Word has it we're supposed to boycott French and German products. Which means we'll have to give up such delicacies as slugs slathered in garlic sauce. But as an avid student o' human nature I wonder if this applies to the works of Nietzsche and Voltaire, both of whom romanticized primitive cultures.
Boycott or no, I'd have to agree. Cro-Magnon Man didn't need to trouble himself with naked chicks for peace. Nor did he have to deal with sixteen straight mind-numbing nights of I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. Dating rituals were simpler too, consisting of clobbering rivals over their noggins and making off with their womenfolk. Thus Cro-Magnon Woman didn't have to choose between the moody, brooding artiste and the muscle-bound hunk. Whoever won the fight garnered her favor.
My half-brother Lenny might as well be a primitive, for all his immersion in the modern world. Back in the mid-Sixties he and his cohorts used to dole out legal acid to unsuspecting college students. He knew Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters personally, to say nothing of the Manson Family.
By 1972 they'd fled Haight-Ashbury to occupy abandoned houses in Topanga Canyon. They'd figured out how to tap into utilities for free. Commerce was conducted on the barter system. They'd help make ends meet by panning for gold or carving jade figurines. Life was good.
I first met Lenny when I was seven. After a run-in with California authorities, he showed up on our doorstep with suitcase in hand. My mom had no knowledge of him. Dad had some major 'splaining to do.
Many years later he took up residence in our country home. He got run out of town after the local sheriff grew suspicious of his "crops."
Now he lives alone on the Monterrey Peninsula. Since his mom owns a seedy apartment complex, rent is free. All those years of abuse have left him befuddled and shaking like a leaf.
Yet he's still capable of incredibly profound insights. This was in evidence when we visited him during San Francisco's last earthquake. Aftershocks sent dishes clattering to the floor. Once these subsided, he had this to say while stroking his scrawny cat: "Man, that was a doozey."
To his credit, Lenny does work. He tends to the hedgerows and lawns of the Hollywood elite's vacation homes in nearby Carmel. For whatever reason, many famous folks have given him a spare key to their spreads. That's how he does his laundry, in their houses. Yes, my dazed brother washes his clothes in the same machines as some of your favorite stars!
I haven't seen or heard from Lenny since the earthquake debacle. He is dead to me.
Well, I've got to go stock up on French wine.
Hello? Anyone in here?
by MrBlank at February 26, 2003 10:23 AM
An't no one in here but us cheekens!
by Foghorn Leghorn at February 26, 2003 10:26 AM
by Lucy at February 26, 2003 11:57 AM
I actually enjoy I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, for the same reason I like every reality show, because it's all about humiliating people and taking away their dignity. One, these are all B-List celebrities, at best (except for Tyson Beckford, who really should have fired his agent for getting him involved in such a train wreck), making one last desparate grasp at stardom. And failing. You take these sad little celebrities, and you force them to stick their head in a tub of rats, or drop crickets down their pants. How can you not be entertained?
by mg at February 26, 2003 12:22 PM
Damn!! No more schnitzel!? Life's not worth living anymore.........
by Ezy at February 26, 2003 3:15 PM
Damn Anna!! No more schnitzel!? Life's just not worth living anymore.........
by Ezy at February 26, 2003 3:17 PM
Once just wasn't enough to convey my despair ;-)
by Ezy at February 26, 2003 3:20 PM
Spare keys to celebrity's mansions, eh? I wonder what a peculiar type of laundry detergent he leaves behind... hmm... sniff... Once again, it fascinates me how your train of thought shifts completely, yet tangibly, and then wraps up with a conclusion apt to the introduction. Open with France--> Lenny/reality tv/--> France in closure. Does your sister ever post on this site, Anna? You said she was a bond trader, I'd like to chat with her. But then you'd get jealous, and I'm simply not the type to bonk women on the head cro-magnoly, so forget I asked. You're still lockheed's favorite poster... yay... what a wicked game you play...
by LOCKHEED at February 26, 2003 4:24 PM
It took me a while to get the schnitzel reference, Ezy. But I think I'll get by fine without it or escargot. As for I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here, haven't seen it. I just thought the title sounded funny. Would say this---they certainly have stretched the definition of the word celebrity. Lastly, no my sister doesn't post here. Another one of my very close associates does, however.
by Anna at February 26, 2003 5:14 PM
Isn't schnitzel Austrian?
by Leaffin at February 26, 2003 7:41 PM
Haven't seen "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Outta' Here?" Sounds like pseudo-intellectual posturing to me.
by douchenation at February 27, 2003 3:28 AM
Douche, I assume you meant me not the show. Now that you've resurfaced, I will have to change the closing of my upcoming post. It was a reference to your absence here. Leaffin, I'm not sure I'd know a schnitzel if someone konked me over the head with one. But the word sure looks funny in print, like "filet."
by Anna at February 27, 2003 7:49 AM
Leaffin, correct you are. Schnitzel is originally an Austrian dish but was so embraced by Deutschland that most think of it as a German dish now. You get a smiley face for the observation.
Anna, below is the elusive schnitzel if you'd like to take a peek.
by Ezy at February 27, 2003 9:13 AM
Don't waste pixels on me, please.
...And my previous post was not inteded to be taken personally--it was in reference to something else everyone already forgot about.
Almost chopped my finger off at Lockheed's two Saturdays ago (you really bleed alot after twenty beers). It's not healing properly--very difficult to type with my "McGuyver-ed" Q-tip splint.
by douchenation at February 27, 2003 2:34 PM
That sucks Douche. I almost cut my ring finger off when I was younger. It took for-fuckin-ever to heal. Keep that digit clean man. I didn't, as well as I should've, and got a nasty infection for my trouble. It made an unpleasant experience even worse.
by Ezy at February 27, 2003 3:52 PM
I like the idea of people referring to me as "Douche." I wish that would happen in my non-cyber life as well. What's Lenny's number? I want him to snag some of Angelina Jolie's panties.
by douchenation at February 28, 2003 2:37 AM
I don't have his number assuming he has a phone. But Jolie's panties are readily available online. What kills me is the vision of this scruffy ragamuffin kicking back in their spreads washing is clothes and guzzling their liquor, which I forgot to mention. I did it too the last time I was there.
by Anna at February 28, 2003 6:15 PM