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September, 2008:

When Food Gets in the Way

Sep 30th, 2008
by Margaret.
37 comments

My stepbrother was chowing down with my father today at some barbeque place in Sacramento (Texas Barbeque or some such place) when he heard my father making a weird constricting ‘whee’ noise. Brother G looked up to see my father’s eyes filled with fear.

“Are you okay?” asked Brother G.

My father shook his head ‘no’.

“Are you choking?”

My father nodded.

Brother G’s biggest fear in life is to witness someone choking, a childhood memory he never wanted to re-live. Later in life, he took a basic first aid course a long time ago where he learned something very important.

He got up and stood behind my father to perform the Heimlich maneuver, once, then twice to no avail.

“Stand up,” he told my father.

Other people in the restaurant stopped what they were doing. Chairs from other tables scraped across the floor as they stood. To help? Or to helplessly watch?

Brother G performed the Heimlich again and dislodged whatever lunch mass was blocking his airway.

“Are you okay now?” Brother G asked.

“Yes,” said my father.

Brother G sat down. Everyone else slowly stopped staring while a waitress came over and asked if Dad was okay.

“I am now,” said Dad.

Brother G told me that in less than a minute my father’s fork was back in his mouth.

“Boy, you scared the shit out of me just now,” said Brother G, a sweaty shaky mess.

“Well, how do you think I felt?” asked Dad.

And I thought I wasn’t going to have anything to blog about today. Gee, thanks, Dad!

Hey, while you’re here, could you do me a solid and click on this link which will bump me up a bit in the Sacto Top 25 rankings? That’s it, just one click, nothing else. Thanks, man.

Now go tell someone you love them. Before they choke to death on some pork ribs.

The Museum Exhibits in New York They Don’t Want You To Know About

Sep 26th, 2008
by Margaret.
22 comments

When Kathcom over at Magick Sandwich recommended I go see the “kooky genius” that is Buckminster Fuller at the Whitney Museum in Manhattan, she failed to mention that I would bear witness to one of the biggest hoaxes known to man. That’s right, the “kooky genius” architect, father of all things geodesic, is the brains behind all those flying saucers.

Witchita House, my ass. That’s an alien spaceship if I ever saw one.

The “dwelling machine” was built in 1946.
Roswell Crash Incident: 1947.

Coincidence?  I think not.

Why is nobody talking about this? This should be all over the TV and radio. UNLESS!…all the conspiracy theorists/UFO believers are paying off the media to prevent the story from getting out.

What are they afraid of? It’s not like people stopped believing in Bigfoot after two attention whores pawned off a rubber suit as Sasquatch.

I am sorry to say you will miss this exhibit as it only ran thru September 21. Isn’t that just convenient? They get wind of my blog idea and they pull it. Maybe you can catch them loading all that crap onto the truck before they ship it off to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, where they’ve been keeping the aliens and their spaceships all this time. I don’t know exactly where the museum is, but it’s on the Upper East Side somewhere, near a real big park.

I can’t remember the name of the big park, but it’s sort of Central to everything in the city. And it’s real big. You can’t miss it. They should call it The Big Park in the Center of the City. I mean - that would make the most sense. It’s practical if not imaginative.

So These Two Aliens Walk Into A Chapel…

Sep 24th, 2008
by Margaret.
26 comments

All right, all right…I guess there ARE a COUPLE of things to do in New York City - thanks to YOU guys anyway. As recommended by msmeta of Adventures at Midlife and Alessia of Musings From The Crypt, I went to The Cloisters . This may sound like a song, but I took the A Train to get there. It’s way up north, like almost Canada. But I got to see this cool medieval stone carving that used to hang over a 12th century yoga studio:

And who knew Salvadore Dali’s great, great, great, (etc…) grandfather was an artist?

By now, some of you Cloisters experts are probably saying, “Hey, what kind of crap is that? Where are the medieval doorways? And it’s not called the Cloisters for nothing you birdbrain! Show us the goddam Cloisters!” and you would be right.

For example, here is one of those medieval arches:

The doors to the eerie glow behind them were closed while the sign posted just in front of them read:

Stay out!
This means you!
We are aliens from the planet Zymog and we are busy repairing our spaceship that your lousy magnetic fields have detransmogrophied. We’d take off our jackets and stay awhile, but your apartment views suck butt. You will have access to this silly little chapel next Tuesday when our Dr. Quark has restored our takeoff thingy. He will be sure to announce our departure with a pithy farewell at which time you may have access to your silly little chapel again. So, why don’t you go check out the rest of the museum and walk away now? We hear the stained glass is representative of your parents.

By the way, why in the hell don’t they post signs that say NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY, so that I didn’t have to get yelled at by some kid in a uniform when I flashed away at this Unicorn Tapestry?

And keep your shirt on pal, here’s a picture of your damn Cloisters, already.

There. Happy now, you Cloisters freaks? Don’t say I never gave you nuthin’.

There’s No "Escaping" This NYC Tour

Sep 22nd, 2008
by Margaret.
27 comments

Since there is nothing to do in New York City, I’ve decided to make up my own tour: The Nanny Goats In Panties Drop Dead Gorgeous Fire Escapes of Manhattan. It’s a short tour.

We pick you up at 42nd and Broadway right smack in the middle of the road, where you board trolley style. The bus, or minivan, or whatever mode of transportation we’ve managed to pilfer for that day, slows down just enough for you to jump on (or hop on, whichever you prefer – we’re flexible like that). We keep our medicine trunk fully stocked for those of you we accidentally drag down the street before finally pulling over because we can’t take any more of your bloody screams or the incessant begging of your traveling buddies to stop the bus (or minivan, or whatever). We’ll even provide $10 pint-sized overpriced bottles of water at a 10% discount. But we will charge for the bandages.

Once we’re moving and have picked up sufficient speed, we will then hang a hard left and barrel down 47th Ave and screech to a halt in Hell’s Kitchen. You will disembark the bus and be shown this crowning achievement in fire escapes design.

Then as you are all pulling your cameras out of their cases, the bus will burn rubber, leaving you stranded in Hell’s Kitchen to fend for yourselves (unless you had the foresight to tip your driver ahead of time, or if you bought something expensive from the NGIP Gift Shop in the back of the bus).

So, enjoy, good luck, and don’t forget to tip your driver and tell your friends!

Now, does anybody want to add a caption to this picture?

It’s Pronounced ‘Veeshluh’

Sep 19th, 2008
by Margaret.
37 comments

If you’re in New York and want people to just walk right up to you and constantly interrupt your dinner and talk to you and give you lots of attention short of asking for an autograph, simply bring a dog along. But you don’t want to bring just any dog, you want the Ferrari of dogs. You want people to stop in their tracks, crane their necks and yell, “What is that, a Vizsla?”

I am referring to what must be THE dog to have right now and DennisTheVizsla knows what I’m talking about.

I’m having dinner with a friend on the Upper East Side the other night (Spigolo at 81st and 2nd, if you must know) and I SWEAR TO GOD! Every 15 minutes. Passersby would crawl up to our table —  New York strangers, mind you — and coo and cuddle and pet. The dog, that is.

“Is that a Viszla?”, they’d ask in wonder as if they’d never seen one before.

OK, maybe I’m not being fair. Come to think of it, I guess I’ve never seen one in real life before either, and maybe I’m bemused because I am childless and petless, so I have no justifiable reason to ever talk to strangers, but I’ll complain until I’m blue in the face about how nobody talks to each other any more. How we’ve lost our sense of community. How if I even try to engage in conversation with a stranger then he or she will utter more than a terse grunt only if he or she is crazy, because only wacko, desperate and deranged people talk to strangers. Which means plenty of people think I’m crazy. But dogs give lonely people an awesome excuse to talk to each other.

Perhaps DennisTheVizsla can bark in on this topic as to whether it’s the breed or the whole dog species that promotes such congeniality among otherwise hostile people. Or maybe all you other dog owners out there know about this odd behavior. Is there some sort of caste system? Like if you have a mutt and try to talk to someone with a dolled up poodle, will the poodle owner snub you? Do good-looking dog owners get approached more often? Do certain breeds increase your chances for conversation?

Anyway may I introduce the lovely and talented 7-month-old Tawny with whom I had a very interrupted dinner?

Hey, did you know that Clifford the Big Red Dog was a Viszla?

Me neither!

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