NOT Sorry

I just wanted to let my small amount of loyal readers know that I am NOT sorry for not writing a blog for the past 3 weeks. Like I said before I do NOT follow rules. I have been EXTREMELY busy learning things IN school and working 4-8 hours PER week and didn't have time for the stupid internet. Now summer vacay is almost here and I might just start writing manifestos and stories EVERY day...that is ONLY if I feel like it.

P.S. Read the blog below this one. It's called "Howard Plays a Big Joke." It's an amazing tale of trickery and gluttony and sex.

Howard Plays a Big Joke (loosely based on a true story, but mostly a fantasy)

Howard Rice had flowing white hair and fashion sense to bring a herd of running rhinos to a dead stop. Like any good millionaire he sometimes used his wealth to play tricks. Por ejemplo (I really like the way por ejemplo feels rolling off my tongue and I am trying to learn Espanol, so I will insert Spanish words whenever I want) Howard decided to have a dinner “extravaganza of the senses” with his wine drinking friends. It would be a luscious meal indeed: 23 pounds of foie gras, 45 pounds of bouillabaise, 2 gallons of super expensive caviar, 67 ounces of California chronic, 83 pounds of kobe beef tartar, 4 wheels of fancy French Crottin, 6 Bolivian peasants, and last but not least many pricy bottles of vino. When the wine started flowing everyone was swishing their tongues in delight. A little ant that was walking on the Cararra marble kitchen counter told me that he heard one attendee named Sherry exclaim “Sweet Fancy Catharine of Aragon! This has to be one of the best vintages I have ever had. It has long sexy legs, ever so slight hints of velvety cherry, a fat ass body, the bouquet is muy complex, blahblahblahhhh.” Other guests moaned a little, pursed their lips and wrinkled their foreheads. Oh to enjoy the fruits of the earth!

When it looked like the people could not get any happier, Howard took it as his cue to remove from his Indian Agarwood wine cabinet a Montrachet 1978 from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti bought at auction for 23,939 US bones. At first the guests thought this was some kind of joke. Sure it is rumored that there is a crane in his backyard that lowers big wads of cash on Christmas, but this was too much. This extravaganza quickly switched from extravagant to down right profligate (gracias thesaurus). The group didn’t want to get too excited about tasting the Montrachet because for all they knew they were hallucinating (gracias 67 ounces of California chronic). But I’ll tell you one thing, if you looked at their underpants you would see them soaked with pee. This could very well be the highlight of all of their drinking careers. They might taste a wine so supreme that they wondered if they would be able to recover and return to reality.

Howard loudly expelled a sweet swan song, “On the eighth day of Hanukkah my true love gave to me 8 Arnold Palmers, 7 supple virgins, 6 sweeping saris, 5 gilded grandmas, 4 forty ouncers, 3 Thurgood Marshals, 2 tame tortugas, and a bottle of Moooontraaaacheeeett!” He was a little bit of an eccentric if you know what I mean. He then proclaimed, “I have a vision and it is as follows. There are 15 brand new freshly aerated Gucci floating pool donuts floating in my heated indoor pool and there are 15 of you wearing your finest Gucci gowns and suits. The ghost of Diane Arbus is hiding in the pantry and she wants to take one more photograph before her soul returns to the Source. I will open this bottle of wine if you do as I wish and get into the pool and let Ms. Arbus get her picture.” As fast as you can say “Sweet fancy Moses, son of Sam Francis, acquaintance of Marcus Garvey” those highly fashionable people were lounging in Gucci pool toys. Howard had them right where he wanted them. He uncorked the wine and sniffed it. His eyes rolled back into his head. He poured himself a little smidgen and tasted it. He squealed like a pig that just had a feather up its ass. And then this little hobbit named Patrick who only had one frame temple on his glasses came outside wheeling a cauldron. All Howard’s friend Barnaby had to do was take one look at the cauldron to know that Howard Rice the trickster had an affinity for the pitcher drink sangria. His heart skipped 12 beats and he gasped. Just as a misbehaved child draws on the wall with crayons, Howard poured the 24,939 dollar bottle into his bubbling cauldron of sangria while his Gucci adorned house guests sat in their Gucci pool donuts in his heated indoor pool and watched in horror.

If you are a reader with oodles of money that is probably your most successful bet at sticking it to the man, considering you are the man.

Spring

A miniature bulb like Chionadaxa lucilae makes a sure-to-please gift in spring.

-Sunset Western Garden

I don’t know about you, but for me a warm and bursting spring is really something to scream about. I liken the special feeling of spring with the special feeling my friend Zach gets when he thinks of light travel. Quote, “When I think about light traveling I almost get goose-bumps or a special feeling.” When I think about the cherry blossoms pregnant with pink bundles of glittering petal yummies, I get goose-bumps the size of golf balls. I admit that I even get turned on a little. If ever I am walking down a cobblestone lane flanked by Ceanothus I just take off my clothes and start licking people. When I get a big whiff of jasmine, the ever modest plants whose understated baby white flowers emit a real grade A fragrance, I twirl really fast until I throw up.

Oh, to be swallowed by Sweet Asylum when the sun’s warmth has injected the womb like air of peace into your veins. The glories of spring! Every minute feels like the earth is waking up over and over again, stretching her arms of Evergreen Candytuft towards you, inviting you to fool around.

Oak trees are always there to comfort you. They reach out and offer their hard shoulder to lean on. Go ahead and take it. Just be careful, some trees have sap, and you don’t want to roll up to the office from your lunch break with tousled hair covered in sap. Someone might ask, “Adrienne you’re sticky black. It looks like you just got in a fight with someone with a maple syrup weapon. What happened?” only to answer, “I was being swallowed by Sweet Asylum and comforted by Mother Oak near the dumpsters behind the commissary.” They might cock their brow and tell your co-workers that you play in bushes on your lunch break. Then people might talk. They might start to call you “crazy” behind your back. Your boss, if he/she hears word of it, might begin to question your competence. But if you are really smart then this reasoning for holding back from nature did not fool you. Who cares if they call you crazy! Those who honor mother earth most enthusiastically are better people anyways. So go roll around in the poppies and let the pollen lick your black suit. Join the bees as the aroma of succulent Narcissus whispers sweet nothings into their pores. And then you can tell those square mother fuckers in the office that on your lunch break you were licentiously licked by spring. Sassafras had his tongue all up your thighs. Hyacinths made you drunk as Dionysus on an odor so syrupy you chewed the air and gulped down every particle emanating from the innards of those bunches of thick creamy purple petals while those idiots were at Quizno’s.

Let Pacha Mama germinate your spirit! Boo-ya-shaka!!!

I love fire ladders

Now that the sole purpose of my life is dedicated to usurping the thrown of the man, I see undercover combatants of subversion all around me. Por ejemplo my mom gave me a fire ladder that you are supposed to throw out of windows when there is a fire blocking your door. Little did she know that she was just encouraging me to question the oppressive purpose of doors. I’ll tell you what, doors can lick my ass. They are just there as another way of coercing you to accept bogus cultural norms. Last Sunday I was eating steel cut oatmeal and reading about gallerinas not ballerinas and I started to think a lot about doors. The more I thought about them the more mad I got. I spit my oatmeal into the New York Times and went for a walk to clear my mind. On this walk I stomped my feet and flailed my arms. I pulled leaves off of trees, I ripped them in half and I smelled them. I punched a thorny rose bush and at one point I just went ahead and walked backwards. When I got home from this incredibly rebellious walk I stood before my front door and I mooned it. I walked to the side of the house and broke my bedroom window and climbed in. My roommate wanted to know what in fucking hell was I doing keys in hand breaking into the house. I looked her in the eyes and grunted, “Fuck doors.” I am no hypocrite (or a ninny), so if I make a life decision I am going to follow through all the way. Thus I leave my car windows open all of the time even when it hails. That way I can always climb right in. I’m hecka sneaky huh? I also carry my fire ladder in my very beautiful diamond studded tote bag made from freshly harvested blood diamonds. You might be wondering what I do when I go on dates because men they always like to open doors if their daddy’s taught them right. You also might be thinking that people wouldn’t want to go out with some broad who renounced doors. Lucky for me I don’t date people because for the most part they are idiots, so I haven’t yet encountered that problem. However a psychic told me that I was going to meet the man I was going to marry when I was 25, so I’d better start thinking of ways to skirt the issue because I turn 25 in 9 days! I suppose I can always say that I will meet people in wide-open places that are walking distance from my house. Anyways whoever wants to marry me will love me just the way I am. If I find that life in the city becomes too hard, I will move to a hot place in the third world where they don’t have air-condition. Then they will want their windows open all of the time. And they probably can’t afford doors anyways.

Toenails and the All Night Vigil

I previously stated that I would write one blog per week. But because I listen to no one including myself, I will write one whenever I want. I am supposed to be writing lesson plans, but instead I started thinking of innovative ways to undermine the man. This is what I came up with: cut your toenails with your eyes closed. In fact, close your eyes all of the time except when you sleep. On that note I am going to go listen to some Russian Orthodox choral music and I'm Jewish. Feel free to refute and/or praise anything I say in the form of a comment.

The Unhurried Cibo Association Proclamaition

“Our century, which began and has developed under the insignia of industrial civilization, first invented the machine and then took it as its life model”


Slow Food Movement Manifesto


“Our era, which commenced and has matured below the emblem of urban society, primero created the engine and then assumed it as its vida representation.”


Unhurried Cibo Association Proclamation


Modern life is mired by rule after rule after regulation after law after code of conduct after dress code after instruction manual after religious decree after rational sentence progression. The time has come to rip the veils off of our souls and bear our most precious fruit. Speaking of fruit, a long while back I was in the Malibu Mountains at Jewish Summer Camp and there was only tuna fish for lunch. I don’t like cooked tuna because the fetid stench is obscenely revolting. So being the clever little avant-garde teenager that I was, I applied raspberry chocolate lip gloss to my lips and then licked it off. I repeated this action until the tub of goo was gone. This leads me to the next day where my friend Mallory was eating an apple. She got down to the core and asked me to hold it for a second while she tied her shoe. As I held this apple core, I looked deep into its loins, and I saw something for the first time. A little cloud of smoke emanated from the fruit and I read spirits in the mist. The spirits whispered to me, “For thousands of years man has eaten apples. For 30 years man has stopped eating the core.” So my obvious course of action was to eat the core. Ever since that day in Malibu I eat the core of apples. The main benefit of this action is that say you are in the car eating an apple. You get down to the core and you don’t know what to do with it. You have slight anxiety about putting it in the ashtray because soon it will be brown and it will start to smell poo-ey then you’ll have to touch it when you pick it up to throw it away. Or say you take the bus and the driver is really bad and as you grip the metal bar you instinctively tense the other hand as well. One hand is crawling with bus bar germs and the other is now sticky and you just have to hold the apple until you get to your stop. You can rid yourself of all of this anxiety if you just eat the fucking apple core. An apple tree is not going to grow in your stomach nor are you going to die of apple seed poison. It really is such a good feeling to just eat it. If you do you will begin to recognize that your idiotic rational mind that is duct taped with cultural norms will begin to be liberated.

Because of my radically iconoclastic nature I figured that if it was okay to eat entire apples, it was probably okay to eat kiwi skin as well. When I started eating kiwi con skin, I found that I got the same feeling as I got when I ate entire apples. You can imagine the things I did after this. I ate orange peels, I ate pear cores and plum pits. I ate chicken toe nails and egg shells and strawberry tops. I was wild with fury, totally unstoppable. The shackles of captivity were free. I ate the outer layer of root vegetables including but not limited to beets, carrots, parsnips, taro corms, cassava, yam tubers, ginger, galangal, water chestnuts, lotus roots, wapatoos, chufas, mashuas, jicama, radishes, daikons, and salsify. I ate banana peels. I ate chorizo casing. At my peak I ate the skin of a Durian. Did I care? No! Why? Because it felt good and you’re not the boss of me nor are you my mom. Now when I walk around the swards of San Francisco I do somersaults of joy.


Let us revive the corpse of freedom and banish the restraints of propriety. You can start small. Next time you eat an apple, don’t stop until it’s gone.