One of the best things ever....

... Put your makeup on fix your hair up pretty...And meet me tonight in Atlantic City

My Roommate got a new toy...

So my roommate is a restaurateur and just opened a new store that specializes in build your own organic salads, Naples style thin-crust wood fired oven pizza, and house made gelato. Believe it or not, this is a first for Arkansas. Those of us who have been else where find nothing exotic about this but the upper-class white ladies of my fair cities have mobbed it. Needless to say he is raking it in hand over fist. This is what he bought himself as a good-job present:


I tried to decorate it for him. He did not approve.

My Notebook...

So I have notebook that I write down my random thoughts in. It is not a diary per se as it is not for tracts or coherent thoughts. I occasionally write something longer down but even that is just discursive vomit. I have decided that I can just post some of this business occasionally. So I will do some of that.
I titled it "Major Tom's Notebook." I did this when I was drunk.

Updates and What Not...

So I have been super busy of late. As such there has been very much activity here in the "blogosphere." So here are a few things of note.
While I have known several people to have their faces seen in the New York Times. I have known others who have been featured on the Tavis Smiley show. To this add an even greater media event: This douche-bag on a local Arkansas news show.
About a week ago I received a late night phone call from someone about Harry Potter trivia. I of course was asleep as I work hard for my mighty dollars ( I kid E.). I explained to my caller that I was in fact not only asleep but asleep in a tent. The response to this idea was incredulity. But here is my current place of residence.
This is my desk/bed side table (such as it is):

(Work gloves, magazines, batteries, compasses (yes, I can use one), clipboard, books, Gold Bond, tums, clock, notebooks of stuff, letter from S., etc, etc. etc.)
Here is another view of my abode with guests:
Yes we smoke. Yes we wear goofy socks. But the view is pretty fuckin' good.
This is a huge spider I found. I will try and find more wildlife to show you. But that is later.
Also, as part of my responsibilities I make hamburgers every Wednesday. This is what I make them on.
I realize how absurd all of this looks. But hey, how unabsurd is what you do?

Home for a spell...

So, I have been back in the "civilized world" for about 36 hours now. I have been busy and tired so no real chance to update. I finally have batteries for my camera so this next weekend you can count on some of those up here.
I have been well in spite of having a very mild case of poison ivy. The weather is warm and the sky is big.
Got a letter from NYC yesterday. I hope there are more where that came from. Now I am away back to the truly civilized world
C. I will call you.

It Turns Out People Do Read This Blog...

What does that mean?
I am in the woods these days. Big storm last night. Trees fell. Things got wet. Electricity (such as it is) went out. Life is good.

Comments...

For some reason it turns out that I do NOT get emails when I get comments.  So, I just read all of them and thanks.  There will be a recipe for buffalo coming up soon.

Poets or The honky tonk is burning. I think I was in it.

I am incredibly hungover. I was out way to late. And said things beyond the situation. It was a good show and when everyone left and it was just the usual kids at the bar things got a little crazy. Patron was poured. Beer was freely given. And I absorbed it all, including a little abuse. So here are some reflections on art. I do not get enough of it my life, kinda like sobriety.
I have none few artists in my life. I have known even fewer talented ones. I am lucky enough to say that I know two (with varying degrees of intimacy).
The first is my NYC via Tx friend E. His words are very concise even though sometimes the seem to meander. His pictures devastate me on occasion. Luckily I do not believe he reads this blog or else he would probably scoff, giggle and ask, "What does that mean?" I am not sure what it means. He is always saying something. Here is a picture from his blog. I think about him often.

The other poet I know is a dude named Ben Nichols. Watched him do a solo show last night. He also happened to be the guy passing at Patron shots. He took his shirt off. He plays with a band called Lucero. Here is a song he wrote.

I do not know him as well as E. He was kind enough to help me find my glasses at a show at the Bowery Ballroom. That is the kind of thing you do not forget.

It turns out that my home state produced another poet. His name is Frank Stanford. He shot himself three times in the heart at the age of 29. He died as a result. He wrote a poem called The Battlefield Where The Moon Says I Love You." Here are some lines from that poem:

tonight the gars on the trees are swords in the hands of knights
the stars are like twenty-seven dancing russians and the wind
is I am waving goodbye to the casket of my first mammy
well that black cadillac drove right up to your front door
and the chauffer was death
he knocked on the screen he said come on woman let’s take a ride
he didn’t even give you time to spit he didn’t even let you
take the iron out of your hair
you said his fingernails was made out of water moccasin bones
and his teeth was hollow he was a eggsucker
you said he reached up under your dress and got the nation sack
you said the conjure didn’t work he didn’t smell the salt in your shoes
you said he came looking for you and you hid out in the out house you waited
for him with a butcher knife you asked him why not
let the good times roll
you wasn’t studying about kicking no bucket
his tongue was a rattlesnake those sunglasses death wore
I was talking to the pew of deacons they had white gloves on
a midget collected ears on a piece of bob wire
the black dog lifted his leg on the hubcap
the wagon load of boots and banners was dumped in the bayou
the chain gang drowned together in the flood
the disguised butterfly
the quivering masts when the hero returns
one came on horseback with the enchanted sword in the hands of the father
the magician comes into the grand court and his head is lopped off by the boy
so the father comes back and knights his son with three strokes on the shoulder
this was the accolade of noblemen the investiture by the magical father
the bridge burnt up the tent and the ladder and the piano are on fire I saw them
after the funeral a drunk peckerhead pulled a pistol on daddy
mother had a double bit axe just in case but daddy kicked his teeth in
if his head was cut off it wouldn’t grow back he wasn’t a knight he was trash
the pecker had cooties
a blind fisherman used clorox jugs he use to be Mama Covoe’s man
he gets snuff on the harp I play it like when I kiss her on the lips
and she is dipping snuff she is dead
to put it out they rolled it down the bank the night crawlers
the honkytonky is burning
the piano under the water looks like a shark
O.Z. stuck a ice pick in his knee

Where did May go?

So I have been back for a while. My life seems to pretty much have settled on LR but the odd things is that I constantly dream about NYC. It is an imaginary NYC. I mean, it in no way resembles any part of the city. (New Flash! Clinton to suspend campaign on Friday says NYT in my inbox.) I have dreams about downtown that involved above ground rail lines, derelict harbors, and swamp. Possibly a metaphor for everything south of canal but not anything like the town I know. I had a dream about several NYC last night. We were trying out for a reality tv show. I make no excuses on this point.
But I am happy here. Still no real desire to do ANY kind of philosophy. I can't even make myself finish my Wittgenstein biography. Back issues of the New Yorker satisfy my reading needs to no end though. My garden now includes mint, Texas tarragon, Thai basil, lavender, and two citronella plants on top of my peppers and flowers. My peppers look, well, they don't look so good. I think I planted them too close together in my enthusiasm to grow something. Pictures to follow of course.
I drink less. I think this falls in the same category as not wanting to do philosophy.
My former governor made a crack about assassinating the presumptive democratic nominee for president.
Life is well and good.

Records & Southern Cuisine

So, I have a few prized possessions in my life. The first is my record collection. This week I got that out of my parents house and set up my stereo. Aside from dust in the volume pot it still sounds as sweet as ever. Breaking in a new house with your stereo requires some serious consideration. The very first thing that you saturate your house with sets the tone for everything that is to follow. I chose Miles Davis' "In A Silent Way." It is not favorite record of his but it does signal a change in direction so it went on first. It was followed by John Prine's self titled, a Live Jerry Jeff Walker record, and then Husker Du's "New Day Rising." I have sense played The Police's "Ghost in the Machine," Mozart's Jupiter Symphony and Merle Haggards, "Fighting Side of Me: Live From Philadelphia" (a choice record with some awesome surprise guests).
I remember when I was much younger that on any given Saturday or Sunday at the F household my dad would put a record on and then we would do something domestic. Either cook or clean or wash the car, etc. We listened to Jefferson Airplane, The Dark Side of the Moon (cleaning music for some reason), Joe Cocker, etc. So today I had to cook and thus had to pick out some appropriate mood music. I picked Kinda Blue and Sketches of Spain. Both great.
(JoC top left)
This brings me to another of my prize possessions: The Joy of Cooking. This cookbook is not just a cookbook it is a bible. Whether you want to make Mint Juleps, Lobster Thermidor, Baked Alaska, Bear, Periwinkles, Scotch Eggs, Whatever! it is the go to guide. It explains everything and mixes in some humor. My parents gave me a copy for Christmas a few years and and sat in silence and disuse at home while I was in NYC (without kitchen space to utilize it was a moot point). Today I have a birthday picnic (which thanks to the weather will now be held indoors. The theme is the south. So I prepared two things. Deviled Eggs and BLT dip. I am pleased with my efforts. The BLT dip (equal parts animal and dairy fat) was a recipe given to me. The deviled eggs used the JoC as a guide. I have, of course, scribbled my own corrections in. Much better my way.
I do prefer to dedicate things on this blog so here are my creations and kudos to the person whose spirit most exemplifies the dish or inspired me into bringing together the errant cause and create.

On the left is the BLT dip (garnished with Jalepeno slivers) and on the right are my deviled eggs (I borrowed the plat from my mom). The BLT dip goes out to Karl. His lack of good humor with my occasional "bubba shit" as he liked to call it would be corrected if he were to taste this concoction. Much like him it is rich in flavor and full of spice. The deviled eggs go out to Chris again. It just seems like some Haddix shit to do. I need to think of something for Rob. I have some Boone's Farm in the fridge that I purchased for the occasion (summer berry flavour) and I will dedicate that business to him.