Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--You know that phrase about having a full plate?Well, I’ve got one today.In
real life I like full plates.In
fact, there are few things better
than a full plate.Ya know?
It's how I developed my powerful upper-body. But, unfortunately,
I’m not talking about chicken and salt gravy here, I’m talking about
Big Important Things to do.And
I’m a tad stressed.
Someday I’ll tell you all about it, but not today.I’m far too superstitious to talk about BITs before they
actually come to fruition.I’m
like Sparky Anderson making sure he doesn’t step on the foul line when
he’s walking to the pitcher’s mound.A man needs to take precautions.
What’s a peptic ulcer feel like?
--There was some little
hooligan at our house a few days ago, running rampant and acting like a
full-on zoo animal with the youngest Secret.Both of our kids seem to be drawn to wild-ass friends, for some
reason, and this one certainly fits the bill.The noise he was generating was incredible.
Feeling generous and friendly, I asked the kid if he’d like to stay
for dinner.We’re having
pizza, I told him, and he said he loves pizza.So Toney called his mother, and it was all set.
Then he wouldn’t eat a thing.Because
there was pepperoni involved.He
said pepperoni is “disgusting,” and wouldn’t touch a slice even
if we picked off the offending items.There was knowledge, you see, that the food had recently come in
contact with something extremely foul.
Who doesn’t like pepperoni pizza??
Toney offered to make him some chicken nuggets or macaroni and cheese or
something, but he declined.So
we’d asked him to stay for dinner, and he wouldn’t eat anything.Simply excellent.
I told him there’s nothing disgusting about pepperoni, it’s just
ground-up pig lips and hog butts.And
he started saying that, over and over, while marauding through the
house:“Pig
lips and hog butts!Pig lips
and hog butts!!”He
was running from room to room with a crazed look on his face, waving his
arms above his head and repeating that phrase.
And he was doing it in a thick Hee
Haw-style Southern accent.
The hell??Is that little
shit making fun of the way I talk?Toney
said I was being paranoid, but why would he suddenly go all Gomer like
that?I think he was mocking
me, and I didn’t much care for it.
It reminded me of a Cuban family that lived near us when I was a kid.They had maids and a “library,” and it was a whole different
vibe at their house; they were exotic.
But I’d be there playing with their youngest son, and someone would
suddenly crank off a little Spanish.Then they’d all bust out in hysterical laughter.A private joke, kept from the visiting hillbilly child….I was convinced they were making fun of me in a different
language.
That same Cuban kid wiped so many boogers on the wall beside his bed, they had to
take an electric sander to it.They
were forced to hook up a booger-removing machine!But that doesn’t really have anything to do with what I’m
talking about today….
The thing is, I don’t believe I even have much of an accent anymore.In fact, my friend Tim is always busting my balls for
“abandoning my roots.”So,
I don’t have enough of an accent for West
Virginia,
and too much for Pennsylvania.I guess.
One time my friend Steve and I were sitting at Five Guys, having their
kick-ass burgers and fries, and talking.And some high school chick interrupted us, and asked where
we’re from.She got a
scholarship at a university in Alabama,
she said, and thought we might be from there.Ha!
So apparently it’s true.I
sound Southern to the people up here, and Northern to the people down
there.And talk about your
regional accent bastardizations…
--The question of the day
has to do with this
article.Erica
in Charlottesent it to me, and it’s a real mind-blower.Check it out and let me know what you think.Sweet sainted mother of Black Lips Houlihan.
Here's
an excerpt:
Occasionally, Legotown leaders
explicitly rebuffed children, telling them that they couldn't play.
Typically the exclusion was more subtle, growing from a climate in which
Legotown was seen as the turf of particular kids.
The other children didn't complain much about this; when asked about
Legos, they'd often comment vaguely that they just weren't interested in
playing with Legos anymore.
As they closed doors to other children, the Legotown builders turned
their attention to complex negotiations among themselves about what
sorts of structures to build, whether these ought to be primarily
privately owned or collectively used, and how "cool pieces"
would be distributed and protected.
These negotiations gave rise to heated conflict and to insightful
conversation. Into their coffee shops and houses, the children were
building their assumptions about ownership and the social power it
conveys — assumptions that mirrored those of a class-based, capitalist
society — a society that we teachers believe to be unjust and
oppressive.
As we watched the children build, we became increasingly concerned.
--I’m gonna turn it over
to Brad now, and start tending to my BITs.
I'll see you guys tomorrow. Or should I say, see y'all in a cuppa two tree
hours?
