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.
--
There's some serious caterpillar activity going on outside. The
neighbors (not Poppa Half-Shirt, the other ones) have a big oak tree in
their front yard, and it hangs over our driveway. A few days ago, as I
was leaving for work, I saw that both of our cars and one entire corner
of our property was covered in a weird mixture of shredded leaves, a
white gooey grossness, and tiny dingleberries. Huh, I thought, there
must've been one helluva storm during the night; wonder why I didn't
hear it?
But it wasn't a storm, it's caterpillars. A whole gang of them have
beset the oak, and are going to town. Every morning the remnants of
their orgy cover my Blazer, and the driveway. Yesterday Toney washed her
car, and is now parking it on the street, away from the tree. I might
have to start doing the same. Here's
a couple of pics I took this morning, to give you an idea of the havoc
those little bastards are wreaking.
Yesterday Toney also called some agriculture department dude (Hank
Kimball?), to get a little information on this weirdness. The guy said,
in a nutshell, that it sucks for us, but it's worse for the tree, that
the invasion might literally kill it. And he added that we can expect
all the shredding and nonsense to continue until the first freeze.
Well, that's excellent.
The whole thing is kinda creepy. I look at the tree and it appears
normal and comforting. But I know that the branches are just seething
with thousands (millions?) of tiny creatures, wriggling over each other,
breeding with abandon, and eating to beat the band. It reminds me of the
opening scene of Blue Velvet, and triggers a full-body shiver.
Last night, as I was waiting on Andy to sling his urine one more time
before bed, I'm almost certain I heard munching sounds coming
from that tree. And I felt a twinge of fear. Is that irrational? Is it
crazy that I'm now imagining myself waking up in the middle of the
night, every square inch of my body covered in constantly-moving
caterpillars? Because that's what happening. Shit!
-- Check this
out. When I was in grade
school that movie was the talk of the kiddie kommunity. There were
constant over-the-top radio commercials for it (on WKAZ, home of Super
Duper Charlie Cooper), claiming it was "rated V for violence"
and that theaters were required to pass out barf bags at the door. It
all just seemed so cool. Some older kids in our neighborhood
claimed to have actually seen it, and we'd stand around listening to
their tales of unthinkable cinematic fucked-upness, eyes wide. I still
haven't seen the flick, and have no interest in doing so, but I might have to
bid on them regurgitation sacks.
-- A couple of days ago I wrote about our recent trip to a state park,
and how it seemed to be overflowing with criminals and mental patients.
I'd meant to link to a picture I took during another such experiment
last year, while visiting a state park in New York state. But I forgot,
so I'll do it now.
This is a couple preparing to have a light lunch (as
evidenced by the snack sacks). The young lady didn't want to walk all
the way to the picnic table, and had "asked" her
boyfriend/husband to bring the table to her. I'm a-coming, baby!
Heh.
-- I'm proud to announce that our dog Andy is still undefeated, after
nearly five years on the case. Our beloved border collie joined the
family two days before 9/11, and during the ensuing years has never
failed to make the mailman leave our property. Not once. Each weekday
and every Saturday the personification of evil appears once again, and
has the audacity to walk on our porch. Andy immediately
launches into his patented ass-over-tits frenzy, and the guy leaves.
Every. Single. Time.
He's completely undefeated, with no end to the streak
in sight. When he passes the five year mark, I might have a plaque made.
-- Slowly but surely I'm buying up the new Boomtown Rats reissue
CDs.
They're completely remastered and sound great, but there's one small
problem.... Geldof (or as they say in WV, Geldorf) was involved
in the project, and, for reasons unknown, insisted that the order of the
songs be changed. He shuffled them all around in bizarre combinations,
and I don't like that. Oh, they're all still there, with a few extras as
well, but it bothers me that they're not presented in the order I
remember. Is that nuts? It's sorta like when cartoon characters (Fred
& Barney, Cap'n Crunch) suddenly have voices that are completely
different than the old days. It makes me sad.
-- Speaking of music, right now I'm listening to Lloyd Cole's Don't
Get Weird On Me, Babe, and enjoying it with gusto.
Masterpiece.
-- The oldest Secret came home a few days ago and was all jacked-up on a
rumor he'd heard about The Wizard of Oz. One of his friends
(Johnny Paul Jason?) told him that a munchkin committed suicide during
the making of the film, and you can actually see him hanging in
the background for a few seconds, while Dorothy and the gang skip by.
The
words Urban Legend immediately flashed in my brain, but I didn't kill
his buzz. He asked if we could go on the internet and find "the
website." I said, "What is it, stubby kicking legs dotcom?"
He said no, there's a site out there somewhere where you can watch the
scene.
It only took a minute or two to find it, on
Snopes, where they
ruin the whole thing.
But I didn't tell him that the rumor is horseshit, I
just played the video. And I can tell he's skeptical, but wants to
believe. Because, as I'm sure you're aware, stubby kicking legs are awesome.
Almost as much as movie theater barf bags.
And I have more, lots more, but I think I'm gonna stop right there.
--
There's some serious caterpillar activity going on outside. The
neighbors (not Poppa Half-Shirt, the other ones) have a big oak tree in
their front yard, and it hangs over our driveway. A few days ago, as I
was leaving for work, I saw that both of our cars and one entire corner
of our property was covered in a weird mixture of shredded leaves, a
white gooey grossness, and tiny dingleberries. Huh, I thought, there
must've been one helluva storm during the night; wonder why I didn't
hear it?