The city from my view.

A pulse on a vibrant Megalopolis.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Party On!

Trans and Drag Queen are hard at work with their New Year's extravaganza. Eunuch is stressed, it will have to play several instruments, handle stage lighting and sets. The eunuch is use to sitting on its fat ass to play its flute. But Trans will have none of that, she has instructed Drag Queen to smack the eunuch when its lazy ass falls behind the fast pace schedule that Trans has in store.

Jihad Party Boys love the beat of disco. Jew tunes for their dancing feet. They will have nothing else for the New Year's celebration. They are fat with egg yolk, their beards sticky and they want to dance. They want to wiggle and shake booty. And these fat Party Boys have lots of junk-in-the-trunk to shake.

Trans has booty too but she also has tits. The miracle of modern surgery has given Trans the biggest tits in the hood and in order for her to balance those boobies she needed ass cheek implants. The bitch is one big transplant implant. She is gonna shake that thing. In fact, she is gonna shake a whole lotta things. Drag Queen is desperate. No tits and one big ass but she has a plan. She's going to make that prodigious butt boogie. Boogie on Drag Queen. Drag knows how to stick that ass of hers right into the face of the Jihad Party Boys. She knows what they want, a quivering crack doing the boogie. Boogie on Drag Queen. shake that booty Trans.

Oh yeah, shake. Shake that thing. Huh huh. Shake it girl. Yeah that's right, huh-huh-yes-yes, shake it.

Eunuch's fatty teats are in an uproar, it has a banjo and tambourine. it has bells and whistles. Its pudgy fingers are stringing disco lights and mirror balls. Yeah. That's right you lazy-ass eunuch, party. Party on.
The patio is sleek, the wine is sweet and Jihad Party Boys feet want to dance.

Party on Jihads. Party on Trans. Party on Drag Queen. Party Eunuch. Party on.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

But Wait. There's More

The Jihad Party Boys are fat and sassy. They lay about with bloated bellies full of rich yolk from Mean Queen's eggs. Mean Queen is very depressed. She has not shown her face for days. Her daughter has gone out to do errands using Daddy's V.W.  Mean Queen knows that few, if any, eggs will be left with this new storm coming.

So many were ate in the last deluge. Now, those Jihad Party Boys that did not eat their fill or have made room for more eggs are about to climb the walls of the bunkers and search for what is left of Mean Queen's eggs. It will take a miracle to rescue any from the foul bellies of the Party Boys.

Already there is talk among them of a dance to celebrate their great fortune. They desire Trans and Drag Queen to ply their arts for the amusement of the Jihad Party Boys. So great have their bellies extended. Never in many many years have they ate so well. They cannot see their cheap black shoes when they stand. They cannot see the zipper of their cheap, slick black pants. Buttons pop like popcorn on the stretched cheap white shirts they wear.

Eunuch has taken its comb to the encrusted dried yolk in their beards. It has tried to lick the yolk to soften it some from the wiry hairs, only to have the Jihad Party Boys push it away. The eunuch waits though until the Jihad Boys are asleep and then sneaks up to lap their beards some more of the tasty dried egg yolk left on the Jihad Party Boys beards.

The eunuch takes the dried bits of yolk from the comb and mixes in the milk from one of her teats. It's an elixir. A powerful potion to smooth wrinkles. Trans and Drag Queen will pay dearly for the potion for it will erase years of debauchery from their bodies.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

The Jihad Party Boys Return

Back from the hunt of Mean Queen's eggs, I saw in the alley a parade of the most fat Jihad Party Boys yet to be seen. So fat that three of them astride blocked all access to pass in the alley. They found the coveted eggs of Mean Queen and fed throughout the storm, and since the storm lasted days this year, they came back filled with fatty egg yolk.

They had smiles as they waddled to the East Bunker, these fattest of all Jahads. Their beards glistened and bellies,covered by  cheap white shirts, burst at each button. So fat and round, they will last two winters at least from this latest frenzied feeding.

And it was astounding, a woman was with them, not  Drag Queen but probably a Trans that they were escorting to the East Bunker. With their larders full, their bellies brimming with yolk, they are content. They must have found a Trans to entertain the Jihad Party Boys in the Eastern section. Now they too, can delight in swiveling, gyrating hips of Trans, the ultimate woman.

Friday, December 24, 2010

The Fat Man Pays a Visit

The bastard landed on the roof with all his fucking reindeer and sleigh. Thanks Santa, now I have another leak in the den.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Sunny Side Up

It looked a good day this morning when I woke and saw that the sun, for the first time in over a week, had come out to shine. The lawn had mist rising and it sparkled with dew being bathed in sunlight. Birds were singing, dogs were on walks and though for myself, with a cold beginning to settle in, was feeling good about the day. The girls had laid enough eggs to have a breakfast of melon with eggs Benedict.

I've perfected making Hollandaise sauce. I swear it can only be done well with fresh yolks for the sauce thickens in no time ever since I've used yolks from the girls in the hen house. The sauce wasn't on English muffins and it wasn't with Canadian bacon, but the whole grain toast and leftover ham worked very well indeed with the fresh poached eggs and a wonderful Hollandaise.
And what a pretty plate it was that I served to Wally and me.

After two bites, Wally began to choke. I mean serious choking and it was quite apparent that his air passage was blocked. He had a frantic look in his face to match my ashen one.

"Wally. Wally!"  panic set in quickly, he stared up at me with eyes that pleaded for rescue.

I did what I could of the the Heimlich maneuver, then slapped his back a number of times hard. He would get the food up in his mouth but because of the dementia, would try and swallow it again.   He was in a panic and so was I with my fingers I tried to pry his mouth open but he clamped down making it all the worse.

More of the Heimlich and more beating on his back until the food came up again and he chewed it, even though I pleaded for him to spit it out.

He's okay now. I'm not. I'm a nervous wreck. My cold feels worse, I'm afraid to leave him alone for a second and I desperately need to take a nap.

So much for a sun shiny day.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Ya Gotta Get On Facebook

That's what I was told for a long time. So I did, and guess what? The world didn't open like a big fat oyster. It stayed the same fucking way, same fucking friends I have now only a new one that wants me to join him in selling some shit type of  product. He's a, 'god-bless you' jerk.

I mean, it's not as hot as craig's list. All I see are a bunch of stupid baby pictures of friends with grand kids. It's not as interesting as gaytube.com, where I lounge with a drink in one hand and, well--never mind.  Nothing like that on Facebook.

No wonder the Chinese don't want it. I'm with them. What the fuck, exactly, is it for? My friends are just as dumb acting on it as they are when I'm with them. Even worse actually, they don't post the shit I find out about them after a few drinks. Boy, now that's in your face Facebook. I mean they all are so well mannered on Facebook it's like that god-damn E-harmony shit.  Nothing but a bunch of damn lies about how goody two-shoes they are. Not the shit I hear.

"Hey, Mexican Monkey, have another beer, I got lot's of them. " I fill his glass to the brim with some cold dark ale. "Now what was that about you and Mom going out in search of dick the other night?"

Do you see that on Facebook? Fuck no.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

The Eggs Are Ravaged

The chromosomes of the Jihad Party Boys go back to a very ancient time. They are caught in the throws of evolution where those who wear shawls with tassels and tie wooden boxes to their head are at a evolutionary dead-end.  They are compelled, nay, driven with hormonal rage to act out this ancient primeval hunt.

At the height of the rain, when in their primitive rain forest they first ventured out to find something to fill their empty bellies in the dead of winter they throw off their blankets, the wooden boxes already shattered from their heads. In a massive rush, they throw themselves at the bunker's gate. Some can't wait for it to open, they vault over and begin their frantic search for  the precious eggs left my the minions of Mean Queen.

When they find one of the eggs, they immediately break them open and consume the sticky contents, leaving the shells on the ground in search of more. They have until the storm overhead is no more. Once the  clouds pass, they must return to the bunker, empty or full to wait out the remainder of the winter. Some Jihad Party Boys will die of starvation before winter's end, many eggs will be found and consumed but some eggs will go unfound. Those eggs, if left undisturbed could become another Jihad Party Boy. Hatched with their first pair of cheap black pants, they begin to search out for other Jihads. And once they form a group begin to build a bunker and wait for an egg laying mean Queen and Daddy.

Drag Queen has seen it all before and is willing to satisfy the lust of Jihadist Party Boys. She knows that eventually, possibly even with the advance pace of global warming, the days of the Jihad Party Boys are numbered. But until then, she will dance the Dance of the Seven Butt Flossers. She will gyrate her big fat ass and shake her tiny tits to the beat of eunuch's enchanted flute.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Mean Queen Emerges

She has rested from her egg laying. Her hips now are wide once again to spew eggs in the vast warren of caves under the Palace. I saw her waddle from her car the other day, she looked full  and fruitful. Her wide splendid hips moved with grace to the Palace gate where she entered.

The Jihad Party Boys have stopped their dance. They no longer Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Their blankets are smeared in sweat and saliva. They bang at each other's hat boxes.  Their heads down, they paw the ground and run into another Jihad with his hat box lowered and crash. Once they pick themselves up from the ground, they again rearrange the blanket with tassels at the end over their shoulders and hat box hit another Jihad Party Boy.

Drag Queen sits in the corner with a joint that she shares with the eunuch. They pass the roach back and forth until it's sweet smoke has gone out while they watch the Party Boys head butt.  Drag Queen knows that they will soon topple the gate in their haste out into the wild of the alley where the Jihad Party Boys hunt begins.

The hat boxes tied to the Jihad Party Boys heads are beginning to break with the head butts. Soon the wood boxes will only be splinters splayed across the cement of the Bunker's outer courtyard. Their blankets will be thrown off and they will vault the wall of the Bunker in a desperate search.
The rains are coming, the event is drawing near. Drag Queen lights another joint and scratches  her armpit before she passes the joint to the sleepy eunuch.  Soon she will be rid of the Party Boys and go back to sleep with her eunuch massaging Drag Queen's tired feet and ass. Her job done at last.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Palace Eggs

Their job is done. They have scattered Mean Queen's eggs to the furthest point they could reach by car and now, the Palace is back to normal, whatever normal is for the Palace. The Jihad Party Boys dance day and night to the Eunuch's oboe and Drag Queen's gyrating hips. They have turned to the most primeval form of Jihad Party Boy.

Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. The bellies are now thinned of baby fat. Their beards are course and they have only the desire of some ancient ancestor. Drag Queen flips the rabbit fur butt flosser at them, letting their nostrils catch its scent from the long days of dancing since the last full moon. The heady aroma of Drag Queen's rabbit fur butt flosser has captivated them. Has put them in a trance that is just as primitive as when the first Jihad Party Boy covered his shoulders with a blanket that had tassels at the end, and tied a hat box to his head. They ready themselves for the hunt and the kill.

Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Grunt-smack-smack-kill. All day, all night while the minions of the Palace dispersed Mean Queen's eggs. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. It goes on now in steady rhythmic beat.

The storm is ready and laying wait  at sea to come inland. To come and wake the eggs of Mean Queen, to send the Jihad Party Boys on a murderous quest.  Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Tempest Fidgets

Storm clouds are massing out at sea. Dark and ominous with a good chance of days of rain to come soon. This is why the Palace is so busy elsewhere. Again, when I awoke and looked out the bedroom window this morning at sunrise, not one of the Palaces cars were in sight. That doesn't mean that there wasn't someone there on guard duty. It does mean, though, that every available worker of Daddy and Mean Queen were busy placing Mean Queen's eggs not only in Los Angeles but all of the South West. I'm sure of it. And why?

A storm is coming with the promise of rain to last into days. Perfect weather for Mean Queen's eggs to hatch and spread colonies of Jihad Party Boys everywhere. Oh, they think I'm not on to them but Millie and Great Horned Owl have watched them as they, in the dead of night, brought vast quantities of eggs from the warrens beneath the Palace. They place them in the cars for delivery, and now that they have spread her eggs further away from the Palace, it takes longer for them to return to have the cars filled once more.  These eggs are no ordinary eggs either.

They are long and cylinder in shape with rounded ends. Like gelatin capsules made of ivory shell, only about two feet in length with a good ten to twelve inch diameters. That's not all, Drag Queen's dance has changed.  She now wears fur butt flossers and has tied antlers to her head. Her eunuch stopped playing the flute for the oboe. Very ominous indeed for the music is dark and moody and it makes the Jihad Party Boys quiver and salivate. They swoon to the eunuch's enchantments on the oboe while they watch the fur fly on Drag Queens Butt flosser.  Her antlered head dips now and then while her hips and ass gyrate in a slow grinding motion. Drag Queen's hands dip in a granite bowl, she lifts her hands above her face and watches the blood from the bowl smear down her arms and drip to the floor.

The Jihad Party Boys grunt. Their fat bellies are smacked to the beat of the music. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. The Jihad Party Boys' gums look red and swollen, their teeth stick out from them sharp and pointed and their eyes have sunk into dark pools mixed with love and hate.  They wear over their shoulders, blankets with strings that hang from them. They cloak themselves in this blanket while they balance little hat boxes tied to their heads. Just like Drag Queen has her antlers tied to her head. These hat boxes are receivers for instructions from Mean Queen and Daddy.

Storm clouds are coming, the sky will darken, the air--grow cold for the sinister work of the Palace. Woe and wretchedness is coming. Millie and the Great Horned Owl with the camera for a brain are on guard for the calamity that may befall the greater South West.

The East and Western Bunker of the Jihad Party Boys have been dancing each night since the full moon. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt. Grunt-smack-smack-grunt.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Where Do They Go?

The Palace has several cars at any time but not all at once and there is at least one car, not necessarily parked in front or in the driveway, but near the Palace at all times.  The other night I woke because of the wind. It was blowing pretty strong and I looked out the bedroom window and noticed a vacancy in cars. Usually Mean Queen is parked across the street directly from our house and then a lesser car, a car that needs paint parked directly across of the Palace, one or two other cars parked in front of the Palace and Daddy drives a new VW. Well, not new, but not an old VW.

Now, why are there no  cars there at three in the morning? None. Not one. Zip for the first time and it is three in the morning?  Santa Helpers? I don't think so. I think Mean Queen's eggs are beginning to hatch. They are spreading her eggs across Los Angeles. Across Southern California and probably across the entire Western Pacific.

Mean Queen's hips are vast and strong. She looks like a fertility goddess come to life. Big ass, big tits and probably a vagina that could take Daddy's VW. She lays eggs in a warren labyrinth beneath the floor boards of the Palace. They're taken care of by minions, those who yearn to be Jihad Party Boys and entertained at night by Drag Queen and her eunuch. But what of the eggs? What comes from these capsules jettison between the legs of Mean Queen? And why were there no cars in front of the Palace at three in the morning?

This mystery must be solved, the future of the hood could be at stake. I have sent Millie to explore the outer perimeter of the Palace estate and Great Horned Owl with the camera brain high in the sky to let me know what this all means.

It is our only hope.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Culture Shock--A Bit of Gay History

Back in the revolutionary days of the sixties, I lived at a place owned by a gay man born in 1906.  Ernie was his name and he looked like any ones grandfather from that time.  It was a real refuge for me, I had been thrown out of the house for being gay, looking at sleeping in my car until I could figure it all out and went to the beach that day. The known gay beach at Will Rogers where I met someone that very day and when he asked, "Your place or mine?" I said, "I don't have a place, so I guess it's yours."

We're still friends, Daffney and me,  he let me stay with him that day and I guessed talked it over with Ernie and I could stay in the den, Daffney rented one of two bedrooms. It helped, I'm sure, that I was pretty damn good looking back then, not hard on the eyes at all and it saved my ass.

For it was there that I began to feel like a normal person, not a sick parasite of society. My mom, had told me, just before showing me the door, when it was discovered I was gay, (a love letter sent to me and read by the entire family before confronting me with it) that she could accept me as a murderer, but not a homosexual.

So, I had a place to live with people like me, I found work and later, my own place, all because of, literally, the kindness of strangers. They didn't know me, I could have been a murderer, like my mother wanted me to be, except I'm not, just a gay man who abhors violence and wanted, very much, to be accepted and loved. I was.

Ernie told me stories of what life was like for him as a young gay man in the twenties and thirties. It's interesting because gays and lesbians have been marrying each other for a very long time all over America.  It's just recently that they have been able to marry the one they loved however.

Back then, in order to survive, if you were gay, you would find a lesbian willing to marry you or vice-versa. People met each other through parties, you could be arrested and sent to prison if you were a known gay in the company of other gays. People would have parties, you would escort the opposite sex to the party so that neighbors would see mixed couples, going into and out of a house. The girls would take one side of the house and the boys, the other and all have a hell of good time. And that's how you would be introduced to others through these parties of married couples.

Ernie married a dyke from the drip-less candle fortune. She provided the house in Panorama City for Ernie and when either was needed for family affairs, they would show up together, as a loving married couple who, unfortunately, could not have children.  His wife was a wonderful gal that I met later, she had a condo at the beach for her and her girlfriend.

A lot of gays and lesbians did this and actually still do, though not as much. I still see now and then, ads looking for a marriage of convenience. Someone desperate and willing to pay or accept a faux marriage. That's what I find so interesting about Christians, they can accept you as a lie, but not as who you are. They would rather you a heterosexual murderer than a kind, loving, gay or lesbian.

It's why religion can be seen as an invention of humans. The god or gods in the bible, for there is an old testament god and then his son who is a god but yet the same god, how schizophrenic is that?  That tell you to do the most absurd things.  And if you did them, they would lock you up in a state prison for the criminally insane.  Sell your children, sure, throw rocks at women until they're dead because someone said they cheated on their husband, no problemo and it goes on and on.

Prophets told to role around in their own shit. I mean really, from a god? It is all so absurd and yet these crazy fucking religious morons feel they can control the rest of us with the 'WORD OF GOD'.

I say revolt, stop allowing this insanity to continue. Call out the religious for their repulsive behavior and ignore their cries that we must abide by god's law.  Why do we allow this to happen? As if these crazy religious people have a foot to stand on?

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Oh My Oh Dear Obama Teeters On A Picket Fence

Interesting speech the Pres gave. Chastising both sides of the aisle, and he is? The Democratic leader?  Republicans can get what they want if crumbs are to fall off the table.

I guess Obama has a lot on his mind. The gays want to be treated just like Christian white folk. They want to marry the one they love, not the one they are sold to. They want to fight for their country with pride as who they are, not told to keep their mouth shut and lie about their identity.

And yet, well hell , the pres has more important things on his agenda, like dinner parties with people who wear decorative flag pins.  "Okay folks. Now I know you're all waiting for desert but lets give a hand to the little people in the back who made us such a splendid meal of fried chicken and waffles and then, I would like Mr. Boehner to lead us in a rousing rendetion of Kumbayah"

Which way will our helmsman fall? for a picket fence is a rickety affair.

Monday, December 6, 2010

A Dark Christmas

It use to be, in this hood, that Christmas lights were a big thing. Few houses didn't have them but now it's the opposite, few houses do have them.  We're no longer religious though Wally has asked to go to Mass at St. Monica and I'll take him during Christmas, I'll bring my Nook while he watches the show.

And that to me is what Christmas is, a show. A kind of glitter for the gloom of winter and the coming of the new year. A time to have some fun and be merry. One of the things I enjoy about winter is sitting next to the front window where the sweet gum trees are bright with fall colors. I like to read and write as I watch the leaves shimmer gold, bronze and burgundy. In the rain, their bark turns black making the leaves even more striking. One of the first books I read at that window were the tales of Uncle Remus. Every year after, I have read at that window when the weather turned cold and the sweet gum trees lit up with fire.

The Palace is a dark and gloomy dwelling, no light ever comes out of it or into it anytime of the year. The house on the other side of us is vacant and has been since Ray, the guy that lived there all his life, died some years ago. But across the street, when they are home, Christmas lights are on. Outside of that there are only two houses on each end of the block with lights.

As a kid, I use to carol with others in the hood. I don't know how good we were but it was fun and people enjoyed it. Now at Halloween. Everyone does the spook thing. We leave though, the hordes of sticky people that descend here is frightening, really spooky because there is no way in hell that many kids live in this hood and I've seen them dumped off from vans and buses to scavenge the hood for anything including decorations.

But not Christmas. Not when you see your breath in the chill while you and friends look at the lights strung up and make a toast to Christmas cheer and the sweet gum trees that are ablaze.  They don't carol here anymore, not in years that I can remember. Too bad because sometimes, when I look out the front window, I see the ghosts of Christmas past and us boys that went caroling in our hood.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Over The Top

Mexican Monkey and I decided to do some single track. It was pretty rough at first. I didn't get ten feet before I fell over, luckily against the cliff and not over it. I told the monkey to go ahead and ahead he did. Right into a hole and over the bars. We were a mess but it didn't matter because we were laughing so hard about it. Rusty as a pail of nails were the two of us and that's okay.

The clouds were beginning to thicken and the threat of rain came in droplets now and then. We rode on though to the overlook where there is a bench and that's where we smoked a joint and talked about Mexican Monkey's straight boyfriend, Ceaser. He was being pissy because Mexican Monkey didn't take him out to the bars so he could get as drunk as shit. I think Mexican Monkey is beginning to like fresh air and country over boom-boom rooms and bad boys.

That's okay because so do I. Are we getting old?

Yep.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

The Ride of the Desperados

Mexican Monkey woke from his four AM  bar night. He knew he had better be here for our ride, especially now that I have a new and very sweet mountain bike. He did, finally, make it just before ten, with a  cup of strong coffee and steaming oatmeal I put life back in him. It could have been the first drops of rain that did it as well, but lets say it was the coffee.

The sky was thick with gray clouds, it spread out over the heavens as far as we could see but that was okay by us, it has been a good five years since I've been on dirt trails and I was excited. So much so that for a time, I forgot my age and felt very young again. That went away at the first climb, a bitch of a climb too.

The bike handled remarkably well. It climbed at ease and though Mexican Monkey was near the top I had to stop, unsure of myself and walk the last part where it was the steepest. I blamed it on the walkers who had unleashed their dogs to run, but glad they did.

Once we were on the main trail to go into the interior of the Santa Monicas, we could smell that sweet wonderful fragrance of wild things. Sage, Sumac, fresh rain, dirt, sandstone and rocks. No cars, no horns or exhaust, no lights, no assholes, no city. Our goal was the platform.

The platform, at one time held up a watch tower. The tower had burnt down in one great fire but the flagstone base and steps are still there. If you hunt around, you can find nails that were used in its construction. A great view is the prize from the platform. On clear days especially for the vistas extend in a three-hundred and sixty degree radius.

Each turn gave me renewed confidence, a joining to the frame, the bike was silent and glided along over ruts and rock outcroppings. It held a good line and responded well to my moves. I had a smile that wouldn't go away.  The trail we chose followed a spine of mountain tops that connect from sea to valley, so we would plunge deep between peaks only to climb back out and over until we could see the platform on one of the peaks just off the main trail.

Not much had changed since I was last there five years ago, and yet it had all changed in some fashion, it all seemed new and fresh again. I picked out a line in the dirt to follow the path leading to the platform. Rutted, it gave a good challenge to my rusted skills, even Mexican Monkey had the giggles.

At the top we smoked a joint and watched the sky over the Pacific with the sun turning it deep red. Catalina was visible looking like  a mountain range poking through the clouds. Fog laid deep out to sea today. The city was visible, a grungy gray mass  that went  right up to the sands of the Pacific. And from  our perch, only song birds were heard and the wind.

We're going back Sunday to another spot and another memory. I can't wait.

Friday, December 3, 2010

It Never Ends

I spent my day buying and returning software. After trying out the free program by Oracle it was obvious that it wasn't going to work for me. It will be okay to use I guess until I get an Office 08 program for Mac but it won't make it in the long run. Some of the functions I use were difficult to find and once I did, didn't work well, like bookmarks. To go back in the story where I left off quickly just doesn't run smooth on the Oracle program. That and trying to read how the program works in its help section, I had to get my face abut six inches from the screen to read it. Even my own work in twelve point, I have to magnify it much larger to read it on my twenty inch screen and the program puts boxes in front of the paragraph, I have no idea what they are and I don't want to go blind trying to find out.

So I went to Fry's. I hate Fry's but I have to admit, this time there was someone there to talk to that did give me good advice. I had called earlier and whoever helped me then gave me wrong info, they didn't have the version I wanted but they did have the 2011 version and fortunately the guy at the store told me that unless I had an intel processor the Office program wouldn't work on it. Sure enough mine didn't, so I need Office 08. I returned the program and did get my money back. I had to order it on Amazon and now wait about ten days to get it.

Here's a good one. The guy at Fry's was friendly and went out of his way to help me, he also gave me a number for Microsoft where I did get to talk to a tech guy easier than if I called my bank. The Microsoft guy said that he would help me install the Office 11 program, I asked about the processor and he said,  "Well, if it doesn't work, we'll return your money."

That means I would have to mail it in and now deal with Microsoft. No thanks, I'm in living hell now I don't really want to turn the heat up.  I left it un-opened and went back to Fry's and got the money back on my card.

It sucks, it really does, I feel like I'm half a person at the moment because I can't write and feel assured that what I do write will be there when I get the Office 08 program. It may be paranoia but at this point, I'm real nervous about taking anymore chances.

One of the reviews I read about Office 11 for Mac is that for someone, it turned half his work, a long piece into asterisks that he couldn't correct. Terrifying isn't it.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

The Perils of Microsoft

Yesterday I was in a panic. When I opened Word for Mac it said there was an update, did I want to download it? I gave the okay and it took a while but finally it did. But before the update could take place, I would have to close the program, so I did. Once the update was finished, and I tried to open Word for Mac I got a window that said I needed to enter the product key again, they didn't match.

What?

None of my documents would open. Panic set in because now I'm use to the Mac system, sort of and thought this thing is suppose to be bug free. I figured because I got this from Mexican Monkey,  there was no software to look for a  product key and I was fucked. I started to look what it would cost for my own version of Word for Mac and it was a little over a hundred for an 08 version like the one that was on it. Okay, I thought I can deal with that and wondered what the 2011 version would cost and looked that up. It's about sixty bucks more, that's the cheapest I could find.

But in looking at the comments made by people who bought the newer version they were not happy. People reported difficulty in installing, getting Microsoft to recognize the program as valid and worse of all, destruction of files, turning longer work into a series of asterisks. Not good.

One person made a comment about Oracle having an office for mac program that was free and that it worked well. So I went to the Oracle sight and downloaded their version of office. It works just fine.
Not as polished as Word but all the bells and whistles are there and in some ways easier to deal with. For free.

You can donate and I plan to once I know that it will do all the things I  need but I'm amazed that there is a program like that out there. I'm very happy with it, so far and it opens all of my documents without a problem.

Mexican Monkey is sending me a 2011 version by email. I shudder to think about it.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Making the Plunge

It has been a few years since I mountain biked. I'm not sure why, I didn't like the bike I was riding, the one in the photo above and I was having problems with my blood pressure. Under stress, with the loss of water, my blood pressure would drop dangerously low.  Mexican Monkey has bugged me to go mountain biking again with him. And, when I asked my local bike dealer was what out there I got quite a surprise.

First, the quality of the bike is so much better. It is lighter, designed well, disk brakes for instance and sturdy hubs. But the real clincher is the price. Less than half of what I paid years ago for a bike with full suspension.

I miss the smell of fresh clean air and getting away from the city that mountain biking provides. I can go up to the hills from the house and get away from it all for a while. Saturday is the day me and Mexican Monkey will be tearing up the trails.

Right now I have to get back to seeing what is going on with the Word program. I downloaded an upgrade and for some reason it isn't recognizing the product code.

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Three Queens of Christmas

Once upon a time there were three sad queens. Queen Daffney, Queen Mexican Monkey and Queen Hulk.  They were sad because it was fucking cold outside and not much to do with the bad weather. So the three sad queens got together and decided to decorate the house.

"Girlfriends, it will be so much fun," Queen Hulk said in her princess phone.

"Will there be booze?" Queen Mexican Monkey asked.

"Will I have to shell out any money?" Queen Daffney asked.

"Fuck no and yes there will be booze, just like there is a Santa Claus, there will always be booze." Queen Hulk told them and so they got together after Thanksgiving to plan a splendid time.

"What should we call it?" asked one queen.

"Let's call it, 'Make it Pretty Day," said one.

"Lame as shit. How about, 'Burn the House Down', said the other.

"No you fucking dumb-ass bitches," said the third, "We'll call it Christmas."

"Why the fuck Christmas?" asked the other two.

"It's for, 'Christ, how much did that cost you?' Christmas for short, " said the third queen.

So they got out some sparkle and spangle, They brought in lights and show tunes and by the time dark fell, the joint looked like a Hansel and Gretel cottage.

"What fun," said the Three Queens.

"Pass the joint, and where did you put the wine bottle?" said the other.

"I just love Christmas, " said the third as she dialed for pizza.

Friday, November 26, 2010

The Gathering Of The Clan

Daffny picked us up, the only sober one among us but you really can't tell because he drives in the classic passive-aggressive style.  You can tell a passive-aggressive driver by the key marks left on the side of their cars. Take Daffny's car for instance, it's keyed on both sides. He wonders how they got their. So I told him.

"Daffny, let's say a car is in front of you and it is going slower than the speed of traffic but you can't get around because all the other cars in back of you see what's happening and they take the next lane to pass. Up ahead is a green light but the slow car in front of you has suddenly slowed down even more and just when you get to the light it turns yellow and instead of the slow car speeding up to get through, they stopped to wait for it to turn green. Now, not only are you still stuck behind the slow car but everyone behind you is with only one thing on their mind, to get around the both of you as soon as the light turns green."

You wait, hoping that the slow driver moves just enough so that you can whip around quickly at the first chance but wait...The light turns green and the slow car in front isn't moving. The other lane is though and cars that have now come up fresh on you are quickly pulling around before the slow car begins to advance. That's why you have people following you so that when you park they can key your car."

Doesn't faze Daffny one bit. In fact he is proud of the long key strips on his Cherokee. "I don't care, let them waste gas, I'm not going above thirty miles an hour." It takes him time to get up to thirty too and then of course to slow down.

Once we were at Frodo's (our friend refers to his residence as a hobbit house. It is not exactly hobbit, more California bungalow updated with a bit of Northern California for landscaping. It is a nice place.
Now Frodo and the Irishman have lived together for a very long time. A very long time, in fact, no one really knows how long but certainly longer than the Orc that lives under the goat shed in the back of their property. We had brought two bottles of champagne.

The Irish was fighting mad already and ready to get liquored up. We were to be there at one in the afternoon. Just because it was one when we showed up didn't matter, The Irish was on his time and that's the only time that counts and according to his time, we were early.  Once he took a cold shower and had a taste of the grape he settled down long enough to eat fish eggs on toast. And once we all were toasted, off we went to the French Market but not before Frodo investigated a trash bag across the street and someone parked at another neighbor's house.  This took another half hour to satisfy Frodo and Irish that it was okay to leave Hobbitland to eat.

Eat we did, with a cute Russian to serve us, named Serge. His English, not so good and of course we had him tell us all the nasty words you can say in Russian. Not that we were going to remember them, but it was nice to hear such a cutie talk dirty to us in Ruskie, which is kind of a rough sounding language to begin with and that made it even better.  After more champagne and more food we were just about ready to leave when Frodo's heart throb walked in.

This caused a major concern for Frodo who was still wounded from rejection. Frodo wanted to leave,
ASAP and we did too so that we could pry out all the details of love lost.  Once back to Hobbitland we settled around the fire for the story Frodo and the Train Boy.

Frodo worked for Travel Town and met Train Boy at a party. It was love at first sight when Train Boy found out where Frodo worked. At least love at first sight on Frodo's part. Train Boy worked on a passenger train and was hoping to advance in the train world but Frodo could only offer love.  It didn't take long for the romance to come to a screeching halt. Well actually, it never started except in Frodo's world. However, with the Irish liquored up and fighting mad, he attacked Frodo verbally.

"If there ever were a worse case of Flanagan folly, I'll eat an English trifle."

"Shut up! I'm telling the story, you Irish pig," Frodo yelled.

"Pig am I? You called me a pig, you shriveled up goat dick."

Oh, the two of them went on and on until we thought to excuse ourselves while they battled it out  and what a joy it was to bring in the holidays with a good bitch fight.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

The World Of Mac

I admit, Mexican Monkey is a generous man. And if I needed his help and he actually picked up the phone when I dial, he would come to my aid. His business is such that they need a full time computer fixer-upper and because they are a business, they need to update the computers every few years. That happened and I ended up with a very high end Mac.

I like it, I think. At least it is a lot faster than my old computer but I haven't been able to attend to my writing. The Word program is a 2008 and there was no problem bringing my PC Word documents over and opening them with the new computer and program. But all the bells and whistles now are in a different place and to tell the truth, I'm really tired of the re-learning curve adjustment. My brain, what's left of it, hurts.

Why can't they make the Mother of All Computers? They made the mother of all wars, the mother-fucker and the mother of all bombs but they can't make a computer that will still be viable after a few years. They are almost obsolete by the time you get them home from the store.

And my head hurts with all the input of well intentioned friends. Do you use Cloud? Never heard of it. Oh, well, everyone is using it. What, to sleep on?

I can't get the printer to print, that's the sticking point at the moment. I'll have to wait until someone can come here and figure that out. Boy what headache and I'll need some more aspirin too.

Monday, November 22, 2010

What Have I Done Now

Facebook. It is this strange land that everybody tells me I need to join, so I did. Gad, what a terrible thing, People are posting baby pictures on it, googly eyed fucking baby pictures of tiny shit factories. People that I normally e-mail suddenly are friends and still I haven't figure out how to write to them or how to do much of anything except look at the drool left by Amy's sticky people on my 'wall'.

I feel I fell into the Temple of Doom. I can't navigate the waters, the place is way to hetro for me, and way to cute. And why did my friends think I needed this? Do I need cancer? Do I need my teeth pulled? What is it that I need Facebook for? Will someone please tell me.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Another Friday, Another Fight--Mexican Monkey Spends the Night in Jail

"I'll come over at nine." Mexican Monkey tells me Friday afternoon. The cleaning crew was coming early and he wanted to avoid the noise of vacuum cleaners and the cleaning lady's duster.

"I'll have breakfast," I said and hung up.

It didn't occur to me that he may not be over, the weather people predicted and we got rain starting that day and scheduled for the entire weekend. I somehow didn't connect that it was Friday and he was inquiring about Saturday morning.

Now, what monkey can stay out of the bars in West Hollywood, or anywhere, on a Friday night?

Duh? So when it was close to nine-thirty and no Mexican Monkey, I called.

He answered, gravel in his voice as usual after a night of debauchery and I was ready to hear his, 'I got so drunk last night' speech.

"I just got out of jail."

"You were arrested for drunk driving?"

"How come everybody says that to me? Huh? How come, Gil said the same thing."

"Well, I don't know, maybe because we all expect to get a call to bail your ass out of jail one day."

"No, I broke up a fight."

This was going to be good. Mexican Monkey, of course can't stay out of a ruckus, like any monkey, if he didn't start the fight, he sure as hell wasn't going to stay out of one going on either.

"You broke it up and were arrested?"

"Yes, they took us all in."

"Let the judge sort it out. Sounds about right. So are you coming over? I'm hungry and would like to have breakfast."

"I'll be over soon."

Mexican Monkey hung up and I thought, well, I guess he will and waited, besides the story sounds to good to miss and I don't exactly look like I missed too many meals.

He looked like someone that just got out of jail. Disheveled, hair unkempt and that certain unsavory odor of urine, sweat and other odd odors that jails have. I offered a shower.

"No, I need to eat."

Eat we did, and then he slept in between telling me what happened.

"Trunks?" Never heard of it."

"It's a neighborhood bar, off Santa Monica."

"Oh, a hustler bar."

"I think so," Mexican Monkey said in a very sheepish tone. "But the guys that were fighting were straight."

"Well, what was the fight about?"

"I don't know? One had a bottle and other a bar stool and they were trying to kill each other."

"And so you and someone else tried to break it up?

"The cops came in just when we got them separated and arrested all of us."

"What are straights doing in a gay bar?" I asked.

"Oh, Mikie, all the bars are mixed now."

"You're kidding."

"The Abbey? Mostly straight now."

"Gad. When I heard the Friendship opened with a new owner announcing it would now be a Metro bar I became concerned."

"Yeah, and they arrested a bunch of us, even some women were arrested and the guy in our cell said the worse was yet to come when his wife finds out in the morning."

Mexican Monkey went home in the afternoon and came back dressed with his 'I just got off the bus--ranchero pinstriped pants and some god-awful ranchero shirt. The cologne was worse than the Jail-Jungle he wore earlier.

"So, you going out tonight."

"Maybe, but I'm not drinking."

He didn't either, at least here, we had a pork roast rubbed with whole cloves and curry, acorn squash with butter, brown sugar and cinnamon and sauteed brussel sprouts with fresh nutmeg.

Not the usual fair but I think Mexican Monkey should eat well between prison visits.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Drag Queen's Lazy Eunuch

While I was attending the chickens this morning, Drag Queen came out to inspect her trash cans. She was wearing an orange halter top to keep her tits in. But because she does not have much tit to speak of, the halter sort of squished them on her chest like two soft ice cream scoops. Her ass was sticking out in lime green capri pants and her make-up was a bit better, seeing how it was morning and she probably didn't have time to slather on the pancake yet.

"I do admire how you stack your trash." I said standing next to the hen house.

She pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and blew a smoke ring. "Yeah, I can look down the alley and size up the neighborhood trash in two seconds."

"I've always said, you know your trash."

"Yeah, well I've been around trash all my fuckin' life." She spat in the middle of the alley and let out a fart. Her green capris hardly moved being stretched so tight across her ass. "I told Henye, just the other day, that no one in this alley keeps trash like I do."

She scratched her left armpit where a rash was healing from abuse from a worn out razor. "And do you know what he said?"

"No, what?"

"He said no one knows trash like I do."

"Damn if that ain't the truth." I said and walked over to the end of our property line. "Say, all that sunlight that comes in from where Hag cut her bushes and trees back. Does that bother you?"

She had opened a blue barrel and was slamming the  plastic sides to jiggle the contents. "Are you kidding me? We love the sunlight. Can't get enough of it. It's like the old country once again."

"I'm amazed Hag cut all the vegetation down."

Drag Queen opened the next barrel and looked inside. Then she slammed it shut and turned to me. "That bitch needs to see the light of day, we came to a kind of an agreement," She said slamming a fist into her palm.

"Oh, I see," I said and looked up at where the great elm was partially shading her east wall. "I guess you don't mind that elm tree of Lady of the Forest though shading you a bit.

"Huh?" she said and looked at the elm and where the very top had shaded the lower half of her east wall. "That fuckin' bitch. She's gotta a lot of nerve."

"I think she needs the great elm's power."

Drag Queen scratched again at the rash in her arm pit. I could see what looked like boar bristles sprouting among red-crimson dots of rash between her scratching fingers while she contemplated how much shade was against the eastern wall of her house. "She does huh, well I'll have to talk to her about that."

"You know, I'm sure she would love to visit with you and your eunuch. How is the eunuch?"

"That fat slug? I don't know why I bought it. Does play the flute well don't it?"

"That it does and I bet Lady of the Forest would think the eunuch was the cutest thing she ever saw. Especially if you dressed it up like a big fat baby and fed it sticky things. It could lean against the great elm while you chatted up Lady of the Forest.

"It whines so when I dress it up. But you know, with some fatty sticky sticks, I could lure it into dressing like a big-ass dumb baby."

I think Drag Queen was getting the idea of how to use the eunuch. It was always stressing something where ever it sat or laid. I could see the lights go on and Drag Queen giving Lady of the Forest a going over because she was careless how she placed her barrels in the alley.

"I bet some hours of that fat eunuch eating while it leaned on the great elm would stress it enough to give up its leaves."

"Hell, if that damn dough baby doesn't just topple it over right then. What if that fuckin' tree hit Village Idiot? Wouldn't that be something to see." Her eyes brightened up even with the creases of runny black mascara, I could she was enjoying this idea.

I knew there was some reason why I liked Drag Queen other than all the trash she knows.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

The Shadow

The Lady of the Forest has a very large elm tree. It is, I think, the source of her power. The branches span a vast area of two lots and it would cover the alley as well if it weren't for the power lines. The electric company keeps the tree from covering the lines, but that has done nothing for the shade the tree casts on the vegetable garden. Until the leaves fall, the garden is in shadow until after twelve.

Something must be done, but would it effect the Lady of the Forest's power? Would she become weak and unable to defend her kingdom if the tree was trimmed? It is quite large and has spread so that it must catch the wrath of winter storms. Could it topple? If it did it has only one way to fall that would not destroy some structure. And that would be on the smaller elms in the forest.

The great tree stands tall and must see into every neighboring yard including ours. That's what worries me, trees know things. They can feel all the vibrations caused by anyone on the earth for miles around. To even wish the tree harm could be disastrous so it must be carefully planned in doing anything about them.

The Lady of the Forest looks like she going to do nothing about the sunlight being kept from the lettuces and potatoes. She needs the power from her elms, especially this time of year when the forest sheds its leaves to wait the storms out. But if a storm comes early, before the tree sheds, the wind could topple it especially after heavy rains.

Perhaps the tree knows that we will not have heavy storms, perhaps it plans to grow until it shades everything and takes their power for the Lady of the Forest.

What is it she wants with the power from forest trees? She seems content but yet she wants more it seems. It would require careful guidance to navigate this dilemma. If it should look like the trees come under threat, she could turn and become vicious, and vindictive. Yet the vegetable garden is in need of more sunlight for the few things I can grow this time of year.

Hag would be no help, perhaps Mama possum would help. Perhaps the Jihad Party Boys or Drag Queen but not the eunuch, lazy and fat, they are practically worthless with trees unless it could be shown how delightful it is to set up camp under one. How would the great elm feel with a eunuch napping at its trunk?

If the eunuch was great enough, fed fat sticky things, and allowed to rest only on one side of the great elm, perhaps that could cause concern. If Drag Queen friended the Lady of the Forest and while they chatted and the eunuch ate and slept, it could, just ever so, cause the great tree stress.

It's certainly something to think about.

Monday, November 15, 2010

A Day Of Rest

I was so fagged out the other day. Sixty hard miles on the bike Saturday followed by a two mile walk to dinner and back. With, of course martinis, not on the ride however. Sunday turned to a day of rest, I was so rested I can hardly remember the day. But today, we're back in the saddle.

I really enjoy my e-book reader, the Nook. I find that I use it more often and my favorite magazines and newspapers can be sent to it. So far, they're pretty easy to navigate and read once you get use to the format. It takes care of my habit of reading three books at the same time along with the newspapers and magazines. I can read-surf without having to find where I put whatever I was last reading down.

Mom has one. A Kindle but since she stopped taking classes on, 'How to find dead bodies and what to do with them,' and now the boyfriend, which is hitting off real well, she doesn't use it that much. Course, love does that to people. They fall in love and wham, everything is put on hold. Time is in suspension until they can sort life out with the new dimensions.

I smoked a corn beef brisket the other day. It comes out like bacon, it is so good. I don't think I will ever boil another one. And I had caviar for the first time. I've had caviar but not the expensive sturgeon caviar. There is a big difference, I was amazed, not quite as salty as I thought it would be and surprisingly smooth, if I was a wealthy author, I would have it more often, that's for sure, it is that good. I had it on top of new potatoes with creme'fraiche'. Pissy ain't it.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Mom's Gotta Boyfriend

It was sad to see Mom so fretful. She fussed and huffed. She stewed and brewed. It was all because she felt the need to pick one of two boyfriends. Mom is monogamous. In a big way and I can see the advantage to this. If you like to fuck and you trust your partner, you can fuck all day without anything but friction to get in the way. Mom, being a very good mom, likes keeping bugs off her. She hates the bastards. And who doesn't? "What do you mean you have clap?" Words Mom does not want to hear. Especially nowadays with things a hell of a lot worse than a sick dick.

Mom liked the other one, John, younger, a neat freak but sex was never tried and difficult to get to try because the jerk never stopped talking about how his ex fucked him over. Boring.

The other one has Basque blood, older, and very nice. Now, most people think, 'Gee, the guy is a hot blooded Spaniard type with a big fucking dick that wants to play all the time and is nice on top of it.' But not Mom. No, she's not use to being treated nice. Doesn't feel comfortable for her and yet, I really do think, that having a big dick to suck on will eventually get her over the idea that someone would like to treat her well and what kind of guy would want to do that with her? Imagine, having someone in your corner who thinks you're great too. Hard for Mom and yet she seems to be accepting the fact the guy is a nice guy too.

I told her, "Look, a big dick on a guy that knows how to use it can take care a lot of bad habits. So the guy is nice, so he's use to busing his own table. Let him. He's has a big fuckin' dick. And he pays for dinner and the movie? Get use to it, instead of wondering what kind of straight dude would be nice to you and why doesn't he treat you like shit. Think of how good that dick is gonna feel once you get home. Just put up with being treated nice, we all have our cross to bear."

Mom, you gotta love her and we all do.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Cops in the Hood

On the way to the store on my bicycle, I looked down the alley. A very necessary thing to do even when walking because of all the stupid drivers in L.A. In fact, I'm not the only one that has a low opinion of L.A. residents. It turns out that tourists rank us as one of the most stupid and ill mannered of all cities in the United States. Not a very nice title, but I've had drivers honk at me because I wanted to cross the street on a green light when they felt they had the right, being bigger, to make a right turn while I wait on the curb for them to finish it. The drivers think nothing of blocking the whole crosswalk and ignore you while they watch for a break in the traffic. And if you don't step out, the next one will be there to block you again. That's really rude.

Our alley gets a lot of traffic. If the main drag backs up. They flow down the alley like a river filled to its banks. They speed because of being pissed off for having to wait. They honk their fucking horns the whole way, never mind it's a neighborhood, it's not their hood so what the fuck do they care.

The cops were near the house, it could have been the east bunker of the Jihad Party Boys. The cops might be looking for W.M.D's or some shit like that. There were two cops and both out of the car. I did see Drag Queen earlier when I was tending to the chickens. Drag Queen looked a bit hung over. Her fat ass sure hung over and her makeup looked put on with a paint roller. Poor bitch was a mess.

I blame her damn eunuch. Lazy thing probably doesn't get up until the afternoon and no one wants to bother a sleeping eunuch. Hell, you have to push your hand into the soft folds of eunuch flesh just to wake them. And then they make the damnest noises when you do. I don't blame Drag Queen for waking the eunuch by throwing a stone at one of its ass checks. But then you have a pissed off eunuch to put on your makeup and that is always a mistake.

Drag Queen needs to get some new tights. Her ass has stretched the pair she was wearing to the brink of tearing right down the seam. And if that happened, the ass wouldn't stop folding out until it hit pavement. Which would make it asshault instead of asphalt.

What could it be that the cops were in the alley by the eastern Bunker? The Jihad Party Boys have been quiet of late. Must be weapons of mass destruction. I'll call Cheney and see what's up.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Hag Hideaway

Hag's spider dutifully turned the vellum in the ancient book. A formula Hag uses to feed her spiders to make exceptional silk. Now that cold weather came, each little crevice, nook and cranny had to be filled with spider silk. The attic needed some work and perhaps even the space between the walls might need attention.

Possum Bright, of course, was an absolute staple for good spider silk and Hag had a good supply from the family in our garage. The possum family has lived there for years and years, probably before the house was built in forty-nine.

I run into them now and then. A big slow mother possum who carries her children until old enough to walk on their own. She waddles about caring for all her joeys. I've pulled them out myself from buckets or baskets they fell into. They do like to eat bugs. Tasty fat bugs that help the possum to make Possum Bright.

And Mama has plenty. If a joey becomes ill, Momma lets them suckle a special teat full of Possum Bright. But she does nothing but dote on her children so they are rarely sick.

One of Hags many lizards comes for the Possum Bright. He carefully suckles the teat, after inquiring about Mama's health and that of her children. A treat brought by the lizard's entourage of younger lizards. Tasty potato bugs and fat caterpillars in a tidy basket they carried on their backs was set before Mama. And as the old lizard suckled for Possum Bright, Mama laid on her side and slipped a grasshopper in, with its legs sticking out the side of her mouth. Once the grasshopper was ate, she took a rather large potato bug, sampling the fat body before eating it.

"How is Hag?" Mama asked.

The old lizard raised his head from the teat he suckled to answer, "She's a bit down nowadays. Too much sun is coming in I suppose. It makes her cranky."

Mama grunted, she didn't care much for the sun herself and could understand why it would make anyone cranky and out of sorts. She took a caterpillar next as she eyed a gray moth that looked very good to eat.

"Tell her I hope the Possum Bright helps."

The old lizard didn't bother to answer, and kept at his task. Once he was filled with the the special milk he thanked Mama again and left the basket of bugs for Mama to munch. With care and timing the old lizard deftly scurried back to Hag Hideaway with his crew of younger lizards.

Once inside Hag House, the old lizard went to where Hag stood at the stove. He climbed up Hag's dress and down her sleeve where her hand stirred the spoon and threw up gobs of Possum Bright into the pot.

Hag tickled his chin before he scampered back down to the floor jumping under the stove for a nice warm bake from the oven's bottom. She went back to stirring the brew as spiders began to come out from everywhere.

They jumped and jiggled and did spider dances while the pot stewed until it was ready and Hag took ladles of the ancient concoction and poured them into saucers. The spiders gathered around each saucer and dipped their forelegs into the thick soup and then they cleaned their legs with their mouths before dipping again.

When they had their fill and bellies full for making spider silk they went each to their task to block the cold drafts in Hag Hideaway and make it sound for the winter storms ahead.

Hag laid back down to sleep. She dreamed of heavy rain for the bushes and brambles to once again grow and cover Hag Hideaway. Now that daylight saving time was over, Hag gave a contented sigh and drifted off to sleep listening to thousands of spiders spinning webs of fine spider silk.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Cha-Cha Mexican Monkey

One-two-three-four. Step. Step. One-two-three-four. Step. Step.

Oh how Mexican Monkey loves the cha-cha. Adonis was stood up one night when Mexican Monkey laid drunk somewhere and didn't make it to their date. Now he does the cha-cha.

He wants to swing in the trees and pull someone's leg. He wants to screech and holler but he has to stay sober until Adonis gets off his studio shoot. Until Adonis' adoring fans, ever present, leave to gaze at him another day.

"Por favor, Adonis, please give me another chance."

"Well, I get off at nine, If you're home, I'll swing by."

"Gracias, gracias, Adonis. Mi amigo." Oh, Mexican Monkey was so happy, all he had to do was to stay sober until nine that night and then he could drink with Adonis.

"What time is it?"

"Same time only ten minutes more and why the fuck won't you have a drink and stop asking me."

"I'll cut some bamboo."

"No, you won't. You'll leave it for me to pick up."

"I want to play cards."

David fortunately put his cigarette down and said he would play before putting it back in his mouth.

Mexican Monkey was losing. He couldn't count the cards. He couldn't concentrate. He didn't want to do the cha-cha but now it seemed inevitable. I fixed myself a nice cold martini and filled the beer orders for Mom and one of her new boyfriends. Mexican Monkey wasn't happy, while the rest of us drank and laughed. Mexican Monkey did the cha-cha.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, why don't you take a look on your way to get a beer."

"I don't want to drink."

We all knew this was a bold face lie. He wanted to alright and did the cha-cha.

"Just have one fuckin' drink dude. Then leave it."

"No, Adonis and I are going out when he gets off work. What time is it?"

"Well I'll clue you in, you have about three fucking more hours to sweat it out."

And that's what he did. One-two-three-four. Step. Step. One-two-three-four. Step. Step.

The time neared, he knew if he left now he wouldn't be alone too long with Jose Cuervo and might pour himself a tad. He did the cha-cha out the door, with a smile on his face and the thought that he would be soon united with Adonis and a bar.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Stormy Weather

What can I say, I'm a cool weather loving guy. When there is a tempest, I'm happiest. And that's the problem. We had a nice little rain storm here a week ago and then--wham, it got hot again. It depresses me for some reason. Just like the girls lay better in cool weather, I write better.

Here's my dream for a better day. A trailer in Northern California in the redwoods. Oh, would I love that, course there would be a small garden and hen house. Some place I could ride my bike to for shopping and visits. Somewhere near the Russian River would be ideal.

When I go to the Russian River Valley, I feel like I'm at home. That restless feeling inside me is soothed. I can write with ease there, even when the temperatures get high in that area, I can still find myself at ease writing.

If I just had the guts to find a place, sell everything and move there, but I can't seem to find it in me. I'm living in the same house I was when ten. Not that I didn't move outta here, I just moved back in later. And that was something I thought would never happened. I thought I would never see this place again, yet here I am waking to it each morning.

That took some doing at first. Waking up here in this house after living in Topanga. It was a very happy time then in Topanga. My lover John at the time was a great guy and our home there was perched on a cliff, three stories tall. Well, perched would be considered more of a teeter, the house was from 1929. Built as a summer home for some family, it was made of cedar with the cedar planks being the same plank on the outside as inside. In the morning you could see your breath while in bed. It had a wood stove to keep warm and a fire place.

We were young then, Johnny and me. Young and lucky in many ways, in that we stayed together for over twenty years until we were forced to move by fate. In the same year that my mother died, so did the landlord for our place in Topanga. It forced us to move, but the move took me back to my parent's house to care for my father who was handicap. Johnny hated it here. He missed the canyon and so did I. There were terrifying days when I would wake up scared shitless because I was in a strange room. I had been dreaming of daily life in Topanga and when I woke it was in this strange room in a strange place. Johnny and I lost our privacy too, my dad slept in the room next to ours and made John very uncomfortable about having sex. Our relationship began to tear until one day, he said he was leaving.

It wasn't hard to say goodbye, The signs were there that he was unhappy and me denying that we were unhappy, just not use to the new place and I don't think we would have ever gotten use to it here after having our own life together in Topanga. We sort of grew up in the canyon, both of us moving there in our twenties. We stayed close until John's death from cirrhosis of the liver. He drank pretty hard and after we broke up, even harder than before. I miss him terribly to this day. You would think after all these years(he died in 95) that I would be over it but I'm not. The pain is still fresh, I still cry when thinking of him.

I'm hoping though that my spirits will pick up. It's tough right now, Wally has dementia, even when he tries to carry a conversation it is very difficult for him. Our joy is laying next to each other in silence, holding on. I think we hold each other while in bed because if we didn't, one of us would slip away.

That's how warm weather makes me feel, as if I'm slipping into a void where I become nothing. As if the molecules that make up my body are spinning so fast that I will fragment into billions of pieces.

Here's to cooler weather and the slowing of atoms that cold causes. Here's to tall redwoods, deep forests, and trailers.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Mom's New Boyfriends

There is a whole lot of non-Asian men attracted to Asian women. I know because I've seen it for myself. Mom said it's like gaydar, she can spot one right off. And so far she has been spot on every time. Once she announces, "Asiaphile," we begin the questions, like, "Was your last girlfriend or ex-wife Asian?" or "When you're at home alone, do you eat with chop sticks?" or "Does your favorite restaurants have a 'Happy Buddha,' near the cash register?"

It's amazing because usually the answer is yes to all three. And she can't get rid of them. They keep coming back begging for at least a small China doll that she might have once owned. Course, so far, none of them have turned out to be anything to write home about. A rather dull lot. Once they have their Asian woman, they want to stay home and cook rice. Mom wants to travel, and go out for a steak dinner, and see a movie, and ride her bike--and fuck.

One of the two new ones is an Asiaphile. He bitches about his ex-Chinese wife in their last two dates. I said, "Cut the line now, because pulling in this sucker is a waste of time." She's bored with him, he talks only about himself but he does ride a bike. The last Asiaphile she dated looked like an Aztec dwarf. As if he came to life from one of those stone Aztec figures, with the huge nose and slanted forehead. He rode a bike too but Mom's basic criteria is that they aren't shorter than she is and this dude, even in platforms, still came up way short.

I told Mom that she should try a dwarf now and then, you'd be surprise. First, they're so happy you're interested in them, they go out of their way to satisfy you sexually. Not like the tall ones that think you should be climbing all over them. But she likes them big. Big dicks, big arms, big legs. Big. That's my Mom.

The other boyfriend is older, way older but nice and how can you not be nice when gravity is your enemy. The dude is very nice and takes her to dinner, he rides a bike too and is a bit taller than her but I can see what she's thinking. As he ages, he'll shrink and then one day she'll wake up to a dwarf attached to her in bed and then she'll have to chew her arm off to escape. I think the dude is hung but then it could be that everything is just sagging a great deal and looks like he's hung. Especially the balls. Balls can hang down to your fucking knees when your seventy.

I'm not sure if Mom is into big balls. I think it's mostly big dicks. And that's okay, it certainly doesn't make her a bad person does it?

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Tomorrow Is Another Day

My biggest fear is to wake up in the morning and hear a political ad. Especially if it's a Meg ad. And I wouldn't put it past the bitch to have them. Just to flaunt that she has plenty of money to burn through yet.

I really hope the whore of Ebay goes down. I lost eighteen bucks on an Ebay deal. A pen that was crap and the seller wanting me to pay for the postage both ways to get another one. Another defected pen? I don't think so, what I wanted was my money back and to do that I would have had to go through several Ebay hurtles. No thanks, after the first two or three, I gave up and never went back. I'm not the only one to get burned on Ebay either, it seems I've ran into others with a similar story. Some did get their money but it wasn't until they fought for it but then they stood to loose more than eighteen bucks.

That's capitalism for you and Meg is one fat capitalist. Slap employees around, ship their jobs overseas, fuck the little guy as long as the capitalist can make money they would sell their mother's blood to do it.

Monday, November 1, 2010

The Invasion

We left before dark to the Flying Leap. Had to, because they descend when the sky darkens, when the light fades. Hordes of them, they come in vans, buses, trucks to knock on doors and demand candy. Not just a piece of candy, but hand fulls of it.

It takes bags and bags of candy to go through a Halloween here in the hood. All the houses lined up neat in rows, street lights, few gates and they come from miles away to beat on the doors long into the night.

We use to stay and give out candy, but it ran into thirty bucks plus one year and after we were emptied, they took coins until we locked the door and turned off the light. And they're not kids either, I mean, the ones that have sprouted pubes. Many of them looked old enough to drive themselves around. It's a rip off.

We had a few drinks and passed the time with other guys in the bar before having dinner downstairs. When we got home it was ten and still the vans were pulling up and letting kids out. Dafney pullled up to the house and let us out quick. we ran into the house locking the door behind us and kept the lights down low.

It truly is a horror.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

The Saga of Juan Of The Rose

Dafney checked his immigration status. Juan had his papers on him and showed them to Dafney. I would think the man was 'legal' since he and his wife bought a house and then lost it in the Great Recession as the downturn is being coined. I prefer the Great Ripoff By The Rich. It would be more precise.

Juan wanted the good life in America and bought a home with very little money, if any, down on the principle. Three thousand plus mortgage payments for a house that is a clapboard from the fifties in Panorama city--cement floor and no attic space at all, The roof is the ceiling.

Once the bottom went out of the housing market, his carpentry work vanished and so did, eventually, the house with all the money that they put into it including the work Juan did to improve the house. That, I think is what you call ripping someone off. Give them a fantastic deal on an overpriced item. Take the money they give you and give them something worthless, a house they can't afford and never could afford outrageously overpriced. Now you have the house to re-sale and thousands and thousands of dollars on top of it. All the banks did were to walk away with the property to sale again, eventually and some cold hard earned cash of a ruined family.

Juan now lives in an apartment in a gang infested hood. When he came to put sealant on the roof he was trying to climb a ladder with one arm. When I looked at why, his other arm was badly swollen, so bad that the skin near the elbow had spilt.

"Juan, what the fuck happened to your arm?" I asked.

"My son got in a fight with some people and they tried to kill him. I went to help my son and someone hit me in the arm with a bat when I tried to protect my son."

Months ago, when he was doing some repairs here he asked to leave early because he was looking for a better place to live. Now I know why he was so desperate.

Juan is a good carpenter but he needs direction. He needs to work for someone else. Not that he doesn't show up and do the work. He is messy. Plain and simple that's who Juan is. A simple man, who likes to smoke and throw his butts to the ground, who doesn't think twice when ridding a bucket of watered down paint on the lawn. Mexican Monkey said he could get him lots of work but for his messy habits.

His work is good and it is fast. On top of that he charges twenty-five an hour or a hundred and ninety a day. I had the roof patched and coated two years ago for three thousand. Juan put on two thick coats of roof coating and the cost for labor and materials, five hundred. That worked, no leaks in the heavy downpour we had last night and the coating is guaranteed for ten years.

And that has been the problem for hundreds of years here in the South Western United States. Land Barons fucking the poor, making themselves richer and the poor--poorer. Nothing has changed and the saga of Juan of the Rose keeps repeating. Migrants fucked over by land barons.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Village Idiot

Sitting in the backyard, drinking with the girls, I noticed Village Idiot managed to back his car out and drive east down the alley. In a few minutes he returned from the other direction and proceeded to park in his garage. It takes him some time to back out or in, I think he forgets in the middle of doing it on which way he is suppose to go.

This time, he seemed to forget that he was going somewhere once he remembered he was backing out of the garage. He came back and then--yep, backed out. Again a short time later he was back. Even the chickens were confused and I looked at the girls if they had any idea what the idiot was doing now. They didn't appear to have one, all went back to scratching the dirt and I left to ponder what in hell Village Idiot was doing, if he was actually doing anything at all.

He could st ill be circling the street. Going in and out of the garage. It could be that he is making wider circles until he gets to his destination. Who knows?

It takes a village to have an idiot and we do.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

A Night With Mexican Monkey

It was Mom's fault. She left a message with Mexican Monkey to come over and get drunk with her. Of course he came, he may not come over for a variety of reasons but for an offer to get drunk with Mom, how could he turn it down?

And, Mexican Monkey came alone. Adonis wasn't in the picture, though they texted each other through the night. Well, more like Adonis texting Mexican Monkey because it takes ten minutes for the monkey to type his name. He is clever though and quickly learned the proper responses to all texting, you know, LOL or whatever the fuck texting has brought the written word down to hyroglifics. That's why he loves Adonis to text. That way, Adonis might not catch on to what Mexican Monkey is doing, like getting drunk, or out with another boyfriend, or whatever clever little monkeys do at night. You can't text in a slur except maybe mix up the signals, like LO:( . He is such a clever little monkey.

Mom--she now has two boyfriends, one already jealous over the other and she hasn't met him in person as yet. It's an E-harmony thing. The new guy is nice, very nice in fact. Perhaps too nice for Mom's tastes. Mom likes it a little dirty, a little edgy and I can't blame her. Hell, a double burger with cheese and chili over a rice cake? There's a whole lot more burger joints around than rice cake eateries that I know of.

Mexican Monkey put his phone to my ear, so that I could hear for myself that Mom asked him over to get drunk with her. Why? Well, she's got all these moths flying around her flame and she is itchin' to burn. So does Mexican Monkey. He hasn't bed with Adonis. And until the relationship dissolves to the point where Mexican Monkey begs for just a pair of tighty-whities, sealed in a plastic bag for the monkey to remember him by, he'll be needin' to get drunk whenever the fuck he can. But that only happens after there's been actual sex and Mexican Monkey decides there are other banana trees to visit in the forest, perhaps even tastier bananas.

Poor, poor Mexican Monkey.

The two got drunk and of course I helped them out, plied them with alcohol and listened to their conversations of desire and the men in their lives. Oh, yes, nasty things too. It was a good night and once the two were laid out in different areas of the house, I cleaned up the mess and went to bed. Mom went home at three in the morning after waking Mexican Monkey that she was going. He climbed into her crib and I fed him in the morning before he went off to play at the factory.

He was so happy after a good drunk and Adonis still texting the happy monkey as he readied his face to face his workers as the Patron. Now if Mexican Monkey can dick Adonis, If he can have his wish for Adonis to grace his condo where the roses bloom and the sun always shines, than how so much more happy Mexican Monkey will be and when he is that happy--he drinks.

Poor, poor Mexican Monkey.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Shake that Booty

Drag Queen was out with her trash. She had on neon green capris and a black top. She's got no tits but she does have ass-a-plenty. There was a cigarette stuck in the side of her mouth since both hands were full of trash.

Her containers are all neat in a row. several blue ones for the waste produced by making Ecstasy. A number of black barrels for the same thing and one small green barrel for whatever they have that can decompose, which ain't much. It could be for the looks, why even bother with a green barrel when you have nothing green to put in it unless you don't want to draw attention to the squadron of blue and black containers filled with empty plastic chemical bottles.

She was quite the site, jiggling trash in her hands, the cigarette butt wafting smoke in her face causing the cheeks of her ass to squeeze tight and balance the weight in her hands and gravity of her big ass. Good thing she doesn't have tits cause that would certainly have thrown her over one way or the other.

Then the strangest thing happened. With a flick of her stiletto nails, the lid flew open and in went the trash. Drag Queen knows her trash.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Mexican Monkey Fights Back

He came before Adonis and went directly to the backyard after ordering a martini. I finished up the dinner preparation and joined Mexican Monkey with our cocktails. His little brown eyes, set deep inside wrinkled sockets, sparkled once more. The first round slid down rather well and just as I began making another batch, Adonis walked in. Really lovely to watch his walk and his smile would melt any one's heart.

Now the four of us are back with the chickens with martinis and a joint being passed around. Mexican Monkey has to be so very careful, too much grass and he'll won't be able to control his drinking, too little and he'll come off has un-hip to Adonis. Poor, poor Mexican Monkey, he wanted to chatter, to screech, he wanted to swing and play and order us all about but instead, he had to sit there like a gentleman and slowly drink his cocktail while having polite conversation. Adonis loved every minute of it. It felt natural to Adonis, to sip at his drink, have a hit on the joint and go on.

Not for Mexican Monkey, the second drink went down so fast I thought he might have spilled it. I filled his glass with straight from the freezer vodka and stuck some more olives on his stick. Mexican Monkey was loosing the battle. Another joint went around and this time he looked away, found interest in the lesbian chicken that was so obvious in her demure that she stuck out like a truck driver at a French boutique. He sipped as best he could, he touched the rim with his finger and then dipped it in the icy vodka, wetting his lips before taking an olive from his stick. It didn't work to well, while in coversation with Adonis, Mexican Monkey's eyes grew dark, his glass empty. The third glass of booze was taking effect on him while Adonis sipped at his first drink.

Poor, Mexican Monkey, as much as he tried to remain sober, he couldn't and Adonis went home alone--I think. And Mexican Monkey back to Culver City by himself not quite drunk enough and, I'm sure, ready to get there as soon as he walked in the door.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

The Sad Saga of Mexican Monkey and Adonis

For someone short and with genes waiting to explode fat cells, Mexican Monkey looks pretty damn good. He has eight and half size feet. Great if you're a girl, but as long as he keeps himself starved, the eight and half size works. If he gained weight it wouldn't take long for his feet to disappear.  Mexican Monkey has a lot of Spanish in his blood. A square jaw, light complexion, sparkling teeth. He is quite handsome, and I'm sure more so when he was younger. However, he is handsome in a daddy sort of way even when he dyes his hair raven black. It is now a kind of henna black so when he steps into sunlight, there is a henna glow coming off the black.

The boyfriend is to die for. Seriously, the dude looks like a fucking Greek statue that came to life. Little locks of hair frame his forehead and each has a tint of blond gold mixed in the brown. He has big brown eyes, perfect skin that looks like it will be another ten years before he shaves. He is slight of built. That athletic slight of built where the muscles are perfectly proportioned, like a runner.

And what the guy has, outside of looking about fifteen and being in his twenties, as if that wasn't enough--he is nice. Really, really nice. No fucking cell phone on his ear while your being introduced, quick with a comeback and comfortable in who he is. How Mexican Monkey found him is a total mystery. Some Colombian hoedown they met at.

Now, Mexican Monkey, is trying to stay sober. The dude, the Adonis, can curtail his drinking, but poor Mexican Monkey wants a thrill a minute. He crashed here this morning while the rest of us went for a bike ride. Oh, how I wanted to yell in his ear, to make greasy bacon. But I didn't, he crashed, sobered up enough to haul his drunk ass home and crash again.

They are coming over for dinner Sunday and Mexican Monkey has to stay sober enough not to make himself look like a falling down drunk.

I will have eggs for Adonis to take home. The last time he was here he said how much he loved the eggs from his father's chickens back in Columbia. Mexican Monkey wanted eggs but fuck him. I gave Adonis the eggs telling him "You can have all the eggs you want. If the chickens don't lay enough for you--I will".

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Gadzooks

Wally and I went to dinner with friends in Hollywood. A place called, Off Vine. It wasn't the only thing off Vine, there is the Spotlight, that's off Vine in another direction. And of course, both Off Vine and the Spotlight are a bit off.

For those that don't know about the Spotlight, it is the oldest gay bar that actually is in Hollywood. Not only has it been there for quite a while it is a hustler bar. The clientele of the Spotlight like 'Fresh Out of Prison' whereas Off Vine's clientele like their dishes, 'Fresh from the Farm".

One of our dinner companions that night likes both.

We took the underground, parking in North Hollywood and taking the subway from there into Hollywood, it looked like rain and its easier parking at the Red Line than trying to find a parking place any way near Vine and Sunset in Hollywood.

That is, at least Bob's excuse. He parked over by the Spotlight. Funny how that worked out. But he always parks over by the Spotlight whenever he asks us to join him for dinner. The other guest was late because he parked somewhere near Vine.

Off Vine is a nice enough place. An old, two story, yellow house from the thirties or forties. You can eat in the front yard on pleasant days. The inside was gutted to fit the kitchen and dinner tables, leaving only the stairs and support walls. The atmosphere is pleasant and so is the variety of clientele. The food is a sort of American Blend. Wild Mushroom Ravioli, Pecan Crusted Breast of Chicken. I had fried calamari, an appetizer dish with a salad. The calamari wasn't quite crisp enough and I suspect frozen before throwing it in the hot oil(a pet peeve of mine). Wally had the mushroom ravioli. I forgot what the others had, I was busy trying to get nonchalantly drunk. Our table was in a very warm section of the building, but Bob likes to see everybody coming and going, he places himself in the, 'Power Chair' as he calls it. That's the chair where you can see everybody and they can see you. I saw two walls, unless I wanted to twist my neck like a bird of prey.  And we all came with jackets and hats with no place to put them but on our chairs, still keeping us warm. I was sweating in the middle of the meal.

"Oh, there's so-and-so." Bob would comment from the Power Chair. The rest of us would careen our necks around to see whoever it was that entered or was being seated. Bob knows quite a lot of people because he never-ever cooks. Seriously, he doesn't boil water, make coffee or butter toast. It is all done at cafes and diners. His stove at home has plates stacked high from swap meets and thrift stores. Name brand junk that he collects and pack-rats away. Except for his bedroom, which I only saw once. That room was filled with stacks of DVD porno and a very large Sony television, the old tube version. The bed was unmade and the house was too, in that everywhere, were stacks of something.

Bob has a taste for rough edges in men. He likes porn houses in the late of night, one in particular, near a fire station that caters to married guys that like a good blow-job in the early morning hours before work and apparently, there a few at the fire station that enjoy the nearby porn house. I asked Bob if he would look to see if they carry, Sarge and the Sailor Boy, and if they did to buy one and announce in a loud, freshly fucked throat, how much he enjoyed this particular author's work, saying my name outloud with clear diction. Of course he didn't, what straight construction guy or firemen would want to read the latest in erotica?

After our dinner, we all divvied upped cash for the bill, paying our share. But when we got up to leave, Bob went back in for a moment. He didn't forget his hat, he took the money and paid the bill with his credit card. It's a good credit card, but now he has money for the Spotlight to buy a hustler. A hundred bucks will get you what you want at the Spotlight. "How much is that on the menu?" will vary at Off Vine but at the Spotlight, dick fresh from Central Jail is always a hundred bucks.

If you wait, like Bob does, until near closing it is like a Stock Market exchange, and that is where Bob made his money early in life, and he is still very good at it, getting the best meat at the lowest price.

Yes, dinner with friends. What could be more entertaining?

Monday, October 18, 2010

The Hood at Fall

When we got back from Cayucos everything was topsy-turvy, the weather, the house, our lives and the hood. There were neighbors to visit with fresh eggs in hand to sooth the parking disaster and the electrical emergency David Bonehead had caused. The Palace was its usual shabby self, overgrown lawn, weeds as high as the shrubs and the screamers of, Middle Eastern spit-gibberish, hoarse and muted in their speech. And no spit was spat by them in their hellos.

I think Drag Queen had a hell of hangover because the alley looked a bit untidy. Drag Queen loves her trash and usually, it's quite orderly in her stacks high above the trashcan lids. Village Idiot, I think, was lost for sometime, but that's not uncommon for him and usually found in a closet trying to repeatably open the same wall he mistakes for a door once it shuts him in. Lady of the Forest has been laying low for some time and so has Hag, probably both have done so because of the ruckus, while we were gone, caused by the Jihad Party Boys and the Palace battles between Mean Queen and Daddy.

But now a hush has fallen with the clouds and damp weather. The garden doesn't struggle for want of water. The chickens are alert and looking for bugs. The company has left and we now enjoy the quiet solitude that wet gray clouds give that lull you for the season of death that is soon to come.

Friday, October 15, 2010

The Girls

I don't know what to make of them. I guess they were glad to see us, there was no pooping in the nests the first three days after we  returned and I cleaned a pile of chicken shit out of one nest and put in fresh straw. But after three days the girls went back to their ways. Nothing like a warm cozy nest box to sleep and shit in all night. And I thought they would be happy to see us, after one laid an egg about an inch long. It looked like a pigeon egg. I'm not blaming Pete the Meat. Hell, at least he didn't fuck them, so they went without water a few days, they're still virgins--I think.

They are all laying now, and had some time out in the yard today with a little close supervision. I gave them an ear of corn, one caught a moth by jumping about three feet up, so I guess the girls are no worse for wear and they're pumping out eggs now.

The garden, with the cool weather is happy. I'll plant the lettuce seedlings I started and do some other work on the south-forty. Once the bamboo forest is removed and a redwood fence up, I'll be able to extend the vegetable garden quite a bit. The potatoes are leafing out, meaning potatoes for winter soups. Here's a recipe for potato soup that is outstanding.

Russets are good, any potato is good, and if you don't want the skins on when finished, peel the skins and use them to help make a broth. Once the potatoes are done, remove the skins or leave them on the potato. It's a big difference in flavor.

You can use leek or onion. The onion will give more crunch, the leek, a wonderful subtle flavor more like scallion. I myself, like onion. Cook the onion or leek in butter with some grape seed oil or just grape seed oil if you don't want to use butter, just until the edges begin to get transparent, leaving the inner part still white. Leek is different, you don't want to overcook leeks so add them with the potatoes and toss for a minute or two in butter and/or grape seed oil, which has a very buttery flavor.

Add your potatoes. How many? Well that's the beauty of soup isn't it. You always make more than you think and it seems to bring people over to enjoy every last bit of it anyway. Let's say a potato a person and one for the pot, large, or what ever would correspond to one large potato per person and one for the pot. Onions? one or two big ones, more if you're making a very large amount and leeks, you can be free with leeks even to having an almost equal amount of leek and potato. You do want more potato in both cases because the potato's flavor is subtle.

Slice the potato in soup spoon sizes, an inch chunk or bigger. Too small and they will break up, which if you want a creamier soup is good. But to have chunks of potatoes and slices of onion simmered in hot cream and butter is wonderfully good. After you seared the potato in the oil with the onions or leeks, which doesn't take long, and will prevent it from breaking up later on, add enough water to cover all the ingredients. You want to cover with good water, not from the tap water, get the chlorine out of water and you'll be amazed at the difference in taste in all your foods. Add some salt, more to taste but save the pepper for last or, I think better, a dash of cayenne when you add the butter near the end.

Cover and simmer just until a fork inserted in the potato can pull out. Much like for potato salad. Al dente' as the Italians say. Now add a pint(or more if you're making a large amount) of cream or heavy cream or whatever rich cream type of thing you want and a splat of butter, if you like butter, and fresh chopped parsley.

Do not let the soup boil, let it get to a small simmer, to a melting of the butter making a pool of warm yellow and the parsley still green and floating on top of the cream. It's important not to let the cream come to a boil, just a simmer, a slight bubbling here and there at most, it's done.

Serve in big bowls or cups with fresh, warm Buttermilk Bread.

I have had folks that I haven't seen in years come and ask if I would make them Potato Soup with fresh, warm, Buttermilk  Bread. The meal is like sitting by a fire with good company on a cold rainy night.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Lazarus Rising

We came home from our trip at the beach where the mayor of Cayucos had cleaned our toilet and changed the sheets and then later, got drunk with us. She was wonderful and must have Wally sitting next to her for the next Fourth of July parade. Wally, of course, is very accepting of being the star of any parade, even the ones to visit the chickens in the late afternoon. I think I might rent him out, his permanent smile and award winning ways of listening intently with an occasional nod of approval has opened the doors to royalty. The royalty being in the Hollywood crowd but still a Queen is queen wherever you are in the world.

In Freedom, by Franzen. There is a scene discussing Walter's life and the motel his parents bought where he was raised. One Fourth of July when they could count on the motel being full,  the NO VACANCY sign had been left on and they didn't figure  out  why they had vacancies until after the fourth. That's not the case on the central coast. A NO VACANCY sign apparently means you hunt down the innkeeper and ask if there is any vacancy. The mayor was always polite, an admiration I admit after hearing that she was woke at five in the morning with a couple wanting a room because they seen the sign that said, NO VACANCY right at the entrance to the motel. I would have directed them onto the beach. "That's right, go down the hill and turn left. You will see a dirt road in front of you that will put you on the sand. Do not worry, go directly forward then follow the beach until you see a house of your liking. Inspect it and if there is no one there, feel free  to use it."

It was a lot of fun on our annual Holiday. We enjoyed it, I got some writing done but when we came home it was over ninety degrees in the valley, in fact it was ninety-eight, cooling to ninety-six at the house. And when I opened the door to a home I left in really good shape: lawns mowed, chicken coop cleaned, fresh linen on the bed, clean counters, inviting-well maintained and watered garden, I saw dead and ready to die vegetation (the Maiden Hair fern that people had said to me, "How do you keep it so healthy?" was very-very dead. Marigolds dead, vegetables shriveled and the plant wilted, it took my breath away.

Pete the Meat was busy with his new found love, Fetish Photography, while here he met up with other fetish people and went to a fetish party in the heart of Fetishland, the San Fernando Valley where we live. Well, it seems, after infecting my desktop computer with twenty-two virus/spy ware programs and after I had to boot and reboot until the Norton system kicked in and spent the rest of day cleaning up the shit he waded in looking at Fetish sites, I got my computer back, finally running the other day.

It was like someone punched me in the chest. I couldn't breath walking around in a daze in the hot sun, trying to make room to put the shit away from our trip. Trying to rescue plants, picking the Maiden Hair up from where it lay on its side in the bright sunshine with every frond frozen brown at the time of its death. I walked around like Steve Martin in a daze with my pants down around my ankles clutching at things I wanted to rescue.

I've spent the last three days getting our cottage in the Val back together. And yet like Lazarus, I'll rise to do it again I suppose next year.