Michael Kindt's Blog, page 126

I had a dream that I was gay, but rather than being sexually attracted to members of my own gender, I was really, really happy in an old-fashioned way.

“Pa finally broke down and got a radio!”

SEATTLE–Hundreds of people floated on, wore, and held...

SEATTLE–Hundreds of people floated on, wore, and held petroleum products as they protested Shell Oil’s new Arctic drilling rig on Sunday.

story

So I'm sitting around reading my new GQ magazine, a subscription to which was given to me by my Aunt Elayne for my birthday last month.

I love joke presents.

It is kind of like Cosmo for men, only with the sex turned WAY down. The female Cosmo is published for extremely, mightily, obsessively horny women, women whose entire lives revolve around getting laid and working at “the office”. Every other article is about porking, and all the rest are about losing weight, wearing make-up, or getting thin. Oh, and also what to do about that bitch Courtney in the next cubicle. You’ve come a long way, babies!

“25 moves that will drive him mad in bed!”–like you need that many or even 3. Haha. Men are simple creatures. We want you to have sex with us and go down on us periodically (actually constantly, but we can manage periodically). That’s it. We might even do the dishes or babysit our own kids, in turn.

GQ is more about how to spend money on really expensive clothes, and the various creams and lotions and potions and chemicals, all of which smell like musk, you need to rub on your body and hairs (facial, headal, chestal, assal, and pubic) before you put them on. Consumerism, in other words. Everybody makes fun of climate change deniers, then they hop in their SUVs to drive five blocks for some more disposable plastic shit made in China. Um, ok.

I’m actually disappointed there isn’t a “25 moves that will drive HER mad in bed” article, because, to tell you the truth, I’m running out of ideas over here. I’m poking and prodding and licking and chewing and getting nothing. More like 25 moves that will MAKE her mad in bed.

I must say, though, that I will be smartly dressed and musky-smelling when she comes to her senses and dumps me. So, thank you, GQ.

I guess.

I used BIG SEXY HAIR on my beard today and, frankly, it wasn't as volumizing as the label claimed.

On and on the label went about how volumizing it was. Volumizing! Volumizing! (Is volumizing even a word?) It boasted of being “the boob job of hair conditioners”. It bragged that it was to hair what collagen injections were to the lips of washed-up pornstars struggling to score MILF work. “You know,” the label explained, “hot dog lips.”

So during my shower this morning, I rubbed some in my beard. I was expecting this massive, bushy beard, a beard so massive and so bushy it would frighten women and children and small animals and the modern American girly-man. A veritable afro on my face out of which my beady little eyes would peek. But it was just like my regular beard, pretty much, only it smelled of peaches and lavender and vanilla, which was actually quite nice.

“Here,” I told people on the street, “smell my beard”, but I didn’t get any takers, just a lot of weird looks and a welfare check from a cop.

The only difference I could make out was that the stripe of gray in my beard seemed to be emphasized, more prominent. Perhaps BIG SEXY HAIR only works on gray hair, I reasoned. Or perhaps the whole experience aged me a few years in the course of a single day.

I’m not sure, but I lean toward the latter.

NORM MACDONALD

NORM MACDONALD

queerart-civildisobedience:European accents (and in general...

queerart-civildisobedience:

European accents (and in general white people accents) are commonly perceived as attractive and endearing {By whom? What proof can you provide for using the word ‘commonly’ or the word ‘attractive’ or the word ‘endearing’? Are you sure you’re just not making a vast, stereotypical judgment in a tired and failed effort to be provocative, a judgment that you cannot base on reality or proof or statistics or anything?}, while accents from basically any other part of the world are considered to be signs of laziness and disrespect and get routinely made fun of. {By whom? What is this vast group of people you’ve lumped together and made judgments about based on, at best, a few anecdotes? Do you also believe all Native Americans are drunks, too? I’m not sure I like you very much. You don’t seem very smart and are most certainly a lazy thinker. Hey, but you got a lot of notes, so that’s cool, I guess.}

Fixed it.

The Stones-Honky Tonk Woman-1969I often enjoy annoying my...

The Stones-Honky Tonk Woman-1969

I often enjoy annoying my son. “I like the Beatles, too. They’re almost as good as the Stones.”

You should see the steam come out of his ears. Haha.

Hey, I can’t help it if he’s wrong!

As an aside, even though I am straight, if it was 1969 and I had a six-pack in me….well, let’s just say I am a Mick Jagger fan.

Also, notice how none of these people have cell phones. Look how totally fine they are.

I almost forgot: I put a pretty ugly green hat on the the...

I almost forgot: I put a pretty ugly green hat on the the biggest Buddha statue at the estate sale today. Got a pretty good chuckle out of the folks around me, too. Kinda took me back to my class clown days.

The auction people didn’t seem to be very pleased, but what are they gonna do? It’s fucking perfect and stayed on the whole time I was there.

I’ve studied Buddhism and I’m certain the Tathagata would be quite appreciative…..

Gene and Jeane's crap.

Pretty red chairs all in a row, in several rows, all facing the empty podium where the auctioneer will perch. People milling about, looking at the material detritus of Gene and Jeane’s life. In one corner is a comically overpriced consessioner, hawking hilarious bottles of water for $4. There’s also pop and burgers and dogs and bags of chips, but let’s not even go there. The cheapest thing on the menu is the water. There was a big sign upon entering that said NO OUTSIDE FOOD OR DRINK and I kind of felt sheepish about my Subway sandwich and thermos of tea, until I saw the consessioner’s prices. Then I was like “Blow me. I’m gonna enjoy my outside food and drink in front of God and everyone.”

This is an estate sale and the human being swells with the edema of material crap as he edges along toward death. Gene and Jeane are their real names. I thought about changing them for this story, but I didn’t because they’re too perfect. When the auctioneer introduced them as they stood off to the side, he made a little joke. “Now, which one is which?” he asked. The woman, smiling, waved her hand. “I’m Jeane,” she said.

You had to be there, I guess. She got a good laugh.

Gene and Jeane look like they are in their mid to late sixties. Gene is boring. Apart from his wispy white pony tail–rat tail, really–he looks just like any other old guy. But Jeane, I can tell, has some kook to her. She’s wearing a crazy black and white sweater, covered with some blurry chess board pattern. It’s very, very busy and kind of hurts my eyes to look at. She also has on a HUGE chunky turquoise necklace that’s almost as prominent as a Hawaiian lei. It totally does not match her sweater and must weigh a ton. Her eyeglasses are very modern and now, with the rectangular lenses and bold frames and geometric design on the sides. Her short, old lady hair is undyed but still typical of women her age. You can really tell she has some kook to her, though.

“When I am an old lady, I shall wear purple.”–or large turquoise rocks around my neck and a busy, headache-inducing sweater.

What’s amazing about Gene and Jeane is that they’re both still alive. Usually these estate sales are the result of death. Usually, the husband dies, due to men being the weaker sex, and his widow is like FINALLY. NOW I CAN SELL ALL THIS CRAP AND MOVE INTO A STUDIO APARTMENT DOWNTOWN AND GO CLUBBING ALL THE TIME.

(Something like that.)

Or it’s the sad-looking adult children selling off all their parents’ stuff after mom was called home. I go to estate sales all the time and never are both of the owners of the estate there and smiling in the corner, looking like they got a good 15 to 20 years left.

Questions begin popping into my mind. Are Gene and Jeane broke? Do they wanna get an RV and roam the country? Did Gene get in trouble with gambling or Jeane with the Home Shopping Network? Do they want a simpler life? No way can you have as much crap as Gene and Jeane and call your life simple. I want to talk to them, ask them things, especially Jeane, who’s clearly my kinda people, but I won’t. I’ll leave them be.

I become an archaeologist at estate sales. I honestly don’t go there to buy things. I almost never do buy anything. I just look and dig. For me, it’s like peeking into someone’s medicine cabinet, only on a cosmic scale. Who was this ancient tribe? What was their culture like? Their religion? What did they care about? What did they do in their day-to-day lives? Let’s find out!

Gene and Jeane’s life was laid out before me on dozens of tables. I could see the stages of their development. There was a box of New Age and “Spiritual” books from the late 70s. Shortly after that, a bunch of Buddha statues and Ravi Shankar LPs appear. But they weren’t really spiritual in any real sense, I don’t think. The obvious materialism before me belied it. Perhaps like a lot of Americans, they were “spiritual, but not religious” (translation: “interesting, but not really”).

Then came their Western period, which brought cowboy hats and saddles and boxes of country music cassettes. Also in this period, guns appear. A few tables later, they seemed to have gotten into Harleys and the biker life. The raw brown leather of their Western days was replaced with the sleek and shiny black leather of their biker ones.

There was a crafts period, a furniture refinishing period, a healthy eating period with its attendant boring cookbooks. There were various odd little collections. “I’m going to collect spoons!” (boxes and boxes of old-looking spoons). Or “Thimbles!” (boxes and boxes of old-looking thimbles).

The furniture, which was located off to the side, demonstrated a consistency not found on the tables. They were into heavy, classical, and somewhat antique-type furniture from day one. None of it had to be assembled or came from China.

Gene and Jeane had some money. You could tell by their things. They didn’t have a lot of money, but they did have some. What they did have, and clearly in droves, was space. The warehouse was full. I can only imagine their house.

Although a thing or two caught my eye, I didn’t bid. I can only manage about 3 or 4 hours at an estate sale (they last all day), then I gotta get the hell out of there. As I was leaving, thirsty for beer and to be anywhere else, I couldn’t help but admire how intelligent Gene and Jeane were. After all, I totally would’ve gotten rid of all that crap, too.

Based on writing alone, what is your favorite TV series (past or present)?

It would have to be the past. Not really sure what’s on tv these days, and the current shows I do like are all reality shows like Mythbusters and Project Runways (though I’m tiring of that one).

I don’t know. Seinfeld? NewsRadio? I’m a giant Phil Hartman fan.The original Bob Newhart show? I’ve really never been much of a tv guy.