BED of THISTLES

The Chocolate War

2006-01-26T06:02:00.000-08:00

I know, I know! I was just as flabber-GAS-ted, ap-PALLED, dumb-FOUND-ed, SPEEEEECH-less, THUNDAH-F***ING-struck..hold on, let me get the thesaurus here...

addled agape aghast agog astonished astounded awe-struck awed baffled befuddled bowled over confused dazed dazzled disconcerted dizzy dumbstruck flipped out floored flustered giddy lost misled muddled mystified perplexed punchy puzzled rattled reeling shocked shook up staggered startled struck speechless stumped stunned stupefied surprised taken aback thrown uncertain unglued...AS THE REST OF THE NATION!!

I was in Ohio last week attending a marketing seminar, dressed to the hilt in my "I fleur-de-lis New Orleans" t-shirt, "Rebuild New Orleans" cap, and my ripe-smelling, embossed "Relief, Rebuild, Renew" Mardi Gras-hued rubber bracelet that I have worn since early September after the BIG ONE. I was so defiantly proud of my city and I was ready to roll like a gaudy float where the delighted, the suspicious and the curious would circle around me and ask me a gazillion questions about New Orleans. I was ready to toss 'em the "Yes, we're fine but we're not really fine" answer, jump on my soapbox and bowl right over 'em with the whole lagniappe.

Mind you, the only question I've been accustomed to around New Orleans is, "So? How did you make out?" and I know they are not asking me about my frenching technique. We ask this question to one another in empathy because whatever the answer is, we know, we know. It doesn't matter if we lost much or hardly any, we're all drinking for the same reason - a sense of loss. We tend to huddle over our Bud Lights and bemoan our fate. We may be different but we're one, brutha! So we throw away our money on booze rather than sheetrock and identify with one another, we BOND!

F**k FEMA, gimme another Bud Light!

Now being in Ohio, it was a nice respite from the daily reminders of devastation back home -- the rolling hills, the snow-dusted barns and everyone there is gosh-darn NICE! But I was glad to be an outsider because there's no place....well, you get the drift.

So there I was in my hotel room, listening to bits and pieces of the news while I was getting dressed when Ray Nagin, MY mayor of MY city appeared on tv and said...

"It's time for us to rebuild a New Orleans, the one that should be a chocolate New Orleans. And I don't care what people are saying Uptown or wherever they are. This city will be chocolate at the end of the day. This city will be a majority African-American city. It's the way God wants it to be. You can't have New Orleans no other way; it wouldn't be New Orleans." (For full transcript, click here!)

Silence.

Stunned silence.

More stunned silence.

My jaw lit. ter. ral. ly dropped to the floor...no wait, I was on the fifth floor, it went through ALL FIVE floors and into the basement! I was absolutely astounded. APPALLED! Just reread the second paragraph...

It was then I really felt like an outsider looking in! The weight of my unhinged jaw buckled my knees and I HAD to sit down.

What. The. F**K?!

I felt betrayed. I voted for this man, supported this man and greatly admired this man immediately after the storm when he broke down and cried for help! This man wore New Orleans on his sleeve and I was proud of him! Forget that he is black and I'm white, we're BROTHERS, man, BROTHERS!!!

Well, all that went out the window, down several floors to the traffic below, and run over so many times that it was embedded in every tire in the city of Akron.

I was rendered immovable. The world ceased to exist around me and I don't think I even blinked! The timing just couldn't be better for this NOLA PR Puf'N'Strut. For a moment, I felt like a fool to be a New Orleans brand in the middle of Ohio and wished that I had a Saints paper bag somewhere in my luggage. But then this slow burning resolve just grew within me and I thought, "Oh hell, if I can survive Katrina, then all this is just the aftermath. Let it roll!"

So I donned my NOLA gear and headed out the door, ready to face the world...and the ridicule. Everywhere I went, there were questions of "What IS going on down there?", "What is up with THAT mayor?" and a couple of "Got chocolate?" Even an owner of a classy, upscale restaurant dressed in a tux leaned closely and said to me in a wide-eyed, conspiratorial whisper, "I saw CNN today...you must be dying!"

Oh, I was dying alright but I was bristling polite, trying to take it all in stride. Certainly, it was not the type of questions I was expecting when I arrived in Ohio and believe me, I was ready to knock a few heads but being from New Orleans, I didn't want a tv camera to appear out of nowhere and spotlight another lunatic from the Chocolate City to go Willy Wonka!

I suppose with a few eye rolls and a loud exasperate sigh, I could get my point across without mentioning a thing about chocolate but inquiring minds wanna know! SO here's my Cocoa Puffs:

Mr. Mayor, you said that you had a deep and meaningful conversation with two of the most powerful figures in the world: Martin Luther King and God (in that order according to you). While it may be surprising that as white chocolate (I AM a New Orleans resident....), I am very familiar with King's powerful and passionate "I have a dream" speech. Here was this man who spoke VOLUMES about Freedom that resonated with every man, woman and child! I mean, Marty can move MOUNTAINS with words, man! I, for one, would stand up and applaud his speech!!! Now that he has passed on to the heavenly plane, all he can say to you (and to us) from the other side is "I don't like that" and "I don't like that either"?

Shoot! And I thought my chances of singing would be much better than my earthly croaking once I reach the other side! Now I'm so depressed and disillusioned!

But then you conversed with God (albeit briefly). My heart lifted a beat! Pray tell! What words of infinite wisdom have God doth part with you!

And God spoketh: "I am mad at you and the citizens of New Orleans! America too! I am so fed up with all of you and your lame-brained shenanigans! Year after year, I've sent down hurricanes to pound into your thick numbskulls and I'm not getting through! Ivan and Hugo, Dennis and Andrew, Cindi, Katrina and Rita! Heaven, I even threw in Alpha through Zeta but y'all are still not getting the message!!! FOR THE LAST TIME, KNOCK IT OFF AND MAKE IT ALL CHOCOLATE! I WANT IT BY THE END OF THE DAY - NO OTHER WAY ABOUT IT, YA HEAR?!?!?"

Boy, I can hear the sound of bible pages across America flapping open for discussion on this entirely new revelation! Who woulda thunk that CHOCOLATE would be gospel! Pass the bon-bon, cher!

I was about to cross off James Van Praagh, Sylvia Browne, John Edward and Pat Robertson off my Divine Intervention list, you went back and apologized for all the "wrong" things you have said -- or actually what Marty and God have said. My faith has been shakened! Come on, Mr. Mayor, who's talking what? Did you really have a conversation with Them or not? Because if you're really serious, I'm going to haul all my Elmer's® Gold Bricks down to City Hall to pay for a spiritual reading with you! Or were you just, and I quote Couch Tommy, being glib?

Believe me, Mr. Mayor, I'm all for free speech, even if it was from the other side but right now we, the hurricane-ravaged, FEMA-weary citizens of New Orleans are in no mood for that kind of hooey! We've already been blown apart by the Bitch so we do NOT need to be blown even further apart by a Blowhard! The time is to UNITE not DIVIDE our quest for a better New Orleans! To do so, we must call out to every local, state and goverment level for assistance to better our communities, our schools, OUR LEVEES -HELLO?!, our lives and our city but it all begins here with the tip of our tongues, not slip of our tongues!

But since you've already let the cat out of the bag, I can't see why we can't don a "Willy Nagin And The Chocolate City" t-shirt and fend for our city ourselves.

Melancholic

2005-12-13T17:25:00.000-08:00

I was interrupted from my reverie by the bartender as I stood there with a drink in front of me left untouched. With the patrons drunkenly dancing in the bright lights to the tunes of a rocking band behind me, I must have appeared to be out of sorts and I was.

“Is everything alright? You seem....melancholic.”

Melancholic.

I brushed her off with a wave of my hand, embarrassed by my transparency. “Nah, just thinking.” Grabbing my drink, I tipped her and walked off.

Maybe it was the booze. Or maybe it was Christmas season. Could be that that kind of music has put me in that frame of mind. I don’t know…but I do know.

It’s what lay out there beyond those doors into the darkness of my beloved New Orleans and what remained in my memory before then. Then. The days before Katrina.

Like Dorothy who opened the door to the glorious city of Munchkinland where everything was Technicolor, I can still see myself in my mind being silhouetted by the light pouring from outside in as I stepped into the hustling, bustling neighborhood of mine. People were just on the go to destinations unknown. Neighborhood cats languished on stoops, eyeing the birds pecking at breadcrumbs on the street left by the elderly lady two doors down. Eager dogs dragged their owners down the street while young mothers with their children in tow pointed out every little thing in description. Bikers flashed by, tilting their heads in acknowledgement and neighbors waved hello as they climbed into their cars, hurrying off to work. But no matter the weather, rain or shine, hot or cold, it’s always something different when I opened the door to an ever-changing world and yet it was always the same.

Beautiful.

Now it’s all gone – blasted by the winds and water of August 29th. That front door that once belonged to my home remain closed and all that lay beyond that door to the outside world has ceased to exist. The million of colors have now been reduced to two – sepia and gray. There is nary a sight or sound of birds that chirped or scolded the cats below from the highest perches nor a smiling face that can be seen anywhere. Not a fresh-faced child can be found peering curiously into a garden up and down the block. Even the clocks and calendars don’t have numbers anymore – hours and days are suspended in timelessness and all that is left is the dust of the past.

New Orleans has become a soulless city and in my mind, I lead a really charmed life then and never knew about it…until now. Everyday is a reminder whether I drive by darkened homes marked with amber and gray striations, their doors and windows exposing the hollows from within or open the local paper to front page news that blare Discontentment, Hopelessness and Strife. Every morning, I wake up to another day, a different kind of day to a different door that is far from my home and this time around, it’s not the same. It’s a different world that does not belong to me, nor I to that world.

While Christmas is on its way, the holiday is still too far in the distance to even feel the spirit. If I had my door, just then, maybe I can open it to the magic of Christmas where I can see my people hurrying by my stoop, arms laden with gifts, disappearing into the light of gold as they stepped into their homes. If I had my door, I would feel the icy winds chap my face, while I string my stoop with lights, beckoning to my neighbors that Christmas is on its way to New Orleans. If I had my door, I would see the children’s faces illuminate the night in anticipation of Santa’s arrival, eagerly hoping and wishing for all they wanted and more. If only I just have my door, just one more time, I would be down on my knees to thank God for the gifts that I opened each and every day beyond that door. Just one more time....

Instead, all that fades into melancholic as I mourn the loss of my door.

THANK GOD, I AM FINE

2005-09-04T11:16:00.000-07:00

This is the first time in days since I am able to communicate to the outside world! If anyone is reading this, I AM FINE!

PLEASE, please donate anything for my city, we NEED your help! Please post my blog on yours and ask them to blogroll me and I PROMISE you, you will be thanked - one way or another, I PROMISE you that I will thank you somehow!

I don't have much time to post but this is a story of a lifetime, a story that I wish never happened. I managed to evacuate before the storm hit but I left with just two suitcases of clothes and shoes, photos and momentoes. I took off for Kentwood, Louisiana and even there, we lost electricity and the next day, water. It was devastating to me and my spirit. We then regrouped in Mandeville where there are water and generators to power fans, refrigerator and other small appliances.

I have not nor am I allowed to return home but from what I hear, my house was underwater so I pretty much lost everything. I don't care about that, I'm just lucky to be alive and my family and friends are alive. My city that I love so much is pretty much ruined by Katrina but what really devastates me is that those damn thugs and looters further destroy New Orleans. It's unbelievable.

I've been trying to be strong but there are times that I just break down and cry. The aftermath is hard to endure but I refuse to give in. I HAVE to be strong for me and New Orleans....I have to.....it's the only way that I and New Orleans can survive.

For those of you who are reading this in the comfort of your own homes, consider yourself very, very lucky. I never, EVER thought I would experience this in my lifetime and now, I realized that I took my life before Katrina for granted. From here on out, I know what my priorities are and what is and what's not important, it's life and all that encompasses it, that is so beautiful.

From now on, I will lead a zen life...to simplify my life with less material things and more awareness to those who I love. God, I love them so much that I cannot wait to see them again and hold them and hug them for the longest time and never want to let them go.

I promise you, I will be back. I just want to let you know that I'm okay. I will be out for a while but I PROMISE you, I will be back.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONCERN AND PRAYERS!! LOVE YOU ALL!!! If anyone needs to get in touch with me, PLEASE CALL MY CELL PHONE 504-723-0628!!!!

Krazy Kat Eyes New Orleans

2005-08-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, I thought that we were safe from Hurricane Kat but it merely sniffed at battered Florida and turned its finicky head for fresh meat. Feeling like a wary mouse facing the jittery kat, I'm contemplating on whether I should hold on to the big cheese or drop it and run. This kat's tail is just too twitchy for me to take decipher its intentions so I'd rather be safe than have this kat pounce on me!

According to the National Hurricane Center's map and to the latest report, this is not looking good for us New Orleanians. For those who don't know, New Orleans is several feet below city level - in some areas by 30 feet!! Because of the erosion of marshlands south of New Orleans which acts a buffer, our coastline has been been receding due to past hurricanes, continuous sedimentary discharge of the Mississippi River into the Gulf and other natural causes as well as lack of state funds for the coastal restoration program. Since there is less land to break down hurricane winds, the warm waters will uphold its strength before striking and deluge the city with Gulf waters and rain. That's one problem.....the levees are another. According to the Times Picayune article recently, there is speculation that the levees in some areas have been declared structurally unsound. With a break in the levees, the mighty Mississippi River will have a new diversion and flow right into the city.

So what does this all mean? To give you the visual of what will happen to my city, watch this*!

Here's another way of looking at it. Put a bowl in a sink full of water and run the faucet into the bowl. When the bowl fills up to the brim, it will sink. That's New Orleans. So if this hurricane is indeed THE ONE, it'll be months or even years before the waters will recede. Why? Our pumping stations will be underwater as well.

So where does that leave me? With a few belongings and a prayer.

Until then, I'll keep you posted.

*For more information on this, read this.

Illustration Friday: Reflection

2005-08-26T20:18:00.000-07:00

I've joined Illustration Friday, a web-based illustration circle. Every Friday a new theme is issued, and I have a week to create and upload an illustration relating to that theme.

This week's theme is "Reflection". I remember as a kid, I used to partake on nature's ink-blots in the sky and reflect on why I see things the way I interpret them rather than just the way they are.

Anyway, this is my first time illustrating using a computer program rather than drawing or painting. It took me a few hours but eh, I'll get the hang of it.

Channel Surfing USA

2005-08-25T19:51:00.000-07:00

I’m not gonna bore you with my summer vacation pics because I didn’t take any. Instead I’ll just bore you about how I spent my summer vacation at my mom’s house.

Mom asked if I could come and spend the weekend with her and help her around the house. I was glad to oblige and even took off more than the weekend to help her. Besides, I reeeeally miss her cable. But first, I wanted to take my mom to a fancy restaurant downtown called the Polo Lounge where Jonathan Wright, a renown chef serves the finest luncheon in town.

DAY 1

I showed up at my mom’s house ready to take her to the buffet and she greeted me with “Is that what you’re wearing?” Not “Hi, hon” or “GLAD to see you!” or even “Gee, another day of global warming” but instead she said, “Is THAT what you’re wearing?”

Okay, I thought this was a mother-daughter type of thing but I didn’t know that sons get the flak too. I looked down at my clothes. Nice black sandals, hip jeans, and a dressy-casual shirt. I shaved and combed my hair. The last look in the mirror I recalled said YOU’RE COOKIN’, GOOD LOOKIN’!

So I asked her defensively, “Yeah, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing, ma?”

“Nothing, dear,” she said dismissively.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’? Ya brought it up so I must be wearing something obNOXious.”

“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing. It’s nothing,” as she went looking for her purse. There’s that “nothing” word again, that humongous implication that just hung in the air like a very foul stench.

Well, this good looking guy just ain’t gonna take THAT so I dismissed THAT and dragged her ass to the buffet.

DAY 2

My mom gave me the to-do list verbatim but first asked if I wanted to go with her to The Red Maple for dinner since my little sister is waiting on tables and she could really use the $100 tip. For their awesome filet mignon, I agreed and besides, it would be fun to give my little sister the runaround.

My mom then proceeds to tell me not to wear anything like THAT the day before.

DAY 3

I was watching The Discovery Channel for 5 hours straight about the dinosaurs and cavemen when my mom came in the room wearing her ancient housedress from the Paleolithic Era. I made a snide comment if she was planning to go anywhere in THAT.

Zing.

I realized later that the evil eye she gave me meant that I had to go in search for supper like a caveman.

DAY 4

I watched Animal Planet for 6 hours straight, fascinated with all the God-given creatures that just kept gnawing on each other. For some strange reason, I was hankering for sloppy barbecued baby back ribs.

DAY 5

I continued with the chores while my mom went to get her hair fixed. All the whilst, I wondered why she needed to get her hair “fixed” instead of getting her hair “done”. It’s not like the beautician had to bang her Sally Mae Brown hair back into shape. You fix things like a broken lawnmower or a broken cable wire but how do you “fix” hair?

Guess it’s a southern slang among women in New Orleans and I needn’t spend another thought on such vapidity. It’s time for Comedy Central!

DAY 6 (THE LAST DAY!)

I crammed all my cable viewing while washing clothes before I returned home to my funky tv with horrible reception and can only watch Channel 8 and 26. Reluctantly, I packed my things and bid cable good-bye…..and my mother too.

She handed me all her leftovers, hugged and thanked me for helping her around the house. She paused for a moment as she picked at the lint on my shirt and said, “I love you.”

“And John, please get rid of that shirt.”

On vacation...

2005-08-18T17:31:00.000-07:00

Wish I was there but that's the postcard I'm sending myself. Be back next week!

CAUTION: Viewing indecent exposure may cause poor judgment, lack of coordination or possibly early death.

2005-08-18T09:36:00.000-07:00

I came across this article and a few thoughts came to mind: “How did I miss the call for participants in the erotic study?”, “Why are tax-dollars being wasted on this no-brainer of a study?”, “Could I conduct my own erotic study?”, “Do I have a case to get my job back?” and “What is it about boobs that make me lose train of thought?”

Erotic Images: Strange, Temporary Effect
When we see a flash of nudity or violence on a television screen or computer monitor, the visual image so overwhelms our brains that we actually fail to process what we see immediately afterwards. It's a kind of temporary blindness.

OOOoooohhhh, so THAT’S why I didn’t see or hear my former boss walk in while I was sitting there agog at those HUGE naked tits on my computer monitor. That also explains the time lapse when I finally came to and found myself sprawled on my couch with a pink slip in my hand and packed boxes at my feet.

I could use this information to file a suit against my previous employer and prove that I was WRONGFULLY terminated after the fact of Googling for the definition of ‘abreast’ and was being blindsided by those HUMONGOUS mammaries on HOT SLUT GIRLS.

Honest - it was not my fault!

Researchers from Vanderbilt University and Yale University have concluded that people fail to detect visual images that appeared one-fifth of a second after emotional or erotic images, whereas they can detect those images with little problem after neutral images.

We, the people pay these brilliant researchers to study smut and arrive at conclusions we already know? C'mon...it's quite evident that since men were able to walk upright on land, we've fallen all over the place whenever we pass beautiful women with nice T&As. Feet, motion, vertical fixtures and plain janes became nonexistant!

We could have saved our money and conducted our own erotic study by flipping channels on tv:

“New Super-Turbo Kotex tampon…” *click* “…the nice scent of Febreeze…” * click* “PRAISE THE LORD, ALMI-“ * click* “Call 555-DEAL for 2-for-1 Domino’s pizza” boop-boop-boop-beep-beep-bip-baap * click* “...this kitty litter STINKS….” * click* “Samantha, what do you think of my boobs?” aaaaaaaaaand time, space and pizza delivery guys cease to exist.

Here's another way we can put that theory to the test. Ladies, take off your blouse and take a walk.

Down the 4400 block of Iberville Street….on the right side…..in front of a beige building…..with a porch.

They dubbed it "emotion-induced blindness." (Me thinks it should be "BOOB-induced blindness"). This effect can explain some common human behaviors. "If you are simply driving down the road and you see a naked woman on the side of the road, the odds are that it is going to capture your attention and for a fraction of a second afterwards, you are going to be less able to pay attention to the other information in your environment," Zald said. "So you might not see that car coming at you or the person crossing the street because your bottleneck for information processing has been jammed."

This happened to a friend of mine who drove by a HUGE billboard with 4 busty strippers promoting a strip club in town. He excitedly pointed out to his passenger that Alyssa was one of the Gold Club girls, not paying attention to the oncoming trunk of a 84 Dodge Daytona. It was a very minor fender bender but he sustained MASSIVE injuries when his girlfriend, the passenger throttled his bottleneck.

As for myself, I find that often times, when a sexy busty woman come into view, I tend to stop in mid-sentence and........

And if I don't?

2005-08-16T06:08:00.000-07:00

I went to my favorite Chinese restaurant, Oki Nago for lunch and from a fortune cookie, I received this.

At 2¢ per fortune, the writer must hate his job.

Death of a Locksmith

2005-08-12T23:45:00.000-07:00

AAAAAAAUUUUGGGHHH!!!

I locked my keys in the truck.

And left it idling.

For. 5. HOURS!

Perfect……on the day that gas prices have jumped SKY HIGH – BIFF, BAM, BOOM – STRAIGHT TO THE MOON, BABY! AND MY 94 CHEVY GUZZLER IS JUST GUH-GUH-GUHZLING THE GAS OUT OF THE GULF.

Called every fucking locksmith in the Yellow Pages and they were out assisting other fucking morons who fucking locked themselves out of the ENTIRE fucking city!

I had to wait an HOUR before I can get someone to pop the lock because my call was placed in the ORDER IN WHICH IT WAS RECEIVED!

DID I NOT JUST SAY THAT MY TRUCK HAS BEEN BURNING A HOLE IN THE OZONE LAYER?!?!

“I’m sorry, sir. Someone will be with you as soon as possible.”

Ppfftt…what’s an hour? We’ll just let the engine BURN BABY BURN!!!

Got a call from the locksmith that he is lost. Would I please stand outside to flag him down. No trees for shade, the office is out of view and I had to stand there like an idiot in the buh-LAZING sun but NO PROBLEM, BECAUSE HELP IS ON THE WAAAAAYYY!!!

As I stood there, I realized that I am the end result to the cause-and-effect of my own stupidity….key locked in >idling truck spit fume >stratosphere lose protection >UV radiation blast my epidermis >skin sprout melanoma = I die.

FINALLY he shows up and gets out of the truck and then his face looks like he has to take the biggest shit in his pants.

“Aw, man. I left my tools back there.”

That's when I called for a new locksmith because as it turned out, I was not the end result.

It's the ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES!

2005-08-11T19:56:00.000-07:00

As an ITALIAN-American, I have to take a stance against this blasphemous website that is making my tangy sauce boil! As a lover of the tomato, I am angered that someone has made a mockery of the divine vegetable: Tomatoes are evil!

Here’s an excerpt from the website:

Any fruit (or vegetable to the ignorant) of the numerous cultivated varieties of tomato, a plant of the nightshade family - the highly poisonous deadly nightshade is a relative and therefore is evil as such.

Oh, forgive moi for being “ignorant” for calling a tomato a "vegetable". Now really...let's think about it for a moment, shall we? If it is INDEED a fruit, an EVIL fruit if you will, then shouldn't the bible be rewritten as such that God hands the tomato to Eve and said, "Eve, thou shalt NOT eat thy tomato, NOR shalt thou dice, chop or puree thy tomato. Thou shalt NOT share thy tomato with Adam or I will forever banish thou both from Hidden Valley."

But let's not bicker on the tomato as a fruit or a vegetable. Let's just say, "to-MAY-to, to-MAH-to" and move forward. What's really the issue is how ABSURD that the tomato is thought to be EVIL! Let's hear what one tomato lover, Nell has to say about the preposterous slander of the precious tomato:

Satan in general is evil, Satanic people are evil, sharks are evil, jellyfish are evil, Mexicans are evil (hey now, they invented SALSA so let’s be nice!), snakes are evil, cramps when you're having that time of the month is evil (uh….could we leave THAT out?), dentists are evil, Pizza Huts are evil (whoa there, Nelly….pizzas have TOMATO sauce), joblessness are evil, etc., etc., etc., blah, blah, blah Evil Satan Tomatohead! Yeahhhh, yeahhhh but tomatoes are a matter of opinion to people but to call them EVIL? You're so distorted cause you probably live in a tomato house and you bathe in tomato juice cause you got skunks all around you who squirt you with their funky smell, and you eat tomato burgers, tomato cookies, tomato chips, tomato jelly, tomato popsicle, tomato ice cubes, tomato chocolates, tomato dressing, tomato clothes, tomato license plate, tomato dog, tomato momma, tomato best friend SO GO TO TOMATO HELL, EVIL SATAN TOMATOHEAD!!!!!!!!

Uh………….thanks for your two cents, Nell.

AS I WAS SAYING, since the delectable red orbs have been on this tomato-shaped earth since the dawn of time and have been eaten for centuries, how could these anti-tomatoers claim that the revered FRUIT be poisonous if they are still used in many ethnic cuisines today? I've eaten tomato paste out of cans, chomped on ketchup sandwiches (dead serious), popped millions of tomato cherries in my mouth and let 'em squirt every which way and live to see another day! Here's Curtis, another tomato connoisseur who can expressed my sentiments exactly:

Yeah, tomatoes are red, man. And I guess if red is an evil color, then cherries, raspberries, strawberries, mulberries, apples, and about a billion other red things are evil too, like the entire inside of your body. Just because your mom made you eat tomatoes or something when you were a toddler, it doesn’t mean the food is going to kill anybody. Rabbits eat raw tomatoes, dude. They don’t die and they don’t cook their tomatoes. Tomato worms eat them and yeah, I guess werewolves eat them but hey, werewolves are people too, right? At least until the full moon comes out.

What the f*ck are you smoking, Curtis?!? Tomatoes???

Moving along….I found out that there are scores of others who are incensed by the website and they are absolutely red with RAGE! So FURIOUS are they, their faces look frighteningly like tomatoes! Since I’m wearing a white shirt, I’m going to step aside before the tomatoes explode and let Brick, the tomato aficionado speak eloquently for millions of tomato lovers everywhere:

This is the most f*cked up website I have eva seen. R u all on drugs or something? How the fuck did u get that tomatoes r evil? They're just fruit, dickheads. Maybe u should get a life or something, maybe get laid every now and then, LOSER! Maybe u should also move out of ur momma’s house and get a life!

*sigh*.........at least, Brick says that the tomato is a fruit.

Pass the etouffee, please ma'am!

2005-08-10T21:14:00.000-07:00

Now that I've returned from the LRA Food Show, it's back to the blog. Don't want to bore you about the biz of the show itself but I've sampled every bit of food offered at the show. Some were "ho-hum" (Zatarain's Cajun Rice), some were "mmMMMmm" (HR Brill's cookies) and some were "BLECH!" (Sysco's Crawfish Etouffee [ay-too-FAY] - that shit was NASTY!).

After all that chomping, my pants are so tight, I'm afraid to sneeze and bust a button. It has happened before....TWICE!! (Beware: a button can become a hurtling projectile that can put an eye out or in one case, crack a computer monitor. cha-KIIIING!.)

>>>ATTENTION GAP: QUADRUPLE STITCH BUTTONS ON ALL KHAKIS! Us guys tend to wear pants 2 or 3 size smaller than our actual waist size because we think our middles haven't changed since 1992!<<<

Anyway, as I always do first thing in the morn, I read The Art of Getting By (you should bookmark this since it is a very insightful and ENTERTAINING read), Janet (this gal loves to laugh at others) posed a very interesting question about which salutation we should use when addressing someone and should we be offended when a particular salution has been bestowed upon us.

I don't know about the general population of the polite society (Yo, Emily P! Ain't there any nice people in the US of A? What's the stats? HUH?! Em P's a dead ma'am?! Maybe then Miss Manners would know...) but here in New Orleans as a southern gentleman, I believe it’s all about SITUATION, SITUATION, SITUATION when addressing one by title or name.

Generally speaking, I always say, “Excuse me”, “Yes, please” and “Thank you” without use of a title.

"EXCUSE ME but your skirt is caught in your panties!" or "THANK YOU for such an awesome present" (even though "regift" comes to mind).

But there may be times where I have used “sir” and “ma’am”, but only sparingly and in formal settings. In formal settings, Sir is always Sir, no other way about it UNLESS he asks me to call him, “Mr. So&So” or simply “So”. Most guys prefer to be called by their first names. (You can call me John or you can call me JD but puh-LEAZE don't call me "Bra"!)

For women, I always use the courtesy of addressing her as “Ma’am” or if I'm unsure of what to call her, I simply use the polite nod as a formal acknowledgement of her presence. (I don’t know who you are but I see your ta-tas in front of me). If she sees that I am very interested in her presence, invariably she will volunteer her name (and in some cases, her ta-tas).

Now the title, "Miss", I never use because to me, it sounds condescending, which may be why I use that title when I admonish my niece, “LITTLE MISS MAGGIE! STOP TEASING THE CAT!”

In other settings, titles can be very informal such as “DUDE, gimme a beer, will ya?” or “YO! Where are the BEEF JERKIES?!” But sometimes, an informal yet polite title can be misconstrued as crass and therefore get me in trouble: “Hey BABY, you got nice ta-tas! Wanna go somewhere for a touchy-feely?”

In volatile situations, certain titles can be used to address the matter at hand: “ASSHOLE, I DON’T GIVE A FLYING RAT’S ASS IF YOUR DOG IS DOING ITS DUTY, YOU’RE GONNA GET THAT OFF MY LAWN OR I’M GONNA SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS ALONG WITH THE DOG!”

So to make a story longer, I'd like to share an interesting bit: A friend of mine, Caroline and I were strolling on Tchopitoulas (chap-it-TOO-lus) Street when I accidentally bumped into a young man, knocking him off-balance.

"Oh, EXCUSE me, sir. I'm so SORRY about that," I apologized profusely because I almost knocked him to the ground due to my sheer muscular size (okay, I was a little husky). He nodded in acceptance of my apology and continued on his way.

Caroline berated me for calling the young man “sir” because he was “practically a teenager!” I told her that “sir” has nothing to do with age, it simply means respecting another person’s presence (at least according to my book).

We argued about it at length and finally, I countered, “Look, BITCH! What did you want me to say? ‘HEY KIDDO, STEP ASIDE WHEN SIR IS COMING THROUGH?!”

And at that, she smacked me.

So, let this be a lesson to you gentlepeople, titles can be a delicate subject and it takes a little finesse when addressing one by title in certain situations…especially among women.

- Sir Dude

Start Off To Hell

2005-08-05T23:33:00.000-07:00

I had to make a few stops for work and had my route all planned out. I figured it would probably take me an hour to an hour at most to hit all the locations. So with my iced coffee, cell phone and keys in hand, I set off for a short trip. This is the route I had envisionsed.

But oh-HO was I so WRONG! After getting tangled up with traffic, detours and deadends, my route turned out to be like this!

I need a couple of Fukidol.

D.I.N.F.!!

2005-08-04T21:20:00.000-07:00

I woke up in a great mood this morning and sat down to a bowl of red beans and rice for breakfast (hey–why does it always have to be eggs?) while reading the morning paper. Started making mental notes for the weekend as I got dressed for work. I pulled on my jeans, put on a polo shirt and sneakers and I was on my way. Sang (horribly but ain't nobody with me in my truck so who cares) along with The Cure on the radio, "It's Friday, I'm in love." I'm stoked! I can't wait for the clock to tick 5!

When I walked into the office, my sneakers made a screeeeeeeeeching noise across the linoleum floor. Everybody was dressed in proper office attire!

DANG, IT'S NOT FRIDAY!

#@$*&%!

I'll have a bowl of flatulence

2005-08-03T11:32:00.000-07:00

Since it's hump day, I'm going to eat low-cal foods and be even more productive...although this has no association with Wednesday whatsoever. I'm just doing it for the hell of it.

Speaking of "association", here's the latest from Luna Nina.

Risks:: Stupid
Abdominal:: Not so flat
Radiant:: Blinding
The usual;:: Red Beans & Rice
Mix and match:: personalities and attitudes
Wireless:: brain without coffee
Remedial:: fix
Mile:: gone by a...
Long lost:: ugly shirt
Only one:: ME!

Eating Lucky Charms is not a responsible thing to do on a rainy day

2005-08-02T08:01:00.000-07:00

I woke up an hour earlier than normal because the lightning was flashing in my room but no thunder. My room was dark and gray. I put the pillow over my head and fell back to sleep. Weird dream I had. Something about half-man (bottom), half-eagle (top) was found dead in a huge nest. He (or it) was about 6 foot tall with huge wings but the bottom part had human legs that wore a silly pair of boxer shorts and a pair of bright red Converse Hi-tops. (For some odd reason, I remember thinking, "Hey, those look like MY legs except I don't wear Converse.")

Anyway I was shocked to see this weird thing lying dead in the nest. I poked it with a stick to be sure but it was definitely dead. I ran off to tell somebody about my find but instead I ended up in my apartment with bundles of uncashed federal checks in my hands. I tallied up the checks and I was over a million dollars richer but when I went to the bank, the teller spoke in her nasally voice that all the checks were expired.

"FUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKK!!!"

It was then I woke up again, groggy and perplexed (not to mention annoyed that all the checks were useless, never mind that it was only a dream.) I mean, what the fuck was that dream all about?! That didn't even make SENSE! (My therapist is going to have a doozy with that one!)

As I laid there, I looked at the clock and already I was late. I contemplated on whether I should go to work or just stay in. The room was dark and cozy unlike the world outside my window that was dank and dreary. But Me #1 (the responsible me) kicked me out of bed and dragged my ass to work.

Sometimes I wish Me #2 (the fun me) would just kick his ass and do what I/he WANT(s)!! I wanted to stay in and sleep all day, get up periodically to eat a bowl of tooth-decaying Lucky Charms, go to the bathroom and just go back to sleep. But Me #1 has to be a freaking worry-wart that if I don't work then my bank account will empty out, my possessions will be repo-ed and the whole world will crumble. But Me #2 thinks, "All work and no play makes John pathetic."

Me #1 rule the days Monday through Friday. As for the weekend, it's a battle between the two Mes. Sometimes the sourpuss Me #1 takes over and puts a damper on my weekend by doing chores, gym, paying bills, etc. But if Me #2 has a drink (you know me by now that it's never "a" drink) then Me #2 gets really obnoxious and ruins the good weekend (which is fine by me but it really ruins the orderly life.)

As I type this, I'm wondering if my therapist will want to have me committed.

On a looooong guilt trip with no pit stop.

2005-07-30T15:41:00.000-07:00

After last weekend, I decided to take it easy this weekend and stop at my mom's for dinner. Not only did she feed me, she also sent me on the longest guilt trip to Jerusalem. Even though she's Catholic, you would BELIEVE that she's Jewish!

Mom: "You know, last weekend, I thought you were dead! You really gave me a heart attack."

Me: "Aw, mah. You didn't get a heart attack."

Mom: "Well, you coulda gave me a heart attack."

Me: "But you didn't HAVE a heart attack."

Mom: "If I DID have a heart attack, who's gonna take care of your father?"

Me: "BUT MA, I'M NOT DEAD, YOU'RE NOT DEAD SO WHY ARE WE EVEN TALKING ABOUT WHO'S GONNA TAKE CARE OF DAD?"

Mom: "You know, if I died because I thought you were dead, I'd tell Gawd I got there because of YOU!"

Me: "Oh? YOU'RE going to Heaven?"

(Long pause with the mother's stare that could've cracked the DaVinci Code.)

Mom: "You're giving me another heart attack, you know. Now shut up and eat your spaghetti before it gets cold."

Me: "Yes, muh-THER."

Free ASSociation, my ass

2005-07-27T13:47:00.000-07:00

Not much to say today other than that I bought a couple of lottery tickets in the hope that I win the JACKPOT! (By the way, I'm very psychic...I will not win the jackpot.)

Anyway, might as well do some Free Association, thanks to Luna Nina.

Believing:: Naive
Invasion:: Privacy
Boys:: Girls
Island;:: Me
Repeatedly:: Stupidly
Normal:: What is?
Hex:: on my lottery tickets
Tuxedo:: Ugly
Virgin:: Nobody
Cereal:: Trix

I don't know why Trix came to mind when my favorite cereal is Lucky Charms even though I HAVE to eat the cruddy Shredded Wheat for my rusty plumbing.

Martinis + Margaritas + Beer = hangover becomes me

2005-07-25T15:11:00.000-07:00

Yep, I mixed those cocktails over the course of Friday night into Saturday morn and crashed into my bed by 4:30 in the am. Amazingly enough, I didn't have to sacrifice my innards to the porcelain god but then again, my liver was just a sieve that everything flowed through my entire circulatory system while I slept...for 14 hours.

I must've slept like a cadaver because there were 16 messages on my answering machine, 12 messages on my cell phone and a big fat note on my door that said, "ARE YOU DEAD?" (If I was, would I be answering my door??) My mother had called, my sister from Michigan had called, my other sister from Florida had called, several friends had called and some guy named Happy called, looking for Shatindalew - all wanted to check and see if I was alive except Happy who didn't sound too happy with Shatindalew.

Man, do I feel loved (although when I'm sober, nobody ever calls me the entire weekend through - what's up with that?) So after listening to 4 or 5 messages, I skipped the rest because they all pretty much expressed the same fear and hopelessness of ever hearing from me again.

Ah, I let 'em weep over me a little while longer. With a huge hangover like that, I couldn't resume to living so I crawled back into my deathbed and died for a couple more hours.

But here's what I want to tell you....don't ever, EVER mix those drinks into ONE BIG FAT COCKTAIL! My hangover felt like I had stepped on a rake....5,726,451 times. The veins across my forehead pulsed so loudly, I could have sworn I was listening to my EKG. My eyes hurt so bad that I wanted to yank those orbs outta my skull and put it in a glass of cold, bubbly Sprite for some sweet relief. And I think my blood was thinned to nothing. I was so dried out that I not only drank GALLONS of water but I immersed myself in the tub for a couple of hours to rehydrate myself and I still. did. not. get. SHRIVELLY!

It was so bad that I was out of commission until this morning...3 days later. So the Friday's list I compiled last week? I did #6 and an extended #7.

(By the way, I did call my mother and let her know that I was alive.)

I

My weekend Top 10 list of things to do...

2005-07-22T17:07:00.000-07:00

Now that it's Friday in the Big Easy, I need to compile a list of things to do over the weekend:

1-Really clean my apartment (a lie that I've repeated every Friday).

2-Buy lottery tickets

3-Go to church to sprinkle holy water on my lottery tickets

4-Slingshoot vienna sausages at that yippiing chihuahua across the street

5-Watch Frasier reruns and learn BIG words like buffoonery and vacuous

6-Have A drink...(yeah, right)

7-Sleep all day to nurse my hangover from having that "one" drink

After that, I'd be too ill to complete the list (as the norm every weekend).

The license to kill

2005-07-21T20:41:00.000-07:00

As if Kentucky doesn't have enough dorkiness, they adopt this stoo-PID license plate to bring a little life to the highways. Uh...I see road rage comin'.

Imagine one morning when you wake up in the worst mood and running late for work. No time for breakfast not even coffee (oooo......bad move). You peel out of the driveway and gun for the highway when you come upon this #@*&%! slow-ass driver in a #@*&%! slow-ass '92 Geo Prism with the #@*&%! dumb-ass license plate that is just smiling rainbows and gumdrops at you. And it's saying, "It's that friendly!"

Your teeth is gritting, your blood pressure is rising and your knuckles are bleeding from gripping tightly on the steering wheel as you swerve to get in another lane when you are greeted by the same license plate - "It's that friendly", the smiley sun giggles. You curse and mutter under your breath as you swerve into yet ANOTHER lane and AGAIN the sun coos and tee-hees, "It's that friendly!"

Up and down the highway, the suns titter, "IT'S THAT FRIENDLY", "IT'S THAT FRIENDLY", "IT'S THAT FRIENDLY", 'IT'S THAT FRIENDLY" "IT'S THAT FRIENDLY", "IT'S THAT FRIENDLY" until your head just fractures into froot-loops. You ram the gas pedal as you furiously try to wrench the steering wheel from the column, SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS, "I'M GONNA #@*&%!! RAM THE SUNNY-BRITE OUTTA YOUR ASS IF YOU DON'T GET THE #@*&%!! OUTTA MY WAY!"

Now you see how a lame-o license plate like Kentucky's can be a license to kill. (In hindsight, you shoulda had your coffee.)

This is the first day of the rest of my blog

2005-07-20T15:29:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is.....my first blog and a title to go with it. It's remarkable how the two came together in one day actually.

I woke up early this morning, way too early and just couldn't go back to sleep. I was miserable and depressed. I loathe my job as a graphic designer at a company I hate. I loathe my talent I was born with. And I loathe myself for not choosing a different route in college that would actually UTILIZE my gray matter and who knows, bring me some moolah??

But nooooooo, my foolish decisions years ago sent me straight to this morning in bed with a loose spring up my ass and I'm just regretting it all. You see, I was encouraged to use my "talent" but what I DIDN'T know was that artists are just a dime a dozen. The pay? HA! I'm currently paying off my student loans with exorbitant interest rates that I could have earned 5 degrees and possibly a couple of minors. I highly doubt I will pay it off by the time I kick the bucket....talk about optimism!

Of course, all this ran through my head while I laid there wondering what to do next. Get up? Go back to sleep? Bitch some more? The only thing that prodded me out of bed was that damn spring in my ass. If my mother knew, she would stand there with her finger wagging at me, asking me why I haven't been flipping the mattress every six months. And heaven forbid, if the mattress hasn't been flipped, the smoke alarm probably hasn't been tested either, she would say. (It hasn't).

Getting ready for work is such a chore because I can't decide which khaki pants are clean or dirty. I have no sense of smell and can't distinguish between the funky smell. So I have to rely on my memory on what day I wore which pants last. When I have 3 different colored khakis and 35 shirts, I have to make do between wash days. (If I run out of underwear, I go commando.)

Now there's a chore and then there's Hell. The minute I step into the office, I'm there. (My only optimism in life is that I am paying my dues in Hell so I am GUARANTEED a spot in Heaven.) It was there that I overheard two women blah, blah, blahhing something about a bed of roses. And that's when an epiphany struck. Now I'm no curmudgeon but when I have a distorted outlook on life, my bed of roses is overgrown with thistles. And that's when it became stuck. Just a useless epiphany. But it was just too good to let it lay dormant in my "gray matter". (Too bad THAT isn't going to bring me any moolah!) which brings me to........

blog.

Blog? What a word. Blog. To me, the word sounds like a throw-up. "Oh yeah, man, I drank too much last night that I blogged my innards into the toilet." Still that word intrigued me when I read the paper in the break room as I fixed myself some coffee. Blog....an online journal.

Hmmmmm........an..........online............journal.

Holy Epiphany!