Midnight Musings

Somewhere, there is a Universe where beards have magical powers and all the different beards have different powers. They wouldn't be like normal beards you could grow, but rather wear like you would wear a hat. One day you might wear the Beard of Storms and another the Wind Whiskers. Something to think about.

There is another Universe where Moms run the world and all of the superheroes and supervillians in this world are also Moms. We'll call it the Mommiverse.

In this week's issue, the Mother (pronounced like the insect, the moth, +er) goes up against Behemom and Mombie! No one ever pronounces the Mother's name correctly and it's a running joke for her entire professional life.

In the Mommiverse, there are lima beans with every meal; bed time is 7:30PM, even in the Summer when the Sun is still out; and all the moms communicate using a made-up language, possibly based on Italian, but maybe not. Meatballs always have yellow raisins in them and will be served with a sauce made from grape jelly and chili sauce; don't ask any questions!

It is 11:39PM and I want to call this entry "Midnight Musings" so I will write until midnight for authenticity's sake.

On an ocean world, deep below the surface, a massive system of gears and clockwork tick away unbeknownst to the island dwellers above. One night, an alien craft arrives and contaminates the seas, causing sudden and horrible mutations in the sealife. The island inhabitants are terrorized by aquatic abominations while the kind and telepathic whales of the emerald waters try to fight the aberration and protect the ancient machine that created their world. Will they purify the Great Sea and save the surface dwellers while protecting their secret?

I need a snack. Bad.

My baby made me tuna salad with jalapeno hummus and avocado instead of mayo and some other secret ingredients (celery). Put that on some toast. Mm mm, bitch. The New York Times called it "[a] tuna tour de force."

Fin-sational. Two flippers up. We were stuffed to the gills. Somebody stop me.

Goodnight now. Sleeps are upon me, you sweet bacons.

Shiver Me Timbers

It's been a while. Don't sing the song.

I have trouble with time management in my personal life. And dishes. And laundry.

Next to my bed there is a milk-crate filled with mismatched socks. On my counter there is a portrait of Danny DeVito as Frank Reynolds next to a picture of my grandparents which is next to Piper and Leo's wedding picture (they are characters from the original Charmed series for those not in the know). I'm half-decorated for Halloween and there are wigs and large high-heeled shoes strewn about the wreckage that is my apartment. It looks like a drag queen lives here, but she's nowhere to be found.

I wonder where she could be?

There is a Korean BBQ salmon burger in the fridge, whatever the shit that means. I guess I could cook it. I will probably end up eating 3 Italian Ices instead. Maybe I'll order take-out. Any suggestions?

We find out if we won the Eisner Award on July 19th. I hope we win. We might. I'm going to law-of-attraction-the-secret this shit right now. We won the Eisner. We got the animated series. We got the merchandising deals. You heard, Universe?

I just want to be able to move into a cute house with some land so I can write all day and eat cucumber salad I made with shit from my garden. I want a Green Acres moment, feeding the chickens in a feathered negligee. I want to make dinner for my man every night and sit on the porch sipping tea waiting for my 5mg melatonin to kick in. It isn't a long list of demands.

I'm plugging along at present. I have a cat shaped pillow that is very cute and cuddly. I sleep with it every night; it brings me peace. I have rediscovered the virtues of pink cake.

I'm so f*cking hungry right now. Korean BBQ salmon burger. What was I thinking?

the Community is Suffering

A note left in the suggestion box at my job:

"I protest the discontinuation of frozen onion rings. I come here to buy a steak and onion rings. If no onion rings, no steak!"

This is maybe a week after a woman demanding organic rotisserie chickens with herbs said without the aforementioned chickens "the community is suffering". This is obviously a person that has never experienced suffering or doesn't know the meaning of the word.

These are the same people that characterize the absence of their favorite flavor of Halo Top as an "outrage". Human trafficking is an outrage. An out-of-stock Salted Caramel gelato is a minor inconvenience, at best.

Retail is more challenging than people think. It takes every fiber of my willpower to hold my tongue sometimes.

I wake up at 6AM and lay in bed wondering if this is really my life or if I woke up in someone else's body. There is a paper plate with corn chip fragments on it and a glob of congealed cheese dip. No, it's definitely my body.

I hit snooze until I can't hit it anymore. Perhaps a meteor will hit Earth today and I won't have to go in. I turn on the TV while I brush my teeth. A mattress ad comes on Hulu, and it says I spend approximately a third of my life in bed. I wonder how much of my life I spend at work, but the thought is too depressing so I start to run the shower.

First the cleanser, then the exfoliator, then the trance. I close my eyes as the hot water runs over my body. Other than bed, this is my favorite place to be. I scrub my body with a whipped soap that smells like an oatmeal cookie and for a moment I feel good. I realize that time dissolves when I'm in here with my fancy soaps and my scented oils and soon I have to leave the comforting warmth of the hard water. Toner, serum, moisturizer. I look better than when I woke up, but I still feel the same. I smile in the mirror, practicing for later when I'll have to do this over and over again even though I don't mean it once.

Things are sure to get better. I just need to be patient. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling. Keep smiling.

Tomorrow is another day.

Papa Poopagain and other tales

I have been labeled "the odd man out" because I'm one of the few people in my life that doesn't like Taco Bell. It goes through me like shit through a goose. It has also, on a number of occasions, caused me to involuntarily vocalize during a bowel movement. I don't know about you, but I don't enjoy eating and then twenty minutes later running to the bathroom to bellow loudly whilst evacuating.

I am already frequently visited by Papa Poopagain. He is basically like the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny; a specialized imaginary character with a limited scope. Did you just poop five minutes ago and now suddenly you have to go again? Papa Poopagain. Did you literally just flush the toilet and pull your pants up only to realize there is still more to come? Papa Poopagain. I only recently revealed my belief in Papa Poopagain to my significant other to which he replied, "You are my favorite person."

There isn't any intact mythology surrounding Papa Poopagain. I haven't really thought about it much, to be honest. My gut tells me that he's an eternal being that has always been with us. There is no way to appease him. We are all slaves to his whim.

*

I'm watching Season 11 of RuPaul's Drag Race: a show I enjoy mostly because I hate it. All I will say at this point in the season is that no one has grabbed me by the shoulders and screamed "I'm your favorite!" in my face. No one is wowing me. I'm thoroughly underwhelmed if that counts for anything. The writing is worse than ever, underscored by the larger-than-life production value (a budget they clearly aren't spending on writers or Ru's dresses).

All tea, all shade.

*

The music at my job has been trapped in the 90's for weeks. Most people seem unbothered and "just block it out", but I am not able to do so. My mind hyperfocuses on the Hootie and the Blowfish song and it becomes torture. This is not helped by the fact that my employer (a nameless multi-billion dollar corporation) seems to have only purchased about fifteen songs that play over and over again at the same times every day. So Hell, basically.

There is never a good time for a Sugar Ray song. How about two in one day? How about we add a couple of Smashmouth songs to that and follow it up with some Hanson? It makes you wonder who is making these decisions and whether or not they deserve to continue living among us.

*

Also, as I find it difficult to motivate myself, if you have anything you'd like me to write about please post it in the comments below. I have a lot to say about most things, and I find most things disagreeable to some extent. Don't be shy.

Food for thought, mostly poison

Voodoo Cake

It is said that when a cake is cut, sugarcane fields can be heard crying in the warm Barbados breeze.

* * *

Define “Testicle”

More than a quiz, but a little less than a test.

* * *

After Canada conquered the US in the early 21st century, the Maple Doctrine was adopted. This document overwrote the American Constitution and many of the US's unwritten rules.

Perhaps the most memorable revision was Article 7, clause 32; the 5-second rule does not apply to shag carpeting.

* * *

"I can't believe that boat is named Wet Dream," I said to Nanny.

She turned to Poppa to clarify.

"It's the name of the boat in Margaret's yard," she said to him in a hushed tone.

"Did Margaret name it?" I asked.

"Probably. She's a drunk," she said matter-of-factly.

* * *

Georgina on Hitler:

"Anyone who uses their oven for anything other than storage is a complete wanker."

* * *

A Postcard from Aunt Mary:

Dear David,

         Since you are our family's Hemingway, I thought it most appropriate to send you this postcard from Key West where Hemingway lived and did a lot of his writing. I visited his home today and thought of you - the next Ernest Hemingway!

          I love you <3 <3 <3

          Aunt Mary

PS - Hemingway had four wives and sixty-two cats!

* * *

Getting Laid at the MET

I tried that once. It didn't really work out.

* * *

Mary Meets God

               Human life, and all life for that matter, concluded in a single rainy afternoon at the Porchlight Grill in Midland Park, New Jersey.  Mary was sitting at the bar on her break after waiting tables for six hours.  She was about to ravage a nice juicy hamburger, when from the corner of her eye she spotted something moving on the floor.  She hopped off her bar-stool and put her glasses on.

               Before her, on the tiled floor, was a large cockroach.  As not to cause a stir, she crushed the enormous bug under her black tennis shoe.

               And so, the very fabric of the Universe unraveled.

Mostly Drivel

Do you ever wake up and wish life was more like a Zoobilee Zoo rerun? I do sometimes. Who wouldn't want Ben Vereen dressed as a leopard narrating their life?

I think about stuff like that all the time. My mind is a virtual wasteland of nostalgia and mottled memories.

* * *

I've been reading through some of my old composition notebooks to see if there is anything worth while. In the middle of a short Resident Evil fanfic, I wrote this: "Sometimes I catch myself pretending I'm a real teenager."

* * *

Did you know:
As a child, I had a one-legged lesbian neighbor that moved to Budapest? True story.

 * * *

Me: Mom?

Mom: [from the living room] What?!

Me: The microwave popcorn didn't work.

Mom: Good! We'll mail it to Orville Redenbacher so he can shove it up his ass!

* * *

Uptown Jackie Red + Midtown Jackie Green = Downtown Jackie Brown

* * *

Can you, in good taste, use a white lighter after Labor Day?

* * *

Put a little lift in your day. Try new caffeinated Kotex.

* * *

Me: Amy, can you pass the salt?

Amy: Uh, Pokémon, what's the magic word?

Me: [pause] Vagina?

Amy: [passes me the salt]

* * *

"There are no more oil-based concealers to conquer." - Alexander the Great

* * *

"In works of labor or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do."
-from "Divine Songs in Easy Language for the Use of Children", Issac Watts

"Fluff and Chow"

For the dozen or so of you reading this blog, my apologies for no entries the past few days; I was busy and didn't much feel like it. I also knew I had a family engagement to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday coming up, so I figured I would hold off as that was sure to yield some gems.

For one reason or another, they have an unhealthy fixation with Chinese buffets, so we tried one we hadn't been to before. The previous buffet was visibly higher quality, but my brother was leery to return there due to a confrontation between my aunt and a man she felt was hogging all the raw oysters.

The attendees were as follows:

Mom: Road-rage legend. No filter.
Dad: Conspiracy theorist. Chinese chicken-wing aficionado.
Gail: Dads's girlfriend. Talented artist. Dog enthusiast.
Dane:  Middle brother. Wild Card.
Bobbi Jo: AKA Slubbybubbercans. Sister-in-Law. Birthday girl.
Dylan: Baby brother. Favorite past time - shooting mom in the face with nerf darts.
Justine: Dylan's girlfriend. Strong silent type. Ate pizza at a Chinese buffet.
Me: Epicurean in a lilac polo shirt.

We wasted no time taking our coats off and bee-lining for the expansive selection of food. I was fairly put off by a majority of the offerings at the Flaming Grill & Supreme Buffet ("The Flaming Asshole Grill" - Mom) on Route 23. There were a number of unidentifiable and/or unappetizing dishes, most notably a whole grey-skinned fish that had taken on a glossy gelatinous sheen. Oh, and calamari which my mother looked at and said "That's pig rectum" matter-of-factly.

After fixing a conservative plate of green beans, fried shrimp, and chicken variations, I sat down with my family. The green beans were delicious. The chicken was rubbery, if it was in fact chicken.

* * *

"I thought this was shrimp!" my mother said, referring to an amorphous fried nugget.
"It's sweet and sour chicken, mommy," I said.
"But I didn't get any sauce!"

* * *

I quit smoking cigarettes about a month ago:

Mom: I'm going out for a cigarette, you're coming with me.
Me: No I'm not. I quit and it's cold outside.
Mom: David! Come with me. What if I get robbed or raped?
Me: [Shrug]
Mom: It's ok - I wore my rape pants.

* * *

[Upon her return]
Me: How was the raping?

* * *

After discussing the pros and cons of DNA ancestry tests (particularly the possibility of getting cloned), government spooks, and chem-trails, Dane looked around to the now vacant area of the restaurant we occupied and said, "We cleared that out pretty fast."

Gail told us about a tutorial she'd seen using old Tic Tac containers for spice storage when camping. Dane insisted that you could just bring your spices with you rather than go to all the trouble of filling Tic Tac containers with spices that you probably wouldn't need anyway since you were camping. Gail clarified that they would be glamping, which I understand is a portmanteau of glamor and camping, two words that should never be used together or combined to form a new word.

Fig. 1.1 Tic Tac Spice Storage

While it's a cute idea, I have a number of issues:

1. Why would you need nutmeg or garam masala on a camping trip, glamorous or otherwise?
2. Other than salt and pepper, please name one other spice of any use for food you'd be preparing on a camping trip.
3. Why would you take the time to do this when this exists:

Fig 1.2 "Multi Spice" Jar

According to my sources, she already has a number of these Tic Tac containers saved and ready to go. I predict that despite our well-meant criticisms of this project, she will continue unhindered.

Back to the buffet.

Dylan sustained a small oral injury from the sharp edge of a fried wonton. I mocked him all evening like a good big brother.

Upon returning to Bobbi Jo's (Slubbybubbercans if you're nasty) and Dane's place, my mother had some gifts for us. Lego mini-figures and shell magnets for all. Then I was shown what she made Bobbi Jo for her birthday:

This is a hot-glue project made from driftwood, sharks teeth, and seashells. It is also a magnet. After requesting one for myself, I suggested she sell these on the side of the road during the Summer. Dane suggested that it was actually a prehistoric bread knife.

We also each received a small ziplock of fresh basil, two large cans of crushed tomatoes, and a large bag of rice, pictured below:

Fluff and chow

Apparently, concerned the world was going to end via North Korea, she purchased a 20lb bag of rice; like ya do. She then sat on her bed and divided the bag up between her three children and in permanent marker wrote the instructions for how to prepare the rice. She insisted that it was "the good stuff", to which I countered "Nothing good comes in a twenty pound bag." I also let her know that I would never be eating this rice as I now considered it a family heirloom.

"Fluff and chow. Love, Mommy"

FIN

Dear "Dog Mom"

I was driving my boyfriend to his car this morning because the parking ordinances in my town are criminal, but I digress. En route, I got stuck behind an SUV going 17mph. Said SUV had an oval sticker on the trunk door announcing to the world, in case anyone was interested, that she is a "Dog Mom".

My road-rage is epic, eclipsed only by my mother's which can be accurately described as legendary. She once, without any segue, explained to me what we were having for dinner, called some random motorist a tw*t, and then told me she loved me.

Interesting Fact: Pointless bumper stickers send me into a frenzy of snobbish rage.

If you feel the need to indicate details about yourself on the outside of your car, you are the wrong sort of person. You are in the same class of people that puts peanut butter in the refrigerator: unwashed savages. I don't care about your honors student, your lacrosse team, or that you break for squirrels. Your stick-figure family is offensive to my delicate sensibilities. VT, LBI, CA, MV, ACK, OBX - what am I supposed to glean from this other than you are certainly a white chick?

Also, Jesus Fish sounds delicious.

Where was I going with this?

[10 minute tea break]

Dear Dog Mom,

You probably don't remember me, but I was stuck behind you while you drove 8 mph below the lowest speed limit possible. This was bad enough, but you had a sticker on your trunk that said "Dog Mom". I can only assume that this information was meant for me due to it's location, though I'm not sure why your relationship to your dog is pertinent to my driving experience.

My car has a decal of Ursula the sea witch on my rear driver's side window. Based on this, please assume that the next time I get stuck behind you, I will steal your voice and then your man.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen

Inaugural Post, Maiden Voyage, Champagne Bottle Assault

I tend to ramble and generally don't conform to pesky things like sequence. This is done purposely, not to confuse you, dear reader, but rather to break Time down into its basic components...of which there are none.

I'm a scatter-brain. An addle-pate. If I were a Furry, I would be a raccoon.

I'm not sure what this blog is even about. Are you? Why did you come here? We may never know the answers to these questions.

A little bit about me: I'm a cisgender white gay man. I try not to mansplain, but I definitely dadsplain which I don't think is as bad because it means I love you. None of my pants fit right now, so I'm trying to eat more vegetables and less pizza. I'm in a relationship with a sweet man that both delights and enrages me in the same breath. I just had some chia pudding.

I'm also a children's book author, something I never thought I'd be saying. Sure, I wrote a lot when I was young. Mostly sad poems and homoerotic short stories about my classmates, but I probably wasn't alone in that. It wasn't until my 30's that I grabbed an opportunity to participate in a collective writing effort called "The Cardboard Kingdom" organized by gaymous (gay famous, for the laymen) artist and author, Chad Sell. After two years of collaboration, we are looking at a release date of June 5, 2018. Thanks, Knopf!

When most kids were doing normal suburban white people things, I was brewing potions and lip-syncing in the bathroom mirror in my mother's make-up. While my mother was at work, I was choreographing my baby brother, Dylan, to Joan Osborne songs. Pretty standard stuff.

I always wanted to be a writer, but alas, bills needed to be paid and so I was entrenched in retail Purgatory for the better part of  20 years. I learned a lot, mostly how to interface with the general public in an amiable manner.

Some notes on the general public:

1. The General Public is populated mostly by simulated beings whose soul purpose is to inhibit you in one way or another.

2. The General Public cannot be reasoned with and so surrender is usually best.

3. The General Public does not agree with anything you do or say.

4. Happiness and the General Public are mutually exclusive.

5. Avoid the General Public.

My exposure to the General Public is extensive, though in recent years I have receded into a slightly less social paradigm I'm calling "hermit chic". You should try it.

More to come. Mostly drivel.