365 days, fresh and new. Delivered in seconds.
Has anyone else typed that? If I came up with it on my own, I'll freak out.
Dear World:
Thank you for dropping in, even if you loaded this page by accident. When I’m lucky, what I write is something I wouldn’t mind being seen in public with. Other days there are pages that remind me of Thalidomide babies, in that I’m sorry it happened and I wish I could make it better. But I keep shaking the dice and knocking things out because – OH BOY – I fuckin’ love sentences! Mmm, sentences. I read plenty, or I make my own.
Thank you for your comments here. I would agree that all of you are capable of borrowing my car or using my bathroom without making anyone sad or embarrassed. I mean it - you people are all right by me. Even if you turn on a fire hose in my living room, I am confident that you would do so with a certain sense of panache or righteous indignation. I believe you, and I believe in you.
Today I'm going to sleep-off a mild hangover and make Oyster Stew. I'm kind of good at that - Oyster Stew, I mean (not hangovers) . I use leftover champagne to its best advantage, along with heavy whipping cream, shallots, secret spices and potatoes. Oysters give up their lives to crawl into my stew, as you may have heard. Forgive me for being so bold, but there are some things that cannot be disputed by man because the scientific data is above reproach. You would not believe how many rabbits I had to blind, or the number of rashes I have afflicted on humanity in order to make a perfect Oyster Stew. I do stew every year, once, and no one can stop me.
Wish you were here.
Good luck to you for 2009. Keep breathing in and out, and do right by somebody.
Warmest Regards From Hell,
Your pal Mojo
Posts
32 comments:
Happy 2009, Mojopo! And thank you for disproving that there is no intelligent life left in Chicago after the 20th! ;-)
Tarleisio
A powerful aphrodisiac.
Dogs can hear them screaming when we shuck them.
Damn!
I almost forgot - oyster stew!
What a concept! The only thing I'm surprised about is - leftover champagne?! Is there such a thing?
I wish you could Fedex some of that Oyster Stew for me! I'm making Cornish Hen. Cluck New Year to You!
Happy New Year Mojo..... keep on typing.
For those of you keeping up with my new Greed Policy, at 12:00:01, I took a pee outside, to scent in the New Year.
Pee for the Green Boys!
Oh, I am doing Cuban New Year, Black Beans and Pork. The rest of the Anglo family is doing black eyed peas and cornbread.
I can't do it, I was from south Europe and need to keep the Mediterranean close to heart.
I feel better already! :@)
Peas, cabbage, and cornbread done with special gris-gris to insure prosperity, health, peace of mind and hilarity.
But, yum, the thought of tender little labial creatures simmering in silky warm champagne and cream juices makes me happy, sad, and itchy all at the same time. Oh, yum.
Up the green pee! Pray for the Chicagos!
Project for a New Year
Choose one:
A) The full moon was like a fried egg in the sky. In the pan, Mattie flipped her over-easies.
B) Gossimer clouds. A full moon. Like an egg, sunny side up. Mattie flipped hers.
C) Thin clouds lining the glowing full moon like threads of eggwhite surrounding their yolk. Mattie pressed the fork into the center and scrambled all. It was her nature to scramble.
I forgot the None of the Above option. Also, there's a mix and match option.
So, yeah. Just jump on in. Give it a turn. go for it.
A fifth option is to ALTER. No excuses. Now go.
OK, since you asked so pretty. I'm right here. So look - I'm waiting to add oysters to my stuff and hanging out while people are chatting. Because if I add those babies before their time, they will turn into rubber bullets.
Anony - you need a stage. Because. Amazing stuff and I'd be your fan. The only downside? Man, it's hard taking up a blog when you love to comment. I've been there. It gets...different. I'm not saying that it's bad, just different. But I think you would stun the mobs. Are you a writer? I fucking hate writers, my friend. They were berets and have nervous problems.
Happy New Year, you pointed headed hipster.
I think.... Mattie was concentrating all morning. In one last agonizing, heart throbbing push, she released the egg. It was painful and amazing - as if she would be split into half and go straight into Gabriel's waiting room upstairs. She bled some, and breathed.
And then there was the egg. The egg? Could she hide in beneath her, or would Farmer Brown take it away like he has done before (again again again)? It's not that Mattie wanted to keep a chick, but she fucking hated Farmer Brown and his short fingers. Fucking. Hated. Him.
Mattie was going to fix his ass one way or another.
Oh - they stopped talking. OK - gotta run.
Hey Chic...
Just stoppin by to say...
Happy New Year!
Hope you have a Awesome 2009! :)
Nikki
Am I a writer? Honest work, you mean?! It's funny because just today I browsed a book called ART AND FEAR by somebody named Orland (?) and somebody else, and in it was a quote from some writer I can't remember that said something like "Writing is easy. All you do is put a piece of blank paper in your typewriter and stare at it until the blood drips from your forehead." Something like that. No, what I do is nowhere near that good and, worse, I teach other people to do it too, except you can't really teach it.
But just before Chrxstmas, I did buy a beret! I got it online. The ad called it a Basque beret, but when I received it I read the label which says "Made in Czech Republic." Does that denote Basque to you? Me neither! It's supposed to be a good one, made of combed lambs wool that will never pill in a million years. I'm expecting now for it to roll up in a ball and stick in my hair. It's black. I think I paid too much for it. How did you know?!!
Anyway, I was just trying to get a game of Story Round started. In thirteen days I will restart my commutes to the place where they say I work. Just passing time. I love the way you write.
_______________
In the room above, Mattie heard stirring. Gabriel. Either she would finish this damn egg and take it up, or he'd be down soon grumbling. But wasn't there a third option? The door. Couldn't she just walk out? Hadn't she done it before? Isn't that what she'd done when she'd spent that month with Sven and Sadie in Savannah? Hadn't she left him then? No. Gabriel was like a piece of her spine. She could no more leave him than she could leave dear Mr. Victor. She plated the egg alongside two pieces of buttered toast and strips of drained bacon, and started for the stairs. Turning to Mr. Victor, now resting his head on the counter, and said, "You're alright, Mr. Victor? You'll keep an eye on the door for me, now? 'All night means all night,' ya know?"
All night means all night. All night because that was the only way Mattie could make the diner squeeze forth a day's wages. Easier in the days before the interstate, when 49 was the one route from Jackson to the coast. That was a long time ago. Mattie started up the stairs.
Sounds good Mojo. I meant the oyster stew.... :-)
\\Speedy//
Hi, Speedy! Thanks for dropping in.
Anony - the last time I saw a bleeding forehead was on a pair of underwear. Small world.
Funny isn't it - how the whole world seems so connected instead of random? No one would ever connect a hipbone to a headbone, but it happens eventually. Same thing with art. One day I've got a boxes full of elbows and deviated septums. If I hang onto them long enough, I might get a box of noses and arms to compliment my set.
Please name your beret Marek. Every Czech I know of is named Marek.
More later about Mattie... I like the way you write, too.
Nikki, was that YOU? Well howdy!
Thanks for your time and effort. I came here not long ago and was impressed, I come back often because I like what you're doin'.
Have a Great New Year.
Mojo's hang over didn't really hit her until today. Stand by for a resumption of service.
Uh oh, did Mojopo spend New Year Day shaving hair off a dog? That may have counteracted the curative effects ascribed to succulent mollusks simmering their lips in creamy goodness. Let's hope it is not a fatal hangover. I've had one of those! Twice!
This latest Mojopost gives us hope for the future because it teaches us that the Chicagos have a romantic streak which may counter their desire to eat our dogs and destroy all the rivers. As I've mentioned here before, I've seen with my own eyes what the Chicagos did to their river, and if you go, I'd advise you not to look. It will break your heart. I will admit to having eaten a tiny bit of dog there -- they put enormous pressure on guests to do so. The place where I ate dog is called Navy Pier. It came dressed with fancy-shmancy wedges of tomato, some cucumbers soaked in brine, and no ketchup. I can not say whether it was good dog or not, I just closed my eyes and got it over with. I was afraid I might be killed if I didn't. Also, at Navy Pier there is a Ferris wheel. Do you know the Ferris wheel was invented in Chicago? I know because I read it in a book about a world's fair they had there in 18-something because they were jealous of the French and of New York (where they also eat dog.) Mr. Ferris invented that wheel in order to make Mr. Eiffel feel bad. Mr. Eiffel had built a big steel tower in France that the Chicagos were ooo so envious about, so they paid Mr. Ferris to build something unusual out of steel too. It worked! The French were jealous because Eiffel's tower, great as it may have been, could NOT spin around in circles. So there you have it. You now know what makes the Chicagos tick: A love of dog meat, hatred of rivers, steel, and spinning around in circles. But there is this one thing. Oyster stew. If a Chicago can warm up to something as delicate stewy oysters, there may be hope.
Of course, it may be they just enjoy killing the poor helpless things. In which case, we're doomed.
In New Orleans we drink a lot and aren't jealous of everybody except for cities that are above sea level. That means we aren't jealous of...
...Venice.
We have too much to do here to be jealous of Venice. We have to do this a lot:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvuKu60BuCw
I know I'm over-posting again, but is anyone else alarmed that this is the hour of the morning on Saturdays when Ms Mojo usually arises from her martini juice stupor to check her blog and there's not a hint of her here? If something's happened, I really didn't mean that crack about fatal hangovers. You know what would be awful is if the hangover curative effects of that oyster stew had not hit while the aphrodisiacal effects had, and it would be like "Quick! Give me sex, but don't make any noise, my head is splitting!" I feel sorry for whomever wasted dinner and drinks and maybe even a show on that!
Hmmm. Well, if you do go to visit the Chicagos in their strange land, you will probably want to stay in a nice place. I did, and I found one near Michigan Avenue called Hyatt. It has 34 floors! But I would not stay too high up. I made the mistake. If you do, you will have to see the horrible sight of their tortured Gatorade river every-time-you-look-down! When you venture away from Hyatt, you may want to do it in a trolley. Except these are not horsedrawn, nor do they ride on rails the way trollies normally do. In fact, they're much like busses disguised as trolleys, which tells us something else important to know about Chicagos: They are sneaky! If you do take a "trolley," do not under any circumstances sit on the top tier. The only reason these trolley-busses have a top tier is so's the Chicagos who run them can tip off the other Chicagos who own the tourists shops who are todays fresh crop of suckers. Sit in the bottom tier and slouch down or you will find yourself penniless by day's end. Do not allow the trolley-bus to take you to a place called "the Miracle Mile." There's nothing miraculous about it, it's just another street and, heck, the Chicagos have oodles of those. But it's a street that you will -- I said, you WILL -- get robbed on, perhaps not at gunpoint. After the robbery, you will probably get dumped off at a place where the city separates feces from its drinking water while the trolley-bus goes back to Michigan Avenue to pick up a fresh crop of suckers. You know what they want you to do at that place where they separate poo from drinking water? They want you to go in and have something to eat at their restaurant there! Likely as not you will, too, because, in the land of the Chicagos, the last thing you want to do is piss anybody off. They're pretty pissed off to start with. Not as bad as the folks in New York City, but bad enough. After that, they'll want you to walk across this bridge so's you can get a close, close look at that horrible backwards river. Backwards. That's right, I said backwards. They reversed the flow of that poor river so's it can't get away from them! They even brag about it.
There are many gay people in the land of the Chicagos so, naturally, there is great theatre. Some folks visiting the land will want to take in a great show. Good for them. So would every fucking body else. Look for a show that is getting top billing and, just for laughs, call the theatre and ask if you can get tickets for tonight's show. Go ahead, do it! For extra laughs, ask your hotel concierge to get tickets for you. Right now. Lickity-split. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Who knows? He may be able to do it. He may be the fucking mayor!
Or God.
______________
Goes me to bed, now, Mojopo. Hoping you'll feel better.
Here's to Mojo! The only Chicago any of us can trust!
Jesus H. Novel-Writing Christ. Listen lady, I'm not going to piss anywhere but my toilet, no matter how much peer pressure I get from you and PapaPig. Don't you have lights-out in prison, when they make you go sleep with Bad Sherry (and then the broom handle and lots of running mascara later)? I'm just asking.
No, don't stop. I wept in good ways while holding my face in.
Nothing bad happened. Well, except that SOMEBODY spilled wine on the carpet, and it was not me. Champagne-colored carpet, not even two years old, from Luna. I was here when they nailed it down. No, I'm not mad. Not at all! OF COURSE I AM NOT MAD ABOUT WINE ON THE RUG. Why - DO I LOOK MAD?????
I'm dizzy. Let me get another olive.
Blogger Mojopo said...
I went to Navy Pier exactly once. I was with this other lady and from Texas, and we were goofing off, playing with her video camera. So here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDQTxUmqzQw
Well, Anony - regarding your City Of New Orleans, I'd just like to remind you that our politicians are much more devious and way less stupid. But that is not to disparage such a humbled town as where you live. Why, it seems like just yesterday that everyone was dressed in church clothes and not robbing anyone or showing their tits to Joe Francis. I hold those thoughts dear.
How are the new levees working out? I hate my fingers crossed for you every year. I'm hoping our Gobama might turn it back into something that looks less like Gaza, and - go figure - I'm still mad at what happened. Good pals had to move out and never came back home.
By the way - Wide Part. Thank you for your kind comments. I promise to keep up my end of things if you keep coming back. Send me some blog ideas and I'll hit it.
Oh golly! Mojopo! You're a Bean worshiper too?!!! That's what I was in Chicago for in the first place, Bean worship! Tell Blagowhatzit to stop combing his hair in our Bean, the blasphemous shitdick!
Well, of course you don't go to the Navy's Pier. You are not required to go the way "guests" are required. You can get your freak on only if you want to. For you it's like, "Hi, would you enjoy to get your freak on here? You can, if you'd like." As opposed to "Get your fuckin freak on now, Guest, and quit your fuckin whining!"
Oh, and the puppets! Oh, God, the puppets! I saw them. Right there in front of the Art Institute! Yes, I recognize them. Glad to see they're still alive and getting their voluntary freak on. Ask them if they remember me and tell them I said hi. This is a wonderful memory-inducing pair of videos, Mojopo. Thank you!!!
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