Sunday, June 30, 2013
Once in a great while we have a name change here at HWS. Bird changed to Mupp. GNJohn changed to PetaJohn then back to GNJ. Diamond Dave was Cowboy Dave for a day and now Shewhocannotbenamed is once and forever changed to Shewhocanbenamed. When I first started writing HWS I asked Shewho if I could write about her? "Sure." she said "Just don't use my name." I complied and from then on, the love of my life and most ardent supporter, became Shewhocannotbenamed. Years went by. Divorces were finalized. And as of this past Friday evening, Shewho has left NYC and taken up full time residence at WSSP. Halilewlea!
For those who don't know it, Shewho and I have a long history. We've known each other since those heady days in the 80's EV. She was an artist. I was an artist. She was successful. I was a loser. I got involved with the wrong women. She got involved with the wrong men. We had nothing in common....except the fact that we were inextricably drawn to each other, and eventually fell in love. Awwwww........
And for the past almost decade, we've been working towards this goal- living in the same county. And now the dream has come true. I have no idea how so many boxes came out of a tiny one room apt. in Brooklyn. All I know is they now fill a rather good sized two story house in White Sulfur Springs. It's some sort of magic. Teehoo and I make fun of everything and everyone in whispered giggles on the couch, as 3 hipster movers (who we are planning to adopt) lug all the crap in the house. Shewho glares at us, making us giggle more. We can't help ourselves. Eventually it's all in. Another reason I love this woman so much is she did not expect me to move her. I bought beer and pizza and my job was done. So from this day forward Shewhocannotbenamed will be referred to as Shewhocanbenamed. All hail Shewho.
Friday, June 28, 2013
THE ORIGINAL MG
Labels: pHOTO:mARIANA rOTHEN
MYSTERY GIRL TESTIFIES
I was an early fan of Court TV. There was a time when I worked nights at the door of Max. Fish, our local EV watering hole. So I had plenty of quality daytime TV hours to wile away. It started with the Menendez brothers- rich Hollywood brats, charged with blowing their parents away with a shotgun. They put the ass back in salassious. Lurid details of incestuous tooth brush rape and a rogue's gallery of witnesses (the S&M shrink with the safe word "thorns" stands out) made this trial required viewing for any loser who worked nights. Once OJ came onto the scene it sealed the deal. Court TV was a staple. Voyeur court room viewing hadn't seen such numbers since Perry Mason and Night Court. When I didn't have a day job, I was glued to the box.
I'll watch almost anything, but I never watch CNN. I think the channel must exist solely to supply The Daily Show with clips. The talking heads (no matter how they are whored up and trotted out as experts) are abrasive and seem pretty ignorant. Maybe there's a good one in there, but I haven't found him or her. I can say this with a little confidence, because once again, I'm in session. And this time (I'm ashamed to say) I'm tuned to CNN. Between working on the Lion Cage and going to the eye-doc, I'm intently watching the George Zimmerman trial. Rather, I'm screaming at the asshole pundits and trying to follow the testimony, in between Cialus commercials. Here's an update:
Mystery Girl testifies. No, not that Mystery Girl. But that's the way Yahoo News characterized her. Rachel Janteal, Trayvon Martin's 19 year old female friend, and the last person to talk to him on the phone, took the stand. In mumbled delivery, this girl showed less fear, and more contempt for the system than I've ever seen. And with good reason. As Zimmerman's lawyer chipped away at her, she basically showed him just how little she cared about him, the court and the system as a whole. Her friend was dead. The guy who shot him sat there, looking at her. And CNN- white, black and brown, danced all around the fact that this sweating, mumbling, disrespectful, under-educated, insolent young woman was all our doing. We the People had produced her. No one would touch that. You'd need insight. Who's got time for that? She'd already given up that anybody represented her and that life would be fair. When the defense attorney moved to continue his questions in the morning. Rachel did the classic ghetto head weave, glared at him, like he'd cut in line, and uttered "WHA.......?"
RJ continues her testimony, now obviously chastised for the flippant, sneering impertinence of the previous day, with "Yes sir." "No sir." responses. I would bet Trayvon's mom read her the riot act. This time she keeps up the distain, but tempers it with the expected polite response. CNN edits together all her "Yes sirs." in a disgusting montage, ridiculing the poor girl. At one point she admits she can not read the cursive script of a letter she had dictated to a friend sent to Trayvon's mother. That's where my heart really went out to this kid. But considering all this, in my TV court watching opinion, she held her own. No "creepy-assed cracker lawyer"(my characterization) was gonna rattle her. Trayvon would be proud of his friend. I hope that tonight she's in the pool, with a tall drink, trying to put the whole thing behind her. You go Mystery Girl!
Day three: Still in session.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
SUPERMODEL LION HUNT
As any artist knows- you are only as good as your next piece. The first step is done in our efforts to get HWSTV on the air. The 'teaser pitch" is up on youtube. Now it's up to the Hollywood boys. If I was a bit more savvy with this shit I'd post the link right here. As it is I'm lucky to be able to email it to the right parties. Between my infected mac and the slow satellite, my stuff's going out just a little faster than a telegram during the Indian Wars. But that's not going to slow me down when it comes to the next episode.
Yesterday I got ahold of Pigpen and his ag. plated pick up, and in a driving thunderstorm, we drove out to Ferndale to buy the beginnings of what will be a lion cage- a 50 year old hay wagon. Back in the early 80's when I was attending seminary at Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, CA, I wanted to do this installation in the beautifully groomed school's commons. Very simply, my idea was to drive a big stake into the middle of the commons and chain a lion up there for a day. Alas, I was more broke back then than I even am now. The lion would cost $600 for a day's work. My work study money wouldn't stretch that far. But I never forgot. Like my Virgin Birth Project......someday.
So as the hay wagon bounced and slid along the rain slicked back roads, and i leaned on my horn trying to get Pigpen to slow down, I formulated episode 2. First I would build the cage. This is the easy part. All i have to do is remove the side slats on the wagon, level the bed and build a 3 sided and roofed structure. The front wall will be nothing but bars. Mrs. Butch will be able to look out of her window and see the empty, waiting cage. Next step go to Africa.......wait.......what will we wear? Next step- go clothes shopping. I'm thinking pith helmets, knotted belly shirts (for the supermodels not me), knee socks and kaki shorts. Since we are going to try to capture the lion alive, we won't need guns. I'm sure Carlito has a good rope, some machetes and maybe a cargo net. We'll figure out something.
Once we are in Africa we have to rent a Land Rover with zebra stripes, a guide or two, and a really strong box. I'm sure they have Staples in Africa. Then, once we capture our lion, we all fly back and put the lion in the cage. The Hassidic community will leave their bouncy castles for this one. Teehoo just graduated from a tony NYC private school and she assures me that she took a course in "lion taming", so she's in this episode. I have the chair and whip. Don't ask. Now, I know this may not be enough for an entire episode, so I'm thinking we can unveil the lion during another try at the bikini car wash. If only the weather would cooperate. Gotta go. LA is calling.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
HOLLIE AND MARIANNA
Labels: PHOTO:© GEORGE HOLZ
"N*%#@R'S STILL DEAD."
This reportedly is what Cooking Channel Southern chef and host Paula Deen said when asked to comment on the death of Sopranos' actor James Gandolfini. With George Zimmerman on trial in Florida and Deen being Nationally vilified for admitting to using the N-word in a deposition, it's a week for race. When asked by a plaintiff's lawyer if she ever used the offending word, Deen answered "Of course...." The woman bringing the suit alleges sexual and racial harassment in the restaurant Deen ran with her brother "Bubba". Would you rather she lied? The only thing worse than this old "neck" being given her own TV show, is the way the entire media-nation of hypocrites is calling for her head. Excuse me, does anyone really think that a 65 year old white woman from the deep south never uttered the N-word? Or for that matter, do you think those yentas on The Klatch don't talk trash when the cameras are off? Nigger please.....
We live in a racist country. The most hardcore racist individuals I ever met live in small towns in the North. Lets not forget that neighborhood vigilante George Zimmerman was allowed to go home with his smoking gun in his pocket, after killing a young unarmed Black man. All he had to do was claim self-defense. As that poor kid lay there dead on the sidewalk, the cops literally handed back George's gun and let him go. OK, he doesn't have a cooking show.....yet, but outside a few soundbites, the media isn't even covering the trial. And that brings me to, as Paula would put it, "That fat n%$*^#r Tony Soprano."
I loved The Sopranos, but goddamn, this is Gandolfini not Gandhi. Dying of a heart attack in Italy has allowed the world plenty of time to eulogize the "great man". NBC news had a five minute segment worthy of any head of state. Attention whore Dr. Oz blamed his weight. Really? I'm sure he was a nice guy, but when a rich, fat actor dies of a heart attack, does it warrant a national day of mourning? St. John's Cathedral is being prepared for his funeral and I'm sure every Italian flag in every Rod and Gun Club storefront in Little Italy is flying at half mast. Treyvon Martin? Who's that?
Monday, June 24, 2013
PREACHING TO THE CHOIR
I'm not a big fan of Michael Moore or Bill Maher. Both have this habit of, almost Rush Limbaugh like, delivery to the believers of whatever conspiracy theory is on their plate that day. Everyone, like sheep, nods in agreement and screams for "their heads". Then they go back to their hot dogs. I know it's entertainment, but I'm not on board. I much prefer the balanced approach of John Stewart (now Brit John) and DEMOCRACY NOW's Amy Goodman. Yes, they lean left, but not to the zealot's degree. Mix in a little Yahoo news- "Kim makes Kanye dinner." and I think i have a relatively balanced view of current events.
But I also have my own channels. I just got a cable from my friends in Havana. The whole town is abuzz in anticipation of Edward Snowden's visit. The big statue of Jose Marti holding Elean, pointing in defiance at the U.S. Interest section, has been taken down and replaced by a giant stripper pole with twirling Snowden and "Polelete" girlfriend. I think Los Carpinteros have the commision. As the U.S. goes more to the dark side, the Cuban's seem to be lightening things up. Pull my finger. Over 100 hunger striking prisoners in Guantanamo, being frozen in their cells, and force fed with dirty tubes is evidence enough that the Obama administration has no desire to practice the human rights it preaches to the rest of the world. Diamond Dave went to Guantanamo once to sell jewelry to the PX. I asked him what it was like? "Miami Beach with assault rifles." he told me. "McDonalds, joggers and movie theaters. You'd never know there were any prisoners there."
This is the atmosphere within which we conduct business every day. The waterboarding, sleep deprivation and force feeding can be taking place in the other room and you'd never know it. "Would you like special sauce in your feeding tube?" And this is the point that Snowden, Assange, and Manning are trying to make. All of this is happening right under our noses. As proud, patriotic, God fearing Americans, lulled into a false sense of security by full bellies and gas in the tank, who are we to question what "they" are up to? And when we are shown a peek into the dark, we turn away and cry "espionage!". That's the saddest thing. We really don't want to know. Ignorance really IS bliss. I wonder what Taylor Swift is up to?
Friday, June 21, 2013
KNOCKING ON MORNING WOOD
I wish. I wake up at five, drooling into my pillow. Then Dennis starts hee-hawing, the crows swoop, caw and garble, and as I knot my sheets around my legs, and try my damnedest to catch a few more winks.......I give up and get out of bed. The only reason to get up at five is to hunt. Now, whatever is coursing through my system is denying me the sandman's grace of oblivian. My mind is racing through video edits, supermodel poses and cheap laughs. I lost any sense of sophistication long ago. It's all belly laughs and guffaws now. Broad strokes baby. Piss. Coffee. Radio. Computer.
I'm plagued by self-doubt. I don't know how anybody gets this old and has any sense of knowing what they are doing. Maybe that's where having kids comes in. You can figure if they aren't in jail or the mental hospital you've accomplished something. You don't get the same feeling of accomplishment with cats. Ballzy is MIA and we are all happy. Nicole is still sniffly, but so thrilled to be spared the lethal injection, that she's a real pleasure to be around. Ray has shed enough hair to fill a pillow and Spooky has new wounds on his face each day. He's such a pussy........but see what i mean? It doesn't really fill that big empty hole.
That's where money, career, power, the ability to crush unmercifully those weaklings who dare to.....Now you see why I'm not sleeping. So I call Shewho and remind her that in a couple of weeks, when it's 5pm, she'll be able to pop a cold one and sit on her back deck......Oh, did I mention Shewho is moving to WSSP for good at the end of the month? It will be a big change for her and a welcome change for me. No. We aren't living together. 20 miles apart is pretty fucking close. I look forward to it. Of course I'll tweak, and fuck it up at first. Did you expect anything less? Eventually it will all calm down into domestic bliss and we WILL live happily ever after.....knock on morning wood.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
INDIAN IN MY COMPUTER
"Yes, Mr. Mike. Do you see my cursor?" I did. Through cyber space, all the way from Mombay, was Harry's finger in my shit. The little arrow danced across my screen, without me doing anything. "Who is the girl Mr. Mike?" Harry asked, as little boxes magically appeared and disappeared. At first I didn't have a clue what he was referring to. Was some embarrassing old lesbian porn scene, from a lonely night long ago, lost in the machine? Then I realized he was referring to my screen saver and picture of Tehoo at the White Sulphur Springs Inn. Phew! "Oh, that's my girl friend's daughter." I told my new best friend Harry. "We'll have you fixed up in a Jiffy, Mr. Mike." Harry assured me in that classic Apoo dialect. I wanted to believe him.
My computer had gotten increasingly slow and unresponsive. I never knew whether it was satellite and the persistent thunder storms, the server, the site, the web, the fucking moon in retrograde, or the computer. Harry was my last resort. No sooner had he drained $199 out of my checking account, than he went to work. "Trust me Mr. Mike." What choice did i have? Harry went about his business as i was admonished away from the beast.
HWSTV is going through the final edit, and if 'duardo and I don't kill each other, we'll have it by the time the fireworks go off. I somehow gained a week. I thought 4th of July was next week. Because 'duardo knew the actual calendar, he was a bit resistant to my frayed edge hysteria. I'm going to town on Sat. to try for a final edit. My promise of titties may have been a bit premature. I'm trying........
Last night Diamond Dave, Pigpen, GNJohn and i went to the spot in the river we call Half Moon Bay and had beers, dogs and burgers. GNJohn proposed the supermodels blow up his beaver damn, so it wouldn't flood Pigpen's fields. I see another episode. Maybe Monticello Cable will pick up the show.
"OK Mr. Mike." Harry called back. "You are all set. The foreign addresses are out of your computer." I didn't know whether he meant foreign like in a splinter or like in Canada. Either way I was pleased. "I now turn your computer back to you." Harry said like a Genie sliding back into the bottle, leaving us mortals to plod along as best we can. Thank you Mr. Harry. God Bless your gentle soul.
Monday, June 17, 2013
WE SHOW TITTIE
The first edit of HWSTV is going gangbusters. The animators are working overtime on a segment called "Germination Animation" where we show actual life bursting forth from the ground, in all it's glory, only to be snuffed out by time, friction and gravity. Think Kurosawa on a bender. We're dealing with big issues here people. Shewho and I got great footage of Hollie Witchey talking about her childhood in Canada and everything she had to overcome in order to be the supermodel she is today, as well as bare-breasted footage of Mystery Girl explaining, telepathically, just how she seems to know just where the game is. AND today I finally was able to blow up the turkey. My gun was shooting six inches low. A little compensation and......KA-BOOM! Nothing but feathers.
I think we all can agree that the BIG issue here is titties. Nowhere on regular TV can you see tittties. OR full on erections for that matter. But baby-steps. Lets take this on two at a time. I for one, feel that like the blog, bare breasts and flashes of ankle should be expected on HWSTV. Any supermodel worth her salt knows that when you are old enough to show tittie.... the price goes up. If we are going to whore out our lifestyle here in _____________NY, I think we should be trailblazers. We'll start with breasts and work our way down the slippery slope of debauchery. 'duardo is coming up with great stuff. We hope to have something in the can by RNButch, Daymond John and DJ Poochie's 4th of July extravaganza. NEXT EPISODE: Mowing the Fields.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
As Big Brother inches further and further into our vaginas, a few courageous individuals have stepped forward to say "Wait a minute. Can they do that?" Last week the Supreme Court upheld Maryland's police officers in their intrusions into our bodies, in an attempt to keep us safe. It is now legal for police to collect an individual's DNA who has been arrested (not convicted) of any serious crime in the United States. What actually constitutes "serious" is not fully explained. The ambiguity is left purposefully vague. I don't think "serious" is a legal term. "You were seriously speeding." Out comes the swab. Proponents of this decision see it as nothing more than the 21st Century's "fingerprint". A fingerprint does not contain the entire g nome of an individual's make up. Once the government has it, there's no going back. OPEN WIDE. Officer Krupki is coming in.
In the face of this patriotically paranoid post-911 climate, a few individuals stand out. First we have Julian Asange. (Just writing his name in this blog has triggered a flurry of activity down at Langley.) His website Wikileaks was at the forefront in the sensitive government information dissemination business before he met Bradley Manning. After Army private Manning gave Wiki that video of the helicopter crew killing a bunch of people (including two Reuters press employees) in Iraq, the stakes were raised. Assange now sits in the Ecudoran embassy in London and Manning is on trial for his life here. These dweeby white boys got big cojones.
And the hero of the week is high school drop out, turned NSA security guard, turned CIA undercover, turned Booz-Allan-Hamilton contractor/ NSA systems analyst, turned whistle-blower- 29 year old Edward Snowden. From a Hong Kong hotel room Snowden told a Guardian newspaper reporter just what the U.S. government's capabilities are in listening to your phone conversations and reading your emais. "I can listen to you, a Federal Judge, or the President himself, if I get a personal email." he told the Guardian. Sounds outlandish. Sounds scary. Sounds fucking unconstitutional! This spy-kid is spilling the beans and the old guard is falling all over themselves with spin. I've never understood why they call it "intelligence".
Wrong or right, whatever their motives, these nerds are risking their livelihoods and in Manning's case his actual life, to make the moves they have made. Just how shadowy our government is, we may never know. Any light shined is welcome. In my opinion these cats are heroes. As 'duardo and I try to come up with a decent edit of fake turkey hunting and non-cow branding with three hot girls, and pitch it to the Hollywood boys, I'm humbled by the courage of these 3 men. And to all you NSA boys reading this- my papers are in order. The door is open. Maybe you can get this computer to work a little faster.
Monday, June 10, 2013
MEDICAL EMERGENCY VAMPIRE BLOOD DRIVE CHURCH
I know it's not even fourth of July, but that doesn't mean we should not start thinking of the theme for the next Halloween church. Word should be out, to the degree, that the congregation is aware that there will be no summer churches this year. The primary reason for this is the fact that I spent the winter making "art". The entire CLGM sanctuary is now filled with objects and canvases. There's just no room for the foolishness that a service entails. The master plan is to close on the Glen Wild Shul deal by late summer, move the work into that building and hold a service in late October. We have a great tradition of Halloween Octoberfest churches. Drinking and dress-up go hand in hand in this belief system. My beer swilling "Hitler on vacation" costume is always a big hit.
Initially we had thought of doing an Apres- ski fondue service. This is still a great concept. Picture supermodels in tight turtlenecks and stretch pants, dipping chunks of fresh bread into steaming hot tubs of bubbling cheese. I'm already salivating. But, outside of Contessa Hughes-Freeland, nobody seemed into it. Admittedly, it's a little hard to read the mood of the inner circle. They show all the enthusiasm of a Prozac dosed yogi waiting to have his teeth worked on. Then there is the BAND OF ALL FAITHS. You want to have reason to hate people? Start a band. Organist Tricky Traviss is always hard to find, and even harder to corral for rehearsals. Birka Budde is preggers AGAIN! In the words of Buddy Budde "No, it wasn't a mistake." I believe him. There's so much breeding and birthing going on on that farm, I think Birka wears a vagina thermometer around her neck. "I'M OVULATING!" is what passes for foreplay over there. Then there's the constantly changing conga line of drummers- Drekes, Jarvis, Wyndum, a non-existant bass player....and finally the so-called musical director Slick. Try getting him on the phone or have him return an email. I'll say no more.
This church would never have survived all these years if I had much else going on in my life. So it falls to me to try my best to rally the troops and stir up enough enthusiasm to write a few hymns, rehearse once or twice, and come up with a theme....or three. To this end I present for your approval the theme for the next service- Medical Emergency Vampire Blood Drive Church. Being the geezer of the CLGM, I recently have had a spate of niggling little medical problems. All winter long I was cold. Surprise. My house barely gets above 50 degrees with the woodstove blasting. I'm tired and achey. Hummmmm?....Lyme? Age? Pot smoking? Laziness? Pick one. So, finally I decided to go to the doctor. After three test tubes of blood were drawn, they found out I have a hypo-thyroid (so far that's all). Symptoms- fatigue, aches, cold all the time, groggy thought process......Bingo! Give me those pills.
After a couple of days of taking my medicine, i feel better already. Yesterday GNJohn, King of the Jews- Pigpen Rothman and I paddled miles down the Neversink in our kayaks, and I never felt better. I've already checked with nurses Ginger and Betheroo about drawing blood. They haven't committed. They mentioned something about losing their nurse's licenses. But I'm not worried. I'm starting to think clearly again and feel warm as toast. How hard can it be to draw blood? And I know everyone can benefit from a little medical attention. GNJohn's proctology booth will be wide open and all the supermodels are excited to shop for white stockings, garter belts, those funny nursey hats and stiletto heels. My plan is to draw as much blood as we can and donate it to those in need. It's a pretty anemic county. I've already ordered a bunch of hypodermic needles, a stethoscope, zip-lock bags and made room in the fridge. Start writing down all your symptoms. Let the healing begin. Now turn your head and cough.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
COWGIRL HOLLIE WITCHEY
Labels: pHOTO:mARIANA rOTHEN
JEWS ON A PLANE
I had a great idea. Instead of gutting and transforming my recent purchase of the Glen Wild shul, I thought I would clean it up, patch the plaster, oil the woodwork and open up a functioning synagogue, once again, in our little corner of the Catskills. Whose to say the spiritual leader of a fringe congregation couldn't branch out into a major belief system? Of course whenever I have any kind of idea (crackpot or otherwise) I run it by Shewho. "Whaddaya think?" I asked. I was met by stoney silence. Had the phone gone dead? Then I heard a deep sigh. "I'd think long and hard about that." Shewho's council was always welcome, but I also knew her to play it safe in most instances. "Come on." I insisted. "I get along with the Jews. It could be fun." I was picturing bar mitzvahs and weddings in the front, while I put the finishing touches on some penis sculpture in the back. "I think it would provide a nice balance to my work." I argued, as Shewho poo-pooed the idea. "I think you are asking for trouble." she warned. Maybe she was blaming the whole tribe for the sins of her ex-husband. "Assholes are of all faiths." I reminded her.
Well, I no sooner hung up the phone than I spotted two Hassidic gentlemen standing in the middle of my lawn. Half way through my dinner, I went to the front door to see if I could help them. Upon seeing me, the one who wasn't wearing a telemarketer's head set asked "Vat is dis place?" in that accusatory tone, Hassidim seems to take, when spotting something they can't peg. That's a hard question to answer simply . "A church." is always the easiest. Having spotted the GOD LOVES FAGS sign in Hebrew, the talker continued the inquiry. "Why the Jewish? Are you Jewish?" I explained the difference between using the Hebrew language and being Jewish, as my dinner grew cold. The telemarketer frowned as the talker continued, not satisfied with any of my answers. "Is it for sale?"
"Is it old?"
"Look at it." I instructed, now getting a bit impatient. "Does it look old?" He turned and looked without saying anything.
"Do you have antiques in it?"
"I love antiques. Can we look inside?"
At this point I'd had enough of the inquisition. I excused myself to get back to my cold dinnere and shut the door. They stood in the middle of the lawn with puzzled looks for a while, and finally left. I called back Shewho. "You may be right." I conceded. She usually was.
This morning I read of an AirTran plane flying between NY and Atlanta with a group of 100 students from the Yeshiva of Flatbush, having to make an unscheduled stop, in order to remove all the students and their chaperones. It seems that this particular group of high school students, on their way to Six Flags, was so wound up that they would not sit down, nor turn off their cell phones. After repeated requests from the flight attendants, as well as the pilot, for the group to take their seats, they had to land the plane and remove the entire bunch. Now, in all honesty, this could've happened with any group of knuckleheaded high schoolers, hyped up on Red Bull and internet porn. The fact that they were all Jewish just makes for a great blog heading. I guess I'll just wait and see how my shul shakes out. Shalom kids.