The Oracle at Squeezepenny

Widget time!

I said that I would, so I am. I kind of doubt it will have the desired effect, but go ahead and knock yourselves out on it. I figure I already know this stuff about my closest friends, but I could be wrong, and I'd appreciate an idea of my readership. (Right now, I visualize you as a small, opalescent raincloud with a permanent serrated grin.)

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There was a "will you repost this so I can fill it out for you" question, but I yoinked it since I already filled one out and the relevant link is hidden somewhere in this very post.

They moved Pretend To Be A Time Traveller Day up this year! It's apparently tomorrow!

This is especially relevant if you're a Portland resident.

Sorry for the short notice, folks, but it's an improvisational art form. If you get flung willy-nilly through time, you usually don't have time to prepare. Usually.

1. Either I'm better at shaving my legs than I am at shaving my neck, or the unique laryngeal skin topography leads to massively annoying razor rash, but the similar patellic area has no such problem.
2. There exists a photograph of me asleep in a bathtub wearing a cowboy hat.
3. I once allowed a girl to dye my hair black. My mother didn't notice until nearly a year later when it was long enough to pull back into a ponytail, and she immediately claimed it was fake. "Honestly, how could you think that would fool me? It's a different color!"

Thrust:

Come one, come all to the 6th Annual John Fitzgerald Kennedy Memorial Hotdog Eating Contest!

This Saturday, April 18, 2009, at historic Dealey Plaza!

Proceeds to benefit the North Texas Food Bank!

Hotdogs are, as always, free! The right to compete costs, as often, four dollars! Signup starts at noon!


Things I still need:

A portable hotdog cooking device, preferably with its own source of energy. I have a grill but it doesn't fit in my car. If I can't get this, hotdogs will be pre-cooked and wrapped in foil and kept warm by means of plastic cooler. This is not ideal.

Minions, to help set up, to help keep track of entries, and such. It's for a good cause, and you can list it as community service on your parole application!

For people who know they're coming to please tell me so, so that I get a general idea of how many and what kinds of hotdogs, entrant tags, and Lightning Round supplies to bring.


Coda:

It's a good time, people. We give out free food, engage in incomprehensible traditions, and there's to be an afterparty at majestic Squeezepenny Manor, with arcade games, steak, fire, a menagerie, and other amusements.

Be there, or don't!

I've returned, alive and well but by no means unscathed, from my Spring Break road trip.

If I had to describe it in one word, "epiphany;" in two, "unspeakably arousing."

I conquered a long-standing fear.

I drove ten hours and then got really gloriously lost in New Orleans, possibly the best city in the world in which so to do.

I met AE and bought her a Zombie. And some sushi.

I found the Heart of New Orleans. She compared me to a snake, told me I was beautiful, and gave me a hug and two breakfasts.

I took a streetcar past the end of the world.

I became navigator, cartographer, bodyguard, artist, thief.

I danced half-naked across the rooftops.

I made a gris-gris, and wear it still.

I rode a loa. No, not the other way around.

I forgave a bondage artist for destroying a book, although I can't say it was easy.

I wore a hat.

I danced with a woman with a mullet and feathers.

I sat in the lap of a holy man and let him squeeze my ass. Once.

I saw a lake monster.

I am forever changed.

They're Sunshine and the Nihilist
Yes, Sunshine and the Nihilist
One's bright and perky
The other's . . . not
"We'll have a real good time!"
"Sweet fuck, I have to rhyme?"
They're Sunshine, they're Sunshine and the Ni-i-i-hi-list
*dootly dootle . . . donk!*

I invented some superheroes for an acquaintance's story, but they're just so appealing they've been growing on me. Like a fungus. I feel like I should do something with 'em, but I should wait until I've read the story first. Anybody want to see the writeups? There are three of them . . .

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Bring it on, Mrs. Hundegaard's Kindergarten for Girls!

Ahh, bacon, candybar of meats. Oftimes I'll think of its many virtues. "This potato's pretty tasty, but it'd be better for some bacon." "This soup is nice and sweet, but it could use some saltiness. Let's add some bacon." "These chicken chunks really would be so much tastier wrapped in bacon." It's so crunchy, so salty, so greasy, so . . . inspirational. And so inspired, we go to work!

First off, we'll want to get any potential distractions out of the way for a bit.

No, not really. Let the cat out of the box. We're madmen, not particle physicists.
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