confessions of a nasal mist addict

i i need to get out more.

it’s a little too easy to get comfortable here in mi barrio.  everything i need is within a few blocks…the ghetto ralph’s is a stones through (or in my case a stoned through…), i can embellish that with a quick trip to market gourmet for the obligatory squid ink, creme fraiche, chorizo or st. augur bleu cheese.  but i’ve been feeling a little bleu of late and need to get out of my box. 

but maybe it’s the box that has me bleu.  a recent adventure to bob’s market, a mere few blocks east of the boulevard, resulted in refreshment of reasonable proportions.  in search of bone-in pork loins for a pending fete found me at a relatively well kept secret where the price is right and the music is righteous.  not seeing my hearts desire i queried my meat monger after ordering a few links of the homemade lamb basil sausage, he directed me to the meat monger manager who gave me the card shown above complimented by: “we’ve always got them, call ahead if you like, the number on the card rings right here (points to a phone a few pheet away).

bitchin’.

and to make it even more marvey bitchin’ i wasn’t asked for a discount card at the check out. and I found a total price not unlike the one i typically pay…but the bounty in my bags blossomed with the aforementioned, a wonderful wine find and a few other delectable ditties.

i smiled all the way home, happy in my bold adventure and assurance my agoraphobia is another of my misplaced self inflicted narcissistic nuances…save for the occasional wallow in my own pity puddle.

i returned to ghetto ralph’s tonight for a few necessities, driven by my jones for those prepackaged petite pecan pies, cow juice and a seemingly never ending scope of the canned tomatoes.  i saw the girl with the chartreuse hair, the near homeless guy hiding protein bars in his threadbare coat and the meat dude with the big neck brace pontificating about death of retail as slain by the largest percentage increase of on-line sales ever recorded this holiday season.  i waited as rosita managed the kids in the kart while she made sure hamid rang her gum separate from the rest of her ninety-nine dollar purchase both of which she paid for by credit card after two failed attempts to enter her worn out ralph’s card and the ensuing application and new card that made the line seem like it was moving in reverse.  i found myself wishing i had never left my canned tomato nirvana.

i’ll be back at bob’s before you know it and be happy to have found the missing linc on the other side of lincoln.

Posted in fact based on fiction

I’m bogged by my blog.

Confessions began as a way to expunge that which was held within, those thoughts that ramble through my feeble mind in the wee hours o’ the morn and find their inspiration at the most curious of times.  And like most things I do, there was a little more leaping before looking.

I leaped onto wordpress.com and/or .org and was impressed with the templates.  Impressed enough to study a little CSS and see how quickly I could build a similar site…but opted for the template for speed and price and avoidin the frustration associated with the typical tussle with Dreamweaver.  And all those requirements were met, as expected, but I still expected more.

I expected to see more blogs I would be interested in “blogrolling.”  Alas, I’m disappointed in that what I’ve found is a mish-mash of people just purging, plagiarizing, pilfering and pontificating useless drivel about their dog, church, jail time and an apparent disregard for the English language in their inability to discern the difference between their, they’re and there.  The biggest difference from one blog to the next is the template they’ve chosen and not the content.

Now when it comes to content I wasn’t expecting to see New Yorker Magazine maestros, the elegance of Esquire, the gentility of GQ or the vanity of Vanity Fair.  I wasn’t expecting to see junior on Santa’s pee stained lap while being beaten to death with a bad Kenny G wanna be soundtrack playing in the background.  I wasn’t expecting to be hindered photographically and be relegated to the likes of Flickr for my “pix.”

But of course I’m not one who takes lightly to being relegated to much of anything.  And after all it is “wordpress.com” not “eloquentstimulatingliteratureandphotography.com.”  And it’s free…it’s worth every cent I paid for, and then some.

So as I’ve done with the rest of my life I will most likely take the road less travelled and upon reaching its fork I too will take that.  As someone once told me when I was fourteen: “The first one is free…”  It’s much akin to razors and razor blades.  You get the razor for free…then they nail you on the blades.  So goes the auto blog.

Perhaps I’ll enjoy toiling in the twilight hours over the holidaze and make my own digital snowman from all the zeros and ones I’ll be manipulating.  It’ll keep me out of the bars…at least a little bit…and hone my HTML holiness allowing me to rise above the rest with something hipper, cooler, more definitively moi in shape, color, sound and texture.  I feel better already.

Now, where did I put that pocket protector?

Posted in early wordz
Tags: blog, blogging

I loathe the word blog.  It’s another bastardization of the English language I blame the digital world for.  However, I’m not one to fight progress and in fact embrace it.  So once again, as I have oft done before, I will sneak past my better judgment and delve into its depths, albeit reluctantly.  Welcome to Confessions Of A Nasal Mist Addict.

In homage to Mr. Thompson, I’ll begin by saying my loathing (and my fear) of blogging is fueled by my own relationship the power, prophet and profit of the oldest profession.

Not so surprisingly, that profession once again raises its diametrically opposed twin heads of beauty and beast claiming, at least in part, responsibility for how we use all those zeros and ones today.  Think about it.  If you’re unfortunate enough to get a peek behind the fumes from the transfat-free smoke screen in a restaurant today, you’ll probably see someone learning to make your “Hungry Heifer Carnivore Special” (aka: promoburger…what are promos anyway?  Are they free range and organic?) on a monitor whose message arrives floating through a golden smog of grilled onions.

And who, what, when, where, why and how did this come to be?  Porn.  Yep, the porn industry gets the blame and the credit for developing the technology we use today to watch Internet video.  Want creates need that makes need create want.  A near perfect circle. 

But for me Porn and the Internet are a bouillibasse of mixed emotions whose ingredients share near equal parts of sympathy, disgust, pleasure, death, efficiency and waste and seasoned with your choice of sectarian guilt.  There’s plenty of good and bad that comes from the Porn industry.  The same can be said for the Internet and its offspring of blogs, ecommerce and messages from Osama bin Laden.

You can almost bet that future postings will have similar arguments of endless circles.  Call it a Zen Synchronicity thing — you know, where everything is connected and judgment is relegated to more definitive questions with answers so obvious they don’t deserve typing, even the one handed kind.

So here I sit, sneaking away in my disguise of a four day old beard, pajama bottoms, fuzzy slippers and a Fender Stratocaster t-shirt I bought on line.  I am both an innocent child of the Internet and a dupe of the digerati agape in the gap of good and evil yet wallowing in a world of words that you have so generously gifted me the time to read.

Now go do something productive.

Posted in early wordz
Tags: Internet, porn, transfat