29 October 2010

Something 4 The Weekend # 185

The following story is true, only the names have been changed to protect my innocence.
It was homecoming weekend in the autumn of 1983, about ten at night, and I found myself walking home from my buddy Stan's house on the other side of town because I was trashed on cheap beer and cheaper weed. My usual path between our two places took me past Lime Kiln Park, and it was here that I encountered two teenaged girls sitting on the hood of their car in the parking lot of the park, about 50 yards away from the sidewalk along which I was stumbling.
I had no idea who these two girls were, but being a teenaged boy recently broken up with my girlfriend, when they started whistling at me and called to me to come over and talk to them, I hornily obliged.
As it turns out, they were from Port Washington, whom we were playing football against the next afternoon. Port scags or not, they were cute and I was, as I said, trashed and horny, so their hometown hardly mattered.
What mattered was that five minutes into our conversation, one of the girls pulled out a handgun and aimed it directly at my chest, ordering me to remove all my clothing. Again, I obliged, although my libido had vanished at this point. As a general rule, hand guns do not make for sexy fun times.
So there I was, standing naked in the Lime Kiln Park parking lot with my clothes piled at my feet. While the one girl continued levelling the gun at me, the other pulled a small can of lighter fluid from her jacket pocket and proceeded to douse my clothing.
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked.
"You're gonna dance for us", gun girl replied as lighter fluid girl bent down and lit my doused clothing on fire.
"Fucking dance!"
And so I danced, naked, as orange-blue flames licked my knees, the two girls giggling as teenaged girls tend to do.
When the flames had died down, leaving behind a pile of scorched clothing, the two girls got back into their car and sped off into the night.
"Age Of Consent" by New Order was playing on the car's stereo.
I gathered up my scorched clothes, and jogged the rest of the way home, about a mile away, avoiding the streets the best I could by going through some cornfields and Bones Woods.
I hated New Order, being the punk metal kid that I was, but after that night, I didn't anymore.
Hotcha! Hank

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27 October 2010

I Maneuver Sideways, You Maneuver Sideways

It's a shame Gary Numan was a one hit wonder here in the States, because he was infinitely more interesting and talented than so, so much of the slag that was in the Top 40 in the late 70's and early '80's. I mean, "Cars" is a great song, but it's probably not even one of Mr. Numan's five best songs.

Being "ahead of the times" might seem like a cool thing, but really, most of the time being in the vanguard doesn't really lead to anything substantial...

Then one must wait 25-30 years to become appreciated again.

Of course, Gary Numan did much better in Europe, so...

Hotcha! Hank

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26 October 2010

Tuesday's Fortune: 26 October 2010

MEAL: 1 order (8) Fried Dumplings + 1 large Beef With Scallions + 1 order (8) Sticky Buns = $18.25 + $3.28 tip

Hotcha! Hank

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24 October 2010

Something 4 The End Of The Weekend

The tubeway army, they live inside of my head...
The tubeway army, they come to me in my bed...
The tubeway army, they're coming to arrest me, oh no!
Or something...
Hotcha! Hank

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19 October 2010

Tuesday's Fortune: 19 October 2010

MEAL: 3 Vegetable Spring Rolls + 1 small order Squirrel Fried Rice = $5.55 + $1.45 tip

Hotcha! Hank

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15 October 2010

Something 4 The Weekend # 184

Friends and casual readers of this blog are well aware of my deep and abiding hatred for fucking squirrels. They're vile vermin that would be hunted to extinction if this were a more perfect world. But most of you don't know that I also loathe chickens.
The year was 1987, and I was hanging out one Saturday afternoon at a friend's house. We were out in the yard, drinking malt liquor, smoking weed, and listening to Jethro Tull on a boombox. At some point I started playing catch with a football with my buddy's younger brother.
It's at this point in the story that I should mention that his family owned about a dozen chickens that they allowed to wander around their yard. I didn't loathe chickens at this point, but that was about to change.
My buddy's younger brother threw the ball way over my head, so I turned around to run and fetch it, and it was at this point that one of the chickens fluttered and flopped and flew straight into my face without warning.
Now, some of you might be saying right now, "but Hank, chickens can't fly," to which I can only reply, "yeah, they sorta can, you dumbasses." Chickens can get themselves airborn for short distances, which they often do in the wild to check out their surroundings. I bet you also didn't know that in the wild they usually roost in trees. How do you think they get up into those trees? Here's a hint - they don't climb 'em like fucking squirrels.
So, anyways, a big fucking chicken flies into my face, and I immediately crumple to the ground in exquisite pain, with blood spilling everywhere because the bird's beak had stabbed me in the forehead.
If the story ended here, we might be able to simply call this a random event, but the story doesn't end here because as I'm laying on the ground, writhing in pain and bleeding everywhere, several other chickens immediately attack me like a pack of ravenous wolves. Tiny wolves with feathers instead of fur, and beaks instead of fangs.
I admit that at this point I passed out, and you can call me a pussy if you must, but you weren't there.
When I came back into consciousness, there were cuts and scratches all over my body, and my clothes were tattered and torn, with random feathers stuck to the drying blood. I wept softly. My buddy's younger brother was bawling. My buddy was laughing. The chickens had retreated to the area behind their garage.
A lesser man would fear chickens after such an incident, but I am not a lesser man. I am a great man, and I did what only a great man would and could do - on that day I started to loathe, nay hate, chickens, and twenty-three days later, my hatred for them still abides, and each and every Saturday since, I've eaten a 10-pack of McNuggets with honey mustard dipping sauce.
Never forget.
Hotcha! Hank

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12 October 2010

Tuesday's Fortune: 12 October 2010

MEAL: 1 order (6) Teriyaki Chicken + 1 small order Vegetable Fried Rice = $9.50 + $1.50 tip

Hotcha! Hank

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05 October 2010

Tuesday's Fortune: 05 October 2010

MEAL: 1 order (4) Chicken Wings + 1 order Fried Crispy Bean Curd = $7.45 + $1.55 tip

Hotcha! Hank

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01 October 2010

Something 4 The Weekend # 183

When I was 9/10 years old, I thought this was the craziest, weirdest song anybody had ever written, and I would actually get giddy in a twitchy way whenever this song's faded intro announced itself on my radio.
In hindsight, my assumption is that this is David Bowie's deconstructed take on the burgeoning disco/coke scene in NYC circa '74/'75, although I believe Bowie himself has talked about Philly Soul being the main inspiration and influence on this album in general.
Whatever. Thirty-five years later, I still think this is four minutes and twenty seconds of alien funk that's still ahead of its time. Or maybe outside of time. Timeless.
Hotcha! Hank

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