Saturday, March 12, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
People always find it odd when I tell them how I grew up on a cat nip farm in Arizona. I tell them that a cat nip farm is really no different than any other working farm, no different than a dairy farm nor a cattle ranch. No different than a farm that grows apples in orchards nor oranges in groves. It’s just that our farm specialized in a peculiar crop - cat nip.
Of course, cat nip isn’t peculiar to my family. The Gimbels have been slangin’ nip in the desert for four generations and other than a few acres of Dogwood my father planted in the North 40 many years ago, that’s all we grow.
The subsequent line of questioning is usually pointed at the pets we reared.
“Was it a household full of cats?”
The answer to that would be 'no'. My father was a 'dog' man through and through. Big dogs in fact; Alaskan malamutes. The Sonoran Desert is an odd backdrop for an Alaskan malamute. One wouldn’t expect to see such a canine. Large and majestic with bushy, white and black two-toned fur; all the defining characteristics of a great wolf there among the saguaros and sage brush. One of our malamutes, named Caleb, once killed a neighbor’s pit bull when the dog jumped our fence and threatened several of the area children that my mom babysat back then to make ends meet. Caleb grabbed the terrier by the back of the neck and shook the dog ‘til it went limp and its body flailed with the trajectory of the attack.
That, however, is a different story altogether.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Remember when we found these? We were Downtown where we shouldn't have been and the bus let us out to an empty lot. "Look", I said. God wrote to us in a child's hand, kindergarten paper taped to a kiosk.
He even drew a picture of a monster to capture our attention. The Lord urged us, the "People of California" toward him.
we turned away.
"You should take that", you said.
I ran back.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The year was 2009, I think. I worked as a backstock boy and lived with a terrible woman in Silverlake. When we would meet girls I was embarrassed to admit that I'd been reduced to lowly backstock attendant at a fashion retailer in Beverly Hills so Tommy would fudge the truth for me and say that I "worked in allocation management for the Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy company" I was a sad man with a fancy coat.
This dude would post variations of this flier everywhere. Some of them said things like "I want a white woman to give me money" or "I like big white or Mexican woman at least 62 inches" I feel like one of the postings boasted that his father was the first Jamaican on American T.V. but I can't quite remember the particularities. I wish I had kept more of them. He/they did/do make me happy.
In 2 parts____
part 1. You move your lips when you read on the train
I've had you pegged from jump street
part 2. tough, tough lesbian on the bus you wear an eyebrow ring ring even
as your hair turns grey you were born during the war
"If I had a stroke would you take care of me" "fuck you, you wouldn't clean my drool"
you hang up your phone