…has just been posted on Southern Exposure.
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Back in the Land of Formidable Plumbing
The differences between life in Ecuador and life in the United States are myriad. Different languages, different customs, different food, different people. But for me, transitioning back to living in The US-of-A ineluctably boils down to one thing:
You can flush your toilet paper here in America.
In Ecuador, the plumbing is chronically weak, so you have to dipose of your soiled TP in a trash can. (Yes, it’s disgusting, but you get used to it.) Here, though, in the land of plenty, where our plumbing is strong, that simply isn’t necessary. God bless our fine nation.
The details of my return trip are these: I flew from Guayaquil to Atlanta on Wednesday, stayed in ATL with my old friend David Z., and then made my way to Savannah, GA last night. I’m writing this message from Beaufort, South Carolina, where I’ll be staying with my family through Christmas.
I fired up my computer this morning to discover that Nick M., the First Ever Newley.com Guest Weblogger (TM), has fulfilled his mission with complete ablomb. Let’s give Nick a big round of applause–not only did he execute his fine stewardship of Newley.com with verve and humor and biting insight, but he’s raised the bar for my own writings herein.
Nick M., I thank you dearly. Next time I’m in New York I’ll buy you a gin and tonic or 13.
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Just Send Cash
My birthday is this Sunday. The big three-oh. I thought Jennie Dorris, in Tuesday’s Black List, summed up quite nicely why this year is sure to be the most craptastic of all.
“HAVING A BIRTHDAY NEAR CHRISTMAS: I have a birthday on December 21. Yeah, go ahead and do what all my friends do, which is wince and go, “Man, I bet everybody gets you the combo-gift.” Then they promptly send a package with a Christmas-Birthday gift. Furthermore, a birthday on the 21st guarantees you a day with no friends around — finals are over or people have taken off work to go home for the holidays. The 21st is also the solstice, meaning my birthday is the shortest day of the goddamned year. I don’t even normally get an astrological sign — I have to jump between two since I’m on the cusp. Finally, this year decided to top the whole damn thing off by landing the 21st on a Sunday. A Sunday, for god’s sake. You can’t even buy booze in Colorado on Sundays. A boozeless Sunday with leftover friends and combo-gifts — bring it on, 24. F”
As acting Mayor of Bloggitonia, I hereby decree that, beginning next year, December 21st shall be observed on June 21st so as to elimate the combo-gift copout. And brown is no longer the new black. I decree that too.
Nick M.
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I’m an Intellectual
Every Sunday night from 11pm to midnight I try to listen to Joe Frank on NPR (WNYC am 820 in NYC) to make sure I have the freakiest dreams possible and can start Monday morning off as it is meant to be: tinged with psychosis. For my money, it’s the best show they run. Yes, better than This American Life. Certainly better than Car Talk. Did I hear somebody say Leonard Lopate? Don’t make me hit you.
Nick M.
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Right this way my pretties
Turducken.
A mythical three-headed fowl perhaps? Succulent certainly. Or perhaps the detritus of a psychopathic serial bird murderer–a birderer–who lures fat little turkeys, ducks and chickens into his death coop with promises of primo genetically altered feed wherein they are viciously decapitated, stripped of their feathers, gutted and stuffed one inside the other. Turducken. Yum!
This past Thanksgiving Reeves H. and myself were determined to find some turducken for our own damn selves, having never sampled it before. But, as circumstance dictated, we ended up at Bill H.’s crib eating a vegetarian feast of quiche, biscuits, various vegetables and some damn fine stuffing. Bill is a devout vegetarian, and we did not want to appear ungrateful for his kind, if meatless, hospitality. So no turducken. Yet. But we did polish a fifth of Wild Turkey and a case of beer, which makes me think that had we eaten a turducken we might just have puked it back up straightaway anyhow, and that would just be wasteful.
For a far more informative and entertaining account of the ins and outs of turducken, visit The Road to Turducken, Part 1. Can’t wait for Part 2…
Oh, and don’t forget The Week in Craig, a surefire way to make you feel much, much better about yourself, if not the world in general.
Nick M.
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Holy Scheisse!
This just in: Bertelsmann are arrogant crooks.
Nick M.
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Work Schmerk
I know I can’t be alone when I say that sometimes I get bored at work. Not so much “get bored” as “just don’t feel like doing what it is I’m supposed to be doing”. That’ll happen. So this morning I went on a quest to find a Google White Whale–that is, searches using only two words that return only one match. It’s more difficult than you might think. Below are my results.
duplicitous eel: 67 matches
brilliant flagellum: 555 matches!
parapetetic conflagration: No matches (I had high hopes for this one, too. Damn.)
defenestrated ravioli: 2 matches (gettin’ there)
public eyesore: 33,900 matches (just curious about that one)
unfortunate shitzu: 51 matches
and on and on and on…
until
gigantic zyzygy: 1 match!
Great. Now I’ll be at work until 11:00 making up for my slackassedness.
In the meantime, here is a Bold New Model for Success. Endless thanks to sweet, sweet Dana.
Nick M.
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Catch Me If You…D’oh!
The last thing you need is to know MY take on “Operation Red Dawn”. And no, that’s not the one where we hunt down Patrick Swayze to exact revenge for all of the people he has tortured over the years with his movies. Though I could definitely get behind that. There’re links aplenty on the intarweb for this most current of events, and I’ll leave it to Newley to form my opinions for me when he returns from vacation. Instead, read The Missouri Review. Not because I said so. Because you want to.
Nick M.
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Can you hear me now? Of course you can’t.
As we move ever closer to emulating abilities previously thought only possessed by The Almighty Him/Her/It-self (or, for the theologically unconvinced, let’s say…Ronaldo) via breakthrough after technological breakthrough, I’m still receiving messages a week late from T-Mobile.
Nick M.
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Bionicaholic
You either have to pity or admire this guy. After all he went through, where do we find him for this interview? Sipping a gin and tonic. God love ‘im.
Nick M.