A podcast about books, art & life — not necessarily in that order
It’s the NBA All-Ugly team! Glad they gave a shout out to that classic Celtic squad of 1985-86, but still found room for Keith Closs AND his freckles!
I’m disappointed that the Hubie Brown entry doesn’t mention his real likeness: the dudes from Alien Nation.
My music-maniac alter ego has posted a new Mad Mix! Check it out!
A little while ago, I wrote about a science-fiction author friend of mine who suffered complications from an appendectomy and now has a GAW (Gaping Abdominal Wound) to deal with for the next 6-10 months.
He’s recovering well, and it was his birthday today, so the official VM girlfriend & I took him and his partner out to a restaurant around the corner from his home in the Upper West Side. He was in good spirits, and happy to celebrate his 63rd with us.
I called a few friends of ours before dinner and let them know that we’d be at the restaurant, if they wanted to drop by or call to wish him a happy birthday/get well. A few called, which made him even happier. I love doing good things for my friends. Be a fool; just love people.
Here’s a pic of him (the bearded guy) and his partner:
I can only hope that this story — about Terry Schiavo’s parents selling the names and e-mails of their supporters/donors to a direct-mail firm — isn’t true. Because if it is, it might count as the single most disturbing aspect of this whole episode.
As I mentioned a few posts ago, I took some pix down in Louisiana last weekend. I meant to post them earlier, but my flight trouble Monday/Tuesday, combined with the official VM Mom‘s flight delays yesterday, left me with no time or energy to get to processing them.
Without further ado:
Here’s a streetcorner in New Orleans. I liked the color composition, but the day was pretty overcast and ugly.
This is the Cornstalk Fence Inn, which doesn’t seem to require much by way of explanation.
Jackson Square. It was, as mentioned, overcast and foggy.
Really overcast and foggy. This is the Mississippi.
Did I mention that fog?
AAIEE! Ghost ship! With gambling!
Another composition I liked. A local mentioned that it used to be a brothel.
Back to the home of the official VM girlfriend‘s parents in Des Allemands! Time for lunch!
I’m not joking here. It’s a whole table of boiled, seasoned crawfish.
Mason (official VM girlfriend’s godson) doesn’t know what to make of it all. I had some trepidation when they warned me, “Don’t eat the dead ones.”
“You mean there are live ones?”
Evidently, if the crawfish’s tail is straight, that means it was dead before it was boiled with the others. That means it might taste funny or have weird microbes. You know: as opposed to the ones that were pulled live out of the carcinogen-laced Mississippi runoff.
“You actually eat those?” Mason asked. I was with him. I ate the meat from the tail, but I was convinced they were just pulling my leg about sucking the juice from the front half. “But not too hard, or the other stuff comes loose.”
On Easter, Mason broke out the John Deere tractor.
He hauled ass for a while.
The tyke at rest.
It was a fun trip, even with the general trepidation that’s supposed to come with “meeting the folks.” My own can be pretty entertaining, so I never make a big deal out of meeting other people’s.
I’ll be in Dallas for a couple of days next week, and I’ll try to get some nice pix down there. As I recall, though, it had one of the most grotesque skylines I’ve ever seen. My other main memory of Dallas is jumping around a hotel room, blown up on Colt 45, cheering as Charlie Hayes caught the last out for the Yankees in the 1996 World Series.
Oh, and there’s the time I almost got killed in a sports bar in the hotel. I’ll save that one for later.
New York Press reveals its annual list of the 50 most loathsome New Yorkers.
Took a convoluted path home from New Orleans. Weather was terrible in NJ, with a whole ton of thunderstorms, so the flight was delayed. Midway through, the pilot announced that Newark Airport was closed and that we’d be landing in Richmond, VA, which was near us. We took on fuel, but after an hour or two of sitting, the decision was made to call it a night. The pilot cited microbursts as the reason the airport was closed. I said, “I’d rather find that out here in Richmond than over Newark.”
Continental got us hotel rooms and we headed out to get some rest. The flight headed out this morning at 7am, necessitating a 4:30am wakeup call. Today’s part went off sans hitch, but I’m exhausted, so none of my NO,LA pix until tonight or tomorrow, dear reader.
Official VM girlfriend: Take a right on Camp. I think it turns into Decatur.
Gil: Are you sure? I thought Camp turns into Kitsch! Bwah-ha-hah!
(Thanks. I’ll be here all week.)
Made it into Des Allemands, LA last night. Had the pleasant surprise, after checking in at Continental, to find that my seat had been upgraded to first class. I hadn’t flown first class since 1990, so this rocked the house.
The official VM girlfriend was unhappy about having to sit in row 29, squeezed between two fat passengers, but I’m sure she was assuaged by the in-flight movie.
After we got in, her family took us to Drago’s, where I got to experience some famous char-broiled oysters. Her dad said he tried to use their recipe at home, but the grill wouldn’t get as hot as they keep it at the restaurant.
“Also, some of the oyster-shells would explode.”
Off to New Orleans today. It was about 78 degrees with 245% humidity at 8am, but it’s better than ice and snow.
So sorry to be away, dear reader. I’ve been working on some nefarious plots (moo-hoo-ha-ha-ha) that have taken away from my VM time. I’ll fill you in when they come to fruition.
Today, I’m heading off with the official VM girlfriend to Louisiana to see her family for Easter. Keep in mind, Easter’s not a particularly fun holiday for Jews to be on the outskirts of, but she sez her family doesn’t make any sort of somber occasion out of it. I literally have no idea what gentiles do on Easter, so it oughtta be fun, anthropologically speaking. As long as they don’t break out in a chorus of Throw the Jew Down the Well, everything oughtta be fine.
I still haven’t put together any sorta coherent opinion about the Schiavo case, except to feel bad about noting the irony that she got into this condition because of an eating disorder.
On the radio Wednesday, I heard Governor Pataki (R-NY) explain how the NFL will bring the Superbowl to New York in 2010 if the city builds the new stadium. I thought, “How wonderful! Eventually, New York City will be able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with cities like Jacksonville and Tempe!”
That’s all the funny you’re getting.