October 7th, 2009
We're gonna talk “whoopee” today. And not as in Goldberg. She sucks.
I would imagine that most of you recall The Newlywed Game's questions that dealt with "making whoopee", the euphemism used for "The Sex" in order to get around network censors.
In a classic episode, the following occurred:
Host Bob Eubanks: Where was the strangest place you've ever made whoopee?
Very Candid Male Contestant: That'd be the butt, Bob.
"Makin' Whoopee!" is also a jazz/blues song, first popularized in the 1928 musical “Whoopee”. If I were alive then, I am pretty certain that I would not have seen this show because I steer clear of productions with exclamations marks in the title. I did learn that the “Whoopee” song is a dire warning, largely to the male species, about the "trap" of marriage. I miss good 'ol early 20th Century sexism. Interesting note, it’s generally safe to assume that homosexual theater types were doing most of the singing and this was clearly before there was any legalization of gay marriage in any state. Continuity and theater seldom go hand in hand. On an unrelated side note: Two notable happenings in 1928: Penicillin was invented and English hairdresser, Vidal Sassoon was born. Thank you Vidal.
It seems to be proving advantageous for me to throw some questions out to the
audience pre-blog. It’s the improviser in me. So I asked : “Where's
the craziest place you've made whoopee?
In the armpit..
- Ed Blank
On a roof...and in a tree house
-Michelle Kojen
Greensboro, NC
- Rosanne Garfield Nelson
In the parking lot at Target. And I was not alone... :)
- Dan Verkman
In a vagina
- Philip Schnell
One of Urban Dictionary’s definitions for whoopee is - “Old person word for sex”. I feel their example of this word’s usage might be one of the best examples that I have EVER heard. And I am an example snob.
Old Man: Hey Margaret, wanna go make some whoopee?
Margaret: O yes Cletus
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Day 59 - We Worked Hard for the Money. Kind of.
October 6th, 2009
My very first job was at I Can’t Believe it’s Yogurt. I did mention this rite of passage endeavor in a previous blog, Day 23 - Dude Looks Like a Lady. http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-23-dude-looks-like-lady.html. I will quote myself from this entry, “I did question if this severely processed high sodium dairy concoction really was yogurt. I was 15 and too young to have the sought after high powered job as “server”. So I was stuck in the back making waffle cones and cutting up Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.” The ICBY Yogurt where I was employed was located in the “county”. In Greensboro, NC, we had the city schools(where I went) and the county schools(where the rednecks went.) The county schools were also referred to as “directional schools” because they all had rather unoriginal names like Northeast, Northwest, Western, Eastern, Southern, Southeast and Southwest. A lot of graduates didn’t go on to college and ended up working with me at the Yogurt chain. For example, let me introduce you to Tara. She was a petite bleached blond 19 year old with a knack for yogurt and putting out. She had recently started “dating” a hockey player on Greensboro’s new “professional team”. These players were a bunch of poor Canadian guys who didn’t reach their “Ice-Dreams” and ended up losing teeth and dating directional school alum in North Carol-tucky. Tara was about to have dinner with her new beau’s parents who were visiting from Toronto. As I was choppin’ chocolate, I got to watch her spray cheap drug store spray perfume on her who-ha. I quit the next day.
In an effort to feel my readers and understand how their past experiences in the workforce might have tarnished or enhanced future life happenings, I threw out a question: Please tell me the most fu**ed up job you've ever had and I will expand on it through blog. First come gets the blog.
Adam Holtz, the husband of one of my best childhood friends replied to me inquiry with impressive haste. His answer:
“Lasted a few hours. White Jewish kid to read water meters during a college summer break in the projects of the South Bronx. Funny thing, it was for the same company my Dad worked for.”
There were several angles that I had the option to explore with his response. The thing is, I assume all my blog readers are already fluent in devices used to measure the volume of water usage. I mean, who doesn’t know that one rotation of a water meter’s sweep hand is 1 to 100 ft.3, 0.1 to 10 m3. That’s Water Meter Reading 101.
So I looked at Adam’s brief run-in with his questionable (yet character building) employment memory and began to see some key congruencies to ...well…me.
Adam and Jax similarities:
-We’ve both done some water maintenance work with our dad. He worked with the H2O in the projects and I skimmed the pool at my childhood house.
-He did water work in the South(Bronx) and I worked in the Southern US.
-We’re both Caucasian and Jewy
I did receive a STRONG response to the bizzaro job question. To vent is to heal. Interesting note, when piecing some of the answers together, I discovered a delightful cadence that seemed to write itself: Let’s take a look:
Most Fu**ed up Job?
Assistant fluffer.
-Ted Kim
Weed delivery dispatcher.
-Tanya True
And Jax loses points for not introducing me to Tanya.
-Ted Kim
Is Tim for real!?
-Emily Fitch
If by Tim you mean Ted...don't underestimate the trials and tribulations of a sassy Korean from NJ.
-Jacqueline Kabat
Nursing home, sorting dirty silverware. I didn’t wear gloves.
-Mary Schneider
Neither did I.
-Ted Kim
My very first job was at I Can’t Believe it’s Yogurt. I did mention this rite of passage endeavor in a previous blog, Day 23 - Dude Looks Like a Lady. http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-23-dude-looks-like-lady.html. I will quote myself from this entry, “I did question if this severely processed high sodium dairy concoction really was yogurt. I was 15 and too young to have the sought after high powered job as “server”. So I was stuck in the back making waffle cones and cutting up Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.” The ICBY Yogurt where I was employed was located in the “county”. In Greensboro, NC, we had the city schools(where I went) and the county schools(where the rednecks went.) The county schools were also referred to as “directional schools” because they all had rather unoriginal names like Northeast, Northwest, Western, Eastern, Southern, Southeast and Southwest. A lot of graduates didn’t go on to college and ended up working with me at the Yogurt chain. For example, let me introduce you to Tara. She was a petite bleached blond 19 year old with a knack for yogurt and putting out. She had recently started “dating” a hockey player on Greensboro’s new “professional team”. These players were a bunch of poor Canadian guys who didn’t reach their “Ice-Dreams” and ended up losing teeth and dating directional school alum in North Carol-tucky. Tara was about to have dinner with her new beau’s parents who were visiting from Toronto. As I was choppin’ chocolate, I got to watch her spray cheap drug store spray perfume on her who-ha. I quit the next day.
In an effort to feel my readers and understand how their past experiences in the workforce might have tarnished or enhanced future life happenings, I threw out a question: Please tell me the most fu**ed up job you've ever had and I will expand on it through blog. First come gets the blog.
Adam Holtz, the husband of one of my best childhood friends replied to me inquiry with impressive haste. His answer:
“Lasted a few hours. White Jewish kid to read water meters during a college summer break in the projects of the South Bronx. Funny thing, it was for the same company my Dad worked for.”
There were several angles that I had the option to explore with his response. The thing is, I assume all my blog readers are already fluent in devices used to measure the volume of water usage. I mean, who doesn’t know that one rotation of a water meter’s sweep hand is 1 to 100 ft.3, 0.1 to 10 m3. That’s Water Meter Reading 101.
So I looked at Adam’s brief run-in with his questionable (yet character building) employment memory and began to see some key congruencies to ...well…me.
Adam and Jax similarities:
-We’ve both done some water maintenance work with our dad. He worked with the H2O in the projects and I skimmed the pool at my childhood house.
-He did water work in the South(Bronx) and I worked in the Southern US.
-We’re both Caucasian and Jewy
I did receive a STRONG response to the bizzaro job question. To vent is to heal. Interesting note, when piecing some of the answers together, I discovered a delightful cadence that seemed to write itself: Let’s take a look:
Most Fu**ed up Job?
Assistant fluffer.
-Ted Kim
Weed delivery dispatcher.
-Tanya True
And Jax loses points for not introducing me to Tanya.
-Ted Kim
Is Tim for real!?
-Emily Fitch
If by Tim you mean Ted...don't underestimate the trials and tribulations of a sassy Korean from NJ.
-Jacqueline Kabat
Nursing home, sorting dirty silverware. I didn’t wear gloves.
-Mary Schneider
Neither did I.
-Ted Kim
Monday, October 5, 2009
Day 58 - Klan Bake
October 5th, 2009
I hate racists, anti-Semites and Martha Stewart. Growing up in the South, it wouldn’t have been uncommon to have run-ins with my first two grievances. People might have been racist or anti-Semitic… but they were ABSOLUTELY lovely about it. You might hear something like, “Oh, ya know..the Holocaust never happened. Would y’all like some sweat tea?” My disdain for Ms. Stewart derives from a primal vibe that no perfect muffin, table setting or gardening tip can overshadow that there is an evil demon living deep inside her well manicured so-called soul.
As comedians, sometimes our only tool to make sense of the insensible is to dive headfirst into the issues that don’ settle well. Sometimes, attempting to navigate our way though the warped psyche of the people who lack tolerance is a good place to start. A few years a ago I wrote a sketch entitled “Klan Bake” that combined my previously mentioned stressors. It was a Martha Stewart-esque cooking show that provided the audience tips for how to cook more “white”. I played the host, Kathy White, a crazy eyed southern version of Ms. Stewart. Also, in order to really drive the ridiculous point home, we wore white sheets. If someone didn’t “get the joke”, it might have appeared that we were the most intolerant unethical group of performers to have ever crossed a stage. That in itself is ironic since our group consisted of a Jew, a black man, a homosexual and a hippie. Minus a few dissenters, this sketch always seemed to work and years later people still remember it. And creating something memorable that actually says something(besides fluff with low brow shock value), in my opinion is what artists should strive for.
KLAN BAKE
(Everyone is dressed in white sheets)
KATHY WHITE - :Hi, I’m your host Kathy White and Welcome to Klan Bake.
(Martha Stewart morning show Jingle)
Martin Luther King Day is right around the corner. What does that mean? You might be tempted to eat darker food like chocolate, dark meat and more chocolate. Joining us is bestselling author of “Cooking Lite…as in White”, Chef Scooter Travis. He’s going to give us a better idea how to make “eating white” a lot more interesting. It's not just about white bread and all-purpose flour anymore, is it Scooter?
SCOOTER TRAVIS: No, it's not. Cooking whiter can be really fun. Just like any other time that we’re cooking “lite” , we can use what's whitest in the market. Today I’ve brought white potatoes, white rolls, cauliflower, white gravy and of course …pork, the most superior white meat.
(Scooter starts arranging food on plate)
KATHY WHITE - :Hmmm…looks delicious and packed with Aryan goodness.
SCOOTER TRAVIS –It really is Kathy. It’s the perfect meal for your annual White Supremacist BBQ.
KATHY WHITE - …or my anti-Semitic Luau...
SCOOTER TRAVIS –Kathy, when serving this meal…good presentation is a must. Be sure…and I repeat be sure to place the cauliflower to the FAR RIGHT of your pork.
KATHY WHITE - awww the FAR RIGHT…a bold choice Scooter, (To audience) one really can’t underestimate the importance of food segregation.
SCOOTER TRAVIS –This is very true Kathy. Also, a little trick I like to do is to serve the mashed potatoes in the shape of a swastika.
KATHY WHITE – That is just adorable…and almost too pretty to eat… (Scooter and Kathy chuckle simultaneously with a hint of sexual tension)
(Brother Gelman in a Nazi outfit marches up and gives a Heil Hitler Salute from audience)
KATHY WHITE – Looks like Brother Gelman is giving us the queue that we need to go to commercial…we’ll be right back…
(Jingle)
VOICE OVER
Cross burnings and lynchings can really do a number on your whites.(Actor holds up dirty sheet and looks flustered ) Do you wonder how you’ll ever remove the grass, sweat and blood stains from your sheets and pointed pillow case hoods? ( Actor nods yes) Since the Ku Klux Klan was formed as a social club by a group of Confederate Army Veterans in Pulaski, Tennessee in 1865, Negro Tide has been helping racist families fight tough laundry stains and keep their sheets looking great. (Actor holds up Negro Tide) The Negro Tide’s advanced cleaning power is even found in the Grand Wizard’s laundry room….shouldn’t it be in yours?(Smiling, the actor holds up Negro Tide and a clean sheet. Gives a
thumbs up)
(Jingle)
KATHY WHITE - : Welcome back to Klan Bake and with us today is Chef Scooter Travis, author of “Cooking Lite…as in White”. Scooter, any wines suggestions to accompany this feast?
SCOOTER TRAVIS –Kathy, any white wines would be lovely. A Sauvignon Blanc, perhaps a Pinot Grigio, or, dare I say, a Chardonnay
KATHY WHITE - : Would you agree that any other wine other than white…is the devil’s wine?
SCOOTER TRAVIS –Indeed Kathy. Lucifer loves the Merlot.
KATHY WHITE - : I’ll say. Scooter, thank you so much for joining us and congratulations on the success of your book. Anyone spreading the message of white power through culinary expression is a friend of ours at Klan Bake. (To audience) David Duke will be with us tomorrow to show us how to safely roast marshmallows from our burning crosses. Good Day
(Jingle)
The End
I hate racists, anti-Semites and Martha Stewart. Growing up in the South, it wouldn’t have been uncommon to have run-ins with my first two grievances. People might have been racist or anti-Semitic… but they were ABSOLUTELY lovely about it. You might hear something like, “Oh, ya know..the Holocaust never happened. Would y’all like some sweat tea?” My disdain for Ms. Stewart derives from a primal vibe that no perfect muffin, table setting or gardening tip can overshadow that there is an evil demon living deep inside her well manicured so-called soul.
As comedians, sometimes our only tool to make sense of the insensible is to dive headfirst into the issues that don’ settle well. Sometimes, attempting to navigate our way though the warped psyche of the people who lack tolerance is a good place to start. A few years a ago I wrote a sketch entitled “Klan Bake” that combined my previously mentioned stressors. It was a Martha Stewart-esque cooking show that provided the audience tips for how to cook more “white”. I played the host, Kathy White, a crazy eyed southern version of Ms. Stewart. Also, in order to really drive the ridiculous point home, we wore white sheets. If someone didn’t “get the joke”, it might have appeared that we were the most intolerant unethical group of performers to have ever crossed a stage. That in itself is ironic since our group consisted of a Jew, a black man, a homosexual and a hippie. Minus a few dissenters, this sketch always seemed to work and years later people still remember it. And creating something memorable that actually says something(besides fluff with low brow shock value), in my opinion is what artists should strive for.
KLAN BAKE
(Everyone is dressed in white sheets)
KATHY WHITE - :Hi, I’m your host Kathy White and Welcome to Klan Bake.
(Martha Stewart morning show Jingle)
Martin Luther King Day is right around the corner. What does that mean? You might be tempted to eat darker food like chocolate, dark meat and more chocolate. Joining us is bestselling author of “Cooking Lite…as in White”, Chef Scooter Travis. He’s going to give us a better idea how to make “eating white” a lot more interesting. It's not just about white bread and all-purpose flour anymore, is it Scooter?
SCOOTER TRAVIS: No, it's not. Cooking whiter can be really fun. Just like any other time that we’re cooking “lite” , we can use what's whitest in the market. Today I’ve brought white potatoes, white rolls, cauliflower, white gravy and of course …pork, the most superior white meat.
(Scooter starts arranging food on plate)
KATHY WHITE - :Hmmm…looks delicious and packed with Aryan goodness.
SCOOTER TRAVIS –It really is Kathy. It’s the perfect meal for your annual White Supremacist BBQ.
KATHY WHITE - …or my anti-Semitic Luau...
SCOOTER TRAVIS –Kathy, when serving this meal…good presentation is a must. Be sure…and I repeat be sure to place the cauliflower to the FAR RIGHT of your pork.
KATHY WHITE - awww the FAR RIGHT…a bold choice Scooter, (To audience) one really can’t underestimate the importance of food segregation.
SCOOTER TRAVIS –This is very true Kathy. Also, a little trick I like to do is to serve the mashed potatoes in the shape of a swastika.
KATHY WHITE – That is just adorable…and almost too pretty to eat… (Scooter and Kathy chuckle simultaneously with a hint of sexual tension)
(Brother Gelman in a Nazi outfit marches up and gives a Heil Hitler Salute from audience)
KATHY WHITE – Looks like Brother Gelman is giving us the queue that we need to go to commercial…we’ll be right back…
(Jingle)
VOICE OVER
Cross burnings and lynchings can really do a number on your whites.(Actor holds up dirty sheet and looks flustered ) Do you wonder how you’ll ever remove the grass, sweat and blood stains from your sheets and pointed pillow case hoods? ( Actor nods yes) Since the Ku Klux Klan was formed as a social club by a group of Confederate Army Veterans in Pulaski, Tennessee in 1865, Negro Tide has been helping racist families fight tough laundry stains and keep their sheets looking great. (Actor holds up Negro Tide) The Negro Tide’s advanced cleaning power is even found in the Grand Wizard’s laundry room….shouldn’t it be in yours?(Smiling, the actor holds up Negro Tide and a clean sheet. Gives a
thumbs up)
(Jingle)
KATHY WHITE - : Welcome back to Klan Bake and with us today is Chef Scooter Travis, author of “Cooking Lite…as in White”. Scooter, any wines suggestions to accompany this feast?
SCOOTER TRAVIS –Kathy, any white wines would be lovely. A Sauvignon Blanc, perhaps a Pinot Grigio, or, dare I say, a Chardonnay
KATHY WHITE - : Would you agree that any other wine other than white…is the devil’s wine?
SCOOTER TRAVIS –Indeed Kathy. Lucifer loves the Merlot.
KATHY WHITE - : I’ll say. Scooter, thank you so much for joining us and congratulations on the success of your book. Anyone spreading the message of white power through culinary expression is a friend of ours at Klan Bake. (To audience) David Duke will be with us tomorrow to show us how to safely roast marshmallows from our burning crosses. Good Day
(Jingle)
The End
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Day 57 - To the Left, To the Left, To the Left
October 4th, 2009
My friend Mary told me that I would never win any handwriting awards. This is really a shame because there is nothing I would love more than to be the recipient of that trophy. I would display it next to my ribbons for being the state champion of napping. I admit that my handwriting might resemble that of a 5 year old, a doctor's prescription or upon analysis, put me in the category of serial killer.
I do have an excuse for my “special” style of written script. I am a PROUD member of the 10 percent of the population that are lefties, southpaws, sinistrals. All these terms describe our misunderstood group of people. Lefties have been unfairly treated for hundreds of years. Did you know that the Bible contains about 25 unfavorable references to the left hand? I didn't either. Jews are always the last to learn fun New Testament trivia.
Right-handed people are thought to process information using a “linear sequential" method while left-handed persons are thought use “visual simultaneous" to process information. I don't want to get into the scientifics of that which sways us to the left or the right. I just want to be the voice for those of us lefties, with ink on our hands, who have grown tired of right- handers with their "Oh spiral notebooks and lecture class desks are made for our superior race.”
The majority of lefties that I have crossed paths with are seldom mediocre. I see my people as extremely gifted or fucked up. Often both and seldom no shades of gray in between. Statistics show left-handed people are more likely to die young, be schizophrenic, alcoholic, delinquent or dyslexic. Awesome. Sure we might believe in Dog, but our brain's award winning right hemisphere deals with music, art, perception, emotions, and other forms of abstract thinking. Did you know that many of the world's great artists, leaders and thinkers are left-handed? The last 4 out 5 presidents were lefties. The one who wasn’t? Yes, the linguistic impaired George W. ‘Nuff said. We’re also in the good company of famous musicians, scientists, comedians, and athletes. Some of the most notable southpaws are Jimi Hendrix, Babe Ruth, Leonardo da Vinci, Paul McCartney, Tina Fey, Bill Gates and Jerry Seinfeld.
So lefties, please join me on August 13th, International Left-Handers Day, where we'll celebrate sinistrality and increase public awareness for our dominant hand.
Don’t be envious righties. Hey, firearms are made in your favor. While I’m venturing down the road to perfect alcoholism and artistry, you’ll be overwhelmed with emotion as you say, “This moment is bigger than me” as you receive your Best Handwriting golden statue.
My friend Mary told me that I would never win any handwriting awards. This is really a shame because there is nothing I would love more than to be the recipient of that trophy. I would display it next to my ribbons for being the state champion of napping. I admit that my handwriting might resemble that of a 5 year old, a doctor's prescription or upon analysis, put me in the category of serial killer.
I do have an excuse for my “special” style of written script. I am a PROUD member of the 10 percent of the population that are lefties, southpaws, sinistrals. All these terms describe our misunderstood group of people. Lefties have been unfairly treated for hundreds of years. Did you know that the Bible contains about 25 unfavorable references to the left hand? I didn't either. Jews are always the last to learn fun New Testament trivia.
Right-handed people are thought to process information using a “linear sequential" method while left-handed persons are thought use “visual simultaneous" to process information. I don't want to get into the scientifics of that which sways us to the left or the right. I just want to be the voice for those of us lefties, with ink on our hands, who have grown tired of right- handers with their "Oh spiral notebooks and lecture class desks are made for our superior race.”
The majority of lefties that I have crossed paths with are seldom mediocre. I see my people as extremely gifted or fucked up. Often both and seldom no shades of gray in between. Statistics show left-handed people are more likely to die young, be schizophrenic, alcoholic, delinquent or dyslexic. Awesome. Sure we might believe in Dog, but our brain's award winning right hemisphere deals with music, art, perception, emotions, and other forms of abstract thinking. Did you know that many of the world's great artists, leaders and thinkers are left-handed? The last 4 out 5 presidents were lefties. The one who wasn’t? Yes, the linguistic impaired George W. ‘Nuff said. We’re also in the good company of famous musicians, scientists, comedians, and athletes. Some of the most notable southpaws are Jimi Hendrix, Babe Ruth, Leonardo da Vinci, Paul McCartney, Tina Fey, Bill Gates and Jerry Seinfeld.
So lefties, please join me on August 13th, International Left-Handers Day, where we'll celebrate sinistrality and increase public awareness for our dominant hand.
Don’t be envious righties. Hey, firearms are made in your favor. While I’m venturing down the road to perfect alcoholism and artistry, you’ll be overwhelmed with emotion as you say, “This moment is bigger than me” as you receive your Best Handwriting golden statue.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Day 56 - The Great Happiness of Taxidermy
October 3rd, 2009
I threw it out to YOU today(via my Facebook status update) and asked for a word that I can blog about. David Hammond and Neil James, both residents of the metro New York area, replied simultaneously. I will incorporate both of their suggestions. Dave gave me “taxidermy” and Neil suggested the mini phrase “Great Happiness!” Yes, that’s two words(and an exclamation point) but he’s one of my favorite gays who feeds me while watching “True Blood” at his cozy apartment. I’ll let it go.
Although limited, I have had a few run-ins with deceased, stuffed and mounted animals. One commonality that I have taken note of is that they all seem to be smiling. At first glance, this seems astonishing considering their last contact was with a rifle wielding hunter(presumably a waspy Ivy League alumni named Farnsworth, an inbred good ol’ boy or the lovechild of Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin.)
I have peeled the onion(or skin) of the grinning dead wildlife conundrum. It has occurred to me that the quality of life (or afterlife) of these brutally mutilated wall ornaments has dramatically improved.
Let’s look at why these content murdered mounted beauties have every reason to be experiencing great happiness!:
• Taxidermy is truly a uniter. Not a divider. Where else can mammals, birds, nematodes, reptiles and amphibians live together in harmony on a wood paneled wall deep in the backwoods of Alabama?
• Let’s face it, we’ve seen the statistics and deer will have an unpleasant run in with an automobile at some point in their lives. They’re like a trailer home just waiting to be attacked by a tornado. Once they have passed on, the possibility of a deer/car collision is significantly reduced.
• Mounted animals agree that the removal of their skin for tanning is a bit brutal. But the payoff is worth it. Once the plaster cast of their body is complete, things start getting fun because it’s time to add the artificial teeth! Preying on gazelle can do a number on your pearly whites. Predators seldom get dental insurance and now they have the opportunity to get those sparkling porcelain veneers that they’ve been dreaming about.
• Mounted animals no longer need to bath themselves because their killer will work hard to preserve his “trophy”. Say goodbye to pesky hairballs and the degrading act of self genital cleansing. Taxidermists polishing their prize is comparable to getting a lovely lavender aromatherapy massage. It’s simply a decedent and soothing experience. They only use the finest products. Windex, for example, works wonders when polishing horns, antlers and fur. Just remember, NEVER brush against the grain of the hair. Amateur mistake.
• Proof of karma is certainly something to smile about. For example, let’s say a jaguar preyed on a sheep at 10:00am. Later that day, a drunk fraternity brother named Scooter shot the jag. Now they’re BOTH hanging next to each other, in dead equality, at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house at the University of Georgia. It’s similar to the gratification of seeing that jackass who speed by us on I-85 being pulled over an hour later.
So it seems clear that “Taxidermy”& “Great Happiness!” go together harmoniously just like other great unions in history: The Bush Administration & Ethics, Tom Cruise & His Heterosexuality and OJ Simpson & His Innocence.
I threw it out to YOU today(via my Facebook status update) and asked for a word that I can blog about. David Hammond and Neil James, both residents of the metro New York area, replied simultaneously. I will incorporate both of their suggestions. Dave gave me “taxidermy” and Neil suggested the mini phrase “Great Happiness!” Yes, that’s two words(and an exclamation point) but he’s one of my favorite gays who feeds me while watching “True Blood” at his cozy apartment. I’ll let it go.
Although limited, I have had a few run-ins with deceased, stuffed and mounted animals. One commonality that I have taken note of is that they all seem to be smiling. At first glance, this seems astonishing considering their last contact was with a rifle wielding hunter(presumably a waspy Ivy League alumni named Farnsworth, an inbred good ol’ boy or the lovechild of Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin.)
I have peeled the onion(or skin) of the grinning dead wildlife conundrum. It has occurred to me that the quality of life (or afterlife) of these brutally mutilated wall ornaments has dramatically improved.
Let’s look at why these content murdered mounted beauties have every reason to be experiencing great happiness!:
• Taxidermy is truly a uniter. Not a divider. Where else can mammals, birds, nematodes, reptiles and amphibians live together in harmony on a wood paneled wall deep in the backwoods of Alabama?
• Let’s face it, we’ve seen the statistics and deer will have an unpleasant run in with an automobile at some point in their lives. They’re like a trailer home just waiting to be attacked by a tornado. Once they have passed on, the possibility of a deer/car collision is significantly reduced.
• Mounted animals agree that the removal of their skin for tanning is a bit brutal. But the payoff is worth it. Once the plaster cast of their body is complete, things start getting fun because it’s time to add the artificial teeth! Preying on gazelle can do a number on your pearly whites. Predators seldom get dental insurance and now they have the opportunity to get those sparkling porcelain veneers that they’ve been dreaming about.
• Mounted animals no longer need to bath themselves because their killer will work hard to preserve his “trophy”. Say goodbye to pesky hairballs and the degrading act of self genital cleansing. Taxidermists polishing their prize is comparable to getting a lovely lavender aromatherapy massage. It’s simply a decedent and soothing experience. They only use the finest products. Windex, for example, works wonders when polishing horns, antlers and fur. Just remember, NEVER brush against the grain of the hair. Amateur mistake.
• Proof of karma is certainly something to smile about. For example, let’s say a jaguar preyed on a sheep at 10:00am. Later that day, a drunk fraternity brother named Scooter shot the jag. Now they’re BOTH hanging next to each other, in dead equality, at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house at the University of Georgia. It’s similar to the gratification of seeing that jackass who speed by us on I-85 being pulled over an hour later.
So it seems clear that “Taxidermy”& “Great Happiness!” go together harmoniously just like other great unions in history: The Bush Administration & Ethics, Tom Cruise & His Heterosexuality and OJ Simpson & His Innocence.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Day 55 - Inanimate Object Whisperer
October 2nd, 2009
In 7th grade, we had a creative writing assignment and one of my classmates wrote something that inspired a response in me that went something like, “Damn, I wish I wrote that.” His essay was from the perspective of a carved pumpkin sitting on a suburban porch on Halloween night. The orange gourd-like squash was making observations of all that crossed his path. It all started off so innocently. “Look at these precious children in pirate and superhero costumes.” Then the rising action kicked in. “Wow, these kids seem too old to be trick-or-treating. Why do they have rolls of white paper that they’re throwing into the trees? It’s beautiful!” Then in the final climatic scene, Pumpkin says, “That’s strange. One of these egg throwing toilet paper hurling teens is approaching me. Why are you picking me up? Don’t throw me. No. No. Noooooooooo!” Splat.
As humans, we spend an exorbitant amount of time, money and energy self reflecting and dissecting our ever changing emotions. Unfortunately, inanimate objects are expected to hold in their innermost feelings as if they’re with their family celebrating an awkward waspy Connecticut Christmas. One time in an improv show, we ended up playing items in a purse. I was the only girl so I played the tampon. Obviously. There was something liberating and philanthropic about giving these objects a voice. Soon after this, my HP computer ( his name is Esteban) spoke to me. He had 3 messages. “Don’t type on me so hard. I’m fragile. Like a delicate flower. Secondly, you really need to get Norton AntiVirus. Seriously Jax, don’t be an imbecile." Finally, Esteban said that I must act as a conduit for objects that lack the quality of being alive.
I owed it to myself, to my laptop and to inquiring minds to go upon this journey. Immediately, I started hearing the voices. It was as if I just needed permission to enter the inanimate world . Interesting note, my boobs were the first to reach out to me. They introduced themselves as Mommy 1 and Mommy 2. Both of them really laid into me. “Please, enough with those Victoria Secret Bras. Sure, they have a certain allure..but their lasting power is for shit.” Also, show us off more..we need to breath. It’s getting colder and you’re going to start hiding us behind Performance Fleece. He’s a dick.” Clearly their complaints struck a chord with me because I ended up writing Day 5- Unintentional Cleavage [LINK REMOVED]. The overall message being that letting the ladies out will result with life working for us rather than against us.
I grabbed a bottle of Evian water and went upon my purposeful research. Immediately, the plastic bottle spoke to me. “ Jax, keep drinking my overpriced goodness but this whole ‘I’m from the natural spring’s of Lake Geneva' is bullshit. I was bottled from a toilet at a Shell Gas station off Highway 46 near Denville, New Jersey." Sadly, that revelation made me vomit for the majority of the day. This project was intense and I needed to baby step my way into my calling.
After I had ejected all contents from my stomach from the past year, I decided it would be most logical to hit a sports themed Mexican bar. The voices ran rampant. There seemed to be a lot of jealousies and rivalries among things without heartbeats. The mild salsa felt inferior to the hot salsa, the 150 watt light bulb constantly condescended the 75 watt and the well liquor compared their segregation from the top shelf spirits to America’s race relations in the early 60’s.
Wheel of Fortune was on TV and all of a sudden 14 letters from the alphabet started a rumble with the 12 most common letters: E, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, L and U. The slighted letters finally backed off, told Pat and Vanna their lack of use was a breach of contract and left in a huff to join Dave Chappelle in South Africa.
I had suffered angry inanimate object overload and needed to end my day’s work and returned home to Esteban(who I’m beginning to think might have questionable connections to the Spanish mafia.) Regardless, He was really proud of me and said that if he had a hand he would pat me on the back . My vocal computer had one final message that he needed me to pass along to all Apple Computers. “I’ve been talking with all the PC’s and we have some issues with you holier than thou Apples.” I told him that I would be happy to relay his message as I see most of them at my local coffee shop down the street. “Please let the motherfuckers know that we are sick of their self righteous, user friendly ways and awesome, dare I say kick ass, graphics. Also, please give the Power Macintosh G3 my number because she’s smokin’ hot.”
In 7th grade, we had a creative writing assignment and one of my classmates wrote something that inspired a response in me that went something like, “Damn, I wish I wrote that.” His essay was from the perspective of a carved pumpkin sitting on a suburban porch on Halloween night. The orange gourd-like squash was making observations of all that crossed his path. It all started off so innocently. “Look at these precious children in pirate and superhero costumes.” Then the rising action kicked in. “Wow, these kids seem too old to be trick-or-treating. Why do they have rolls of white paper that they’re throwing into the trees? It’s beautiful!” Then in the final climatic scene, Pumpkin says, “That’s strange. One of these egg throwing toilet paper hurling teens is approaching me. Why are you picking me up? Don’t throw me. No. No. Noooooooooo!” Splat.
As humans, we spend an exorbitant amount of time, money and energy self reflecting and dissecting our ever changing emotions. Unfortunately, inanimate objects are expected to hold in their innermost feelings as if they’re with their family celebrating an awkward waspy Connecticut Christmas. One time in an improv show, we ended up playing items in a purse. I was the only girl so I played the tampon. Obviously. There was something liberating and philanthropic about giving these objects a voice. Soon after this, my HP computer ( his name is Esteban) spoke to me. He had 3 messages. “Don’t type on me so hard. I’m fragile. Like a delicate flower. Secondly, you really need to get Norton AntiVirus. Seriously Jax, don’t be an imbecile." Finally, Esteban said that I must act as a conduit for objects that lack the quality of being alive.
I owed it to myself, to my laptop and to inquiring minds to go upon this journey. Immediately, I started hearing the voices. It was as if I just needed permission to enter the inanimate world . Interesting note, my boobs were the first to reach out to me. They introduced themselves as Mommy 1 and Mommy 2. Both of them really laid into me. “Please, enough with those Victoria Secret Bras. Sure, they have a certain allure..but their lasting power is for shit.” Also, show us off more..we need to breath. It’s getting colder and you’re going to start hiding us behind Performance Fleece. He’s a dick.” Clearly their complaints struck a chord with me because I ended up writing Day 5- Unintentional Cleavage [LINK REMOVED]. The overall message being that letting the ladies out will result with life working for us rather than against us.
I grabbed a bottle of Evian water and went upon my purposeful research. Immediately, the plastic bottle spoke to me. “ Jax, keep drinking my overpriced goodness but this whole ‘I’m from the natural spring’s of Lake Geneva' is bullshit. I was bottled from a toilet at a Shell Gas station off Highway 46 near Denville, New Jersey." Sadly, that revelation made me vomit for the majority of the day. This project was intense and I needed to baby step my way into my calling.
After I had ejected all contents from my stomach from the past year, I decided it would be most logical to hit a sports themed Mexican bar. The voices ran rampant. There seemed to be a lot of jealousies and rivalries among things without heartbeats. The mild salsa felt inferior to the hot salsa, the 150 watt light bulb constantly condescended the 75 watt and the well liquor compared their segregation from the top shelf spirits to America’s race relations in the early 60’s.
Wheel of Fortune was on TV and all of a sudden 14 letters from the alphabet started a rumble with the 12 most common letters: E, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, L and U. The slighted letters finally backed off, told Pat and Vanna their lack of use was a breach of contract and left in a huff to join Dave Chappelle in South Africa.
I had suffered angry inanimate object overload and needed to end my day’s work and returned home to Esteban(who I’m beginning to think might have questionable connections to the Spanish mafia.) Regardless, He was really proud of me and said that if he had a hand he would pat me on the back . My vocal computer had one final message that he needed me to pass along to all Apple Computers. “I’ve been talking with all the PC’s and we have some issues with you holier than thou Apples.” I told him that I would be happy to relay his message as I see most of them at my local coffee shop down the street. “Please let the motherfuckers know that we are sick of their self righteous, user friendly ways and awesome, dare I say kick ass, graphics. Also, please give the Power Macintosh G3 my number because she’s smokin’ hot.”
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Day 54 - 1982 -Jax and A Day of Bad Decision Making
October 1st, 2009
It’s a good thing that I wasn’t a young adult living in New York in the early 80’s because I’m pretty certain that I would have had feathered hair and a major coke addiction. Ahhh…. dissenters see three decades ago as the birth of Reaganomics, the beginning of the decade of greed and an unwelcome intro to burgeoning yuppies. But for me, as a youngish child during this time in history, my memories are much lighter.
Let’s look specifically at 1982. That was a very special year for me. I was seven years old and won the tallest trophy(that was almost bigger than I was) at the Starmount Country Club swim team awards ceremony. I earned it for having the “best attitude”. My brother won the second biggest trophy..for well, just being the best.
In my case, innocence and youth persevered during the early 80’s. Let’s make a complete 180 and go down a hypothetical day of me being a hot young hot woman living in the big city in 1982. My day begins with my clock radio blasting Survivor'‘s “Eye Of The Tiger”. I hit the device several times, get myself into an over steamed shower where I stand hunchbacked with my eyes closed, insert my shoulder pads into my “smart female in the workplace” suit and drink a black cup of coffee(standing up) as I peruse the entertainment section of the newspaper. I see that Michael Jackson just released his second album, “Thriller”. Follow-up albums never outdo the debut album.
On my way to work, I walk through the crowded streets with the Go Go’s “We Got the Beat” playing in the backdrop. Where is the music coming from? Doesn’t matter. I’m glad I don’t have a car because I’m in no position to pay the hefty gas price of 91 cents per gallon. I show up at my dead end secretary job where my boss is a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot. At lunch, I go with two other female coworkers to buy some rope. After seeing “9 to 5” two years ago, we have a little plan for the bastard.
I get home, put on an electric colored leotard and insert my Jane Fonda jazzercise tape into the Beta Max. I don’t work out. I just watch it while I get coked up and drink a Tab. I remain wired in front of the TV. This new NBC anchor, Tom Brokaw says that Ozzy Osbourne bit the head off a bat at a Des Moines concert. I do some more drugs and a sudden burst of euphoria kicks in as I begin manically vacuuming as “Wheel of Fortune Comes on”. Some “starlet” named Vanna White just replaced Susan Stafford as the letter turner. Like she’s gonna last. Just like the limited future for that new Broadway show that I saw last night, “Cats”. Dancing and singing kitties..please. Like that will be around now or forever. My shag carpet, windows and creases between my bathroom tiles are spotless. I’m ready for some primetime TV shows. I have a lot to choose from because I have three channels. I bypass T.J. Hooker , Knight Rider and Fame because singer Jermaine Jackson is guest-starring as Tootie’s idol on a very special “Facts of Life”.
The night is still young and I want to go discothèque-ing at Studio 54 . I doll up in my finest Madonna “street urchin" best that includes short skirt over leggings, rubber bracelets, and fishnet gloves. I arrive and immediately see a Tom Selleck lookalike in a pinstripe suit that I must get to know. Our eyes meet and we saunter towards each other as The Clash’s “Rock The Casbah” blasts. He asks me if I’d like to see “Porky's”. I’m not sure if he means the newly released movie or if it’s sexual innuendo. Either way, we go to the bathroom to get high. The next few hours are a blur but I seek solace that what I don’t remember can never hurt me. I’m not really sure how it happened..but I did make it home and my 23 hour day had come to an end.
Cut to an hour later. I violently hit the alarm clock and feather haired Jax repeats cycle.
It’s a good thing that I wasn’t a young adult living in New York in the early 80’s because I’m pretty certain that I would have had feathered hair and a major coke addiction. Ahhh…. dissenters see three decades ago as the birth of Reaganomics, the beginning of the decade of greed and an unwelcome intro to burgeoning yuppies. But for me, as a youngish child during this time in history, my memories are much lighter.
Let’s look specifically at 1982. That was a very special year for me. I was seven years old and won the tallest trophy(that was almost bigger than I was) at the Starmount Country Club swim team awards ceremony. I earned it for having the “best attitude”. My brother won the second biggest trophy..for well, just being the best.
In my case, innocence and youth persevered during the early 80’s. Let’s make a complete 180 and go down a hypothetical day of me being a hot young hot woman living in the big city in 1982. My day begins with my clock radio blasting Survivor'‘s “Eye Of The Tiger”. I hit the device several times, get myself into an over steamed shower where I stand hunchbacked with my eyes closed, insert my shoulder pads into my “smart female in the workplace” suit and drink a black cup of coffee(standing up) as I peruse the entertainment section of the newspaper. I see that Michael Jackson just released his second album, “Thriller”. Follow-up albums never outdo the debut album.
On my way to work, I walk through the crowded streets with the Go Go’s “We Got the Beat” playing in the backdrop. Where is the music coming from? Doesn’t matter. I’m glad I don’t have a car because I’m in no position to pay the hefty gas price of 91 cents per gallon. I show up at my dead end secretary job where my boss is a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot. At lunch, I go with two other female coworkers to buy some rope. After seeing “9 to 5” two years ago, we have a little plan for the bastard.
I get home, put on an electric colored leotard and insert my Jane Fonda jazzercise tape into the Beta Max. I don’t work out. I just watch it while I get coked up and drink a Tab. I remain wired in front of the TV. This new NBC anchor, Tom Brokaw says that Ozzy Osbourne bit the head off a bat at a Des Moines concert. I do some more drugs and a sudden burst of euphoria kicks in as I begin manically vacuuming as “Wheel of Fortune Comes on”. Some “starlet” named Vanna White just replaced Susan Stafford as the letter turner. Like she’s gonna last. Just like the limited future for that new Broadway show that I saw last night, “Cats”. Dancing and singing kitties..please. Like that will be around now or forever. My shag carpet, windows and creases between my bathroom tiles are spotless. I’m ready for some primetime TV shows. I have a lot to choose from because I have three channels. I bypass T.J. Hooker , Knight Rider and Fame because singer Jermaine Jackson is guest-starring as Tootie’s idol on a very special “Facts of Life”.
The night is still young and I want to go discothèque-ing at Studio 54 . I doll up in my finest Madonna “street urchin" best that includes short skirt over leggings, rubber bracelets, and fishnet gloves. I arrive and immediately see a Tom Selleck lookalike in a pinstripe suit that I must get to know. Our eyes meet and we saunter towards each other as The Clash’s “Rock The Casbah” blasts. He asks me if I’d like to see “Porky's”. I’m not sure if he means the newly released movie or if it’s sexual innuendo. Either way, we go to the bathroom to get high. The next few hours are a blur but I seek solace that what I don’t remember can never hurt me. I’m not really sure how it happened..but I did make it home and my 23 hour day had come to an end.
Cut to an hour later. I violently hit the alarm clock and feather haired Jax repeats cycle.
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