FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

Can it be? Can it possibly be Friday already?

Yes, it is - which means it’s time once again for the Little White Choon-Box to disgorge its Musical Content. Oh, boy!

This weekend, I am off to the mountains of North Georgia, where I will be enjoying a relaxing weekend at our fraternal organization’s annual regional retreat. We’ll be spending a lot of time dealing with matters both spiritual and spirituous. Glug!

Meanwhile, what’s playing today? Check it out:

1. Debbie Gibson Is Pregnant With My Two-Headed Love Child - Mojo Nixon
   
   Debbie Gibson is pregnant
   With my two-headed love child
   It’s a bigfoot baby
   All covered in fur now
   Stark raving naked in the fornication nation
   
   We were secretly married
   Out in Las Vegas
   At a little bitty chapel
   Joan Collins married us
   Rootin’ tootin’, ain’t high falutin’
   
   Rick Ashley is a pantywaist
   Mash my butt in his face
   He’s teeny tiny two inches of terror
   And they’re all gonna scare you
   Harebrained cockamamie knuckleheaded idjit galoot
   
   No truth to the rumor
   About Spuds and Debbie G
   Only went to the motel,
   Just to watch a little TV
   Hate that dog, he must die
   
   T-T-T-T-T-Tiffany
   Is wrestling in Jell-O
   Body slamming Debbie G,
   They’re covered head to toe
   Hard on, my hard on
   
   Debbie Gibson is pregnant
   With my two-headed love child
   It’s a bigfoot baby
   All covered in fur now
   Stark raving naked in the fornication nation
   I’m stark raving naked in the fornication nation
   Stark raving naked in the fornication... nation!
   
   
2. God, That’s Good - Stephen Sondheim, Sweeney Todd, Original Broadway Cast
   
   
3. Hot For Teacher - Richard Cheese
   
   
4. Ssekota - Maritu Legesse
   
   
5. Miracle Man - Elvis Costello
   
   From his first album, released in the summer of 1977. There was no way to listen to this album (“My Aim Is True”) - and this song in particular - without realizing that a blazing new talent had arrived in the world of Rock Music.
   
   
6. Blues For The Muse - The Incredible String Band
   
   
7. I’ll Follow The Sun - The Beatles
   
   
8. Nite Club - The Specials
   
   
9. Mayi A Gaye - Boukman Eksperyans
   
   
10. Sofa - Frank Zappa
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FUZZY FRIDAY

The Ark is packed with bugs and bees
And bulls and bears as well.
All packed into one little boat,
They make a Funky Smell.
Thank goodness that the Internet
Cannot transmit the reek -
To shovel out the Kitty Crap
Alone would take a week!

Friday Ark #232 - a nice, symmetrical number - is afloat at the Modulator... with Hakuna in pole position.

And if that’s not enough Photographic Felinicity for you, head over to Artsy Catsy, where Carnival of the Cats #259 will be posted sometime Sunday evening. Enjoy!

Update: CotC #259 is up.

OLD AND NEW

Downtown Fort Worth sparkles at twilight.

Last weekend, we stayed at a hotel in downtown Fort Worth. It was the first time we had done so since our wedding, over thirty-one years ago.

Back then, we had stayed at the Hilton, right across from the Water Gardens – the local landmark so prominently featured in the movie Logan’s Run. At the time, there were not too many hotel choices in downtown Fort Worth, and so there was a small crop of minor celebrities staying there. Upon our arrival, our room was occupied by Richard Kiel, the actor memorable for his steel-toothed portrayal of “Jaws” in the James Bond flicks The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, the former having been released that very summer. And the grrrl group Heart was there as well. Barracuda!

The Hilton is still there, but now it’s surrounded by taller buildings, making it difficult to spot from a distance. This time, however, we stayed at the Courtyard, AKA the Blackstone, located in the very first skyscraper to have been built in Fort Worth. It’s a grand old Art Deco building, one that has had its share of notable guests over the years.


The Blackstone: dignified Art Deco with a backdrop of glass and chrome. Check out the window washer!

Downtown Foat Wuth has undergone a sort of renaissance in recent years, with plenty of arts, shopping, and restaurants. I love the old buildings, with their detailed stonework... and I love the contrast between Old and New that confronts you almost everywhere you look.


The juxtaposition of Old and New.

You gotta love a city that respects its past even as it embraces the future... even if the municipal tap water tastes like horse piss.

More pics below the fold, for those who care to look.

Glistening tree branches form a visual counterpoint to the brickwork of a downtown building.


The old Kress department store: Art Deco classic turned Leased Residence.


More Art Deco detailing.


Art Deco designs festoon the exterior of the old Blackstone.


A shrine to famous past guests. [Click to embiggen.]


The old courthouse, a downtown landmark.


Hi-Yo Burlap! (Who was that Sacked Man?)

NEWLY RELEASED...

...in the now-moribund CD format is this Fine Album.


[Click to embiggen.]

Naw, I’m just kidding. This one is unavailable in stores... or pretty much anywhere else. It’s the product of a cute little PhotoShop-based meme Libby has been trying to propagate.

Create Your Own Album Cover!

It’s simple, especially if you have PhotoShop or some other image-editing software. Here’s all you do:

1. Go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random. The title of the article is the name of your band.
   
2. Now go to http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3. The last few words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your album.
   
3. Finally, go to http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days, where the third picture - no matter what it is - will be your album cover.
   
4. Use PhotoShop (or any similar image-tinkering app) to put it all together.
   
5. Post the result on your blog.

Clever, no?

I’m not tagging anyone with this, but if it’s your cup of tea, have at it. What I find amusing is that this random approach yields results that would look perfectly at home in the Remainder Rack of your local music shoppe. Say, does anyone still actually buy CD’s any more?

Update: Just for shits ’n’ grins, I did a second one:


[Click to embiggen.]

Hey, this is fun!

MARDI GRAS IN NEW ORLEANS FOAT WUTH

You know if you’re going to New Orleans
You ought to go see the Mardi Gras
You know if you go to New Orleans
You ought to go see the Mardi Gras
You know when you see the Mardi Gras
Somebody’ll tell you what’s Carnival for

Get your ticket in your hand
If you wanna go to New Orleans
Get your ticket in your hand
If you wanna go to New Orleans
You know when you get to New Orleans
Somebody’ll show you the Zulu King

You will see the Zulu King
Down on St. Claude and Dumaine
You will see the Zulu King
Down on St. Claude and Dumaine
Down by the old auditorium
Is where you’ll wait to see the Queen.

- Professor Longhair

Mardi Gras - Fat Tuesday - does not really register on the radar screens of us Red Sea Pedestrians, but years of living in Texas have given us more exposure than we otherwise would have had. We’ve even eaten King Cake, at the risk of breaking our teeth on the little plastic Jesus-Baby buried somewhere within.

We have not gone to see the big Mardi Gras celebrations in New Orleans and Galveston. If ever we want to be surrounded by a sea of drunken, vomiting strangers, Savannah is only four hours away... and Saint Patrick’s Day is just a few weeks from now. But last weekend we were in Foat Wuth, Texas, and we managed to find ourselves in the eye of the local Mardi Gras cyclone.

SWMBO’s mom and stepdad David, who were both celebrating Major Birthdays, took us and a handful of their friends out to dinner Saturday night. They had made reservations at Pappadeaux, a popular Cajun-style seafood restaurant - one that had been a favorite of theirs back when they had been living in Houston.

In Fort Worth, Pappadeaux is located adjacent to Pappasito’s (a Tex-Mex place) and Pappas Burgers, in what we like to call the Pappas Compound. And when we got there, it was a mob scene fresh out of War of the Worlds. Cars cruised hither and thither, all searching for increasingly elusive parking spots. After about twenty minutes of fraying tempers and agita, SWMBO finally scored a parking place and we went inside.

It was a maelstrom, a madhouse of sweating, gyrating bodies, scurrying waiters bearing huge platters of food, and hungry patrons. And that’s when we realized that we were there in the midst of a Mardi Gras celebration. Oy.

Any given Pappas restaurant will be packed on a Saturday night, and Pappadeaux is no exception. But this was extra doubleplusjampacked, thanks to the impending arrival of Fat Tuesday, when the happy Catholics of the Louisiana bayou bid a temporary pre-Lenten farewell to happy times and rich foods. And the non-Catholic population of the neighboring states is only too eager to assist in the celebration, especially as said celebration involves the Holy Trinity: Food, Alcohol, and Excess.

I tried to imagine us - a party of twelve - seated amongst that chaotic crowd, trying to hear ourselves think... and trying to keep little William and Madison from wandering off. But, as it happens, David had an ace up his sleeve.

He had reserved us a table in the restaurant’s Wine Room, a comfy little cubbyhole just the right size for our Dirty (Rice) Dozen. A little oasis of quiet amidst the chaos. It was perfect... as was the meal.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS ELDER DAUGHTER?

Dora the Explorer has nothing on our kid. Carmen Sandiego? A homebody, by comparison.

I was pleased to receive an e-mail from Elder Daughter a couple of hours ago that informed us that she had arrived safely in Dakar.

Dakar? Wuddat?

Dakar, for the Geographically Challenged, is the capital of Senegal. If you look at a map and zoom in on the bulgy part of western Africa, Senegal is the country that lies just south of Mauretania, west of Mali, and north of Guinea and Guinea-Bissau. Dakar is pretty much the westernmost point on the continent, occupying a little peninsula that sticks out of that Africa-Bulge like a zit on a humongous ass.

She’s seen a lot of Africa in the past year or so, Elder Daughter has: Egypt, Morocco, Uganda, South Africa, and now Senegal. That’s five more African countries than I’ve been to.

In the meantime, I will be perfectly content to stay here, where an occasional Gin-and-Tonic has been prescribed to ward off any possibility of malaria. Please join me in wish Elder Daughter safe travels and a happy return.

A COMIC STRIP EVEN I CAN UNDERSTAND

Pearls Before Swine ­©2009 Stephan Pastis. [Click to embiggen.]

I always knew Stephan Pastis was deranged. This clinches it.

Here he reveals the best worst-kept secret about Yiddish: It’s the best language in the world to use when you want to insult someone. And it works equally well whether the insultee understands you or not.

Update: It looks as though this Yiddish shtick is the Theme o’ th’ Week. I’ll post new strips here as they appear.

THE PENETRATING STARE

Hakuna, giving me The Look.

Never mind the legendary Jeremy Tait, he of the Powerful Eyes. Hakuna has got a penetrating stare that will slice through chrome steel.

It’s almost as if to say, “What are you looking at, Bub?”

EVIL WATER

...There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
- I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

- A. E. Housman

If Mithridates had been king of Fort Worth, he would have been deader than Abe Lincoln after the play. Immunizing himself by deliberately taking all manner of poisons would have failed to protect him against the local Tap Water.

Jeezus, it is nasty.

Years ago, the Missus’s brother Morris William used to live in North Richland Hills, a suburb of Fort Worth. At the time, we commented upon the remarkably vile tap water. When you showered in it, it gave off a pesticide-like pong that was downright scary. The idea of actually ingesting it was horrifying.

We suggested that our (then baby) nephew William’s frequent upset stomachs could be helped by substituting bottled water for that terrible chemical soup. In fact, we insisted on it. We love our nephew, and we were concerned that he might grow webbed feet - or an extra head - if he kept drinking the Local Brew. And I say this as someone who believes that, 99.9% of the time, bottled water is a terrible waste of money and resources... American marketing genius at its most pernicious. But not in North Richland Hills, where using bottled water may very well keep you alive.

What we discovered this past three days is that the problem is not confined to North Richland Hills. Not any more. For the tap water at our hotel in downtown Fort Worth was almost as bad as that old North Richland Hills shit. Ai-yi-yi!

Elder Daughter is convinced that the local water company is in cahoots with the purveyors of bottled water. Maybe... but it is also possible that the City Fathers are trying to cockroach-proof Tarrant County by adding prodigious amounts of chlorinated hydrocarbons to the water.

Look: There were plenty of places Elder Daughter and I visited in Japan where the water was hellishly sulfurous. But you were not expected to drink it... at least, not without digestive consequences. You were expected to bathe in it. And as for the smell, it was perfectly natural for something that had just issued from the bowels of a volcano. Not so the Foat Wuth water.

Mithridates, where are you when we need you?

HEY THERE, CUPCAKE

Last Wednesday, I headed up to Franklin, Tennessee with Danny, the younger son of my good buddy Irwin. Our mission: to move the Mistress of Sarcasm back to Atlanta, where she would be starting a new job Friday.

One of our first stops upon arriving in Franklin was Noshville, the local outpost of a small chain of delicatessen restaurants. I had been there before, as well as to the Nashville Noshville (try saying that three times, fast), and had been favorably impressed with the quality of their deli meats. The mere fact that deli meats are even available in central Tennessee still boggles my mind.

The Mistress started off with some matzoh-ball soup; Danny ordered a prosaic corned beef on rye. My order - a tongue, pastrami, and chopped liver sandwich on rye - actually made the waitress roll her eyes and make a face when she heard it. She was horrified. Scandalized. Revolted! (I think the chopped liver is what put her over the edge.)

I did not care. I ate my sandwich with gusto. I also ate it with a handful of delightful, crunchy-garlicky half-sour pickles. Mmmmm.

Afterwards, we went next door to Gigi’s Cupcakes. It’s not like we needed any cupcakes... not after the meal we had just snarfed down... but with certain foods, “desire” trumps “need” any day of the week. And the Mistress do love her cupcakes.


Gigi bears an armload or her Samoa cupcakes.

This place was out of control. Samoa cupcakes, based on the Girl Scout cookie of the same name, with caramel, chocolate, and toasted coconut. Malted milk cupcakes. Some concoction that involved peanut butter and bananas... and about a dozen others.

Gawd.

We bought half a dozen.

I am so, so ashamed. (No, I’m not. The Mistress devoured most of ’em.)

A FEW RAVOON RANDOM OBSERVATIONS

Everybody doesn’t like something,
But nobody doesn’t like... Mrs. Ravoon.

There may be bugs on some of you mugs,
But there ain’t no flies on... Mrs. Ravoon.

Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on... Mrs. Ravoon.

These boots were made for walking, and that’s just what they’ll do.
One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over... Mrs. Ravoon.

[Apologies to Paul Dehn.]

POSSIBLE (BUT UNLIKELY) SEQUELS TO “MENOPAUSE, THE MUSICAL”

[Being yet another piece rejected by Timothy McSweeney’s “Lists” section. Assholes.]

Meningitis, the Miniseries

Pancreatitis, the Play

Orchitis, the Opera

Sinusitis, the Sitcom

Diverticulosis, the Dialogue

Hemorrhoids, the Happening

Colonoscopy, the Colloquy

Erectile Dysfunction, the Educational Video

Alzheimer’s, the... the... what were we talking about?

QUALITY BREAKFAST

Here’s a Breakfast of Champions for you: A Thomas’s whole wheat English muffin, topped with Sweet Grass Dairy’s Green Hill cheese and my own Pastrami-Style Cured Salmon.

Beats a bowl of cornflakes like a red-headed stepchild.

FOAT WUTH FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

SWMBO’s mom and stepdad, circa 1942.

Foat Wuth Friday? Wuddat?

Even as these words are being slapped up on the Inter-Bloggy-Net, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I are enroute to the Great State of Texas, there to celebrate the conjoint birthdays of SWMBO’s mom and stepdad. Not only will SWMBO’s siblings be there, but Elder Daughter, fresh from her onstage triumph in last week’s production of My Comic Valentine in Washington, D.C., will be joining us as well!


Elder Daughter (L) onstage.

We’ll be in Foat Wuth - Cowtown! - the gateway to the West and the terminus of the Old Chisholm Trail, where the term “stock market” has nought to do with Wall Street, but lots to do with Meat.

Meanwhile, though, you’ll be wanting some Musical Entertainment... and I’m just the guy to give it to you, thanks to the kind assistance of the iPod d’Elisson.

What’s on the box today? Let’s check it out:

1. Dachau Blues - Captain Beefheart
   
   Dachau blues those poor Jews
   Dachau blues those poor Jews
   Dachau blues, Dachau blues those poor Jews
   Still cryin’ ’bout the burnin’ back in World War Two’s
   One mad man six million lose
   Down in Dachau blues, down in Dachau blues
   The world can’t forget that misery
   ’N’ the young ones now beggin’ the old ones please
   To stop bein’ madmen
   ’Fore they have to tell their children
   ’Bout the burnin’s back in World War Three’s
   War One was balls ’n’ powder ’n’ blood ’n’ snow
   War Two rained death ’n’ showers ’n’ skeletons
   Dancin’ ’n’ screamin’ ’n’ dyin’ in the ovens
   Coughin’ ’n’ smoke ’n’ dyin’ by the dozens
   Down in Dachau blues
   Down in Dachau blues
   Sweet little children with doves on their shoulders
   Their eyes rolled back in ecstasy cryin’
   Please old man stop this misery
   They’re countin’ out the devil
   With two fingers on their hands
   Beggin’ the Lord don’t let the third one land
   On World War Three
   On World War Three
   
   
2. Eliyahu HaNavi - David Chevan and Warren Byrd
   
   
3. Wood & Stone - Moonraker
   
   
4. Khasene Tanz - The Klezmer Conservatory Band
   
   
5. I. The Story of the Kalendar Prince - L. Stokowski, Rimsky-Korsakov: Scheherazade
   
   
6. Tandem Jump - Jonathan Richman
   
   
7. Take The Power Back - Rage Against The Machine
   
   
8. One After 909 - The Beatles
   
   
9. When Animals Attack - Bobby Slayton
   
   
10. The Shaft and Finale - Bernard Herrmann, Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959)
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FUZZY FRIDAY

You gotta love a restaurant that encourages parents to keep their kids on a short leash:


Unruly children? Not a problem at the Local Bagel and Smoked Fish Emporium.

I’m not sure what scares parents more: the threat of jacking their kids up with a massive dose of caffeine, or the thought of someone giving them a puppy... with all its attendant issues and responsibilities. But it matters not. Misbehaving children are rarely in evidence at the Local Bagel and Smoked Fish Emporium.

Speaking of puppies, you can get your fill of ’em - kitties, too, along with all sorts of Miscellaneous Fauna - at the Friday Ark, the 231st edition of which is afloat on the Bloggy Sea today, ably piloted (as usual) by Cap’n Steve, the veritable Modulator.

Sunday evening, Carnival of the Cats rotates over to When Cats Attack! for installment #258. Be sure to stop by and say hello!

Update: CotC #258 is up.

BERRY TWIG SONG

I don’t wait in line at restrooms;
I unzip and I just let fly.
That’s why I’m always in the best rooms.
I enjoy being a guy.

I don’t have to eat a salad,
’Cause it’s OK when guys have guts.
I react to a tender ballad
Like a swift kick in the nuts.

I don’t have to go to wedding showers.
I don’t give a crap if garlic gives me gas.
I don’t piss twenty times in seven hours.
I’m perfectly glad to sit and scratch my ass.

I’m grateful for my Equipment;
And for talcum that keeps it dry.
Let the ladies have Tits and Hipment -
I enjoy being a guy!

[Insincere apologies to Rodgers and Hammerstein.]

A GOOD OMEN

You know you’re gonna have a good day when your breakfast smiles at you...



Now, that’s what I call a real Happy Meal!

[FYI, this is exactly how my plate looked when it arrived yesterday morning. Except for the raisin eye-pupils, which I added in order to provide a “demented” effect.]

A MAN OF LEISURE

That’s what I am, beginning tomorrow... for a little while, anyway.

Today marks the last day of my long-standing gig at the Great Corporate Salt Mine, a gig that began on the very day Richard Nixon resigned his office as President of the United States.

With the exception of a two-year sabbatical at a different employer, that’s over 34½ years. I’ve spent those years in everything from technology to sales to marketing to supply chain, and some of the customers I’ve cultivated and developed have joined the ranks of the business’s most profitable accounts. Which means Jack-Shit, since the Salt Mine does not pay commissions to its own salespeople or managers. But the salary has been ever so reasonable, having succeeded in keeping the wolf away from the door for lo, these many years.

I have, in the course of my Salt Mine Duties, seen a goodly chunk of the planet that I otherwise would not have. Mexico, Panama, Costa Rica, Hong Kong, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, the Philippines, Indonesia, the Bahamas, Canada, Belgium... have I forgotten any?

It’s been a great ride, and I’ve had the chance to work with some intelligent, highly motivated people. Good people. And we’ve spent that time, my colleagues and I, in an industry that creates real value and wealth, not a business that merely shuffles money from one pocket to another. It’s an industry that, for better or worse, is central to the economies of the developed nations... and critical for the ability of other nations to join their ranks. I will miss it.

But not overmuch. New ventures are in the works; a great beast slouches toward Bethlehem to be born, even as we speak. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you. All will be revealed in the fullness of time.

Meanwhile, I am drinking a toast... a glass of fine old single malt... to a lengthy career. Great Corporate Salt Mine, ave atque vale!

FEBRUARY GUILD EVENT

The February Guild event will be held this evening at Paul’s Restaurant in Buckhead.

Some of the Guild tastings cover a wide range of wines - different grapes, different countries. Not this one. It will be sharply focused, featuring only California wines made from the Cabernet Sauvignon grape... vintage 1997.

Houston Steve and I will be there... and, we hope, the Grouchy One as well. As for what’s on the menu, here’s the Foody and Winey Agenda:

[All wines are Cabernet Sauvignon unless otherwise noted.]

Speaker’s wine
Sauvignon Blanc, to be determined

First flight
1997 Benziger Family Sonoma County***
1997 Beringer Knight’s Valley Sonoma County
1997 Franciscan Napa Valley**

Baked pork tenderloin in brioche pastry, buttered spinach leaves, truffled cabernet jus

Second flight
1997 Cakebread Napa Valley***
1997 Joseph Phelps Napa Valley***
1997 Santa Cruz Mtns. Vineyard Santa Cruz Mountains

Smoked duck breast, lentil butter-bean ragout, tangerine sauce

Third flight
1997 Caymus Estate Napa Valley
1997 Paradigm Napa Valley***
1997 Silver Oak Alexander Valley**

Braised veal hanger steak, mascarpone fregola glazed onions and mushrooms, carrots, haricots verts, braising au jus

Dessert
Chocolate molten cake, chocolate soup, crème fraîche ice cream

Postscript: Was it good? It was superb. That veal hanger steak was indescribable... the soft, tender flesh of cow-babies prepared perfectly. And the wines were excellent - not a single sour note among ’em. My favorites are noted with asterisks.

SPHINXLIKE, SHE SITS

Sphinxlike she sits, with regal mien:
More than a Cat, she is a Queen.
If you dare pet her Royal Fur,
She’ll ne’er let on that it pleases her.