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Alien Fetus Putty with my Latte

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Day Three: Texas just goes on and on and on. By the third day of Texas, I was ready to see something besides Texas. It was a zillon degrees in the middle of nowhere, West Texas, when we decided to let the truck run out of gas. The handy thing about having a cell phone is that there are no cells in nowhere, West Texas. We got the truck to roll about 3 miles on empty before we disembarked to head for a nearby gas station on foot. I hadn’t gotten five feet before I saw the carcass of a deer on the side of the road, completely desiccated, its head and cloudy eye tilted searchingly toward the hazy sky, as if to say Help Me God Why? I tried not to think about that or the blistering heat. Shazzam! Within two minutes, we were within sight of the station. And with that, we cheated death. So screw you, deer. Stupid spiritual guide.

After what seemed like a thousand miles of staring at discredited landscape painting while the sun went down, and the silhouettes of oil pumps and their pendulous motion in an otherwise barren land, we finally made it to New Mexico.

Day Four: We woke up in Roswell. It was not as sad and hopeless as I thought it would be. Rather, it has turned this whole alien obsession into a hip and kitschy strip. Silver flying saucers sticking out the sides of buildings, UFO marquees; even the streetlights had alien heads for globes. I had the best cup of coffee in the southwest in a starbucks type cafe. And alien souveniers galore. Knowing how much Lickety loves aliens, fetuses, and especially putty, I was joyful to find the three combined! Hurray for Roswell!

We left around midday and headed for Phoenix. I met up with my dad along the way and we had dinner at this spiffy mexican joint where I picked up margarita glasses as big as my head, in the shape of a sombrero-ed hombre y mujer. My dad showed me around Phoenix a bit and we sat at this beautiful old church sharing a smoke before I had to hit the road. Thanks Dad!

By the time we got to Blythe, California, I was delirious. Wacky mexican polka on the radio pervaded my half sleeping consciousness the whole way.

-xo

It looks like a porcupine

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This morning at the mini mart, treat I almost got knocked over by a woman trying to haul her brood of monster children out the door.

“Bioré, prescription get OVER here!” she shrieked.

“Bzzzt!” went my cerebral cortex. Yes, medicine it really sounds like a bug zapper. Did I just hear that correctly? Bioré was busy ripping open packets of Fun Dip at the counter and had to be hollered at again and again. Yep, there was no way I misheard a more “traditional” name.

By the time I got my card out of the ATM, acid-washed mommy had succeeded in getting the kids back to the truck. Luckily Nivea, Olay, Almay, and Little Max Factor were better behaved.

-xxoo

Don’t mess with Texas

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Day One: I headed out of New Orleans fueled by a last stop at the Drive-Thru Daquiri. Drive-Thru Daquiri! After preparing thusly for the long drive to LA, buy cialis we set off through the bayou, and stopping in St. Martinville, recipe heart of Cajun country. We are talking giant elms and lazy. lily pad covered currents and air as thick as honey. Then we took a ferry over the Gulf of Mexico, landing in Galveston, Texas. It was dark and hot and wet. The seagulls flew in low as I stood on the bow, getting sprayed with saltwater. Texas was this endlessly huge dark thing up ahead. I never felt so small.

The sprawl of Houston seemed interminable, but we finally hit the central part and stopped there. The people in this restaurant were crazily friendly. We ate pie and watched some Cheers re-runs they were playing off a DVD. So there I was chewing on raw texas beef, a thousand miles from Boston and, well, you know.

Houston was pretty beat, so we did a long burn all the way to Austin.

Day Two: We stayed at a Motel 6, standing over the balcony in the broiling midday looking out over a sad and dingy pool where a man was frying himself to a bacony consistency. I spent the day milling around downtown and at sundown saw the great exodus of bats from beneath the bridge. It was an unreal swarm. Then we looked around the strip at the University of Texas Austin. I saw the Whitman tower and walked the plaza where those folks were mowed down by the be-tumored sniper. We searched in vain along the downtown strip for a rockabilly show, but hell, it was monday night, so we settled for a yummy Austin beer in a bar that was kinda punk until this wretched second band took the stage in which some fat guy screeched about sodomizing us, to its tuneless cacophany of muffled guitar and a ululating backup singer.

-xo from the road

State and Mania

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Our Lambchop hasn’t been the only one hitting the open road, oh no! I took the opportunity last weekend to hit the high seas. Mr. H and I stayed in a swanky hotel in Portland, Maine, complete with an all-glass porno shower stall separate from the tub. We meandered around Portland, where we discovered the chief pastime of the locals is heavy drinking. Then we headed over to Peaks Island on the ferry, a 15 minute ride past WWII gunnery fortifications and inexplicably large houses on private islands in Casco Bay. Mr. H’s grandparents live in a little house on the island, which they bought in 1961 for $750. Average property value on the island is now approaching half a million dollars and up for ramshackle cottages. But they ain’t sellin’, and I’m glad because I like to visit.

Mr. H took some pictures:

Even the housepets on the island are ramshackle.

Godzilla.

A dire warning by the Great Head Light House:

(Ok, it is not really called that. It is called Portland Head Light.)

To the lighthouse.

Oh, as Lambchop so rightly pointed out, this *is* a blog, so I shall also detail my menu: Saturday Lunch: Pot Roast, 4-bean salad minus one type of bean that no one cared for. Saturday Dinner: Shrimp and Lobster Scampi, Lobster Quesadilla. Lots of locally brewed beer. Sunday Breakfast: Seafood omelette, red pepper home fries. Sunday Lunch/Dinner: Lobster Roll, fried scallops (to be fair, this was consumed in Portsmouth, NH), chocolate ice cream with chocolate jimmies. I’ve lived in New England 7 years now, and I can finally wrap my mind around saying “jimmies.”

And parking, let’s not forget about parking, this being a BLOG and all. There is a top secret FREE parking lot in Portland. Portland also features ample meter parking, and the valet rate at our hotel was a scandalously low $10. The locals are friendly, and will chat you up and make fun of the people from New Yawk City. One waitress also thoughtfully pointed out that since the economy is based on tourism and fishing, there is “fahck all” for jobs up that way.

-xxoo

Po’ Boy

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ahh yes, the highlights of our Menu at K Pauls

-fresh hot cheddar jalapeno rolls and molasses walnut bread

-Boudin, a sausage stuffed with rice, flash fried into a crispy patty

-bronzed salmon and oyster with a hot walnut sauce

After supper I rolled around the french quarter, taking the obligatory peek at the Girls Gone Wild on Bourbon Street. I only stayed there long enough to down a cosmopolitan while my friend Jim got roped into playing the washboard with the zydeco band in a touristy bar.

I spent all day yesterday working on getting Jim’s possessions into a truck and getting us on the road (ostensibly the purpose of this whole riot). By “working on” I mean that we rose at noon, had a three hour lunch at a great little out of the way seafood place (spicy crawfish stuffing balls!), hit the drive-thru daquiri shack, and then made our way over to the storage lot. Drive-thru Daquiris! Drinking while driving is perfectly legal in New Orleans, and you will see old ladies pull on flasks at stoplights. Drive-thru Daquiris are brilliant! You can also get shots of whiskey at these drive-thrus.

Carting Jim’s stuff was thirsty work and so our friends sent us off afterwards on a sea of Makers Mark. The killer of the evening was something called a Car Bomb. Its a half glass of Guiness with a shot of jamison in it and a shot glass of Baileys. You dump the shot glass of Baileys glass and all into the Guiness and glug the whole thing down in one go. After that, you start talking mistily about the old country and you take bets like “i bet you can’t eat six saltines in sixty seconds”. And I most certainly can’t and trying really hurt. Well, thats New Orleans for you.

Now its San Antonio or bust.

xo

Yeah, you right!

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I spent yesterday strolling the garden district (hoping to run into Anne Rice so I can kick her in her fat crotch). So many mansions, each more elaborate than the next. I mean, servants quarters and a mercedes being buffed in the drive kinda fancy. It got pretty hot, so there was nothing else to do but sit on the porch of a great hotel, having fried catfish and mint juleps.

In the evening we went to Mama K-Doe’s, which is a bar and shrine set up for the legend Ernie K-Doe “Emperor of the Universe”, by his wife Antoinette. K-Doe is like the Little Richard of New Orleans. this place is packed with memorabilia- from a life sized dummy of the Emperor himself to his drivers license and cell phone. Then we zipped over to another bar to see the Treme Brass Band. Think Louis Armstrong singing “Gimme My Money Back”. It was really great. Their bass drum player is Uncle Lionel Batiste- he is 71 and very sharp with an eye for the ladies. At intermission he came to my table and offered me his autograph- he drew me a little picture of himself with his drum! Did I already say it was really great? I mean really really great? At one we went to still another bar to see Sun Pie and the Louisiana Sunspots. They played cuban african, blues, and Zydeco music. Really Great! I wolfed down black bean and chicken quesadillas and the accordion sang! (hee, the drummer was from the band War. You know, Why Can’t We Be Friends?) Did I already say it was really great?

Shake it!

-xo

ps. today I am having dinner at Paul Prudhomme’s restaurant. Nothing to do in this heat but have a mint julep and bake on the deck for a while until suppertime. Where I will have a vast quantity of tasty food, whose contents I will detail to you (this being a BLOG and all).

When the levee breaks…

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The wild and beautiful sprawl of New Orleans made me quickly forget the Ugly Americans I was surrounded by en-route. Ok, I did not exactly forget them (they talked loud, dressed loud, and even smelled volubly) but my culture shock dissipated. New Orleans. Right. There was a bit of flooding here- the rising Mississippi. The cabbie mistook me for a local because I went straight from the airport to a bar. The Half Moon. It was not exactly in a ghetto, but a ramshackle part of town. I have never seen such a variety and splendor of Shacks. In the evening, I went to the French Quarter to see a local band extravaganza- they were a mixture of Tom Waits, southern gothic and carny music- with a pump organ, standup bass, violin, walkie talkies, megaphones, and a rubber fish. The singer dressed like an old fashioned undertaker with mad hair and a john waters moustache. It was full, beautiful, and melancholy music followed by stamping and howling. Amazing. I rambled the narrow streets of the quarter, eating spicy food, drinking bourbon and glimpsing the river. Then my friends took me to Snake and Jake’s Christmas Tree Lounge, which was really a pressed tin shack covered in christmas tree lights.

Welcome to the Last Bohemia!

-xo from the Road

For whom the dole tolls

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Dear Kitty Winn, check

I hate my job, ailment but it keeps me in mascara and Marabou mules. Sleeping under my desk has failed to score me an unemployment check, drugs and I am uncertain as to how to proceed with something so tiresome as “My Future”, were I to simply quit. What should I do?

signed

unskilled at all things legal

Dear Unskilled,

Something has been dreadfully amiss in your education. Why do you not know that mascara and mules are things that men pay for?! The fiscal responsibility for your loveliness belongs to your clock punching love monkey. Must Kitty draw you a road map to his wallet? Job, indeed. The only reason for having one of those is because we look so smart in tweeds and it is occasionally good to have to rise before noon.

If work is getting you that down however, it is time to inform your mate that you will be staying at home until Fox offers you that special you have been talking of. Be prepared to offer him something in return, however- it might be as workaday as frequent fellatio, or as demanding as you getting sprogged up. Kitty Winn is not a huge fan of infant spew, teletubbies, or the handling of rubber feces-filled pants. But that is a very personal choice.

Good luck and let me just add “Gold Card”.

-Kitty Winn

I would like to thank the Academy…

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Licketysplit is the goddess of good ideas and comfortable footwear. I have been so heartily welcomed- I even received this handsome cell phone and fruit basket! As marv of a time as i am having, I am not long for this corner of the land. On Thursday, I am headed for the Big Easy (stifle your chortling, Lickety). It’s the beginning of a two week road trip, destination L.A. Along the way, my pal Jim and I plan to see giant oaks, an exodus of bats, greasers, and maybe even greasers with bats. We are also going to stop in Las Vegas. As if the desperation of that town won’t be palpable enough, we are stopping in Roswell, New Mexico.

Gonna skin me a crocodile!

xo