Em's In Africa

This short entry is on a different topic than has been the case recently.

My lovely friend Emily is doing an internship in Kenya and has been emailing her friends (and me) with periodic updates on her experiences there. They make very interesting reading, so I volunteered to create a blog for her and transcribe her emails into blog entries and post them.

The blog is Em's in Africa, and if you have an interest in other cultures (assuming you aren't Kenyan) you should check it out. I'm bugging Emily for a bio and some pictures and she promises she'll get me what she can when she is able.

My favorite post so far is "Not For The Weak-Hearted." It's an absorbing and touching anecdote about visiting some mothers in a slum in Nairobi.

The reason I'm doing the blog for Emily is that she has limited access to the Internet where she is, if you're curious.

I find the transcription process to be therapeutic but I'm still not ready to write new posts for myself yet. I'm in Iowa for the duration, which unfortunately does not appear to be very long now.

I miss you all, and kwa heri, as Em would say.

- Hulles

P.S. If you do visit Emily's blog, it would be nice if you would comment. Em is new to blogging and hasn't yet discovered the thrill of having complete strangers (to her) read her writing. And you are the best complete strangers ever.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Just a quick update for those of you who may care.

I'm still assisting in the care of my brother, which means I'm spending 4 or 5 days in Iowa then coming back to Saint Paul for a couple days to get yelled at by Mimi, my big-boned cat. My evil pal Unca Don is taking care of her in my absence, bless his black little heart.

My brother is doing okay, considering. He had a good day on Monday which pleased me to no end.

This whole ordeal is unimaginably hard, but I wouldn't be doing anything else. But my back is killing me and I'm continually exhausted, so still no energy to write. I am storing up a bunch of stuff though, so at some point I'm going to deluge you with blog entries of the first water. We'll see.

I miss you all lots and lots. I also miss reading all your blogs. Except that one blog.

And it really sucks that Lollie and Kat got together in NYC without me. I guess I'll have to show 'em both what fun really is when I am a little less harried and can invade Nuevo York. Hah.

Hugs and kisses to you all, and thanks for caring. It means a lot.

- Hulles


P.S. The Latin title is from memory, I'm too burnt out to actually make sure I remembered it correctly. A half-hearted apology if it's incorrect.

Update

I guess I owe you an update, so here it is. And I have good news and bad news.

The good news is that Lucille II and I are geeking out a bar right now so I can drink scotch (albeit cheap scotch) as I write this entry.

The bad news is that the bar is in Iowa, and I'm in Iowa because my little brother is not doing so well. "Not doing so well" in this particular case means he doesn't have much longer to be almost as creepy as I am. He has aggressive cancer and a brand new crop of tumors, so he is in home hospice and I'm taking care of him and am in Iowa for the duration. I just discovered that this place is one of the only places in town with Internet access, so at least maybe I can keep in sporadic touch with you all. And get away occasionally and have a cocktail, which is a welcome bonus.

I debated with myself about making this a blog entry but I decided that I owed you all an explanation for my extended absence. I'm very happy that I have the opportunity to be with my brother at this time and he's very appreciative that I'm around, so it's all working out pretty well as far as all that goes. He's still able to grimace and give me the finger when I tell him how shitty he looks so things are still pretty normal in our relationship, which is a good thing. He's in good spirits and to tell the truth in spite of everything he's still better looking than I am, the bastard.

So that's what's going on. I'm becoming quite the efficient male nurse, so if any of you need your asses wiped send me an email. I won't do it, of course, but I can explain to you how it should be done. I feel strongly that a vigorous flourish at the end is both a hygienic de rigueur and a nice stylistic touch.

I miss writing a lot and I miss you all terribly. I'm glad you all are out there. It helps. Hugs and kisses to all of you that are huggable and kissable, and frank manly handshakes to the rest of you.

- Hulles

Urk!

Well, this isn't really a new post in the sense that I intended, but it will have to do for the nonce, whatever hell the nonce is. I hope it's happy with this entry whatever it is, but if it isn't, screw it.

Some bad stuff is going on right now, some old, some new, but I'll be back soon. I really did start writing a new entry for last Wednesday, but Dame Fortuna smacked me up back of the head. I will have very spotty Internet access for the next few days so please bear with me if you're able. Thank God for the nonce; I know it will keep reading me regardless.

I miss you all. And I'm essentially fine, by the way. Thanks to those of you who inquired.

I'm at least having fun rewriting the next new entry in my head.

- Hulles

Rerun: I Ate Garrison Keillor's Sandwich

[I've always been sort of fond of this post, which was also mentioned in the Rake article. I'm not sure why I paired up GK with Sharon Stone in my imagination, but it works for me. -- The Management]

[This one's for Lo.]

No shit. I ate Garrison Keillor's sandwich today for lunch.

As I have mentioned elsewhere, Nina's Coffee Café, the redundantly-named coffee shop¹ where I do most of my writing, is directly above the bookstore that GK just opened, Common Good Books. Today Mr. Keillor wandered upstairs into Nina's at lunchtime and ordered a sandwich, an egg salad croissant to be specific. He got it to go in a paper bag and hurried off, no doubt to do jello shots with Sharon Stone or whatever it is famous people do when they're not doing the things they're famous for.

But they gave poor Garrison the wrong bag. He got my friend Julie's vegetable wrap instead. Julie, canny coffee shop diner that she is, checked the order and discovered the error. She of course got a new vegetable wrap. And yours truly got the egg salad croissant.

The reason I got the sandwich is that the guy who made it is a friend of mine, Jason, and he knew quite well that an egg salad croissant is not something that long retains the flavor and freshness for which Nina's is so deservedly known, so he gave me the bag and told me the story.

The sandwich was good. A little messy, but good.

And poor Garrison got stuck with a veggie wrap. It's probably better for him in the long run. He probably needs to watch his cholesterol.

But I bet he's somewhere right now, gazing forlornly at his perky little vegetable wrap and wondering if he can get away with chucking it at Sharon Stone's head while her back is turned and quickly pretending the guy next to him did it when she turns around ready to bite someone's head off. That's what I'd do with it anyway. And as for the mysterious fate of his egg salad croissant?

I bet he thinks the Ukrainians got it. And I for one ain't telling him different.

-- Hulles

1I'm going to keep calling it that as long as they keep calling it that.

Rerun: Rum and Pear Can Juice

[I decided to rerun a couple of the blog posts that were mentioned in the Rake article in lieu of actually writing new stuff for the time being. This one is one of the earliest "poverty" posts here. Thank God it's short. The friend mentioned here is Unca Don, if you're curious. - The Management]

Recently I was home alone, imagine that, but was feeling festive for some reason. It so happened that I had a (used to be) pint bottle of something called Ginseng Ron, ron being Spanish for rum. This bottle had been given to me by a friend who had recently returned from a trip to the Dominican Republic. It was in his hotel room, so, being the sort of thoughtful friend that every really poor person wants and needs, he brought it back just for me. In other words, he wouldn’t drink it on a bet, but he knew I’d drink it. I had already tasted it and decided that I’d save it for a special occasion, like when I need to set my cat on fire to make coffee but don’t have any gasoline.

This being the only liquor in the house, however, I had an inspiration: I had a jar of liquid from a can of pears in the refrigerator; I could use the Ginseng Ron and make a cocktail! It would be something like rum punch, I thought. Well, I made the cocktail[1]. I actually poured the rum with a flourish[2], if you can picture it. Unfortunately, the drink tasted foul, sort of like kerosene syrup. I of course drank it anyway. I have to admit, though, that the glee I had from efficiently using up the damn pear can juice far outweighed the nasty taste of the cocktail. Plus, as we poor folk say, any cocktail is better than no cocktail at all. Plus, my cat was pretty happy that I used up the Ginseng Ron. All in all, it was a festive occasion.

- Hulles

---

[1] 1 large dollop of GR to however much juice is in a can of pears, if you want the recipe.

[2] A flourish is not a special kind of pitcher that you pour rum from; it is a dramatic arm gesture that gay men (and I) make.