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.

Circus Peanuts

Now with Nutritionally Oriented Clowns!

Circus Peanuts originated in the 19th century in Nebraska. Some dude made them, modeled after a peanut-shaped insulation material used in barns. He distributed them once a year when the circus came to town. Hence, Circus Peanuts. Thanks, Nebraska.

They were originally orange flavored, but now they are predominantly banana flavored (but orange colored). Neither flavor makes sense to me, really. Why make it in the shape of a peanut and taste like a banana or an orange? Make it in the shape of a fucking banana and make it yellow. It's an affront to the delicacy of my nature.

Screenshot from the Circus Peanut wikipedia page. "Academics enjoying circus peanuts"? I'm not buying it.

You might be asking yourself, "Who cares, Dave? What are you going on about?"

I'm obsessed with them. We should discuss this further.

Candy falls into a few categories for me:

1. Granny Candy: Werther's Originals, those strawberry ones with the goo inside, Andes Mints, spice drops, ribbon candy, violets, Mary Janes, Tootsie Rolls, Good and Plenty, Black Jack gum.

2. that Good Good: Butterfinger, Almond Joy, Jolly Ranchers, KitKats, Peanut M&Ms, Reeses anything, Big League Chew, Twix, Nerds

3. Vom-O-Rama: candy corn, the pumpkins that are made of the same filth as candy corn, circus peanuts, those weird dots on the paper strip - what IS that?

It's no secret that I'm neurotic. I zero in on one thing and it's very distracting. Every time I see a cellophane bag full of circus peanuts, something inside me tingles. If I'm out with someone and I see a bag, I will try to get the person to buy them and eat them. No one likes Circus Peanuts, so my gentle suggestion degrades into a dare. To date, no one has ever taken that dare despite relentless goading. For sooth, I seriously doubt anyone actually buys them (Unless you hate yourself or it's a gag gift. Ooo! Christmas idea!) Are candy companies still making them just for the hell of it? Is there a big following for Circus Peanuts? Are these the kinds of things that keep me up on a Wednesday night? Truly. Who likes them? Am I friends with people that eat Circus Peanuts? Closeted Circus Peanut sympathizers? Make yourselves known. I'll be merciful.

Candy Corn is another one. I know that I hate them, yet any time they are made available I will still try one. Like, "I know I don't like these, but maybe I'm not remembering it right. Let me try one just to make sure."

Wash it down with a Kombucha. What is wrong with everyone? Kombucha does not taste good. It tastes like seltzer and apple cider vinegar and yeast queefs. Don't kid yourself.

I thought this entry was going to be about Circus Peanuts, but clearly it has shifted gears and is now just about stuff I don't like. Let's continue.

Water Chestnuts? Why are you doing this to me, Chinese Food Industrial Complex? WHO LIKES WATER CHESTNUTS?! They taste like crunchy nothing! There is no point! Don't try to sell me on the texture. Crunchy. Nothing. Bye.

Lima beans? As a child, my mother left me in a dark kitchen with a plate full of lima beans and I wasn't allowed to get up from the table until the lima beans were done. F*ck lima beans.

Escargot? Never in a million years.

Creamsicles taste like poverty.

Purple flavored anything is for assholes.

I make no apologies.

More Wire Hangers

It was my mother's birthday this week, so I thought it would be nice to commemorate that occasion with a little mommy blog...

The first time I saw "Mommie Dearest", I was hooked. It was inevitable. I immediately changed my mother's contact information in my phone from "the Dark One" to "Mommie Dearest", which it remains to this day.

Being an angsty teen, I naturally tried to draw parallels between my life and Christina Crawford, but failed for a number of reasons:

1. I didn't live in the most beautiful house in Brentwood, I lived in one the crappiest houses in Midland Park.
2. My Mommie wasn't a movie star, she was a waitress (which is still an acting gig as far as I'm concerned).
3. I did not have an endless parade of "uncles" and subsequently didn't have to fix drinks for them.
4. I wasn't forced to clean anything, except for the occasional dish and even then I would always leave one or two in the sink as a form of passive aggression.
5. We were encouraged to use wire hangers because they were free. The only hangers forbidden were the hangers that my Nanny had crocheted fancy sleeves around. They were reserved for Mommie Dearest alone and it was considered a capital offense to misappropriate one of them.

Christina and I did have a few things in common:

1. Both of our mothers made the scariest faces they could muster.
2. Both of our mothers liked to drink.
3. We both knew where to find the boys and the booze.

My favorite scene, and probably the most iconic one, is the wire hanger scene. Joan comes into the children's room looking a fright and discovers a wire hanger in Christina's closet. This naturally sends her into a savage rage, kicking off my favorite monologue of all time. For your enjoyment, this is what that scene would have looked like at my house:

[Mary enters the boys' room, Newport Light 100 in one hand, remnants of a bologna sandwich in the other. She finishes the sandwich and climbs over one of David's piles to the closet. She lovingly looks through their clothes. Heineken t-shirt. Budweiser t-shirt. She stops and glares, briskly sliding the clothes off to one side to reveal a Guinness St. Patrick's Day shirt on a crocheted hanger. She snatches it from the closet rod.]

"More...wire...HANGERS! What's fancy Nanny hangers doing in this closet when I told you no fancy nanny hangers EVER?! I work and work until I'm half dead and I hear people saying 'she's getting old'. And what do I get? A SON! Who cares as much about the Coors Light t-shirts I give him...as he cares about me! What's fancy Nanny Hangers doing in this closer? Answer me! I bring you beautiful beer t-shirts from the bar and you treat them like they were some dishrag. You threw a three dollar t-shirt on a fanny Nanny hanger! We'll see how many you got hidden in here, we'll see! All of this is coming out! Out! Out! Out! Out! We're gonna see how many fancy nanny hangers you've got in your closet!"

Now that I'm older, my mother and I are less like Joan and Christina Crawford and more like Big and Little Edie Beale. I imagine one day we'll be living in a dilapidated mansion infested with raccoons and cats. I'm already bald, so all I need now is a head scarf and revolutionary outfit of the day. Picture me standing next to a eight-foot pile of tin cans talking about the craftsmanship of the banister while my mother lays in bed in a sunhat, warbling to warped records as a cat urinates behind her portrait and the corn boils on the hotplate. A girl can dream.

Happy birthday, Mommie Dearest.

Toys "R" Bust

Beloved toy retailer, Toys "R" Us, is soon to be but a memory.

My brother Dane notified us in a group text message:

*Peenaponatuna is the name I selected for my brother, Dane, when my parents asked me what I wanted to name him. I was 2 and change at the time. The spelling is still disputed to this day.

We ended up going to the Wayne Hills Mall location that Sunday. I had a lot of grand ideas about the items I would purchase while we drove there, passing the brushed silver sign for Toys "R" Us headquarters in Wayne, NJ. I imagined board games and the family game nights that would follow. I imagined rolling around on my bed nude covered in Lego minifigures, like I was Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal (Indecent Legosal, if you will). My mind raced with visions of Mario Brothers plushies and Pop Vinyls. Ninja Turtles and Nerf guns.

The parking lot wasn't as packed as I thought it would be. Not surprising really since the Wayne Hills Mall is all but abandoned, a relic of a time before super stores and online shopping.

Wayne Hills Mall entrance. (Photo credit: goodrob13 on flickr)

Mom taking a picture of the storefront.

My dreams of board games and Legos were immediately dashed upon entering the building. People were rummaging through the aisles which were stocked haphazardly. Obviously, the plan was to get every item out on the shelves as quickly as possible. We approached the board game area which was desolate. But there were plenty of these:

Fig. 1.1 the dreaded Silly Sausage

Fig. 1.2 #pokeme

I can only assume that the Silly Sausage's predecessor was the Bop It. I'm not sure exactly why they made it into a sausage. In fact, I find the transformation rather perverse. See for yourself...

Truly edifying. And horrifying.

We hurried around the corner to the Lego section and the wind was knocked out of me.

Not a single item remained. They must have been among the first things to go. Suddenly we were filled with dread. We all came to the same panicked thought next. Nerf guns!

We dashed through the store and were lucky enough to find Star Wars themed Nerf dart blasters and several packs of 100 darts. These blasters also made the signature Star Wars blaster sound when you pulled the trigger. We had lucked out. This was not good news for my mother, however, as she bore the brunt of most of our Nerf gun attacks.

Moving through each remaining aisle, dodging our fellow vultures picking the bones clean from this once great toy behemoth, I couldn't help but feel sad. It was sad.

We didn't have a lot of money growing up, so when we got to go to Toys "R" Us, it was usually for our birthdays or as a special treat. There was a sense of awe walking through the aisles, seeing all the games and toys, making a Christmas list in your head. Our family made an art out of window shopping. Sometimes we would go to stores just to look at things. People think that's sad when I tell them that, but really it was fun for us. The fantasy of having everything you wanted was better than not having it.

As an adult the feeling was very different, especially given the circumstances.

I am, by nature, overly sentimental - I'll save a scrap of ribbon or a ticket stub if it reminds me of something lovely. In that sense, I'm glad we took our last trip to Toys "R" Us together, and I'm sad to see it go not because of the company itself but because of the wonder that it will take with it. Maybe kids now and in the future will get the same feeling wandering the limited toy aisles of Target and Walmart. Maybe it's being a kid that brings magic to places and not the other way around. Dane was right, it was a funeral, but not for our generation's toy store - it was a funeral for our childhood.

What now?

Armed with their Nerf blasters, the three brothers stared off into the sunset not sure of where to head next. What adventures awaited them in adulthood?

"Are we ready?" David said, plucking the solitary white hair from his beard.

Dane stuck the shovel into the ground having just buried Geoffrey.

They looked at him, slightly younger but already feeling the sharp pain of growing up. They smiled.

"Locked and loaded, bro." said Dylan.

"Cowabunga." said Dane.

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