THE GREAT GADFLY:

Holidazed: A Fractured Travelog



A bit discombobulated still. Spent the last two weeks in places that weren't my home. Haven't travelled like that in ages. Yow. Went home to Indiana for Christmas and to a small town in California near the Redwoods, where my pal Neener lives, for New Year's. Got a $500 book and lots of bedclothes for Christmas. My bed now looks like a swollen tick. The book is a leather-bound limited edition tome about Ziggy Stardust, signed by Dame Dayvid huhself. Eeg. Based on my travel experiences over the past two weeks, my sparkling air travel karma has officially run out. Horrors. One word: STANDBY. Spent New Year's Eve at an ostensible "White Trash Theme Party", for which we painted up our faces like trash and I wound up looking like the corpse of Elvis, circa the 1968 Comeback Special. It was purty. We prepared a big batch of Frito Pie for the occasion, which we of course served in a ripped open Frito bag with the Chili dumped inside. Frito Pie was a hit. A gaggle of geeky/cute high school moppets bum-rushed the party, and after midnight struck the proceedings mutated into a backwoodsy version of an "8-Mile" rap battle. We left, but only after being photographed by a jolly Australian lesbian who left her life abroad as a journalist to move to the wilds of California, where she is now working at a restaurant. Right on. Checked my voice mail from Neener's shack in the middle of the woods to discover that the firm I'd interviewed with before my travels had decided to hire me. I am no longer unemployed. (Note to self: Find something new over which to obsessively whine.) Went on a Sonoma Valley wine-tasting spree over the weekend, during which, I was surprised by Neener when it was discovered that he planned to have an old college buddy of mine meet up with us at one of our winery stops. Neener and I spent too much time watching a "Seventh Heaven" marathon, cackling wildly whenever the sourpuss Seventh Level mother shot a particularly acrid dose of stink-eye into the camera. Experienced the freakish Oxygen channel for the first time - that shit is FUCKED. Carrie Fisher leaning into Jude Law's face and squawking "OOOH, WHAT KIND OF CAKE?!". A 90-year-old TV "sexpert" cawwing "you just need a good old, garden variety BUTTPLUG!" And my favorite quote from our evening of Oxygen viewing, an old woman in a human interest profile, burbling to a horrified child, "don't you wanna be a competitive eater...just like Grammaw?!" (Note to self: See if alleged professional eating magazine "The Gurgitator" actually exists; if so, subscribe). Began reading Chuck Palahniuk's "Lullaby" and the tell-all trash bio about Saturday Night Live at the same time. No complaints with either. Watched "Flesh for Frankenstein" on DVD. Udo Kier = phantasmabulous. Got Neener excited to see his first episode of "Alias" during the Sunday of my visit; upon realizing there would be no new episode that night, I attempted to act out a typical action sequence and tried to kick Neener in the head. Learned I can't kick very high. Went to scary nearby geezer bar and was astonished to realize they were playing a video for ELO's "Mr. Blue Sky" on their monitors. Wine, whiskey, chartreuse, a variety of beers, champagne, sweetie-sweetie-sweetie darling. Had hungover New Year's brunch at nearby resort restaurant. Snapped at waiter upon entering ("You know what, it's the strangest thing - I don't have the slightest idea what I want to drink yet - would it be okay with you if I took my coat off and sat down first? That would please me a lot, thanks."). Do not taunt hungover Happy Fun Ball. Painted nails black and didn't like it. Kept wringing my hands like tweaker Lady Mac. Returned home after New Year's not in one piece, but in two or three jetlagged, knackered, tore-up-from-the-floor-up pieces which should be easily glued back together in the next few days. Came home to many wonderful yuletide giftie packages from people who are way too kind (and you know who you are - I'm still too discombobulated at this point to itemize, but thorough and heartfelt shout-outs of much-deserved propers is by all means pending). Went to bed with apartment full of torn apart parcels. Upon first full night home, prepared dinner for self which included vegetarian baked beans and "brown bread" which came from a can. That's right, kids - bread in a can. So happy to be home. Happy to have travelled. Strangely enough, just plain happy. Figure that.




2003-10-14 - Last Haiku
2003-10-09 - Don't Cry Out Loud
2003-10-09 - Sit Down, You're Making Me Nervous
2003-10-08 - I'm Sure Miss Thing, I'm Sure
2003-10-07 - Carbonated Water, Caramel Color, Aspartame

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