A Gay Cajun, an Argentinean, and a Jew walk into a bar.

TJKV-bad-luck
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

No. That's not a joke. Those were my companions for the evening. The joke is that my purse was stolen. Ha ha. Last night, I joined a friend and his friends at the Peculiar Pub on Bleeker. We had a great evening; all of these guys have traveled the world extensively, and I was so jealous and enamored by all of their adventures. In fact, by the end of the night I had decided I was going to buy a share of the gay Cajun's beach house in rural Mexico.

But once I got to the train, my visions of margaritas on a deserted beach disappeared. I carry a large messenger bag, with a smaller purse inside, and the purse was gone. I went back to the bar, where the guys still were, and we looked under all the tables and talked to the bar staff and found nothing. I know I had my purse when I went in, because I took $40 out of my wallet, so I wouldn't have to keep digging through my bag every time I paid for a drink. So at some point either the purse fell out of my bag, or someone lifted it, but either way it's gone, gone, gone.

Now, the only reason that I am even capable of writing at the moment, is that neither my keys nor my cell phone were in my purse. Had that been the case I would be still be sitting on a stoop in the Village swilling Colt 45 and weeping quietly to myself. Other than my wallet, I only lost some lip goo, my Hello Kitty hair brush, a cool pen with a skull on the end that lit up red when you wrote, and my birth control pills (fear not, AW, I have the replacements already.) And with regards to my wallet, I cancelled everything, got a replacement ATM card this morning, and will get a new license on Monday. The saddest loss was my 12 year old student ID with no date on it. Looks like my discount scamming days are over.

But I am hoping this was the finale after a string of portents of doom during the week. I am serious, I've been having shitty luck near misses for the last three days. First, I was standing on a train platform and the station started filling with smoke. There were no announcements to evacuate or anything, so like an idiot I stood there with my scarf over my face until my train came. When I got home 15 minutes later, I found out that there had been a severe fire in my building earlier that evening. My apartment wasn't affected, but the building smells like burnt rubble, and windows for several floors up were busted out from the heat of the blaze. Which reminds me that I really need to get renter's insurance.

Then yesterday, I left my cell phone at the office, and didn't realize until I was on the train. So I had to get off and go back. When I was finally back on the train, I evidently missed the announcement that the train was skipping my station and going straight to the end of the line. So I was on yet another detour.

When I finally left the apartment last night, I sort of felt impending doom. Perhaps the purse thing was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don't know. But to be on the safe side, I am laying really low tonight. Maybe for the whole weekend. I wonder if this Ten Commandments bracelet has anything to do with it. Last time I had a string of bad luck, it was after I hung an autographed Willie Ames as Bible Man poster on the inside of my front door. The poster had been sent to me directly and anonymously, and I never figured out who the culprit was. I thought it was funny. But then the bad luck started, and it was Sister who pointed out the correlation. Hmmmm. Maybe I shouldn't mock the Lord so much.

Sometimes, when I scream, it actually is for ice cream.

ice cream
Originally uploaded by caterina.

It's that time of the month again. One of the most popular features on this blog have been my hormone-fueled reviews of my favorite junk foods . It's not your usual quasi-object product review like Marvin does over at The Impulsive Buy (thanks to him, I have discovered some new binge-worthy treats). I have unnatural attachments to these foods, so the descriptions are deeply, psychotically emotional. Thankfully, I only feel this way for three days out of the month. But since we are only on day two, I give you my top five ice cream flavors.

But first, a little background. I believe in complex ice creams. The best generally have three qualities. 1) There is a chunk of something- candy, cookie, fruit, etc. 2) There is a swirl of something- fudge, caramel, fruit syrup 3) The ice cream flavor itself should be anything other than vanilla. And the ice cream is really just the medium that holds the chuncky swirls together, so there should be massive amounts of the latter and as little of the former as possible.

Alright, onto the list:

5. Dreamery New York Strawberry Cheesecake Nearly everyone out there has a version of cheesecake ice cream, but most of them manage to mess it up. Because you can't get away with just having cheesecake flavored ice cream (I am looking at you, Ben & Jerry and Haagan Daz), you must have chunks of actual cheesecake. And you must also have pieces of graham cracker crust ( I am looking at you Edy's). Dreamery has the goods, along with lots of yummy strawberry goo. It's not quite as good as the cheesecake ice cream from the new homemade ice cream parlor in my neighborhood called Yummalicious (on 187th between Ft Washington and Pinehurst), but for store bought, it's pretty darn good.

4. Rainbow Sherbet But Kimdog, you are saying to yourself, rainbow sherbet is not technically ice cream, and it has nary a chunk or a swirl. Well, you are right. But this was my favorite flavor as a child, and the psychedelic colors and tart sweetness allows for some rule bending. Besides, it has medicinal properties. Not just for PMS, but for flus, colds and other maladies. For god's sake, there's fruit- which must mean vitamins, right? In one of my bitchier moments when I was sick, I had a suitor travel 150 blocks to my neighborhood, go to Baskin Robbins for a hand-packed quart of the stuff, bring it to me, and then I sent him home after 15 minutes. And he lived in NJ. But I digress. Edy's and Baskin Robbins make the right kind of rainbow sherbet: pineapple, raspberry, and orange. Lemon is sometimes permissible, but lime is not. Ever. I find it offensive.

3. Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar OK, this one gets a rider on the swirl of something because, you know, it has huge chunks of my favorite candy bar in it. And the coffee flavored ice cream is no wimpy "coffee flavored" stuff. According to the website "it's consciously concocted with a particularly flavorful coffee blend, including coffee made from beans grown & harvested by small-scale farmers in Mexico. They're members of cooperatively run local farmer associations that practice sustainable agriculture. The premiums we pay for their quality coffee help them re-invest in their families & communities for a positive change." Who knew that my pre-period ice cream orgies were helping support sustainable agriculture? That almost makes me want to cry a little.

2. Mayfield Turtle Tracks Mayfield is a Tennessee based dairy. Which means it scores extra points with me. It also means that I can't get the damn stuff above the Mason-Dixon line. Anyway, Turtle Tracks is vanilla ice cream with chocolate caramel turtles, chocolate covered pecans and caramel swirl. This one gets a pass on the "no vanilla" rule because there is so much gooey sticky caramel. Also, the turtles are actually shaped like little turtles, and are filled with caramel. So now you have animal cuteness and candy combined in an ice cream which scores it even more points. This was a follow-up flavor to Moose Tracks, which had peanut butter instead of caramel, but I am not a big fan of peanut butter and I love caramel cause its basically just butter and burned sugar. And I think peanut butter may have some nutritional value. And who needs that in an ice cream? (except for the vitamins in rainbow sherbet)

1. Baskin Robbins Love Potion #31 One of the reasons that this is my favorite ice cream of all time is that it is seasonal. It only comes out around Valentine's day. Which means that I can think about it obsessively for 11 months out of the year and then binge on it for one month. And that makes for the best psychotic food relationships, don't you think? So what you got here is the best of all worlds. White chocolate and raspberry ice creams, a ribbon of raspberry puree, and raspberry filled pieces of heart shaped chocolate. It satisfies all the criteria, with a perfect balance of chocolate and fruit and goo. It's enough to make me forget what a fucked up exploitative holiday Valentine's Day is in the first place. Which reminds me of a funny ice-cream related Valentine's day story. I was in a long line at Kroger's (the best grocery store chain in the country) on Valentine's day. I was behind a bunch of guys who because of poor planning or low ambition were buying last minute gifts for their sweeties in a grocery store. There were long stem red roses, teddy bears, chocolates, and the worst gift of all- mylar balloons. And there I stood with one item. Caramel syrup for the inferior ice cream I had back at home, that I would be eating alone on that particular V-day. So the line moved along and finally it was my turn, and I plunked the caramel down on the conveyor belt. The check out woman looked up at me, with her eyes twinkling and said, "Well, someone has a kinky evening planned." And I just smiled and thanked her, and appreciated the fact that she had attributed a much more colorful sex life to me than I actually had (at least at that point).

Afterglow: Tennessee Family Christmas

junebug
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

It's hard to believe that I have been in East TN for a whole week. I don't think I have spent this much time here since my second year of college. It's been nice and leisurely, and I have enjoyed my time here, but dang, it will be good to be home. I am leaving at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow, and I will be back in NYC by 10 am (knock wood, and a prayer to the travel gods).

Momma, Sister and I have just been hanging out for the couple of days. Last night, we watched Pee Wee's Christmas Special, and turned it into a drinking game. Any time someone said the secret word (YEAR!!!), you had to take a drink. We were only drinking beer, but Momma decided to sit this game out. And can I just say that this may be my new favorite holiday tradition? I had forgotten what a pinnacle of gay culture this holiday special is. You not only got Pee Wee and the usual playhouse crew, but also special guests Cher, Zsa Zsa Gabor, kd lang, Little Richard, and Charo. That is a pretty stunning line up in my humble opinion.

In addition to lots of holiday goodies, I picked up a little something else. A stronger accent. I never completely lost my accent after moving north . But after being immersed in high mountain twang for a week, I'm sounding a little more kuntry. I only know this because the Adventurous Wayfarer was like "Wow, your accent has gotten really strong!" when I talked to him earlier this week. And that was only Day Four.

I've also recently made the revelation that my childhood may have been more rural in comparison to most people I've met than I ever imagined. I used to think that on the Rural/Urban scale, with 1 being Amish, and 10 being Inner City Ghetto, I was somewhere about a five. Now I think that is more like a 3.5. I mean, it's not like I grew up playing with corncob dolls instead of Barbies, but evidently there were a few things about my lifestyle that push me towards Green Acres territory. A top five list if I may:

5. Until I was in fourth grade, we had a Bible teacher come into my public elementary school to teach Bible class. Her name was Mrs. Clark, and she had a glass eye, and had a lovely disposition. But this was early 80's in a public school. Finally Governor Lamar Alexander but the crack down on the church/state intermingling.

4. My family grew, picked, shelled, snapped, pickled, jellied, preserved, stewed and canned a whole bunch of produce every year. We had a little back yard garden, some fruit trees and then went to "pick-your-own" places for the rest. Jars of apple butter, peach and pear preserves, strawberry jam,chow-chow, dill pickles,bread and butter pickles, lined the shelves in our basement. Momma's secret ingredient for really yummy apple butter: red hot candies.

3. As children, animals and bugs were some of our favorite toys. And I don't mean pets. Did you ever see or read "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" and there was that crazy guy who had June bugs on a string? Yup, we did that. Looked forward to it every year. We also had lightning bug laterns and wooly worm farms ( those fuzzy orange and black caterpillars that predict whether it was going to be a mild or hard winter). There was also cow tipping when we got older.

2. We heated our home with a black metal wood stove. There was a lot of wood gathering and hauling activity that figured into my weekly chores. There was also the occasional chimney fire that brought out four fire trucks, two police cars, and an ambulance (hey, there wasn't much excitement in my home town). The neighbors thought that someone had died or was grievously injured and started bringing over food, which is the Southern response to tragedy (and celebration for that matter). That was the first time I ever tasted corned beef.

1. We used the woods as a garbage disposal. Table scraps, spoiled food, and the occasional dead animals were all thrown over the back fence to decompose on the undeveloped land that separated our yard from the cow pasture behind our house. By dead animals I mean the birds that would fly into our windows and break their necks, and any snake that dared trespass onto our land and was unfortunate to be caught by my granny and her hoe.

Now for those of you who've had a different experience, please don't take this list as an indictment of my life in the South. I am certainly not mocking the rural life; I would not trade my childhood for the world. I just think it's fun to juxtapose my past life with my current life. And believe me, there are just as many bizarre activities in my current urban life,but that's another list.

Christmas Day Aftermath: Tennessee Family Christmas

scripture mints
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Lord a mercy. We've been eating, and unstuffing stockings, and opening presents, and drinking, and sale shopping, and laughing, and movie watching, and I am plumb tuckered out and bout to go take a nap.

This was a pretty good holiday for my family. Sister and I enjoyed it particularly, because for once, it was our cousin, Lubelle, who was occupying the "bad kid" role in the family. This was a first. Sister and I have traded the title back and forth for a decade, and finally Lubelle, who is 21, managed to fuck up enough to win the honor. Nothing major (like jail or pregnancy), but enough to cheese off our Auntie and Uncle in a major way. Hee.

And we had another example of the fact that the women in our family are linked in psychically in the most peculiar way. Sister and I have out and out incidents of reading each others minds, and directly answering questions that had not been asked out loud. It's been a little spooky. This time, it was my Auntie and Momma using their crazy mind powers to unintentionally conspire against me.

On Friday, my mother was in a tizzy about how to serve salad dressing. Even though she, like me, is a dish whore, she had no appropriate serving cruet. So on our umpteenth trip to the Wal-mart, she put that on her list. I was already in line when she showed me the only thing she could find. It was a plastic cruet with little pictures of herbs and veggies and recipes for dressing printed on it. It also had a little handle at the top that you could turn, and a paddle inside would mix up the dressing. She asked me what I thought. I was unimpressed. Not because it wasn't a useful gadget; I just couldn't see how this thing was any better than the plastic dressing bottle. And it was sort of ugly. And I told her so, because we tend toward brutal honesty in my family, at least with regards to consumer purchases. Mom acted a little huffy, and I just shrugged, and she ended up buying the damn thing anyway.

Later on Friday evening, we were all at Auntie's house. We decided that in lieu of opening one present each, as is tradition in my family, we would do stockings. So there I was, pulling out all of my fun goodies. Some of the things were wrapped. I was unwrapping one little package, when I gave Momma a dirty look. "What?" she said.

"This isn't funny", I said, and thrust the ugly salad dressing cruet that I had just liberated from its paper at her. Mom just looked sort of confused. "You mean you didn't put this in my stocking?" I questioned suspiciously. "No", she replied, still looking confused. Then I started laughing so much I could barely breath. Yes, my auntie, for some unknown reason, had decided I needed an ugly salad dressing cruet with recipes on it. Momma started cackling too.

After I could finally breathe again, I explained to everyone what was just so funny. Auntie seemed slightly miffed that I didn't like the cruet, but really, the situation was better than any 3 dollar stocking stuffer could ever be. Whew.

My family gave me a number of lovely gifts. Including a blender and an iron. But my favorite gift was the cheap Ten Commandments charm bracelet that Sister gave me. Some members of my family were not amused because they know that I love the thing because I find it so ironic. But it does make a tinkling pretty sound. It was a nice parallel to the Scripture Mints I gave Sister. They were little Jesus fish shaped breath mints in a tin with a Bible verse. She hasn't even offered to share them yet. But thanks to my new bracelet, I know that the 8th Commandment is "Thou Shalt Not Steal", so I guess I will leave them alone until she offers me one.

Tennessee Family Christmas Eve

sarscottiesweater
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Current Drink: Ginger Ale. Saving the boozing for tonight.

Event of the Day: Intense family bonding

Well, I just got my pecan pie in the oven. That's my contribution to the feasting that will take place for the next 36 hours. I had planned to do some baking a few weeks ago, and laid in tons of supplies. Flour, sugar, eggs, 5 lbs of butter. But somehow I just never got into the baking zen. Maybe I'll do some New Year's baking. I know a couple of people who might like some home-baked tasty treats. Even if I am the one who made them.

One thing about folks in the South- they really know how to do this whole festive thing. Yesterday, when I was standing in line at the Wal-mart, there were 6 women wearing Christmas themed sweaters in the just the three checkout lines that I could see. Fancy. Some of them even had gems.

But even cooler than that was the garbage truck. I was just sitting there in the kitchen eating my oatmeal, when what to my wondering eyes did appear? A trash truck bedecked with festive garland, ribbon, twinkle lights, and a giant wreath. Well, dontcha know I just had to dash back to the bedroom and grab my camera, cause my parents live on a cul-de-sac, and I knew that I would have a chance to snap a picture of this. I made it out to the drive way in the knick of time (I was barefoot, and momma was yelling and throwing clogs at me from the back door). But I got the picture as the truck drove by, and the garbage men waved at me, too.

Day Three: Tennessee Family Christmas

thewidewindow
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Current Drink: A Deflesher. I just made it up out of Vodka, Ginger Ale, Fermented Store Brand Pineapple Juice and three Maraschino Cherries.

Event of the Day: Movie at the Multiplex

Last night Momma, Sister, Juanito and I played games for a couple of hours. Juanito is my stepfather. Yes, there actually is some testosterone in this family, but he has learned over the years just to step aside and let the women do what they will. We played Mille Bornes for a while, with the rule that you had to read all the French on the the cards, which was funny cause none of us speak the least little bit of French. So we compensated by acting disdainful of each other and yellingm "Merde" and "Sacre Bleu" We finally gave up after two people were stuck with Creve! and I couldn't find any Essence! to make my car run again. We may have been playing wrong, but we couldn't read the directions cause it's a driving game, duh.

Then we switched to Simpsons Uno. But the more we drank, the worse our Simpsons imitations got. When we were reduced to "Ha-Ha" when someone got a bum hand, and "Excellent" when someone got a good hand we decided to quit. Nelson and Mr. Smithers are just so amateur.

Today, I finished the last little bit of shopping I needed to do. Then Sister and I went to see the Lemony Snicket movie. I plan to see as many $4 movies as I can while I am here. I am a big fan of well done children's literature, and adore the Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events books. These books are smart and sophisticated; they don't talk down to children, and build vocabulary in a very clever way. The author also weaves in lots of jokes and references geared to adults.

The movie was visually and stylistically beautiful to watch. The actors playing the Baudelier children were rather wonderful, especially Klaus. Jim Carry was in his element, playing several weird and sinister characters. However, the dark elegance of the books didn't quite translate to the screen. The film is an adaptation of the first three books, and the plot gets a little muddy and feels somewhat rushed. And the ultimate cop-out was the way that they saccharined up the ending, which is the freaking antithesis of the books. Bah.

Day Two: Tennessee Family Christmas

mcrib
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Drink of the Moment: Cran-Rasperry and Vodka

Event of the Day: The Arrival of Sister

Top Five Ways I Know That I am Back In The South

1. Watching deer grazing on the front lawn from my momma's kitchen window.

2. Eating a McRib for lunch (with more chex mix as a side dish, I am reaching unparralled heights of white trash cuisine).

3. Stopping to browse at a furniture store and being met at the door by a lady named Kitty with two 10oz glass bottles of Coca-Cola.

4. Noticing that there is a real, once-alive, taxidermied black bear suspended from the ceiling over the sporting goods section at the local Super Wal-mart. ( I am going back to take a picture of this later.)

5. Being awakened in the middle of the night by some strange spotlight shining into my room, only to realize it was the moon. Damn, that thing is bright when there is no light pollution.

Christmas Past and Present

dolly2
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

So I am finally setting off for my Smokey Mountain Christmas sans Dolly. This holiday season, I have been incredibly ahead of schedule in the way of planning. I sent out holiday cards the first week of December, I wrapped and shipped presents for my family on Monday, and I even cleaned my entire apartment so that I will be returning to a tidy space. Except for the cat puke that will inevitabley greet me. Hell, I even arranged to have someone check on the cats (thanks, AW), rather than leave them exclusively to their own devices and a 2 foot pile of cat food for a week. Responsible pet owner, that's me!

This is a direct reaction to last years holiday which was, in several ways, disastrous. Mostly disastrous in that I was locked out of my apartment twice on Giftmas Eve. But other smaller disasters preluded the big disaster. I put much of my shopping off until the last minute. And since I wasn't flying home until Christmas morning, it truly was the last minute. My house looked like several crack whores had taken residence. I had wrapping paper, ribbon and other accouterment spread over my entire living and dining area. In a fit of "trying not to be depressed during the holiday season" spirit, I had put up a live tree. I tried to go small, but even though my tree was only about 4 feet wide, it was about 8 feet in diameter, taking up half the room. And the cats had done quite a number on all of the low hanging ornaments. And the damn thing was drying out faster than jerky in Ron Popeil's kitchen due to the powerful steam heat in my apartment. It was sort of like sand at the beach, needles where everywhere, including my bed and my dainties.

More trouble started when I went out drinking with friends on Dec 23rd. It started out as just a quick after work drink. But we ended up shutting the place down. The evening pretty much a blur, although I do remember someone (not me) dancing on the the bar, and someone (not me) spending some quality time in the bathroom with the bartender. I shared a cab with a friend who forgot to tell the driver his stop, so he ended up crashing on my couch.

So I made it to the office on about 4 hours of sleep, with Yagermeister still coursing through my veins. After pretending to work for a few hours, I went back home, took a quick nap, and then set out to take a friend to dinner for his birthday. In my still wonky state, I walked out the door forgetting both my cell phone and keys. Now normally this would not be an issue, but because I had reset the door knob so it would lock automatically when my couch surfer left that morning, I was up shit creek.

I decided to go ahead and meet my friend, since I had no phone to call him. From his place, I tracked down a locksmith who would meet me back at my place. Now the kind of locksmith that is on call on Christmas Eve is no kind of locksmith at all. Had I been given his tools, I could have opened that damn door myself with about the same skill. First off, he wasn't able to pick the lock (which had been done by a previous locksmith in about 30 seconds flat). So he drilled the lock, and broke the bit off in the tumbler, So then he used a fucking crowbar. Finally, the door was open, and I was $80 poorer.


At this point I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. But my friend seemed unaware of this fact (perhaps intentionally), and was still pushing for dinner. Even though it was already late and I had a 6:30 am flight to catch, I agreed. We had dinner. A long lingering dinner, during which I fumed internally. We eventually got back to my apartment to realize that I was still locked out of the apartment. The locksmith had fucked up the door so bad that I couldn't turn the doorknob from the outside even though it was unlocked.

After banging my head against the door for about 10 minutes, some skeevy looking teenager who had been sitting in t he stairwell talking on his cell phone came over to see if he could help. My friend and the kid fucked around the door with a pocket knife for about another 10 minutes to no avail. I was about to call the locksmith again when I had an idea. I was pretty certain that one of my windows on the fire escape was unlocked. And I remembered that the alarm to the roof door had been broken when last I checked. Thankfully it still was. My plan was to climb the ladder down from the roof to the fire escape and go in through the window.

Except that I was completely chicken. The ladder stood about a foot from the building, and that first step was a major leap of faith when you are looking six stories down. My friend looked at it, and he was chicken too. Then the kid looked at it and said, "Hey lady, I can climb down there". "I really can't ask you to do that", I replied. But like the sweet little angel of mercy he was (in that moment at least), he insisted. He shimmied down the latter and hopped through my window before we had time to get back down the stairs. Being cash poor, I scouted around the apartment, and grabbed a $50 Best Buy card that someone had given me as a present. He seemed pretty pleased with that. I hoped so, because I had just instructed this kid on exactly how to B & E my residence. And just to be safe, I spent another 15 minutes removing my air conditioner, so that I could lock all of my windows.

Thankfully, that was the end of my holidays troubles last year. And knock wood, this year has gone remarkably well so far. As I write, I am sitting at my momma's kitchen table eating spicy Chex Mix and drinking Diet Mountain Dew Code Red, and my white trash Christmas has begun.

Note to self: Downloading and watching the last six episodes of Sex and the City may seem like a good way to make the day pass when you are crawling from the couch to the bathroom with some stomach bug, but the crying off and on for three hours... not so good for hydration. Given fact that my body has decided to do a massive purge, having more body fluids running out of my eyes and nose- not helping matters. On the plus side, the laptop is very convenient for watching in the bathroom.

Gem Sweater Girl Rocks

gemsweatergirl
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

And she wishes you a happy holiday too! I discovered Gem Sweater Girl aka Leslie Hall via Mr. Pants sometime last year. And now with a little help from Metafilter, I've discovered that she has a musical career. And I am telling you, "Gold Pants" is better that Eminem's new album. Straight outta Iowa, yo. Check it here and here. Chick is fearless!! And isn't that the very essence of rock and roll? Don't fuck with Gem Sweater Girl. Ring A Ding Ding, bitches.

Rather than drag another dusty anecdote out of the closet today, I thought I would post an e-mail exchange between my mother, sister and me about our holiday plans. Other than changing some names to protect privacy (those would be in quotations), this is verbatim. As you can see, Sister is much funnier than I am. I also must confess that my mother has been corrupted by Sister and I. She was much more sedate (if not quite sane) when we were children.


From: Momma
To: Kimdog; Sister
Subject: Food for the Holidays
Date: Dec 15, 2004 10:42 AM

Is there anything special you would like to have (not christmas) to eat. I want to cook some things in advance. Of course we will eat out too.
For Christmas Dinner I will get the ham and what do you want to do about the turkey? Shan do you still want to cook one? What kind of sides? Remember we are trying to keep it simple this year. I'll make the cranberry relish.
We will have Christmas Eve at "Auntie's" and Christmas Dinner here.
If you can give me some ideas about food I will do the shopping before you come and we won't have to waste time doing that. Also "Auntie" & I have agreed to the faux pas of using (nice) paper plates for the meal. Keep it simple.
Can't wait to see you!! Love, Mom
**********************************************************************
From: Sister
Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2004 11:00 AM
To: Kimdog; Momma
Subject: RE: Food for the Holidays

Mother, I thought I said you were going to sit in a chair with a bottle of wine, a straw, some pot brownies (on a paper plate) and watch me cook. I’m in the mood for medium well steak, fresh fruit and spicy things. I want extra good Chex Mix with hot Cheez- its, wasabi peas and a whole damn bottle of Lea & Pearrins. And booze. Lots and lots of booze. I just realized I finished a semester of 40 hr work weeks of political bullshit, 5 classes, a messy suicide funeral and aftermath, death flu, writing the cornerstone of my research for the next 20 years and fending off an affair with a married man. Paper plates are fine with me. But I want glassware for my gin and tonic.
*********************************************************************

From: kimdog
Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2004 11:11 AM
To: Sister; Momma
Subject: RE: Food for the Holidays

I agree about the Chex mix... "Auntie" tried to make it spicy last year, but she was held back by fear. This year more green Tabasco! And no peanuts or pretzels!
mmmm.... booze. But I want vodka instead of gin. And Baileys to add to my cocoa, coffee, and pour over every dessert.
But I still want cornbread dressing and homemade yeast rolls. I'll make the pecan pie. Can you put Bailey's in a pecan pie?
Hmmm.... maybe pina coladas in memory of Granny?
Who's bringing the pot for the brownies?
************************************************************
From: Sister
Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2004 11:25 AM
To: Kimdog; Momma
Subject: RE: Food for the Holidays

Pina coladas sound good. And Baily’s. Perhaps I will forgo gin for vodka, try something new. Just no tequila, we don’t get along. Mom is less likely to serve jail time for purchasing, she can get the pot. I want to play games, too.
I will cook whatever anyone wants. I just want me fruit and wasabi peas.

***************************************************
From: Kimdog
Sent: Wednesday, December 15, 2004 11:32 AM
To: Sister; Momma
Subject: RE: Food for the Holidays

Don't they have "pick and cure your own" pot fields in East TN these days?
*********************************************************************
From: Momma
To: kimdog; Sister
Subject: Food
Date: Dec 15, 2004 6:34 PM

Geeeeezzzz!!! I'm sorry I asked. I've lost all my connections for pot. They either got saved or died. I guess we will just drink. I'll get the fixins.

What kind of :
fruit
mixers
vegetables
Anything in addition to pecan pie

I haven't done rolls since I moved to "East Tn Town".... it wouldn't rise, must be "The Giant Local Factory" pollution. You can try if you like. I have a recipe from "dead Family Friend".
The drive-in is only open on Fri, Sat, Sun. Last weekend the movies ran from 6:30 to 10:30. Also we need to go to the raceway at an off time if there is one. You may have to sit in line for 1-2 hours.
I've come up with a gourmet dessert....you take "store bought" cream cheese frosting, mix in some coconut and spread on ritz crackers. My contribution! If we had some pot we could sprinkle some on top of the ritz as a garnish.
***********************************************************
From: Sister
To: Momma; Kimdog
Subject: RE: Food
Date: Dec 16, 2004 9:03 AM

Ya know. I did tell a friend that y’all drive me up a wall. But also said I wouldn’t trade you for the world.
I blame this ALL on Martha Stewart being behind bars.

Hit me with your best shot.

flu_kills
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

I got my flu shot yesterday. And no, I didn't disguise myself as a little old lady to get it. My work was offering them for free, and I didn't ask how they got them either. I just hope they didn't find them in the back of a closet somewhere (as suggested by Sister). I have been very vigilant about getting flu shots since I had the death flu for two full weeks when I was in grad school. I sincerely thought I was going to die. I had friends spend the night with me for a few days. I had to crawl to bathroom. I lived on Gatorade. My fever stayed above 102 for seven days straight.

I had no health insurance at the time, so at day 6 of the death flu I went to one of those walk-in clinics. They took my $100, told me I had the flu, that I needed rest and lots of fluids, and sent me off with a hand full of Claritin samples to help with my stuffy nose. Over the next few days, I felt even worse. I was constantly in a state of either burning up with fever, or shivering with the chills. And some new symptoms has shown up in the mix. My fingertips were blue, and when I had the chills, my nipples would hurt so bad it made me cry.

In fact, it was the nipple thing that sent me back to the clinic on the 11th day of the death flu. I went in and they took my temperature which was 102.7. First off, the doctor (not the one I had seen before) gave me some Tylenol, saying he would like to see my temperature drop before they let me go. Then I showed him my blue fingernails, and told him about my aching nipples. He looked a little puzzled, and asked what other medications I had been taking. I told him just Tylenol and the Claritin that they gave me last time I was there.

"Claritin? They gave you Claritin? You should stop taking that right away." He went onto explained that Claritin was a power antihistamine, that worked by reducing the blood flow to the capillaries in the nasal membrane, thereby reducing swelling. In my weakened death flu state, this medication was causing other small blood vessels in my extremities to constrict, also limiting the blood flow. Extremities meaning my blue fingertips, and my aching nipples.

With that little issue resolved, the doc took my temperature again. It was up to 103.1. He sort of freaked out. The plan had been that my temperature would go down, not up. Suddenly I was given a cold ginger ale, and a nurse put a cold cloth on my head and started swabbing me down with alcohol. After about 20 minutes they took my temperature again, and it was back to 102.7. So they immediately sent me home (you know, just in case I was going to die, they didn't want it to happen in their clinic). This time I wasn't given any free drug samples, but was told once again to rest and get lots of fluids. And once I stopped with the Claritin, no more nipple pain. Finally, on the 14th day, my fever broke. But it was another 3 days before I could get up and around.

So boys and girls... get your flu shots. Even if you like aching nipples (and I know some of you do), there are better ways to get your kicks.

On why I hate snow and the cold.

Semi
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

I think I've figured out why I loathe cold weather (and snow in particular) so much. It's because I was stalked by a trucker as a direct result of winter weather.

Twas the blizzard of '93. The entire Southeast and East coast was buried under 18-36 inches of snow. The storm was bad timing, hitting on the first weekend of Spring Break, and I was trapped in my college town. After about 4 days, the major interstates were finally open, so I set out on the 300 mile journey to my folks house. Normally, this was about a four hour trip. But with the traffic, I was already at hour seven when I finally left I-40 to pick-up I-81. The traffic on I-81 was far lighter, and that's probably because the road was just barely passable. Only one lane was clear, the other was covered with hard packed ice and snow, and which lane was clear could change at any given time. I slowed way the hell down, as I weaved from lane to lane in an attempt to keep my tires in contact with black top.

Soon, there was an semi barreling up behind me. He was not thrilled that I was only going about 40 mph in the fast lane (which was also the clear lane at the time). He rode my ass and honked. I was extremely pissed, tired and cranky. I had not stopped the entire trip, and with the foresight that only a 19 y.o. can muster, I had only brought along a bag of jelly beans for sustenance. This guy was making me very nervous in my hypo-glycolic, bladder-strained state. Finally, I encountered a rare stretch of road where both lanes were clear. I immediately moved into the right lane so that this white-cross tweaking road hog would get the hell away from me.

As fate would have it, we were on a slight incline so the truck didn't blast past me as fast as I would have liked. And as we crested the hill, I had a terrifying vision. My clear lane was no longer clear . I slammed on my brakes, but I was still going about 30 mph when I hit the ice. The truck was just passing me, but as the other lane cleared, it was too late for me to get back over. I was bouncing and sliding over this nasty, chunky 5 day old packed snow. I could see that the road cleared again about 30 yards ahead. But that was 30 yards too much. Suddenly, my rear end was fish tailing and then I was in a full out spin. When I stopped, I was facing the wrong direction. On the interstate. With on coming traffic. I slammed the car into reverse and backed my car onto the shoulder.

As I sat their shaking, another 18 wheeler passed and stopped just ahead of me. A guy jumped out and ran to my window. "Are you OK?" I couldn't yet form words so I just shook my head yes. Then the trucker when off on a tirade about what an asshole that other trucker was, and that he was going to report him, and get his license revoked. I just shook my head. The guy again asked me if I was ok, and I finally said yes. I told him I just need some time to chill out. So he just stood there and chatted with me for a few minutes. His name was Mark and he was from St Louis. He was a white guy, 30ish, and seemed nice enough. But then he made a suggestion that completely creeped me out. "Hey, ya know, I don't think you should be driving. You're too shaken up. My partner is in the cab up there. Why don't you ride up in the truck with me, and my partner will follow in your car, and we will take you wherever you need to go." Holy fucking shit! I was young, but I could still sense a gang rape, axe murder scenario when I saw one.

I politely declined, since I was only about 30 miles from my folks house. He kept insisting, but finally shut up when I agreed to let him turn my car around so that I could proceed on my way (I was still facing oncoming traffic). Once that was done, I thanked him profusely for all of his help, and started to get in my car. Mark intercepted to give me a hug and said, "We are going to follow you to your exit and make sure you don't have any more trouble." Aaaagh! Oh great. Gee, thanks. Stop touching me.

As I got back on the road, I realized that the entire incident had left my already full bladder in a state of convulsions, and I didn't think I could wait until I got home. Luckily, I was about 5 miles from a rest area. I figured that I could pee, call my parents, and ditch my escort in one fell swoop.

As I exited towards the rest stop, I noticed that Mark continued to follow me. Crap. But he had to park in the truckers area, and proceeded to the car parking lot. There were tons of people there, so I figured that I was safe enough. I ran to the ladies room, where it took several minutes to convince my bladder muscles that it was ok to unclench. Once that was done, I found a pay phone. I punched in my calling card number several times, but the call failed to go through. I was frustrated, and was about to give up and just get back on the road, when Mark arrived at my side.

"Are you OK?" he asked. I explained to him that I just had to pee, and I thought I should call my parents, but I was having trouble getting the call to go through. "Here", he said, "Let me try mine". So he punched in his calling card number and then handed me the phone to dial my parents number. I figured it would be better to let them know where I was and when I would be home (and make a less likely target for abduction), so I dialed the number and gave my Mom the rundown of my situation. Of course Mark was standing there the whole time, so I couldn't tell her that "nice trucker who stopped to help me" was completely freaking me out.

After hanging up, I thanked Mark again, and turned to go. This time, he grabbed my hands and said, "Kim, next time I drive through Nashville, I would really like to take you to dinner". Uuuuuhhhh. I think I stammered something about having a boyfriend, but thanked him yet again. He let go of my hands, gave me a long look, and said "OK, I will follow you to your exit". Then he turned and stalked off. I raced to my car, got back on the interstate, and soon saw that Mark was once again behind me. The rest of the trip was uneventful, and I waved as I exited. He honked in return.

One might think this saga was over. But one would be wrong. Several weeks passed. I found myself feeling a little guilty for projecting all of those bad thoughts onto Mark, who, while a little odd, certainly seemed to be a very nice guy who just wanted to help a motorist in distress. But then the letters and cards started coming. As I read the first letter, it took me a few minutes to figure out who the hell it was from. And when I did, I spazzed! How did this guy get my address? And then I thanked god because all he had was my campus P.O. box. The letters weren't threatening, but they were weird rambling accounts of his life as a trucker. And he kept asking that I write him back.

Finally, I figured out how he got my address. I was talking with my mother one night. I had not told her about this "situation" because I knew it would freak her out. Then she asked if I had heard from Mark. "Mark!?", I squeaked. What the hell did she know about Mark!? Evidently, he called her, saying that he was a "friend" trying to get in touch with me. I had two friends in high school named Mark that my mother knew, so she didn't think twice about giving out my info. And then the pieces fell together when I realized that he had my mothers number because I had used his calling card number when I called her from the rest area.

So the mystery was solved. But to what end? I still had a weirdo truck driver sending me letters on a bi-monthly basis. I decided to do nothing. (Again, 19 y.o. logic.) After about 4 months, the letters stopped coming. And that actually is the end of the saga. Except now I HATE cold weather and snow. And I blame it all on crazy-truck-driver Mark.

Weekend Update

Kinsey graph
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

In some ways, Kinsey was a much lighter film than I imagined. And the penis cutting scene was far less gory than I had been led to believe. There are a number of very funny and very sweet moments as the film examines the sexual attitudes of the 50's as the motivating force for Alfred Kinsey's groundbreaking work. Laura Linney is stellar in her role as Kinsey's wife, Mac, and Neeson does a good turn as the socially clumsy yet incredibly empathic Kinsey. This film comes at a very politically important time, as we find ourselves once again fighting the battle against the wrong-winger's religiously motivated war against medically-accurate, age-appropriate sex education.

A side note- this was a Screen Actors Guild screening. Which made for one of the more annoying audiences to watch a film with. Not so much during the film, but for the Q & A with Lynn Redgrave (Liam canceled, the bitch). You could just see these folks trying their darnedest to come up with the most James Lipton-esque question that would cause Ms. Redgrave to see their deep dedication to their art and take them under her wing. Ah, the smell of pretension.

On Saturday, the Adventurous Wayfarer and I took a spontaneous trip to see the Rock Center Christmas tree. Which was insanely mobbed with tourists, but still very fun. The tree has new seizure inducing flashing lights that were very cool. And the excitement of everyone there was palpable, which is a nice change from the jaded New Yorker vibe.

We encountered one of the oddest things on our way back to the subway. As we attempted to cross 6th Avenue, a police car was leading a motorcade. There were probably 20 cars and minivans and 3 RVs all with large menorahs mounted on top. They were filled with God's Chosen People, just a honking and a waving.

"There go my peeps", commented AW, "in a Hanukk-ade".

But the coolest thing was when a kid in one of the cars yelled "dreidel, dreidel!" and threw something out the window. I scouted around and sure enough, there was a blue plastic dreidel laying in the intersection. And of course, I immediately ran out to retrieve it with no regard for my own safety. Awesome. On my scale of what makes for a good day, incredible sex and having free toys thrown at me are very high on the list.

I love sex and candy.

wonka
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Criminy. Johnny Depp made Willy Wonka gay. See for yourself. I am not saying that is a bad thing. Just curious. Now I am a getting little nervous about this remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Because it's just too much goodness rolled into something that I hold near and dear. I lurve the original movie, I *heart* the book, I am crazy about Tim Burton, and I think Johnny Depp is brilliant. And we all know how I feel about candy So that means there is a very good chance this movie will implode into a giant black suckhole. And other than the Pee-Wee-esque vibe that I am getting off of Depp's Wonka, I can't tell much else from the trailer. Please, please, please movie gods... I beg of thee... don't let this turn into a giant black suckhole.

In the meantime, I am going to watch Liam Neeson cut up his penis tonight. And then I'll get to ask him about it! Lyn Redgrave will be there, too. Tune in tomorrow for my review of Kinsey.

True Life Dating Story #33

motmurf1103
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

My first college boyfriend was this sweet, odd, dear boy I'll call J-Spa. J-Spa was my first love. He lived with one foot not quite in this world. As a child he decided that he was C3PO, and except for his mother, would only speak to people is his C3PO voice. He would never break character, which meant his knees wouldn't bend, which meant he had to be carried up and down flights of stairs. I think this went on for a full year.

J-Spa and I flirted and courted and dated and broke up for about two years before finally settling into a relationship. I was, at the time, living with another girl also named Kim in my first apartment. Kim had fat ankles and was generally a bitch. She was in the university orchestra. She hated J-Spa because he wrote for the university paper and had published a brutal review of one of their performances. They were enemies.

J-Spa lived in an apartment with a roommate and it was the quintessential bachelor pad. There was a stuffed large mouth bass hanging on the wall, and a black velvet triptych with JFK, RFK, and MLK. There was also a bunch of matador art. J-Spa's bed was on the floor because we broke it during our first dating episode. I also accidentally broke his nose during sex on another occasion, but that is a story for another time.

So. One night J-Spa took me out. We drove into Nashville and he insisted I close my eyes for last part of the trip. We finally stopped in a parking garage and got into an elevator. I realized that we were at the Downtown Sheraton which has a revolving restaurant on the roof. As we watched the Nashville skyline go by, he told me about the places where he lived and grew up, and about his family and childhood. Some things I knew, some things I didn't, but it was a very sweet intimate moment.

Next we went to the old WSMV antenna tower located on a hill with one of the best views of the Nashville skyline. We sat and kissed in the pulsing red light of the antenna, and I felt that all was right with the world. This man loved me.

We headed back to our college town, ready to finish off our evening with some sweet sweet love, when we stumbled upon a dilemma. I had just had a big fight with Fat Ankles about J-Spa spending the night, and didn't want to increase tensions by having him over so soon. J-Spa's roommate had several friends crashing, making his place less than ideal for an evening of wild monkey loving. So we decided to just go get a hotel room.

Now, this normally would not have been a big deal. But Jimmy Motherfucking Buffett was playing a sold-out show at the University Arena that night. We went from hotel to hotel only to find that there was no room at the inn. We worked our way across town, finally arriving at this little old privately owned motel called Motel Murfreesboro. J-Spa went in to see if there were any rooms left and snagged the last one. Given that we were poor college students, J-Spa told the guy he was alone to get the single rate, and then I snuck into the room.

Please pardon me while I break this narrative to talk about how much I FUCKING LOVE THE INTERNET. I was hoping to find a link to Motel Murfreesboro, but I found something a million times better. I found the above picture which not only shows the awesomely cool retro sign, but also shows the exact room we stayed in, and will act as a visual aid for the rest of this sordid story. We were in the last room at the end of the motel which was adjacent to a Huddle House (the building with the green awning). Huddle House is a chain of all night diners in the South, and at the time was generally considered a low rent version of the Awful Waffle. Hard to believe that there could be such a thing, but it's true.

We finally got into the room and were ready to fulfill our romantic urges. The first thing we noticed was that there was a lot of noise coming from both the Huddle House and the room next door. But we quickly became distracted by more carnal endeavors. The next thing we noticed was that the bed seem less than stable. It creaked and swayed and we weren't even naked yet. And given our history with breaking beds, we were nervous to push our luck with this one. So we moved to the floor.

An hour later we were back in bed. I had horrible rug burns on my lower back, J-Spa had horrible rug burns on his knees and elbows. We snuggled up to go to sleep. But there were loud voices drifting through the wall. That's when we figure out what's happening in the room next to us.

"Dammit, my fucking lighter ain't working, give me your'en."

"Alright, but I want it back. Daddy give me that one."

"Fuck, I cain't get this spoon bent back."

"That's the last rock anyways."

"I know, that's why we gotta get this TV."

Loud sounds of squealing metal erupted, as our neighbors tried to liberate the TV that was bolted to the wall.

"Fuck. I cain't get this bar bent back"

"Why don't you unscrew it?"

"I ain't got no goddamn screwdriver. Hey, go next door and get a knife from the Huddle House."

"Aww, man, they gave me a hard enuff time about getting the goddamn spoon."

"Just go get a motherfuckin knife!"

At this point, the conversation degenerated into a crack-driven screaming hillbilly fight. Soon, someone was threatening to shoot someone else. J-Spa and I clung to each other in the darkness. We were completely freaked out. We briefly considered calling the hotel management, but were afraid that we would get into trouble for sneaking me into the room (give me a break, we were only 21). For some reason, we never considered leaving.

Finally, our neighbors smoked up the last crack rock ("Goddamn it, you burned me motherfucker!") and drifted off into a narcotic induced haze. We continued to lay awake, smelling the sickly sweet second-hand crack fumes eeking through the walls. At some point we fell asleep from sheer adrenaline-induced exhaustion.

Finally, in the harsh morning sun, we darted to the car and got the hell out of Dodge.

And that was the most romantic evening of our entire relationship.

Jewish Christmas

hanukkah copy
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

As a child, the only thing that I knew about Jews was that they celebrated Hanukkah. Every December, the Festival of Lights was trotted out as a multicultural lesson for all us little Tennessee kids. The temple and the oil and the burning and the menorah and Jewish kids got presents for 8 days instead of just one. And that was it. Nothing about Yom Kippur, or Passover or Rosh Hashanah. We didn't get any new information until high school and World War II.

When people ask me about anti-Semitic sentiments in the South, I really can't speak to it. In my experience, there simply wasn't enough information or understanding to have feelings about Jewish folk one way or the other. They were just sort of these people in the Bible, and the fact that they had their own rich cultural history and thriving communities the same country that I lived in was beyond me. There weren't any Jews in my town. In fact, I was 24 before I met a practicing Jewish family.

And now I live in NYC. Talk about a slam dunk into Jewish culture. I've learned a lot from my friends here. I know that I am a shiksa. I learned that pretty quickly because I've dated a whole bunch of Jewish guys. And even though I am aware that the term has negative connotations, I have embraced it. Cause me and the Jewish boys get on like a house a'fire (expression plagiarized from the Sweet Potato Queens).

I also now know that the Sabbath is on Saturday, which is why many businesses are closed. And that depending on the ownership of a restaurant, I may not be able to get pork. There are lots of other things that I've learned, but these are the ones that affect me most personally.

So in the spirit of giving, and in celebration of my long over due Jewish education, I offer a gift to my kind readers. In fact, I will be giving gifts for all of the winter holidays.

My gift to you for Hanukkah is peace. Here is the link to the National Do Not Call Registry. You may have registered for this before on your home phone. But what you may not know is that the six largest cell phone companies are banding together to form a Wireless 411 directory. Now while this may or may not open loopholes for telemarketers to start calling your cell phone in the near future, it sure as hell can't hurt to register your mobile number now before the nonsense starts.

Happy Hanukkah!

In the Estrogen vs. Glucose Smack Down, Who Will Reign Supreme?

All hail Krispy Kreme
Originally uploaded by Bees.

I need to invest in one of those road cone orange flack jackets that hunters wear so they don't get shot in the ass by other drunk hunters. Not for my protection, but for the safety of others. I would wear this jacket during the 72 hour hormonal freak out that I experience monthly. In the past 48 hours have sent one hormonally challenged e-mail and had one freaky girl conversation and I would love to take both back, now that I emerging from the estrogen driven haze. Alas.

So to get me back on the road of emotional stability, I am self-medicating with pastry. Which got me thinking obsessively about my favorite store bought baked goodies. Not that I don't prefer home-baked treats, but sometimes you just need something wrapped in plastic. So here is a top five list:


5. Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls - I was so excited to discover that Little Debbie could be readily found in NYC. Over the years I have had various LD fixations: Star Crunch, Oatmeal Cream, Zebra Cakes. But there is nothing quite so enjoyable as the fine art of eating a Swiss Cake Roll. First you can peel the outer layer of chocolate off. Then you can unroll the thing and eat it in layers. Very satisfying for some one who enjoys playing with their food.

4. Mint N' Creme Double Delight Oreos - A very cool variation on a classic. Sort of like if an Oreo and a Thin Mint had a baby. Oreos also have the satisfactory disassembly-before-eating factor. But I am physically unable to eat them unless I have milk for dipping. Even though the milk gets sort of grotty with those little crumbs floating around.


3. Entenmanns Eclairs - I realize that there are much better eclairs out there in bakeries across the city than Entenmanns. But there is something reassuring about stumbling into my neighborhood bodega at 3:30 am after a night of debauchery and being able to grab a box of these delectable morsels. The chocolate is rich, the custard is surprisingly creamy. And they come in a special crush proof tray! Will engineering wonders never cease?


2. Drake's PecanSpins- I've had these in the Pecan Twirl and Pecan Roll version by other brands, but Drake's gets them perfect. Pecan Spins are elegant in their simplicity. Just a moist strip of cake with cinnamon and bits of pecans. As with previous items on this list, these are best enjoyed when they are unfurled. And that's why Drakes are the best. You can completely unroll them with out the darn thing breaking.

1.Krispy Kreme Chocolate Iced Kreme Filled Donuts . Growing up in the South, Krispy Kreme was always been a part of my existence. At my high school, our school paper had an ongoing fundraiser where we sold boxes of KK donuts classroom to classroom every Friday. Every single Friday. Of course we only had glazed or chocolate iced. And while these are good, they don't send me over the edge the way the Kreme filled variety do. Because I like my sugary pastry iced with sugar, and then filled with more sugar (mixed with lard). And that is some serious medicine for some serious PMS, my friends. Just be glad we have these options. Lives are saved.

Drive-In Saturday

drivein
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Yesterday, as the Adventurous Wayfarer and I were walking across the George Washington Bridge (yes, that is the sort of thing we do for kicks), I mentioned that my mother and auntie had gone to see a movie at the drive-in the night before. AW was a little intrigued, having never been to a drive-in before. But then I realized that probably very few people have had the chance to go to the drive-in, since they are a dying American phenomena.

The Twin City Drive-In was a fixture of my childhood. It was less than a mile from my house and nearly next door to my elementary school. I wish I could tell you that I have wonderful memories of seeing movies there when I was a kid. But I can’t. Because this drive-in only showed X rated films during the 80’s.

This still puzzles me, since I grew up in the buckle of the Bible belt. The only reason I can figure that this was tolerated is that one of the wealthiest families in town owned theater at the time. And the reason they could show skin flicks is that the screen faced a mountain rather than the road. But this wasn’t fool proof.

If you look at this arial photo (god how I love the internets) you can see the amphitheater style arrangement of the drive-in built into the hill. The building to the right is the electric company, and then my elementary school is next door. The school had a yard with a playground that ran quite a ways back. So far back, in fact, that you could see the screen at an extreme angle. This wasn’t an issue during the day, but at PTA meetings and Fall Festivals and the like, we kids could get quite a confusing eyeful.

Finally, in the early 90’s, the drive-in was sold back to the original owners, and they turned it into a second run theater where you could see a double feature for $2.50 per person. So we would load up the car, and head on down. In the summer, people bring lawn chairs and blankets and spread out in the grass. Or even better was to find a friend with a pickup truck and everyone could pile into the bed with pillows and sleeping bags. You could bring in an ice-chest and booze and make a party of of it.

The only weekend exception is when a NASCAR race happening. Then the drive-in turns into a campground. The Bristol Motor Speedway is just two miles down the road, and for certain races sells out its 160,000 seat capacity. Then every person within a five mile radius with a house or land turns their space into camping, parking, or bed and breakfast. The house I grew up in was just a half mile from the speedway. We would park cars in our yard for $5 a hit. That was in the 80's. Now the folks that live in the nieghborhood are renting out their houses for $1000-1500 for the weekend. NASCAR fans are hardcore.

Evidently, the drive-in is popular enough now that they are showing movies through the fall and winter. And first run too. Mom and Auntie saw Polar Express and Christmas with the Kranks. The price is $5 for adults, and $3 for kids, and as many people as you can fit in the trunk for free. It makes me happy that the drive-in is still ticking along. In fact, I may try to catch a flick there while I am home for the holidays.

Going down

Going down
Originally uploaded by -Low.

I am pretty lucky to live where I live. As an outsider moving to NYC, conquering the real estate market was one of the first signs that I was gonna be okay here. I've lived in my building for 3 1/2 years, which is longer than I've lived anywhere in my adult life. I have affordable (by Manhattan standards) rent in a decent building with nice neighbors. And it's an elevator building, which is a big deal when you live on the fifth floor.

The only problem is that the elevator is prone to break down at least once a month and has been in steep decline since I moved in. The overhead fixture covering the light was broken, the floor was some nasty industrial linoleum, the powder blue laminate walls were scratched and pocked with cigarette burns, and the bar along the back wall broke off a couple of years ago. The rumor was that elevator was going to entirely replaced.

That rumor was dispelled last week. Evidently, my landlord has decided that we are going to keep the old elevator for a while. Therefore, it needed to look a little less like something from a public housing project. There are companies that can completely refurbish elevator interior with quite pleasing results. But my landlord (who's daddy bought him this building about 7 year ago), is fucking cheap. Last year he hired 14 y.o. kids to lay the new linoleum floor in the laundry room. So the elevator overhaul was handed over to the super.

Day One: The old light fixture and cover are stripped, and the fluorescent light is replaced with a bare bulb.

Day Two: Laminate wood flooring in a light oak finish has been placed over the ceiling. The edges are pretty rough.

Day Three: The wood flooring continues down the sides of the elevator to the point where a little ridge pops out (about 6 inches from the ceiling), and gold wood molding has been used to finish off the edges. A frosted glass and brass light fixture now covers the bulb.

Day Four: The nasty black linoleum has been removed and a new sub floor installed.

Day Five: New black, teal, and blue swirly linoleum has been laid. Note: the blue in the floor is not the same blue on the walls.

Day Six: Truly, the piece de resistance. Brushed chrome bars that look suspiciously like handicapped bathroom pull bars have been added to all three walls.

From ghetto to ghetto fabulous in just six days. And on the seventh day, Jose the Super rested.

Defying Gravity

danzavoluminosa2
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

Today on NPR's Morning Edition there was a story about Danza Voluminosa, a fat ballet company in Cuba. Founded in 1996 by Juan Miguel Mas, the troupe is becoming a recognized and respected part of the modern dance movement in Cuba. Mas was a once a member of the famed Contemporary Dance Company, and now he is actively seeking to challenge traditional ideals about dance and who should be doing it. "The world needs things that break conventions of beauty and what the human figure should look like" says Mas. The dance style is a combination of ballet and contemporary dance with emphasis on eloquent floor movement rather than gravity-defying leaps.

The troupe is currently performing an original work called "Una Muerte Dulces" (A Sweet Death) about a fat girl. In the past, they have not only broken size stereotypes but also gender roles by performing a gender blind version of Racine's "Phedre".

I also discovered that Danza Voluminosa is the subject of a documentary called Defying Gravity, which will be part of the Inside Out Gay and Lesbian Film Festival in Toronto in May. If anyone knows about where I might see this documentary in NYC, please let me know!

Holiday Dental Mayhem

kimsteeth
Originally uploaded by kimdog.

I am what might be called a klutz. Not like Chevy Chase as Gerald Ford klutzy; I only fall in the street about once every six months. But on a day-to-day basis, I am prone to stupid self injury. Primarily this manifests in bruises and burns. I bump into things, like the wall, not too infrequently. And because I hang around my apartment in various states of undress, I have burned myself with both the iron and the stove in unfortunate places. (I must reiterate that despite what I have revealed in this blog, I don't have any kinky ironing predilections.)

But one of my more incredible graceless and/or stupid moments involved supergluing my teeth together one Christmas Eve. Now you may ask how old I was when this happened. I was 25. And yes, there were extenuating circumstances; but really, can anything be an adequate excuse for gluing one's teeth together? Luckily, they were only stuck for about a minute. Unluckily, Sister was there to witness the whole ordeal and laugh mightily at me, ensuring that the moment would live on in infamy.

I was a retail manager at the time, and had just pulled a 10 hour shift. Then I jumped in my car and drove 4 hours to my parents. I arrived after midnight, feeling very Santa-like with my car full of presents. As I placed things under the tree, I somehow managed (see aforementioned klutz statement) to break a topiary thingy I had for my mom. Thankfully, it was very easily repairable. I rooted around in the junk drawer and came up with a crusty tube of SuperGlue©. Perfect. But the tip was all clogged. Now hindsight being 20/20, I realize that I maybe should have found a pair of scissors or a nail to open the dang thing. But I am me. So yes, I bit the end off. And it worked. I fixed the topiary, and was quite pleased with my self until I realized I couldn't open my mouth.

Sister was no help. She was laughing. I was laughing too. Until the panic set in. Then the humiliation set in. As I was imagining the emergency dental visit on Christmas Day and how I would explain my situation to Dr. Rick, my teeth finally popped apart. Evidently there was too much moisture to create a firm seal. Thank god.

I wish I could say that I learned some valuable lesson from this. But I already knew that one should not fuck around with superglue (I had glued my fingers together on a previous occasion.) I suppose the primary affirmation is that I should NEVER be without health insurance. Because one of these days, I am not going to be so lucky.