That buck that bought a bottle could've struck the lotto

Ukranian Village no longer sounds like Beirut circa 1983. Last night it still smelled like a wet Wisconsin fireworks emporium, but the automatic weapon pop-pop-pops were all gone, as were the stumbling drunken burn-unit victims to be. Thank goodness. Five days in a row of low-grade munitions displays and the weird Eastern Euro/Puerto Rico fashion diaspora had me sitting in a corner of Casa Borracho feeling like Martin Sheen in the first 20 minutes of Apocalypse Now. Every second Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger. My only friend, the end. This Fourth of July "holiday" was the first one in more than a decade that I didn't spend in an absolute drunken stupor, trying to rub up on strangers and destroy any remaining shreds of my humanity, waking up on the Sunday after (or Monday, or Tuesday) with a nosebleed and a few open mystery sores. Mom is so proud of my newly emerging social anxiety disorder. My current version of "bar close" is Book 8 of The Preacher and either Coast To Coast AM or a career retro of Josef K I bought years ago and never bothered listening to. If only she could see her Diet Rite guzzling, Seymour Hersh article reading man-child now!

Actually, she can see me. She and Mom #2 are just too busy retiring and moving all their shit to Kentucky right now. I guess we're all going to have lunch on July 21 downtown. That should be fun, considering the last conversation we had turned into a three-way shout fest about the new Superman movie and how the script pointedly had a major character avoid mentioning "the American way" after "truth and justice" when re: Superman...when my Mom brought up that little nugget I just kind of casually mentioned that since, oh... around 8 PM EST December 12, 2000 or so, 90% of the world's population outside of our borders and a good 45% within them views "the American Way" as a morally vacuous floorshow combining the very worst ideals of faith-based cornpone hatred for the proverbial other and a series of corporate-buttfuck shenanigans that have turned most Americans into little more than pallbearers at their own economic funeral. This particular point did not go over like the proverbial "gangbusters". How very "blue state" of me.

So what. Last night I was the recipient of some truly excellent vegan vittles, courtesy of Erika, AKA the World's Best Cook. Seitan roast with yummable veggies and tasty hummus and amazing choco-banana pudding that brought tears to my eyes. It was like that. Then we watched Globe Trekker or whatever that youth oriented BBC travel show is. All about the Pacific Northwest, including PDX. Which is actually one of the only parts of the world besides the great state of Illinois that I have visiited at any length whatsoever. So that had some useful metatext for me. Traveling is for hussies. PBS is for hessians. The sexy flatscreen in Casa Borracho needs some Rabbit Ears. Miles threatens to get cable fairly often, but I feel like the sedentary lifestyle we currently rock like a sweatervest (I'm mostly speaking for myself, here...my roommate actually still has a life) will engorge to truly Jabba The Hut-esque proportions. Soon I'll be eating frogs from a converted toilet on the side of the couch, threating to throw my enemies into a huge mouth-pit where they will be digested for thousands of years. Then Luke Skywalker will kill me.

I'm also looking for some jewelry that features likenesses of Abraham Lincoln. Saved the union and freed the slaves? Yeah that guy. If you see some, holla. Warren G. Harding, too. And Harry S. Truman. One love, Harry!

Peace out, Kenny Boy! Hold on! I'm comin'!





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