Son Of Neuigkeiten

Item: Missy was kind enough to allow me to post a guest blog entry, my first. It has a definite editorial flavor to it. You can read it here if you would like to. Thanks for the opportunity, Missy.

Item: I added Random Mindless Ramblings to my blog list. Check H (the author) out; I like her. I also added a link to Visual Snark. I have become addicted to the images that the author/artist (oddly enough called visualsnark) creates. Enough so that I'm writing a story based on one of her images (with her kind permission). And it's really fun.

Item: I removed the Babel Fish gizmo from the sidebar. Not sure why I put it there in the first place.

Item: I'm contemplating creating a new blog site to stick stories into. If I do this, I would publish them here first then stick them in there. These entries would be the fictional pieces that I occasionally write, as opposed to the factual ones like, well, jeez, I guess I don't have any factual ones. Anyway, I'd put the ones that are stories in there.... Let me know what you think about that, if you have an opinion at all. I'm thinking about tying the stories together somehow, but I'm not sure how yet.

Item: I am intentionally leaving you hanging about the ending to Cry Of The Werehamster. It's simply a cheap ploy to make you come back and check. Also I haven't written it yet.

Item: I ran across an online Ransom Note Generator. I love this. It has "Hulles" written all over it. If you're a crime fiction writer, you need this link. I already used it in the Visual Snark story I mentioned above. I can't tell you how funny I find this site.

Item: Naked Wednesday went okay. Any Naked Wednesday I can walk away from a free man is a good one....

Item: I had a blog entry (Ignoble Drone Am I...) published in the most recent (April) edition of Avenues, and I am so proud of it. Avenues is a local (Saint Paul) news and arts monthly. My article was a full page including a half-page illustration that was superb. Many thanks to Mike (the publisher of Avenues) for doing such a nice job with it.

Item: My Brazilification continues. And speaking of which, congratulations to La Espia T. who is taking her much-admired butt down to Brazil for about 6 weeks to study something; I think it's bikini waxing but I might be wrong about that. Of course I am insanely jealous of her. For the trip, duh, not for the butt; my own ass does quite nicely thank you very much. You see, I can't help but think that if I went to Brazil I could find something to do....

-- Hulles

It's All About Communication

This morning I made my famous Beefaroni Omelet, or as I call it when I have company in the form of some woman who has flown in the face of reason and actually slept at my place, “Oeufs à la Ordure Blanche”. Ain't French beautiful?

Speaking of oeufs: in the course of trying to construct the French name for my omelet I ran across a headline in my old pal the Daily Scotsman: “Supermarket to sell free range oeufs”. Who cares what the article is about? Read it if you want. The part I like about the title is the mental image it forms for me: somewhere in the sprawling French egg ranch country there is a lush, verdant field of grass. In this field are scattered a bazillion chicken eggs. Nothing moves. There is dead silence. And the eggs freely range over the countryside, as only French eggs can do.

And speaking of foreign (to me) languages: I was thinking today while driving in to the redundantly-named Nina's Coffee Cafe that I really only know how to say two things in American Sign Language (ASL). The first phrase I can sign is made by holding the middle finger of your signing hand straight up in the air with the back of your hand pointed at the person to whom you are signing. This means in ASL, “You are more than somewhat annoying, and if I could time travel I would go back into the past your age in years plus one and give your father a pack of condoms and a booklet with lots of pictures and only a few big words that explains how to use them.” As you can see, ASL can be a very expressive language.

The other ASL phrase I can sign is “I love you.” Did I hear someone groan out there¹? You make the sign by holding your palm facing the person to whom you are signing and raising the index finger and little finger straight up and extending the thumb out at right angles to the index finger (all at once). This sign is really a combination of the sign letters “I”, “L”, and “Y” which start the words of the phrase.

I use the ASL “I love you” when I'm sitting in a bar and am either too drunk or too lazy to get off my bar stool and go flirt with the pretty girl five seats down. Many times I get the other ASL sign I know back, but hey, it saved me a trip. I just wish I knew a third phrase in ASL: “Honey, I own a Lamborghini and a yacht and I'm taking my Gulfstream to Monaco in three hours and forty-five minutes, so get your cute little ass over here and enjoy a nice adult beverage with me prior to sexing me down in the Ladies' Room.” I'll have to ask my friend Julie, whose sandwich Garrison Keillor stole the other day. I wonder if I'll stammer with my fingers when I say it, like I do with my voice every time I try to tell The Big Lie.

Still on the foreign (to me) language topic: I started learning Portuguese yesterday. Really. I'm taking an online language course (actually two language courses -- Gung and Ho are my two middle names, which makes me the only person I know with two middle names and no first name). I can already say:

“O meu nome é Hulles. Falo inglês. Sou de Saint Paul, Minnesota. Queria um Cardhu.”

This means, I believe, “My nipples explode with delight.” (I didn't say they were good online courses.) If you really need an explanation of my desire to learn Portuguese, go here, here and here.

Oh yeah -- if you're curious about why I thought about American Sign Language while I was driving in, it's because I was assiduously practicing one of the ASL phrases I know with the other Sunday drivers out on the road this morning. Some of them even knew the same phrase. I would have pelted the bastards with some free range oeufs if I would have had a carton or two.

-- Hulles

1 What the hell did you think it was going to be: “Say, did you know that Patrick Roy was the youngest player to ever win the Conn Smythe Trophy?” This phrase, while true, would have at best limited utility in my life. Although come to think of it, the only way I'll ever be able to pronounce “Patrick Roy” correctly is to do it in ASL.

That's It, I'm Outta Here

I keep getting wonderful emails from Casti. I also keep getting creepy translations of them. So screw it. I'm learning Portuguese and going to Brazil.

I decided to learn the Portuguese language after a couple of recent Casti emails that sounded really sweet. I can no longer take not being able to understand exactly what she's saying. To me there's a big difference between “you're hot and I can't live without you” and “I'm dying from the heat.” Not to Babel Fish, though. I think it's intentionally trying to drive me crazy with its cryptic translations. It would seem that Babel Fish, for its own inscrutable reasons, has joined the swelling ranks of People, Places And Things Out To Get Me. In fact, it would not surprise me if what I imagine to be affectionate correspondence is really Casti threatening me with a dozen lengthy Brazilian lawsuits if I don't stop mentioning her on this blog. So I need to find out for myself. Then I'll lawyer up and change my blog name.

The clincher for actually going to Brazil, however, came from an entirely different source -- I recently learned thanks to Reuters (and they never lie; it's sort of the opposite of Fox News) that:

The mayor of a small Brazilian town has begun handing out free Viagra, spicing up the sex lives of dozens of elderly men and their partners.

Let's stop right here while I issue the following disclaimer: I am not elderly (except compared to you young whippersnappers), and I have never needed nor even tried Viagra. I do quite nicely on my own, thank you. In fact, I've considered contacting the pharma company that makes it to see if they need donors; I could use the money.

But I really like this town in Brazil, Novo Santo Antonio by name. They seem to have the right perspective on the role of government in the lives of its citizens:

"Since we started the free distribution of sexual stimulants, our elderly population changed. They're much happier," said Joao de Souza Luz, the mayor.

When's the last time your mayor gave a shit whether you were happy or not? Sure, he or she might say they want you to be happy, but do they hand out free Ecstasy at the city-sponsored rave, or give you a case of single-malt scotch and passes to the local strip club? I doubt it very much. This mayor, however, puts his money where his mouth is (in what ends up being an unfortunate turn of phrase on my part).

However, according to Reuters, the old guys aren't just using their newly-sharpened chisels on the busts of their wives. It sounds like a few mistresses are getting the benefit as well:

To discourage such illicit canoodling, Souza Luz said the city had decided to begin distributing the Viagra pills to the wives of the men who signed up for the program.

"That way, when the women are in the mood, they can give the pills to their husbands," he said.

I like this town. They see a problem, they fix it. And they don't do it by becoming holier than thou art and lambasting the poor elderly E-D sufferers who became perhaps a little over-excited with their new-found abilities. They don't self-righteously ban Viagra from the pharmacies of Novo Santo Antonio. They just say, “Dudes, if you want if for free from us, you gotta talk to the missus.” Saint Paul could certainly learn a thing or two from these guys, in my opinion.

The best part for me was what they named the program. which was “Pinto Allegre” in Portuguese. They translated it for the article as “Happy Penis,” but I'll bet it's really lots cruder than that. I leave it to you to come up with a suitable English version. I've thought of several, but some things are better left to the imagination.

So now you know why I'm learning Portuguese and going to Brazil: Casti, a pleasantly relaxed form of local government, and La Espia T.

Oops, forgot to mention that the totally hot La Espia T. speaks Portuguese and is taking a trip to Brazil soon. In an unusual display of magnanimity on my part I decided that I'm going along with her to protect her from the sex-crazed old men¹ in Brazil. It takes a thief to catch a thief, after all.

-- Hulles

1Hardened criminals, one might say.