowa who are always several chapters ahead, have computer printouts of their hot Japanese "girlfriends" taped to the front of their Trapper Keepers, and who occupy class time expressing their contempt for American puritanism. If anyone could make m vote GOP it's these self-satisfied fuckers.

Alas, I can't take the shittiness of ths blogging experience any longer. As I was typing "Alas," "expressing" was beginning to appear. If any of my two readers is a tech guru, please advise. Yours in contempt,
maru keito

whoa.

2005-06-19T23:49:00.000-05:00

？？？？

stolen from Alexis

Aw.

2005-06-17T18:54:00.000-05:00

My new boyfriend bought generic potato chips. Adorable!

How NOT to

2005-06-17T18:43:00.000-05:00

create an online dating profile

Heck, yeah!

2005-06-12T21:31:00.000-05:00

"It’s a Geek World, brothers and sister. I got a twenty-sided die, the DVD of Ultraviolet, and a Green Lantern T-shirt. Let’s ride."

Sousveillance

2005-06-12T21:20:00.000-05:00

I just discovered this. I recommend checking out "sex" and "sousveillance," although I haven't had the chance to check much else out yet.

(mmm... I'd sure shake my tailfeather for some Murphy Lee Ripplets!)

Speechless.

2005-06-12T18:11:00.000-05:00

So, I'm a little tired from another weekend in Appleton, home of dude who penned this:

"A Secret for Success and Happiness: Wait Until Marriage
Even if you don't believe in the teachings of the Bible on sexual morality, there is still a compelling case for living the principle of "no sex outside of marriage." Sexual morality is one of the greatest principles that the world needs to be taught, a principle that could restore a lot of peace, happiness, and physical health in the world today.

Those who add a sexual component to their dating relationships often miss the phase of actually getting to know and love a person during dating, instead focusing on the passions that can blind people to all else. These relationships are less likely to be based on genuine common values and interests and genuine respect and love for the other person. Meaningful conversation and empathy are less likely. The other person may just become an object or plaything.

Those who have no qualms about sex before marriage are more likely to accept sex outside of marriage once they are wedded, and that means terrible heartache or even disease for the betrayed spouse. Marry someone with high moral values - and have those values yourself - if you want a successful and happy marriage.

Those who want to jump into a sexual relationship right away tend to lack physical self-control. They tend to be slaves to their passion. The reality of a great relationship and great marriage is that both partners need self-discipline and strength to wade through the many challenges of life without abandoning each other. A spouse with physical self-control in sexuality is also more likely to not lose his or her temper, to not be abusive, etc. "

Holy Heck! I really AM FUCKED! I never made the connection between domestic violence and premarital hookiedoo before. You can read more of this great moral philosopher, on topics ranging from The Home Depot to CAFTA to the vast leftwing media conspiracy, here.

So I'm sleepy, but I realize that the mild amusement of perhaps two or three people depends on an accurate recounting of my weekend. First, on Friday we went to my favorite new bar, "Grumpy's," home of the $1.50 domestic mug, where my baby was approached by a dude in a NASCAR tee-shirt and goatee asking his name. Apparently they went to middle school together (15 years ago) and he wanted to rehash the good old days. I kinda egged him on, since I kinda found my honey's looks of desperation funny, then I sat back as this dude (who usually doesn't like new people in his bar, he told us) wistfully recalled their playing football at recess. After about ten long minutes I absent-mindedly began stroking my poor boyfriend's tummy, to which the dude beerily, and somewhat angrily, responded, "Man, you two are gonna FUCK tonight!" It has been an awful long time since I was literally speechless. Neither of us could muster a reply, so he continued... "you two are fuckin' HORNDOGS!" I would have bet my car, if you'd asked me, on never hearing "horndogs" used again. But apparently I am a bona fide 'horndog.' ROCK.

Lastly, how well do you know your Appleton? Let's play "adult entertainment venue or family-style restaurant?"
1. The Golden Corral
2. Beansnappers
3. The Lion's Den
4. Juggzzzz

Okay, the last one I made up. But please submit your guesses below, together with name and daytime phone number. The winner gets a Porkchop's Legacy tee-shirt made from a Hanes 'Beefy-T' and puffy paint, if they still sell that shit.

Tie a yellow ribbon

2005-06-05T23:42:00.000-05:00

'round your fucking Lincoln Navigator, without the faintest sense of irony. Don't believe the hippies; there's oil to burn once the brown people are pacified.

Meanwhile, friends, I give you this, courtesy of (ripped off from) xuliland.com:

ribbon magnets are stupid

Sightings, part II (Usher-style)

2005-06-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

Despite our crushing disappointment we headed on to the worst garage sale ever, then went out for some pizza (which, in the midwest, is cut into squares - how quaint!) back to the apartment for some sweaty emergency lovemaking. I write this now so that in three months, when we are either broken up or he is begging to dry hump me while I do my homework, I will have a record of the honeymoon period. Like former guests of the "Newlywed Game," whose husbands have since left them for Hooters waitresses and such. We went on a shitty bar mini-tour, including one "shufflepuck" match, two games of darts, two old-person cocktails, two shots of Jack Daniels, four mugs of MGD, and approximately 45 minutes of pop country. ROCK.

Sunday began with the usual filth, followed by a revenge trip to the Cheese Fest, this time sans O-man. Not only was the event a "festival" according only to the very broadest definition of the term, there wasn't even any FUCKING CHEESE on offer when we got there!

Chopper's recommendations for your trip to Appleton/Little Chute:
1. Stay the fuck out of Little Chute unless you are despoverbese, or wish to become so;
2. Keep your registration up-to-date;
3. Drink heavily and often;
4. Get a native to be your guide. As in other depressed areas, a guide is easy to find. Offer him pussy and/or MGD in exchange for his services.

Sightings

2005-06-05T22:49:00.000-05:00

In Rosendale, WI, outside a church:
Prayer is the best wireless connection.

So, bloggees, I've had a long weekend in Appleton, apparently the family-style restaurant and adult superstore capital of the world. Tolerable--nay, delightful--on account of good company, but otherwise a real pit of hell. I was pulled over due to (long-) expired plates but let off with a warning, then [get this!] ten minutes later, in the parking lot of my beloved's apartment complex, the driver-side door handle FELL OFF and is dangling by a wire tether. It's unfair to blame this turn of events on Appleton's shittiness, but I trust that those of you who have been there will understand the perfect correspondence between the milieu and the overwhelming sense of despair brought on by these events.

Saturday we began our tour of morbid despoverbesity (following the peremptory but enthusiastic early-morning blow job) with a trip to Little Chute, WI for its much-ballyhoo'd "Great Wisconsin Cheese Festival." While it was certainly Midwestern, I defy the provincial (and grossly ugly) Little Chute citizenry to defend the other terms in the greatly overblown title. Of course, we weren't to know until Sunday, as we were turned away at the gate on Saturday by a hugely fat lady in a golf cart who told us with some satisfaction (not to mention haughtiness, the justification for which I can't possibly imagine) that dogs were not allowed.

You know when....

2005-06-02T17:26:00.000-05:00

all of a sudden, you realize that the internet didn't even really exist in the '80s and you feel your brain explode? Whoah.

Time to make the bloggies...

2005-06-02T17:21:00.000-05:00

Today a middle-aged dude with a crewcut zipped by me in his, like, Dodge Viper convertible or some other such Picture of Dorian Gray-style nonsense and I realized suddently that I FUCKING LOVE SUPERTRAMP. I say this entirely without irony; back in the '70s lyrics like those of "The Logic Song" weren't yet hackneyed. Supertramp fucking hackneyed them! Fuck Yeah! I'm off to download "Breakfast in America" and have some feel-good 'Chop time.

The Chopper ain't no holla back girl.

Dog the Bounty Hunter

2005-05-30T00:04:00.000-05:00

Ahem. After several hours' worth of rapt attention to A&E's (more E than A, these days, alas) Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon, I've come to some conclusions. Most important is that Dog is truly an American archetype. First, he lives in Hawaii, and preys on the weakness of the natives by extending them bond loans at (I'm sure) usurious terms, all the while calling them "braw" and giving them the "hang loose" hand sign. Second, while nearly every episode shows Dog and his wife at the beach preaching about the value of nature, blah, blah, blah, Dog boasts (by my count) TEN children and TWO enormous SUVs.

Further, most of Dog's clients are victims of the drug scourge, either ice or heroin. Rather than contemplating the systemic sources of ice and heroin addiction in minority communities, Dog deals with it on an episodic basis, i.e., only when they owe him duckets. For this the State of Hawaii has issued him several awards and A&E his own series. The moral appears to be that drug addiction is a result of human weakness, and can be cured only through the intervention of the Good Lord and the criminal justice system. Each episode includes the pre-shit-kicking prayer circle, the post-shit-kicking sermon, and the return of the dangerous element into the hands of the police.

Even when Dog's zaftig wife Beth isn't shrouded in stars-n-stripes tank tops, which is almighty rare, the message is clear. Dog embodies the strutting, inarticulate, ugly American in all of us. I watch Dog so I won't become him, mimicking the drug-addled Hawaiians who lived on his lot before he moved in with his 20 ugly relatives and their gas-guzzling machines while he knees them in the back and lectures them on morality.

Viking Bunny

2005-05-29T19:42:00.000-05:00

"Hey, man, it's not a church...

2005-05-29T18:36:00.000-05:00

It's a 'community of faith.'"

So Friday night I saw the best rock-n-roll show EVER, and for FREE. It was my friend Adam's novelty act, Facesteak, performing at the "journey community of faith," which is cleverly disguised as a gay-ass coffeehouse. The new boyfriend and I met up with dog park friends and, just when the novelty act began to wear thin (or maybe a half hour later) the owner (pastor?) cut the mics, turned on the lights and had a tantrum about amplified swearing in the cafe that God built. Of course, they'd been making pornographic references and blitzkrieging the mics with the F-bomb for over an hour by this point. Also, Adam is a Jew.

This is probably the most rock and roll moment I will ever see firsthand.

Someone made my day today.

2005-05-25T21:18:00.000-05:00

With red roses.

XXOO

For 05IRIS

2005-05-24T19:58:00.000-05:00

I took the O-man out for a stroll down State Street. I always hear Elvis Costello's "London's Brilliant Parade" in my head as Otto and I trot past the street kids, the hipsters, the tourists, etc. As The New Boyfriend says (this is his debut appearance here at The 'Chop) Otto fools them all-it's like he's running for office, sniffing and jumping up on the fine hunnies for pets.

On the way back I saw a Ford Expedition (blch) with a novelty plate reading "MMBUBYE." I paused for an instant 'cause I had to make sure I wasn't hallucinating a vanity plate with a ten-year-old catch phrase on some dumb bitch's mommy tank. Of course, we all know the type. I encountered them a LOT when bartending at Merchant's NYC in '99, when they would prance up to my bar and ask whether we had Cosmopolitans. (because, as you know, the drink was made known to these folks, two years after the craze hit Manhattan, through that godawful femfest "Sex and the City.") This woman is still asking her stylist to give her "The Rachel." But seriously, anyone who still thinks a Ford Expedition is an appropriate city vehicle is obviously getting all her news from Oprah anyway.

So I recovered and resumed my walk, only to spot, on the next block, a power couple (fully loaded with power kids) in a white Land Rover, the Ford Expedition of the BoBo. License plate? "LNDRVR."

Mother Fucker. Vanity Plates. The great socio-cultural equalizer. I had the tiniest aneurism and kept walking. The moral of the story, I guess, is that in Wisconsin at least, so long as you have an idiotic vanity plate, you are in with the in-crowd, regardless of cultural capital. As they say on that red-hot new show "The Sopranos," Fuggedaboudit.

Ex-boyfriend blog

2005-05-22T16:46:00.000-05:00

So my ex-boyfriend's blog has a painting I did in MS Paint for him when we were still in the throes of new love, of a bran muffin and scrambled eggies. You can see it here.

Old favorite

2005-05-22T16:42:00.000-05:00

Apparently this is a monthly thing... last time there was a blurb about glimpsing girls' panties when they're dancing at a club, then masturbating like you're putting out a fire. This month's, too, made me laugh. If you aren't familiar, it's Vice's Dos and Don'ts.

For all the Jay Raths out there...

2005-05-22T13:06:00.000-05:00

This is pretty good advice. Although I still say first-date flowers never hurt.

As promised....

2005-05-16T21:15:00.000-05:00

It's "babes of the Renaissance Fair." If this is hot to you, you are probably a middle school woodshop teacher who is also in a Moody Blues cover band.

For the Fans

2005-05-16T17:46:00.000-05:00

So sweaty nervous guy made a special request a few posts back. Your wish is my command, you awkward, sweaty bastard. Here it is:

The BELV

(courtesy of Funny Man Steve Hyden)

Apparently I'm retarded

2005-05-13T15:46:00.000-05:00

Because this cracked me up.

Nod to our Canadian colleagues

2005-05-13T15:23:00.000-05:00

So, I couldn't decide whether I loved or hated this girl until I scrolled down to Paris Hilton's shaved pussy and then I realized that it was Minx + Porkchop = BFF.

Funny how Paris Hilton's shaved pussy always holds the answers.

Sex

2005-05-13T14:13:00.000-05:00

Hey, Caitketeers. Here is something I found, which I'm pretty sure is rad.

I'm hungry and tired and at work. I am having straight-up erotic fantasies about chicken salad right now.

Otto Goes to Hollywood

2005-05-11T18:24:00.000-05:00

Man, if Otto were in an all-boy gay leather gang he'd be set to go in his studded collar and pink leather leash. 4 parts Joe Strummer; 5 parts Freddy Mercury. Woof, O-man, you're a killer queen.

Now I'm off to Takara for sushi night. Rock.

All Lisa Loeb style

2005-05-10T21:37:00.000-05:00

So I bought new glasses today. Have no fear - I would never wear anything leopard-spotted in public. Mine are reddish with subtle orange.

It was an impulse since my horny optometrist was having a sale. This time no special priapic old man discount, since he didn't appear to be in.

I also bought a trashy dress that makes me look like an awkward teenage mall slut.

Dylan Thomas

2005-05-10T01:24:00.000-05:00

Let's go a little higher-brow tonight. A friend quoted Dylan Thomas on his blog ("Rage, rage against the dying of the light") so I thought I'd drop a little DT on you, too.

Unlike all the other Caitlins you know, I was named after his wife Caitlin Thomas, who was, alas, a promiscuous alcoholic who nearly set fire to dear Dylan while trying to light a cigarette in his oxygen tent. So DT was saved by her DTs, presumably.

I read her biography a few years ago and remembered this letter.

Suffolk University

2005-05-09T01:24:00.000-05:00

So a native Sconnie referred to Suffolk University tonight as "Suh-Folk," which is entirely reasonable, when you think about it. Naturally it got my capitalist juices flowing, and I thought I could parlay this into an ad. slogan, say, for an all-Suffolk alum dating site, i.e., "We put the 'folk' back in Suffolk." Of course, given that Suffolk alumni are not clever enough to get it, it may not resonate with the target audience....

Suffolk is functionally a voc. tech. for associate positions at, like, Corwin & Corwin, so the sight of the word "folk" probably kills their yuppie-larva erections dead.

Will I get sued for this post? One can only hope. Tune in next time....

Dream Date

2005-05-07T13:14:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I've decided that my dream date consists of a trip to the Jefferson Speedway followed by a romantic dinner at Smoky's Cafe.

Well, bloggees, I'm off to Electric Earth for a study marathon. I'm gonna takusan nihongo o benkyoshimasu. Ganbatte kudasai.

"Pedalphiles"

2005-05-07T01:26:00.000-05:00

So I went to hang out with a neighbor and we smoked a last-day-of-classes joint, then watched this documentary about "SCAB: Skids Creating Armageddon Bikes." They would take old shitty bikes and solder parts together, but it's a part of their anarchic anti-consumer ethos. It was SO FUCKING COOL. Maybe I will fuck Sam after all.