Friday, February 15, 2008

Head honcho of the fish boil

Minnesota. Well even though my official title is 'head honcho of the Fish Boil' I prefer to think of myself as a professional pyromaniac. I could talk about optimum temperatures for carbonizing spices or maintaining consistent heat levels by properly distribution of firewood, the truth is that I just like to burn shit. And in a town of less than 6,000 inhabitants there's a lot of redneck pyromaniacs so you better be damn good at burning shit if you actually want to get paid to do it. I don't want to brag but you don't live to be a 62 year old 'head honcho of the Fish Boil' without any major burn scars unless you're goddamn good. So I guess I am. This is me last weekend burning stuff and cooking a Fish Boil for a group of Scandinavian tourists. Thank god for the Minnesota-Wisconsin Scandinavian tourists. Single-handedly financing my love of fire. Thanks guys.


Savannah, GEORGIA. I woke up at 7.00 as always whilst the twins were locked in their room to play with my husband, Bob.

As I said my morning prayer I heard them panting and giggling as they were playfighting, I guess, Bob doesn’t like me around when he is playing with the children.

I thank the lord every minute of the day for the loving physical relationship Bob has with them, they seem inseparable.

You know that they have become very moody and worn out recently and their grades at school have really gotten a lot worse.

So seeing how much time Bob spends with them makes me happy and reassures me.

You know now that I think of it Tommy Lee , the eldest of my boys, also went through this sulky, tired phase at their age, so I don’t think I should worry that much about it.

Tommy Lee is 15 now and as usual he is in the den on the internet

He spends hours in there dressed in combats watching war documentaries of every type, but I think he is especially interested in the second World War and Germany in particular.

You know, Tommy Lee has always been very good at history.

Unfortunately, his relationship with Bob became very strained when he reached puberty.

Bob also had a very close and affectionate relationship with Tommy Lee, he held him in his arms, he cuddled him, and closed the door to his room to play games with him for hours like he does with the twins.

But now it seem as if Bob has lost interest in Tommy Lee, but on the other hand puberty is a very difficult and strange time and for a father it must be very hard to deal with.

At 8.00 Bob finally came out of the twins room adjusting his messed up clothes.

He was really exhausted, sweaty and red-faced after all the games. He grabbed a quick coffee and then went out to go into town to meet up with his group of friends who call themselves the “Proud white brotherhood”.

Bob explained to me that it is an organisation that campaigns to make America safer and more just, but you know, I don’t understand anything about politics

A little while later I went into the twins room, and do you know, they were both lying in the same bed, crying and shaking because they couldn’t play with their father any more.

They were so tired that they didn’t even want any breakfast and they went back to sleep holding hands.

At 12 after prayers we all had lunch together and my sons eat looking down at their plates without saying a word.

They were so calm and quiet, they made me so proud of the good education that Bob and I are giving them.

I thank God again for the harmony and peace that reins over this family!

At 15.00 the Fed Ex guy delivered a heavy package for Tommy Lee, this is the fourth one in the last two months.

Tommy Lee told me that he was preparing something very special for the science test on Monday. “Soon you will understand me and what I am made of” he said proudly and he went out shortly after.

He had a huge backpack on and he walked towards the forest a few miles from our farm telling me he was going to prepare for the science test on Monday.

I am so happy to see him putting so much effort into doing well in the sciences.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading the bible and the house was so peaceful and calm, it was almost surreal.

You could only hear the eco of the gun shots of the hunters in the distance breaking the silence and I thought to myself , the hunting season here in Georgia has started very early this year.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Frozen lake, frozen Italians

SNOW. So far, this weekend, so good.

got home late and tipsy after Happy Hour at work. had dinner with friends from down the road and their 3 year old daughter, made my mom's lentil soup. drank too much wine. drove friends away by singing Mountain Goats songs to them. current favorite: "This Year". to bed by midnight.

saturday. got up, played legos, cleaned pellet stove. drove two hours with my boss to a design / community input work session for a large-scale rehab / affordable housing /"green" development project outside boston. gave tours of a space identical in size to one we will use to design residential units for the community. came home, made cardboard "halloween" costumes with henry - he was an alligator. i was a fish. trick or treated to each other. dinner with him and julie. put him to bed. rolled a joint. drove frantically to store to buy condoms... picture gets blurry... when it clears, i am awake on the couch, watching monty python skits on youtube. julie sleeps on the other couch. i have a cigarette on the porch and some calvados while i wait for the snow to come. to pass the time, i write to my control-freak dominating italian friend. already 1:45am... still up.

sunday, or course, unfolded entirely differently from how i had imagined. perhaps it was the 2am emailing to italians that spoiled me for the day, but I was in full grouch mode. the day passed grouchily, despite julie's best attempt: a walk on a frozen lake with me, her, and henry (the boys with their snowshoes). but i don't get to play often enough, so it's hard to fuck it up entirely. that afternoon, more legos, trains, and julie making fishcakes and sweet potatoes for dinner. me, to bed by 10, exhausted by my own crabbiness. still not ready for another work week, but at least better rested...

Monday, January 21, 2008

Fear and loathing in Miami

MIAMI. Hail Moloch. Hail Eris. Don’t believe anything you read. This is the kind of thing I’m into now. I would also say it’s necessary to partake in some psychedelic drugs every now and then just to keep yourself grounded.

We considered last weekend a special occasion- one of my best friends had just come home after completing an extended culinary course in NYC/some city just outside of Parma. It had been about six months since we’d seen each other (Clayton had actually grown this big Doc Holiday mustache). So we decided to go out, that was my girlfriend, Autumn, and my friends, Clayton and Matt, to Miami’s most legit punk bar. We played a few games of pool and drank a few pitchers. Then I saw this dude that I worked with, and I knew him to be an acid dealer.
So I was all, ‘Sweet. How do you guys feel about doing some acid tonight?’
Clayton was down for sure. Autumn had her first day of classes the next morning, and regretfully declined. Matt wasn’t interested at all. We decided that we would take two hits each, and the squares could just go to bed early if that’s really what they wanted to do. So dude goes back to his car, cuts a couple big rectangles, and gives them to us, saying “They’re a little bit bigger than usual. It’s like, two, two and a half, three hits. Something like that.”
Done. We stuck them on our tongues immediately, because like I said, Churchill’s is a punk bar and nobody cares about that kind of thing.
About forty five minutes later we came back to my house. It was probably about 2:00 a.m. I was super excited about the acid coming on. I was more comfortable with doing it than I ever had been before. Now that I know about how the unified theory of everything is only waiting on science to officially validate it, and how the philotic chords of our being connect all life at the center of the Earth, and how every atom that makes me me was once and still is a part of God, and how through the world power base has systematically suppressed the God-like powers in each and every individual, I see an acid trip as a welcome experience- a blessing.
So the acid starts to come on. Matt is trying to go to sleep but the lights are on and we’re playing music. He’s on the couch with his shirt wrapped around his eyes and his arms crossed on his forehead and he looks absolutely miserable. My apartment, it seems, just isn’t big enough to comfortably incorporate the plans everyone had for their night. Me and Clayton go in the bedroom and talk. Autumn is there, too. She looks jealous that she didn’t get to trip with us and said so a few times. We’re playing this really amazing Thin Lizzy song called ‘Opium Trail’. Suddenly the record player cuts out and I hear a loud bang in the living room. I kind of had to wonder what to do.
The dilemma was this- Matt obviously really wanted to rest. He kept saying how tired he was and was making it painfully obvious that he wasn’t happy with all the noise and activity. BUT- it’s my house and it’s not my fault that he was being such a party-pooper. So I walked into the living room and was like, “Matt, is everything okay?” and he said something like “Yeah, man. I’m just really tired and I can’t take trying to sleep right next to the record player right now.” And I said “That’s fine. But don’t be kicking my furniture and shit.” And he said “I wasn’t kicking your furniture.” And I said “Okay. It sounded like maybe you did,” and then proceeded to break down the situation to him as clearly as my acid soaked vocabulary would allow. The only compromise I could think of was to give the bedroom up to Autumn and Matt, since they both needed sleep. Of course Autumn would not have been happy having anyone else in the bed but me, so we took the couch cushions off and laid them on the tile so Matt could be comfortable. Me and Clayton we free to do whatever we wanted in the living room, and everything was cool.
Hours went by. We were really, really, really tripping hard. The drugs we bought were pretty strong I think and I think we took a larger dose than either of us ever had. Mostly we were talking and looking at things. The future, all the dreams and plans you have for yourself can so concurrently so bright and dismal on acid. On any drug, I guess. But we were having a good time. Clayton shaved his mustache because it was making him super uncomfortable.
Later on, I was making tea in the kitchen, and Clayton was there to keep me company. He was looking at this toy I have- you know that ‘WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE’ book? The main wild thing. I have a small statue of him on my refrigerator because my mom used to read me that shit when I was a kid and I tried to give it to her as a Christmas present but she gave it back to me. Anyways, it’s about four, five in the morning, and Clayton’s looking at this thing, and suddenly my dog barks. Clayton, apparently thinking that the barking came from the statue, starts screaming in terror.
I know it was genuine terror because once when I was about 15 a white cat ran out from under my car- I thought it was a demon or something and I screamed just like that. Five in the morning, and Clayton is screaming really fucking loud in my kitchen. Matt kind of runs out of the room, followed by Doom (my dog). I was trying to calm Clayton down but he realized pretty soon what was happening. We thought it was pretty funny. Matt made the picture to commemorate the event. The acid didn’t wear off until like 8 o’clock that evening. In the meantime, Me and Clayton walked around South Beach, swam in the ocean, wondered about drug trafficking postal workers (we have good reason to believe that my mail woman is running drugs), showered, woke Matt, and went to see Superbad in the theater. Shit was tight.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

History of a failure

MILANO.Last saturday, I joined a Dolce&Gabbana party in Milan. Being a beautiful, naughty, sexy, exotic, 23 yrs old girl, I found my self testing men’s seductions “in”-capacity. What italians claim to be their “arte del rimorchiare”. I was looking for a man but: 50% (the most beautiful and styled up) where totaly gay, an other 25% engaged, the ramaning...was a complete failure:
man one: good looking, gentle manners but one could smell his stinking breath from the distance. Before turning away not to collapse I just had the time to suggest him changing his favorite restaurant (a pack of chewing gum could help).
Man two: was strangely okay while approaching but he burned out all his changes telling me that my eyes were shining as the rims of a Lincoln of ’79.
Men three: came from behind poking on my shoulder and asked: << Ehy baby can I buy you a drink>>. Of course I got the drink and left him there.
Men four: is the one that didn’t come to me, I gave glances, I gave smiles, I touched my hairs, I asked for a cigaret but the only he could say was that smoking is not allowed.
So drepressed I headed for the bar and asked the barman to serve me the strongest cocktail he could prepare. After few drinks I felt completely drunk and I locked myself in the toilette searching for a quiet place to rest then I decided to text the only man that desarved some attentions. The reply I got was: << Tonight honey you better play with your dildo>>.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Ride like a cowboy, die like a pig

Testosterone in ZURICH. Last Saturday night i overheard a guy with a thin goatie entertaining his mates with this colorful anecdote.
He was explaining how to perform a rodeo while having sex.
You need a girl who is an occasional sex partners that has some trust in you.
Once at it, reach doggy style and hang in there.
Grab her pony tail or her neck and when ready call her with someone else's name. LOUD. The reaction will be immediate.
Enjoy the ride for its worth and do not be scared of consequences.
This is all I can remember of my past weekend.

Blow dry

LONDON.This saturday i woke up at 10am. My husband brought me coffee in bed. Then i rushed to the hairdresser down the road. It take two hours to do the colour, wash and blow-dry. Then i walked back home listening to Patti Smith on my iPod. I cooked some tuna with pees, and rice. And did some solid hours of work. At 5pm i went to Victoria to catch the train to Brighton. In Brighton i filmed some friends who were giving an acoustic private gig at Max’s place. A French songwriter, an Icelandic artist and a British pop singer performed. I filmed all of them except the French guy, who didn’t want to be filmed and then we danced. The night ended around 2am. I crashed on Max’s leaving room on one sofa and felt asleep.