I took a nap today for a few hours. Admittedly, thats a little more than a nap. But when you sleep an average of 4 hours at night, a few hours is an essential length of time for a nap.
Anyway. I had a dream that I smashed a mouse's head in with a hammer.
That's the short version.
So I had this dream that I was at work. I was working and there were a few other guys there, none of whom I recognized, but apparently I knew and worked with them.
All of a sudden, they all jumped up and started chasing this mouse around, trying to capture it. One guy grabbed a newspaper and jumped on the mouse, pinning it under the paper. When he lifted the paper, we saw that he had smooshed about half the mouse into a paste. The poor little creature was still alive and looking at me, pitifully, with big black pleading eyes.
The other guys were laughing and I started frantically looking for something to kill it with, to put it out if its misery. There was no way that it was going to live, and killing it quickly was the most humane and merciful thing I could do.
After searching for what seemed like a few minutes, I found this a hammer. I rushed over to where the mouse was, surrounded by the other guys, and slammed the hammer down trying to hit the mouse. I missed, hit the concrete and just startled it. So, taking better aim and really driving it down, I smashed the mouse's head like a grape with the hammer.
The whole while, in my dream, Im feeling terrible. And I woke up feeling terrible.
That's the long version.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Restaraunt Review 2; Wing Wong
Whenever I try a new place, I always go with what should be easy, sure things.
For example, if Im trying a new pizza place, I get cheese. If its mexican, tacos or a chicken burrito. New pub? Gimme the burger.
If the place passes the Simple test, Ill go back.
This brings me to Wing Wong, the Chinese place up on Rt 9 next to Loonar tattoo.
Inside, it looks like your typical chinese takeout dump. Formica tables, lots of red, packets of soy and duck sauce galore. Seen one, you’ve seen’m all. I think they use the same decorator for every single chinese takeout place in western mass.
So, I ordered chicken lo mein, chicken fingers and wonton soup. Easy. Simple. A typical fat, lazy american order. Nothing fancy. Something that they should be able to make in three seconds and be amazing.
It pretty much sucked. I don’t know if it’s the simplicity that killed it or if the place just plain old sucks. I mean, maybe they get this kind of order all the time, and are sick of making it so they just douche the noodles in liquid smoke and call it lo mein, then pour a couple pounds of salt into some boiling water with some grisly thin pork slices and scallions for wonton soup. The chicken in the lo mein was drier than a senior citizen’s third date, and had some very odd very hard, yet chewy bits in it. I like to think that those bits were somehow connected to a chicken at one time, but I sure didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it, or examining the evidence. I just closed my eyes and thought of England.
The wontons that were being tortured in the brine were possibley made from the same mystery substance as the “chicken” in my lo mein, but were mercifully shrouded in acres of paste. It was most likey wonton skins back in the day, but had been sitting in the…water…for so long that they devolved into their original species of flour and water. People like to make fun of the kids in their elementary school classes who ate paste, but I paid 3 dollars to do that very thing last night. And Ive graduated college! True, it was only three dollars, what should I expect for three dollars, but when you go to work, tell your boss that for the next 20 minutes, youre doing shit for work, because seriously, its only three dollars.
The chicken fingers were chicken fingery. They contained chicken, thank god. They were golden brown, greasy and tasted like chicken fingers. Nothing spectacular, but not bad. Id get them again in a pinch.
The best chicken fingers in town for my money however, are from that sketchy looking place on King St. called China Palace, or Golden China, or Lunch $3.95… or something. I’ll have to look that up later. But its right near Shelburn Falls Coffee Roasters, which, if you want to talk about someplace NOT to go, there’s your hands down winner for coffee shops. Piss in a cup, then water it down and flavour it with hazelnut and you get the basic taste. But youd have to let it sit for a couple hours first. It cant be fresh. I think that’s in the employee handbook.
And lets be clear about something here. When Im talking about how bad a place’s food or coffee…or ANYthing is, Im not talking about the employees. If the employees are assholes Ill say so. It’s the product that I’ll complain about usually.
The people at Wing Wing are wicked nice. They were pleasant as all hell, polite, and the kid behind the counter was singing along with John Mayer on the radio. And another thing, I might go back there. I cant judge a place based on my very first experience when people have told me that its good. I went to Wing Wong because friends have said that its decent. I may have gone on a bad day, or they my have been getting close to closing…something. But it wasn’t bad enough to kill it forever for me. The chicken figners were decent. That makes me think that they have other decent food too. It’s just that my food that night sucked. Plain and simple. I wont get the same thing next time I go back, but if whatever I get next time is bad, Ill never go back, and I’ll tell everyone I know not to go there. There’s no excuse for it twice.
Shelburn Falls Coffee Roasters, on the other hand, Ive swilled plenty of that stuff to know I don’t like it. At all. And I recommend to everyone, please, do youself a favour and drink puddle water if youre craving to torture yourself under the pretense of coffee. At the time, I had no choice. I lived in Easthampton and it was either that or Dunkin Donuts.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Paralyzing on my mind.
I wish my car had buttons on the steering wheel that corresponded to hidden weapons mounted in the body.
I was driving down Amity in Amherst this morning, when this assbag in a red Subaru Outback type car, middle aged man with glasses, a moustache, grayish hair and wearing a ball cap, cut me off. Im pretty ok with being cut off for the most part. Its really no big deal. But the way this douche bag cut me off was just plain old wrong and made me wish I had a license to kill, or at least maim, torture, humiliate, paralyze....you know. Stuff like that.
As I was turning down Amity, he was coming the opposite direction down main St and floored it, almost hitting my back bumper. He was obviously an asshole. So then, he gunned it up the parking spaces within inches of my passenger side and passed me, then cut me off. I blasted my horn at him as I looked over, and he had a total look of nonchalance on his face. Didnt even look over at me. It was just like business as usual.
This, days after I had to pay $300 to get my license reinstated for failing to pay a seatbelt fine. I had a suspended license, and this guy gets to drive like that?!
Here's the scenario as it played out in a my perfect world;
The guy cuts me off like he did.
I mash the gas and follow him at high speed when he noticed me following him. He panics at first and a moment later he gets enraged. How DARE I follow him like that!!? So he slams on his brakes thinking hes going to shake me but I slam my indestructible car into his left rear quarter and spin him out, slamming him, driver side into a tree. His car is stalled, hes unconscious and I sit in my car.
Sip the coffee. Stare at him, bleeding from the head. Smile.
I slowly get out of my car and walk over to his. He wakes up, half consciously looking up at me as I begin to drag him head first from his wreck.
With the what remains of his seatbelt, I drag him by the neck as he struggles, kicking his feet, to the spacious trunk of my car and heave him in. He half heartedly begs forgiveness, his strength and will left back in his car where he was so brave and angry, as I close the lid on him.
In my perfect scenario, I have a cabin miles out in the woods somewhere, nowhere really, and it takes hours to drive there. Its a bumpy road, I cant go too fast. But this time, I make an exception. Its like Im driving the Paris-Dekar Rally and hes hopping around my trunk like a couple yahtzee dice in a shaker. By the time I get to my cabin, he crying like a wee baby, and Im hungry. So I go in and make dinner and hit the sack.
By morning, the trunk of my car smells like a nursing home dumpster and hes unconscious. I dump a bottle of whiskey on him to wake him up, and close the trunk to drive him back to his car, which is still there, and leave him sprawled on the grass next to it and call the cops.
I found a drunk driver, layed out on the lawn next to his wrecked car. Hes babbling incoherently, barely breathing and covered in his own feces and vomit.
That's in a perfect world. In my real world, my girlfriend is in the passenger seat of my very destructible car and the most I can do is honk my horn and find a parking spot while he flies off down the road, happy that he got one over.
I was driving down Amity in Amherst this morning, when this assbag in a red Subaru Outback type car, middle aged man with glasses, a moustache, grayish hair and wearing a ball cap, cut me off. Im pretty ok with being cut off for the most part. Its really no big deal. But the way this douche bag cut me off was just plain old wrong and made me wish I had a license to kill, or at least maim, torture, humiliate, paralyze....you know. Stuff like that.
As I was turning down Amity, he was coming the opposite direction down main St and floored it, almost hitting my back bumper. He was obviously an asshole. So then, he gunned it up the parking spaces within inches of my passenger side and passed me, then cut me off. I blasted my horn at him as I looked over, and he had a total look of nonchalance on his face. Didnt even look over at me. It was just like business as usual.
This, days after I had to pay $300 to get my license reinstated for failing to pay a seatbelt fine. I had a suspended license, and this guy gets to drive like that?!
Here's the scenario as it played out in a my perfect world;
The guy cuts me off like he did.
I mash the gas and follow him at high speed when he noticed me following him. He panics at first and a moment later he gets enraged. How DARE I follow him like that!!? So he slams on his brakes thinking hes going to shake me but I slam my indestructible car into his left rear quarter and spin him out, slamming him, driver side into a tree. His car is stalled, hes unconscious and I sit in my car.
Sip the coffee. Stare at him, bleeding from the head. Smile.
I slowly get out of my car and walk over to his. He wakes up, half consciously looking up at me as I begin to drag him head first from his wreck.
With the what remains of his seatbelt, I drag him by the neck as he struggles, kicking his feet, to the spacious trunk of my car and heave him in. He half heartedly begs forgiveness, his strength and will left back in his car where he was so brave and angry, as I close the lid on him.
In my perfect scenario, I have a cabin miles out in the woods somewhere, nowhere really, and it takes hours to drive there. Its a bumpy road, I cant go too fast. But this time, I make an exception. Its like Im driving the Paris-Dekar Rally and hes hopping around my trunk like a couple yahtzee dice in a shaker. By the time I get to my cabin, he crying like a wee baby, and Im hungry. So I go in and make dinner and hit the sack.
By morning, the trunk of my car smells like a nursing home dumpster and hes unconscious. I dump a bottle of whiskey on him to wake him up, and close the trunk to drive him back to his car, which is still there, and leave him sprawled on the grass next to it and call the cops.
I found a drunk driver, layed out on the lawn next to his wrecked car. Hes babbling incoherently, barely breathing and covered in his own feces and vomit.
That's in a perfect world. In my real world, my girlfriend is in the passenger seat of my very destructible car and the most I can do is honk my horn and find a parking spot while he flies off down the road, happy that he got one over.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wax on, wax off..
My friend and fellow artist Kris asked the question where "self" was located, in the mind or in the body somewhere.
I love this kind of question, because there is no wrong answer really. There is, as yet, no way to locate an abstract. Its like locating the subconscious.
My thought on this was that no matter if you could find the location, or if one even exists, of the true "self", (for example, if there will someday be discovered a microscopic gland deep in the unexplored parts of the brain that houses the self) you could see the self in physical, real world representation already. My thought was that you could see the representation of a person's true self in their honest, uncensored work. But that creating work that was completely honest and uncensored was extremely difficult and takes years and years of self exploration, failure, and the ability to recognize and accept your subconscious desire to change your work, whether in small or large ways, no matter what stage of success you may think your work is achieving.
To dwell on successes, in my opinion, is as bad as dwelling on failures. Your work becomes stale and predictable, and you lose your ability to feel the need for change. And if you do feel the need to change your work, you might avoid doing so.
I'm talking specifically about artists, because Im talking about myself. And I can talk about myself so well because I know myself more than I know anything.
Honest, uncensored work is, in my opinion, the best work. It's like an artist''s therapy laid out on canvas (for example. Not literally.) And what is therapy but a process of trying to work out your inner self, to be explored, recognized and accepted by you? And to find that, you have to be honest with your therapist and yourself. In my world, my work is my therapist, and Im trying to be honest with it. If I feel the need for change, I try not to ignore it. I try to steer my work in whatever direction feels right.
Looking at an artist's work to me, is like looking at a person trying to work their "self" out from wherever it resides. It's fascinating to me to see how an artist's work changes once they become technically proficient. Because once an artists learns to create at will, without having to be distracted by the constant struggle of learning the use of materials and tools, that is when they can start creating work which reflects themselves. That's when they can be comfortably honest.
I love this kind of question, because there is no wrong answer really. There is, as yet, no way to locate an abstract. Its like locating the subconscious.
My thought on this was that no matter if you could find the location, or if one even exists, of the true "self", (for example, if there will someday be discovered a microscopic gland deep in the unexplored parts of the brain that houses the self) you could see the self in physical, real world representation already. My thought was that you could see the representation of a person's true self in their honest, uncensored work. But that creating work that was completely honest and uncensored was extremely difficult and takes years and years of self exploration, failure, and the ability to recognize and accept your subconscious desire to change your work, whether in small or large ways, no matter what stage of success you may think your work is achieving.
To dwell on successes, in my opinion, is as bad as dwelling on failures. Your work becomes stale and predictable, and you lose your ability to feel the need for change. And if you do feel the need to change your work, you might avoid doing so.
I'm talking specifically about artists, because Im talking about myself. And I can talk about myself so well because I know myself more than I know anything.
Honest, uncensored work is, in my opinion, the best work. It's like an artist''s therapy laid out on canvas (for example. Not literally.) And what is therapy but a process of trying to work out your inner self, to be explored, recognized and accepted by you? And to find that, you have to be honest with your therapist and yourself. In my world, my work is my therapist, and Im trying to be honest with it. If I feel the need for change, I try not to ignore it. I try to steer my work in whatever direction feels right.
Looking at an artist's work to me, is like looking at a person trying to work their "self" out from wherever it resides. It's fascinating to me to see how an artist's work changes once they become technically proficient. Because once an artists learns to create at will, without having to be distracted by the constant struggle of learning the use of materials and tools, that is when they can start creating work which reflects themselves. That's when they can be comfortably honest.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Restaraunt review; Kathy's
On a whim, I went to Kathy's Diner today for breakfast. I just got out of work, I was hungry and wanted diner food for some reason. Well....the reason is because I love shitty food, and will be laying on my death bed someday wishing I had the 30 more years of life that I'd probably have had, had I not loved shitty diner food so much.
Anyway, 12 hours later, Im still regretting it.
As much as I love diner food., I love coffee even more. And I wasnt able to drink an entire coffee all day because of what the food is doing to my stomach and all regions south of my neck. Ive had brutal heartburn and my stomach has been doing some gymnastics that would make Cirque de Soleil cry since my last bite.
I bought a latte, in vain hopes that that would settle my stomach because in my magical world, somehow a cup full of dairy and caffeine settles your stomach and unicorns deliver pizza. The latte was delicious, dont get me wrong. But my stomach wasnt having it....literally. It didnt make me feel any better. It just made me really sad. Really sad, and really nervous.
So my review of Kathy's is as follows.
I ordered a short stack of banana pancakes, corned beef hash and homefries. A standard order of breakfast.
The nice lady took my order, asked if I wanted coffee to which I politely declined because Im a coffee snob, and went about cooking my breakfast. Im sort of glad that she didnt offer, or bring me water because Im afraid it may have also added to the queasiness. All I know, they truck the water in from Mexico.
The breakfast reminded me of my childhood (When I was ten, I attempted to make my own breakfast with disastrous results.)
Pancakes medium raw, canned beef hash crusty and dry as dust, and homefries that tasted like they were grown in the fridge and never saw the light of day until they looked up at me, begging for the end. No salt added, except, apparently, to the hash, which wouldve been overly salty straight outta the industrial sized bucket they probably scooped it from. Think the roads in winter, and add a generous pinch for good measure. Remember when Bender made everyone dinner on Futurama?
The breakfast as a whole was very flavourful, but Im not sure if the flavour came from the food that I was eating or from the food that the last person ate off my plate. If I looked closely enough, I couldve deduced the contents of their meal as well.
So, I give Kathy's breakfast, this morning, 4 stars. Not so much for the food, but for the not so gentle reminder why the human/American race is doomed to a bloated extinction.
Im the first to admit that I ignore the fact that if I were a transported back in time, to caveman times, Id die instantly either from being sacrificed to the gods if they did that, or used as bait. Because Id be otherwise useless to my clan, what with me always crying that corned beef hasnt been invented yet, the food tastes weird....like...food..., and complaining that the lattes in this place suck.
Id try to secure leadership over them with my cunning and wit, but would soon find myself skull-bashed and roasting on a spit because I dont have it where it counts. In other words,"What? I cant order that buffalo "nacho supreme?", I'll wait here. You guys go out and have your fun. I'll entertain the ladies."
BASH.
Anyway, 12 hours later, Im still regretting it.
As much as I love diner food., I love coffee even more. And I wasnt able to drink an entire coffee all day because of what the food is doing to my stomach and all regions south of my neck. Ive had brutal heartburn and my stomach has been doing some gymnastics that would make Cirque de Soleil cry since my last bite.
I bought a latte, in vain hopes that that would settle my stomach because in my magical world, somehow a cup full of dairy and caffeine settles your stomach and unicorns deliver pizza. The latte was delicious, dont get me wrong. But my stomach wasnt having it....literally. It didnt make me feel any better. It just made me really sad. Really sad, and really nervous.
So my review of Kathy's is as follows.
I ordered a short stack of banana pancakes, corned beef hash and homefries. A standard order of breakfast.
The nice lady took my order, asked if I wanted coffee to which I politely declined because Im a coffee snob, and went about cooking my breakfast. Im sort of glad that she didnt offer, or bring me water because Im afraid it may have also added to the queasiness. All I know, they truck the water in from Mexico.
The breakfast reminded me of my childhood (When I was ten, I attempted to make my own breakfast with disastrous results.)
Pancakes medium raw, canned beef hash crusty and dry as dust, and homefries that tasted like they were grown in the fridge and never saw the light of day until they looked up at me, begging for the end. No salt added, except, apparently, to the hash, which wouldve been overly salty straight outta the industrial sized bucket they probably scooped it from. Think the roads in winter, and add a generous pinch for good measure. Remember when Bender made everyone dinner on Futurama?
The breakfast as a whole was very flavourful, but Im not sure if the flavour came from the food that I was eating or from the food that the last person ate off my plate. If I looked closely enough, I couldve deduced the contents of their meal as well.
So, I give Kathy's breakfast, this morning, 4 stars. Not so much for the food, but for the not so gentle reminder why the human/American race is doomed to a bloated extinction.
Im the first to admit that I ignore the fact that if I were a transported back in time, to caveman times, Id die instantly either from being sacrificed to the gods if they did that, or used as bait. Because Id be otherwise useless to my clan, what with me always crying that corned beef hasnt been invented yet, the food tastes weird....like...food..., and complaining that the lattes in this place suck.
Id try to secure leadership over them with my cunning and wit, but would soon find myself skull-bashed and roasting on a spit because I dont have it where it counts. In other words,"What? I cant order that buffalo "nacho supreme?", I'll wait here. You guys go out and have your fun. I'll entertain the ladies."
BASH.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)