Archive for the Dork Alert Category

My Bike is a Magical Pony

Posted in Adventures in Design, Dork Alert, Goof & Glamour, In Celebration of the Absurd with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 16, 2010 by alphabetfiend

I rode a horse long before I ever road a bike. Born in the nothern New Mexico mountains, I was riding bareback by the time I was 2. Too bare from the sound of it. “You were just like Lady Godiva!” my dad would boast, often in mixed company. The horse was Jack. My Dad had known him for many years and trusted him. Not one to spook, Jack was emotional, intuitive, gentle and wise. I was never afraid.

It wasn’t until we moved to Toledo that my grandpa gifted me with a sparkly Schwinn, presenting it to me like it was a Cadillac car (which it became.)  

The bike scared me way more than the horse, or at least it did for for one terrifying 1/2 hour, after the training wheels came off. I was still uncertain of the physics but my Dad wasn’t willing to mosey through the big-girl bike process. (Years later, when teaching me t0 ride a motorcycle, he employed the exact same “Now or Never, Do or Die” method.) 

Once I managed to stay up after he broke his vow and let go — WOW! A bike with training wheels is like an orgasm without a moan. The release that comes with speed or sound, mmm. The bliss of velocity, the rush of movement, oh I was hooked. I hardly missed horses after that.

And when I did, my bike became a rusty stallion; mane blowing in the wind, hooves hitting cobblestone.

A few of the roads in our little south Toledo hood were brick paved and ahhh that pompompompompom sound still thrills.

Wasn’t I just telling y’all about the furious pedaling that took place as I rode my bike home from the library?  The potency is undiluted by the years. The musty papery scent of library books combined with the snapzap of rubber & gravel.  Those memories are saturated by the heady oomph of freedom. I had a lipstick red convertible Caddy and a platinum AM EX  (cherry red schwinn, library card) It’s not surprising that I often find myself back there in my dreams, navigating those roads in a strange bike-car hybrid.

For a kid, a bicycle is always more than a bike.  To you, it’s a beater with a banana seat. To them it’s a Venice beach lo rider or a gondola gliding along the canals of the otherVenice. To you, it’s a crooked big wheel. To them, it’s a monster truck.

Kids are always peddling in a ghosty aura or otherness.

Which is why I’m madly in love with “horsey,” eungi kim’s entry in ‘seoul cycle design competition 2010‘.   Kim’s design entry was shortlisted from over 3000 designs. The designboom competition was organized in collaboration with the  seoul design foundation.

Kim’s clever creation turns any bike into a magical pony.

 

Kim describes the product thusly:
 

‘horsey’ is an attachable bicycle ornament/accessory which makes one’s bicycle look horsey!
the ‘horsey’ package includes wooden ornaments (horsey shape body), metal parts, and screws.
the manual is very simple so that anyone can easily arrange it according to one’s needs.
through this ‘horsey’ project. I wanted to give a special look to bicycles so that people would care
about cycling not only as transportation but also as a lovely pet.

 

I think “horsey” is a magical ode to dreaming. I have just two concerns.

1) Will this horsey actually be sturdy enough for the kind of galloping I’ve got in mind?

2) When will you be launching a unicorn version?

Cause I’d like to order one of those suckers in either black licorice or pink neon. Hmm. What do you think? Black unicorn or pink unicorn?

Today’s Secret Word is “Barfday”

Posted in Art Lover, Dork Alert, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Funny Fellas, In Celebration of the Absurd, Star F*#ker, Style & Fashion, Technicolor Pop, Top 2% of Coolest Mofos, TV, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 28, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Happy Freakin’ Barfday, Peewee!

Hooray! It’s Peewee Herman’s birthday! Don’t know how old he is, don’t care. It hardly matters. Peewee’s oddly timeless.

I adore Peewee Herman and count him among the top 2 % coolest mofos (of the magical sort) on planet Earth.

I worship the H*Man. So I was damn sure gonna celebrate his birthday with sacred acts of tom-foolery. To keep my play pure, I’d —  of course! — avoid all adult responsibilities while evading mind-numbing normals.

I’d planned an ambitious day of play;  loll about on chatty chairs, ram things with my shiny pink bicycle. (A virtual valentine of a bike!) 

I was gonna cater to the id.

But I couldn’t let the day pass without wishing Herman a happy Barfday.

Barfday?

AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!

I meant to say that! Barf barf barf day!

Happy Barfday, Mr. Peeee-weee… happy barfday to you.

Hope the day was good to you.

Hope the playhouse is over-flowing with cake, frosting, bows, balloons, jewels, cash, pills. And, of course, psychedelic butterflies with google eyes who’ll quickly morph — as needed — into bowties. So many dandy-fop bowties! In a neon rainbow of hues!

Hope Capt. Carl & Cowboy Curtis treated you to a tequila shot or two.

Hope Miss Yvonne spoiled you with a “gentleman’s choice” — whatever that means.

Hope your birthday (so far) has been really freakin’ cool.

Psst.

Today’s secret word is “barfday.”

********************************************

Yes, I was including wordpress among adult activities, what of it?

*The cubist Hermans are by Tommervick, whose modern take on cubism has reconfigured everyone from Elvis to Mr. Rogers. Spock too. I swear.

TBA/Quintron & Miss Pussycat Holdover (Sunday PM Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Dork Alert, I Heart Funny Fellas, I Heart Funny Femmes, I Heart My Love-Tribe, In Celebration of the Absurd, Music & Life & Sundays, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Technicolor Pop, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 25, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Mornin’ lovers… I bow my head before you, blue curls a blur of bedhead bedlam.  I am thunderstruck, drowsy….contrite.

Did you notice the PM in today’s title?

Ah. Blame it on the road, on the lure of the highway, on gas stations, on rainbows in oil puddles!  

Blame it on Hruskas (hybrid bakery/chevron) for making delectable yum-yums that had us rearranging our return date not once, not twice but three times. These suckers sell out fast and getting the really good stuff is some sort of competitive sport. Seriously! But oh it’s worth it. Egg sandwich — ooey gooey goodness — on fresh-baked croissant with a home-cut off-kilter slab of ham. And then there’s the cherry cream cheese kolaches that could maybe make a nympho nun cum.

Blame it on the baby with a sticky face, calling my name loud & clear from across the room; who later cried and cried until I untied my cupcake apron and offered up my lap as safe harbor. Blame it on the tears that dissolved into hiccups as I read about the pigeon who wanted a puppy but then met a real life slobbery pup and decided a walrus was a more practical choice.

Blame it on my own pups, let loose in the country, romping in the warm green Mississippi grass.

Blame it on Quintron & Miss Pussycat playing a Saturday night show in New Orleans in the old Shim Sham Club (you’ll always be Shim Sham to me xoxo.)

Blame it on Miss Pussycat’s puppets!

No.

Don’t frame the puppets.

Poor poor puppets.

Isn’t their lot quite a lot as it is?

It’s all the fault of rowdy pups & raucous thunderclaps which cause one pink-nosed pitbull to cower behind my protective legs.

Or maybe it’s the pelting rain and electric zigzags which keep knocking me offline?

OK. OK. Chalk it up to summery sloth.

I’m off to slumber, all sleepyhead fulla surprises.

Surprises?

The gospel — still in draft — is nearly written and the song is chosen but I’m not tellin’.

It’s a good one and it’s my gift to give — I know how some of you are with your google! You’d google Santa right off his sleigh if you could.

No, no, come back later and let me give you a belated gift. Oh, I’m giddy!

 

But I want it to be perfect and so I’ll wait… for a less-cloudy sky and a less-foggy mind.

In the meantime, for your patience, here’s a crazy wonderful surreal treat from Quintron & Miss Pussycat: “Mardi Gras in the Center of the Earth.”

More surprises? Clue: “Blue”… Look for it! (Any guesses?)

It’s My Party, I’ll Dream If I Want To…

Posted in Dork Alert, Sexy Bitch Steampunk yum, Style & Fashion, The Ringleader, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 7, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Being as I’m the birthday girl and this is my party, I’ve decided to indulge my goofy fantasies. Myth-making & cool shit galore! I’ve compiled imaginary lists of all the fine gifts I’d lavish on my Cream Scene altar-egos if only money, reality or logistics were no problem. These are fantasy items and it matters not that it was last season or that I could never afford or find it.       

That said, I’ve still made an effort to include some things that others might like/afford/find.       

This should be a good way for y’all to get the know the various characters here at Cream Scene Carnival. Consider it a visual story of my earthly desire. We are living in a material world and I am a material girl.              

Let us begin with your Ringleader:      

   

Always start with a cap, my loveys, such as this itty-bitty carnival mini top hat by Two Back Flats. Then I’d have to pop over to Bust magazine’s boobtique for the dastardly mustache necklace by the fab London design duo Tatty Devine.           

                

Next comes the most magical item of Ringleader garb: the skin-tight trousers with black & white stripes. I have searched for these everywhere and and cannot believe that the search is finally over. I found the absolutely perfect steampunk pirate rocker pair at Steampunk Couture. The best part is that she custom makes them to fit your body. Which means those suckers are gonna fit like a glove. (Steampunk couture )   mmmm. Sexy bitch steam punk yum.                      

With that little satin tophat? Lions, tigers & rump -- o-my!

 Next comes this sexy-sweet little corset top (out of which bosoms will threaten to spill) and this wonderfully wacky vest like origami clown garb. Both pieces from Anthropology. I love these cutenesses, especially that vest, and so I must have them in real life.   

                 

 A circus cool pin from So Charmed (available on Etsy)                 

    

Vintage electric blue granny boots… perfect for the sweet ass strut!   

 

And a whip, of course…one that snaps the sno-cones from the mouths of babes…   

              

Whaddaya think of this Ringleader, lovers? Isn’t she hot? Odd? Fun?     

Stay tuned as we shop for the other Cream Scene Carnival characters.    

Happy Birthday, Ringleader! And now I must dive into bed cause I fell asleep while typing and woke up to find I had typed some strange kind of dream nonsense.

Wish I Had One-na Dem Willy Braids

Posted in country music, Dork Alert, Fame & Celebrity, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Tricksters, Lipstick Shamaness, Mythos, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Star F*#ker, Style & Fashion, The wisdom of the universe, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 29, 2010 by alphabetfiend

D’you hear the news about Willie and the missing piggies? Yep. He snipped ’em. Willie without braids? What is the world coming to?

 I had a dream around the turn of the millenium, amid all the doomsday mumbo jumbo, that the world was coming to and end… except that it was more of a Michio-Kaku-style metamorphoses or Fred-Allan-Wolf-type transformation. Like Wolf’s idea that the universe has been expanding ever since the Big Bang but will start shrinking eventually and… yea, anyway, back to Willie. In the dream, my friend Rita (a talented psychic) had a pub, where she’d called a special meeting for people who were supposed to help “save the world” (more like guide the world through its rebirth.) Rita was a fine hostess/bar-maid, taking drink orders & zipping around the pub in a pedal surrey with a fringe awning. (Real life Rita, in true shamaness style, was a childhood victim of polio. So my un-consc’ gave her a more fittingly glamorous wheel chair.) The pub had a frenetic bustling energy as people summoned their muster and opened their third eyes. Willie called the meeting to order. I wasn’t surprised to see him with the conch.

Whether savior or city-icon, this is BIG news here in Austin. In our neck of the woods we consider Willie’s smooth nape to be our business.

There was some initial speculation that Willie took to the say-lon so that he might save the gulf with a crimped contribution to the hair boom project. Thank Goof that wasn’t true! Don’t get me wrong, I used the hair booms as an excuse to take my baby wookie to the groomer and I felt righteous doin’ it. Hey, wookie’s  are fur-bombs.

I even have an appointment to see my own stylist next week cause well, we all gotta do our part.

I wanna believe in the whole hair boom thing and I kinda do. But it hasn’t been implemented on the gulf although I hear they’ve had luck in the past. I didn’t want Willie to have cut his braids for some bullshit thing we’re doing just to make ourselves feel better and justify wookie grooming.

The best reason for Willie to cut his trademark tresses is because that’s what Willie wants. Which was the case. I suspected as much. Long hair is a pain in the arse. I saw that infomercial guy on 60 minutes a couple Sundays back and he said he’d love to cut his stupid ponytail but can’t ’cause,  like sex, ponytails sell.

No matter. Willie’s the Big Kahuna whether he’s got braids or not. I’m supportive. Chopping off one’s locks can be an act of freedom.

I only wish that I could have just one of the famous plaits. I’d attach it to the end of a whittled birch limb, joined by a cluster of cardinal feathers and ribbons like kite-tails. I’d bathe the whole gris gris in silver glitter & Eshu spit. It’d be one hell of a talisman — capable of big and small majicks.

Willy! Gimmee gimmee!

If not to further my power as high priestess of tom-foolery, if not in sacrifice to the Saint of Red-Headed Step-Children, then it should go to The Country Music Hall of Fame. Or even the Smithsonian. Can I hear an AMEN?

Willie looks like he joined the cast of Gilligan’s Island but he’ll be much more comfortable in the heat of the Texas summer.

I wonder if Willie’s piggies tried to cry wee wee wee all the way home….

Cash Cab Hearts Kurt Vonnegut

Posted in Alphabetfiend, Dork Alert, TV with tags , , , , , , , , on December 18, 2008 by alphabetfiend

I was watching Cash Cab yesterday and was touched when, after a question about the author Kurt Vonnegut, Ben Bailey (host & cabbie) turned to the camera with a thumbs up.

We miss you, Kurt.

Cause wow we really do… all of us… maybe you don’t know you’re missing Kurt Vonnegut but believe me, you are! 

kurt-vonnegut

Which is exactly why I love Cash Cab — the game show that takes place in Ben Bailey’s NYC cab, only one of the countless cabs in the city. (OK 13,000. Someone counted.) So if, like me, you are DYING to play Cash Cab you must first be lucky enough to stumble into it. O! I want it to be me — the Alphabetfiend — bumbling & mumbling some Alphabet City address. I once watched as two older gentlemen won over $4000 dollars AND got dropped of at my favorite intersection in all the world. Across the way from the St. Marks Hotel (where I often stay like the village sleaze I am) and from the little Asian bakery where I get powdery cream puffs with a touch of green tea whipped into the fresh cream. Over there by where the tasty freeze truck parks. Right beside the Astor Place subway station where I love to jump on & off the 6. Yep, they were going to Starbucks but were it me I’d head straight to that tasty freeze and get me a butterscotch dip cone. I’d lick it while looking through the windows of that great bookstore and plotting my $4000 shopping spree. I’d have to hit H&M. Oh, no fair! Why can’t I be two old men in NYC, in Bailey’s cab, about to walk away with the most money ever won on Cash Cab? Why! Why I ask you?!  I was jealous of their winnings and I was jealous of their GPS location.

The Robot Boy and I would kick butt on Cash Cab. We know almost all the answers cause the questions are always about the random sort of literary smarty pants kind of shit we care about it. Crazy questions about space & time, ancient myth, freaky cult authors, haunted ships, famous amusement parks, or how to make a bomb. In recent episodes, two different episodes,  it all came down to questions whose answers I know in my bones.

  1. What Spanish city is not to be confused with an industrial city in Ohio? The contestents said “Seville. ” I knew they were done for as I screamed “TOLEDO!!!!!”
  2. The legendery amusement park, Cedar Point, is in what state? The guy risked $900 and lost it all when he answered “Washington” but I was serene as I swooned “OHIO.”

Both of those games ended in the riders being booted from the cab and left to walk on to their destination (or hail another less-fun cab that will ask you to pay them not the other way around.) But this Midwestern honey grew up in TOLEDO OHIO so I would not have been left like a loser on the curb. I spent every summer at Cedar Point, I spent every winter dreaming of that other Toledo.

Yep, it’s meant to be… me & Cash Cab sitting in a tree… k-i-s-s-i-n-g.  Gotta love the game show that mourns the loss of Vonnegut.

cash_cab_usa

I’d love to hail that hunk. Pick me pick me! Up! Cash Cab comes on the Discovery Channel between 5/4c -7/6c pm on weekdays. That’s four episodes so take a 25 minute break and see if you can beat me on Cash Cab. By the way, I’m watching it as we speak and Bailey has just said

“Cash Cab has a vanity plate. 7N78. Can you figure out what it means?”

I’m drawing a blank! What do you think?

“Jesus is Friendly” sez Christian Ska Weirdos

Posted in Dork Alert, Rock & Roll with tags , , , , , on December 12, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Once I tried to run, I tried to run and hide but Jesus came and found me and he touched me down inside. He is like a mounty, he always gets his man. And he’ll zap you anyway he can! — Sonseed

Cha Cha forwarded a link to this crazy Christian ska band Sonseed and damn if them singing about their good friend Jesus doesn’t make me shiver a little. Shiver and giggle and then shiver again.

Watch his mouth… it’s eeriely hynotizing… wow… how freakin’ bizarre…

He taught me how to pray and how to save my soul, he taught me how to praise my God and still play Rock & Roll.

I have no doubt that Jesus is a cool dude and a great friend and I’m sure he touched this guy real deep down inside but he sure as hell DID NOT teach him how to rock & roll.

He loves me when I’m right, he loves me when I’m wrong. He loves me when I’m quiet and have nothing to say. He’ll love me when I’m perfect if I ever get that way!

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