Thursday, September 15, 2005

Lonely Guy Night At Local 16

        

         Is It Proper For A Gentleman To Ask A Lady If She Blogs???

 

 

An acquaintance of mine answered the call to all wallflowers made by KathrynOn, to attend a blogger Happy Hour at Local 16 last night. He told me he searched the crowd for the D.C. scene, but all he saw was a large group from Amnesty International having some kind of "whoop-dee-do." He also said he scanned the crowd and checked out the rooftop, but no Kathryn to be found. He had a beer, put his tail between his legs, and left.

"I could have asked people "Are you a blogger," but I didn't. "I did approach one group of women who walked by, but I'm sure they thought I was hitting on them." I said, "Are you bloggers?" (How's that for a pickup line?)" ... I told him I thought it made him sound like a pervert.

 

 

 

 

 

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

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Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Conversation With Drew: Fender Schematics, Siberian Throat Singers, Porn, Absinthe & Blogs

I was talking in instant message to my friend Drew* the other day, and I realized later what an odd turn our conversations usually took. I've been told I'm "eclectic," (I call it "polymathic"), and I am starting to see how this reflects back in my writing and conversations. I had asked for his help a few days earlier when I was trying to print out a schematic for a Fender Vibro-Champ amp:

              


http://www.ampwares.com/ffg/schem/champ_vibro_aa764_schem.gif

This was an end of the workday thing, and Drew came through in record time with producing what I needed. In gratitude, I wanted to send him a small thank you gift for his troubles, and I remembered an earlier conversation we had when I told him about the Siberian throat singers, in particular a punk band called Yat Kha from the Siberian province of Tuva.

Yat-kha, Albert Kuvezin Tuvan throat singing punk band. New 2005 Album "Re-Covers" released June 13th


               


Drew immediatedly grokked their music, and he was particularly taken with the song "Chorumal Bodum" on the cd Aldyn Dashka. There are mp3 soundbites on the link above if your ears are up to it. I spent the next day at Tower Records looking for this cd, but none were to be had. When I got home and started a Amazon search for it, I learned it's not available and probably out of print, so I sent him my copy, then I turned around and ordered a used copy for myself.** They've got a new cd out now with covers by groups like Led Zeppelin's "When The Levee Breaks" (timely), and "Orgasmatron," by Motorhead.

When I asked Drew today if he had received the cd, he said "Indeed! I'm ripping it now, so I can put it in my cell phone. Can you imagine the ringer?" He told me he had one friend that he couldn't wait to play it for: an acoustic engineer and audio savant...which lead to how this guy could find anything...which lead to absinthe. Drew has been fixated on the whole culture and history behind absinthe for about a year now. Last year at Christmas I gave him an absinthe spoon in preparation for his indulging in the liquor. For those few who don't know, the drinking of absinthe is almost as ritualistic as a Japanese tea ceremony. There are special implements which are used in the melting of the sugar cube over the glass with a slotted spoon to allow the sugar to drip into the drink, altering it's appearance. absinthe history: Absinthe Buyers Guide

People actively seek out as collectibles the different styles of glasses and spoons that were popular in France during the height of the absinthe drinking craze. Absinthe is green in color, it's nickname is L'Heure Verte, or The Green Hour, and it's been illegal in this country for some time. When water is added over the sugar cube, the mixture becomes an opalescent white with a tint of green, and this effect is called "louche." As I said, the spoons have become collector's items, and they have their own names and styles. I gave Drew the more traditional Feuille spoon. He had been trying to acquire a bottle of absinthe via a friend in the Czech Republic, but his friend received a notice back via the postal authorities that basically said "tsk, tsk...that's illegal." *** Drew's efforts continue. The "Feuille" spoon:

           


I told him if he ever did go to Europe and acquire a bottle, to bring me a bottle of Creme de Violette which is equally hard to obtain. This is basically a liqueur made of violets, colored purple, and for some reason extremely popular during the height of the cocktail age in the 1920's and '30's. I only learned of it when I was talking to another friend (thank you, Kathy) about a cocktail book she had inherited that dated from 1937 where Creme de Violette recipes abounded. One of the better known cocktails using this ingredient is the Blue Moon which consists of 2 ounces of gin, 1/2 ounce of creme de violette and 1/4 ounce of fresh squeezed lemon juice. Another popular cocktail is the Jupiter which is 1 teaspoon of orange juice, 1 teaspoon of Creme de Violette, 3/4 ounces of vermouth and 1 1/2 ounces of gin. I've been meaning to check with Pearson's to see if they can import a bottle, as they once tracked down a bottle of honey liqueur from Germany for me. Benoit Serres


                                 

Drew told me he was multi-tasking: listening to Yat Kha, chatting with me, reading my blog comments, watching soft porn strippers and loading the cd into his phone...then he added "Oh yeah--and defragmenting my hard drive." (I let the obvious go when I didn't add a comeback for his hard drive and the soft porn.) Then he told me a joke: "How many ADD children does it take to change a light bulb?" Answer: "Wanna go ride bikes?" I later told this joke to a friend of mine in San Francisco, and he said "How many feminists does it take to change a light bulb?" Answer: "That's not funny."

Drew then added, "You GOTTA love a website that streams porn score audio. Just the music. None of the grunts. Bow chica wow wow."
fluffertraX premium adult sound

Which lead me to speculate if there is such a career as a "text fluffer." Drew told me once he was in a crowded airport lobby when he heard "Shut Your Fucking Face, Uncle Fuckah," from the South Park movie, as an instrumental-only ringer coming from someone's phone. "I glanced up quickly when I realized what the song was and caught the same hysterical expression that I must have made on the faces of about 12 other people who also recognized it and were both shocked and amused. Imagine hearing that in an airport." I told him about the time I heard "Electric Aunt Jemima", a Frank Zappa composition, in a grocery store musak system.

Drew started critiquing the porn he was viewing. "Some of these hotties are da bomb, but others? Ummm...can't you like...I dunno...eat a salad or two first?" He wondered what quirk would attract men to view women who tan on bottom, but have tan lines up top. He thought it was too random and weird. I told him of my contention that there was a fetish for everything and immediately found him a website devoted to just that type of tanning. He said "Now THAT makes me giggle."

All of the music talk had lead me to ask him how you would drop music into a blog site, and he found this very interesting tutorial which I'm passing on to you:

Embedding Sound in Web Pages, Part I: The EMBED Tag - Doc JavaScript

Today I received a nice email from Drew showing me another link that discusses additional elements to consider such as radio, RSS feeds, etc., and here is the link on "Building a Better Blog," courtesy of Drew:
eLink-In Focus-Issue 80

He finished off by telling me about a powdered drink called "Ginger Drink" at the World Market out in Bethesda. It's from Indonesia, and Drew thought it would aid my cold and sore throat. So you see...we went full circle...from Siberian throat singers to sore throats.****

_________________________

* Drew, Hooters Lunch, 8/17/05

** Drew has since told me the cd is available at Yat Kha's website, and he has ordered other copies.

*** Addendum on the absinthe shipment from his friend: His friend says, "The package is now sitting on my desk in Prague. It made it all the way to Phoenix, where some imbecile decided that since it's against (company's name omitted) policy to deliver alcohol, that instead they would send it to me, internationally." His friend says he now has to come to Prague to get it, and Drew said, "I promised when I flew over, that we would drink so much, that we'd both be able to fly home first class, for only a little more than the price of a legendary hangover."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***  Remember:  You can also find Washington Cube at:

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Friday, September 9, 2005

Somewhere In D.C.

When I was out photographing another D.C. oddity, I saw this in my peripheral vision, did a u-turn and swerved around to capture it. I have a certain fascination with the little tributes people establish in their yards.

Studying this grotto combining the Virgin Mary with Santa Claus and candy canes, I couldn't decide if the owners were: 1) incredibly lazy (why take it down and put it up again for the holidays?); 2) they were somehow honoring the V
irgin Birth with the more secular aspects of Christmas; or 3) they are way ahead of the curve.

P.S. They also have two flanking pink flamingos with a row of tulips, so who knows what base that covers.

 

      

 

 

 

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Tuesday, September 6, 2005

Would You Prefer Breast...Or Thigh?

A friend of mine sent me a link today regarding a news story out of Thailand. An art student has been baking realistic human remains out of dough. What appears to be putrefying body parts are actually sculpture. 28-year old art student, Kittwat Unarrom, wants his work to force people into pondering whether they are consuming food, or if the food is consuming them. Along with edible human heads, Unarrom also creates human arms, feet, and chicken and pig parts, using anatomy books to guide his craft.

This work is actually part of Kittwat's final dissertation at school, which he hopes will secure him a degree. "When people see the bread, they don't want to eat it. But when they taste it, it's bread." That's a knotted Challah of a philsophy. I wonder if his dissertation involves an oral defense? And his degree...Kittwat Unarrom, B.A. (Baker of Anatomy). With honors...Summa Cum Lateral Condyle.

 

 

 

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Monday, September 5, 2005

The Early Bird: A Memoir of Premature Retirement

I just finished reading a book called Early Bird: A Memoir of Premature Retirement by Rodney Rothman. Rothman was head writer on the David Letterman show. When his employment as a comedic writer ended, he decided to take what he labels a "premature retirement" and join a senior citizen community in Florida. This action was based partially on fond memories of his own grandparent's retirement to Florida, where he would visit them and receive their unconditioned love, as well as the trail America takes to these sun cities as they age and leave active employment.

Since most senior communities have restrictions based on age, Rothman, at age 28, got around that provision by becoming the roommate of a
widowed woman named Margaret. Margaret remains isolated from others in the Boca Raton Century Village partially by her nature, but also by the fact that she hides two cats and a parrot: pets that she shared with her late husband. Having the animals violates the
rules of her complex, and Margaret goes to great lengths to shield them from public view. Rothman cannot bear being around them, nor the oversized painting of Jesus that hangs above his bed. When he contemplates a masturbation session, he's not sure if what holds him back is the Jesus painting, or the idea of another man being in the room.




Many of the experiences Rothman goes throu
gh in the Village detail his own physical and mental failings compared to the seniors he meets. He is invited to attend and then play in a senior citizen ballgame, but when called to the field, he has flashbacks to his youth, hiding in left field. He is an adult, but he realizes that men who are 50 to 60 years older are besting him, even now. The author infiltrates the hierarchy of the "pool group," consisting of a small clique of women, with a few men who hover as adjuncts on it's edges. The men still resort to one-upsmanship, put-downs and sexual conquests, just as younger men do, and Rothman ponders whether men ever escape these behaviors as they age. It would appear not.

Rothman tries to break down the barrier between himself and his reclusive roommate, a former piano teacher. He takes piano lessons from her, and they start to connect on some level. When Rothman inadvertently leaves a pet gate open and Margaret's cats escape and are detected, she is then confronted with the condo management's order to remove them or face eviction. Rothman initiates some searches to try and help her find a new home, despite her protests that she wants to keep her animals and does not want to move. There are problems, however. Margaret lives on a fixed income in a lower to middle class development. She cannot afford many of the choices offered to her, and she is left in a true dilemma, even as Rothman prepares to depart Florida. We never do learn how the matter is resolved, nor does Rothman ever admit to her that it was his actions
that put her in this difficult position.

At a senior's dance, the author is pursued by a dramatic, glamorous 75-year old woman, four times divorced, and he finds himself oddly attrac
ted to her, especially when they are dancing and holding each other in intimacy. Rothman desperately tries to hide his body's arousal from her, while the confusion of this stimulation leaves him pondering questions of age in physical relationships to each other. As a tease, he calls his friends in New York to say he has had sex with an older woman. Most of the women don't believe him. The female that knows him the best flat out calls him a "lousy liar." His male friends, however, give him kudos. One friend's response is "Dude. You totally rock." It becomes som
e notch in the sexual conquest hierarchy. Even after he disclaims his statement, his men friends go back to this time and time again saying, "...but you did an old woman!"

The book did leave me pondering four issues: the growing economic divide, isolation of the elderly, prejudice against the aging and the sexuality of seniors. We are rapidly witnessing the growing economic discrepancy between th
e "haves" and "have nots." This was driven home by Rothman's widowed roommate who faced so many barriers to any possible change in her situation, chiefly based on economics. I also happened to be reading this book during the week of the hurricane in the South, and you study who was left behind, not based on race, but based on poverty. We never saw images of the wealthy being stranded or left in horrible circumstances. They had the means to leave, and they had a place to go. One thought that kept r
ecurring to me during this hurricane upheaval, and the failed relief efforts, being delayed or non-existent, was what would this country do if a true, national crisis emerged: another Great Depression. The castle walls would go up, and the moats would be filled. The widow Margaret couldn't afford to move, and she didn't want to let go of her pets who acted as a symbol of the last remnant of the life they shared with her late husband. Rothman was able to walk away from her problem, a problem he created. She was stuck with it.

Another issue I thought about was the isolation of t
he aging in our society. This is not news. In the past, families were extended and they stayed together. In modern times, they are shuffled off and removed from multi-generational life experiences. One thing in Rothman's book that drove this home to an even finer point was sports. He noted a bias against the elderly, even among the seniors themselves. The "young old," as they called themselves, were heavily involved in the tennis club and more active pursuits. The "old old" were isolated in a very small number to face shuffleboard. The author used the stigma of shuffleboard as what is truly rejected in the elderly: they cannot move with speed, they hold things up, and they are boring. The community regulars join clubs in voluminous numbers, but that doesn't mean they engage
in them. The shuffleboard president at Boca Raton is a tennis player and even he, a young old, doesn't want to be caught participating in the shuffleboard tournament. When Rothman guilts him into making an appearance, his tennis playing friends tease and berate him for being seen at a shuffleboard court, that ice floe of the old old.

At one point in his memoir, the author takes Viagra to see what it is like. He escapes Boca for Miami where he goes to a Jewish dating club and meets a young woman, who he begins seeing on the side. This is a novelty to him as he has never dated a Jewish woman before. One of the senior softball players give him a Viagra pill so he can see what actually happens, but he discovers a side effect he wasn't prepared
for: he can't breathe without his nose burning. The blood vessels have expanded in his nose, and he finds he must breathe through his mouth to relieve the pressure. How do you explain to your date that you aren't a mouth-breather, but rather aroused? The notion that sexuality is a lifelong process goes contrary to the thinking of most. As a result of this thinking, the topic of sexuality and the elderly is generally avoided, and when it is discussed, it is riddled with misconceptions. Yet our society continues buying into these myths. We set internal standards within ourselves for reasonable age discrepancies, but what is "too old?" Rothman shocks himself getting an erection holding a 75-year old woma
n in his arms while dancing. He reports finding her very seductive, charming and forthcoming about her life. Strictly physiology, or were other factors in play?

The sad truth is, with improvements in technology, medicine and life standards, we are all outliving our usefulness. This will become even more commonplace in the decades to come. We are overstaying our welcome and outliving our budget. The bulge of thepostwar generation are moving far down the snake toward
the exit, and society increasingly rewards and condones the self-serving. We are seeing a growing prevalence in our society of "I've got mine" with slammed doors for those without. What comfort would you sacrifice in your life to help another? Forget entering your senior years gracefully, with wisdom and dignity. Many are already in denial at the prospect of aging. It won't happen to me. Old age is a removed abstract. Somewhere in our futures a new fear will be establishing a beachhead: not a fear of death, but rather a fear of living too long.



 

 

 

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What's It Worth, Mary?

Mary's been pimpin' in her development of Charterhouse. You can see from her before and after pictures what money from her stable and some good plastic surgery can do:

             

 

 

 

 

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Friday, September 2, 2005

Cocktail Of The Week: "P" Is For Pearl Necklace, Polynesian Cocktail....and Porn Star

 

 

I've been going to bars for my cocktail of the week entries, relying on dim lights and bar tops to be my backdrop for the image of the drink. Not the best way to take a picture, especially if the people sitting around you are half slid off their stools in the first place. It tends to skew your perceptions. I decided to play a little this week, and I gathered up a bunch of props to dump into the photographs. Last night, I was talking to a friend online, describing some of the things I might use, and he said, "You have to use the long gloves that go up over the arm." I told him those were called opera length gloves, and I would think of something to do with them. I also decided to shoot outdoors at a veranda bar for better lighting.

Luckily, I know a bartender that is game for anything. For example, one of the cocktails, the Pearl Necklace, requires that drops of cream be dotted around the rim of the glass. I brought my own dropper from home, and despite repeated tries, the drops kept sliding down into the glass and not giving the required effect, so we tossed that step aside and went for something else. My companion thought it was "gratuitous vulgarity," anyway. Funny. I've never thought of semen that way before.

While the bartender was back inside messing with the intricacies of the dropper, and I sat alone at this point on the veranda, a waiter came out and walked over to me. He had this look on his face. Troubled. "Here we go," I thought. He started with, "I just heard some interesting comments in there, and I had to leave. Have you ever had people say things to you, and you wonder what planet they came from, or if they are even human? I've been working here two years, and I am always polite to the customers who come here, no matter how rude they are to me, but today I just couldn't help myself." Naturally, I asked him what had happened. He continued, "We have CNN on in the bar, and they are showing scenes from New Orleans." This one customer said to me, "I am so sick of listening to these people whine about what's going on down there. First of all, I am sure they are exaggerating the number of deaths that have occurred, and it's nowhere near as bad as that tsunami was in terms of the death count, and people just need to shut up about it and get things done, instead of complaining all the time. The tsunami killed thousands of people, and they are talking about maybe a hundred, and they are going to exaggerate the numbers just to get relief money." The waiter turned to the customer and said, "You are way off base." That's when he gave himself a time out and joined me.

I thought he behaved very professionally, as I am sure he easily could have said something stronger. I told him a story I had read this morning online: where someone posted about how their favorite place in New Orleans to get beignets probably had been wiped out, so they would never be able to get beignets there anymore. I shared this with him as an example of the type of alien planet things people will say, and I suppose a reflection to some degree of the population in terms of how self-absorbed people can be. For those who don't know, a beignet is a New Orleans speciality: a form of fried dough akin to a doughnut or a fritter and coated with powdered sugar. The waiter collected himself, literally adjusted his frame to brace himself for going back inside, apologized for going off on me (fine, no problem), and back to work for him. I figured better he vent on me than some bar beanie.

The first drink to make an appearance was the Pearl Necklace:

1/2 ounce vanilla vodka
1/2 ounce Godiva White Chocolate liqueur
Tortuga rum cream

Pour vodka into a chilled martini glass and add the Godiva. Stir. Using a dropper, add rum cream drop by drop on the outside edge of the glass to form a ring, or the "pearl necklace."


                

                                          The Pearl Necklace.....


By then, my friend had joined me, and their "P" drink of the evening was the Polynesian Cocktail:

1 1/2 ounces vodka
1/4 ounce cherry-flavored brandy
Juice of one lime.

Rub the rim of the cocktail glass with lime and dip into sugar. Shake ingredients with ice and strain into the prepared glass.


       
 

                               Polynesian Cocktail....Good with Spam

There was a hibiscus shrub right next to our table, so we robbed the plant of one of it's blossoms to add a little touch of Pacifica to the photograph. I also have photographs taken later where said bloom is behind someone's ear and being held in their teeth. Which reminds me: while I was talking with Mr. Long Glove Requester last night, somehow the subject of Guam came up, and I noted that Guam has one of the largest Spam consuming populations in the world. Just thought I'd pass that along to you, while I'm thinking of it.

As for the sexy gloves? I ordered up one other "P" drink, and that would be Porn Star:

1/2 ounce Blue Curacao liqueur
1/2 ounce Sour Puss Raspberry liqueur

Pour both ingredients into a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake and strain into a champagne flute and serve.


        

  Porn Star Cocktail.....Oh. Yeah. Your next scene involves a pearl necklace....

 

 

 

 

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