To some, ritual means sacrificing a virgin and two goats on the edge of an active volcano. To me, ritual is posting the FFFs.

1) Although I have a basic understanding of the concepts of plumbing, I still am afraid to flush the toilet while running the water in the sink to brush my teeth.

2) I'm from the South, but I don't understand the appeal of grits.

3) I miss the smell of memeographed paper from elementary school.

4) It is virtually impossible to get me out of a garden center, Lowes, or Home Depot. I walk every aisle and look at everything. No one can tolerate going to any of those places with me.

5) I am trying to work "Tube Top Tuesdays" into the dress code at work somehow.

*******Zero 7 "Warm Sound"

I had two sitings recently of definite signs of Spring here in Midtown...

...Bicycle Shorts Guy and Cadbury Cream Eggs. Bicycle Shorts Guy (BSG) was sited on the southeast corner of Ponce and Moreland. The Cadbury Cream Eggs (CCE) were sited at the CVS Pharmacy on North Highland. The two are similar in only a few ways, but very different in others.

A contrast/comparison of the two is essential.

Ways that they are similar:
1) They are both rich, chocolaty brown in color.
2) They are both effected by the gravitational pull of the earth.
3) They both appear in Midtown Atlanta at about the same time each year.

Ways that they are disimilar:
1) A CCE does not stuff what appears to be a howler monkey or a sack of potatoes down the front of it's bicycle shorts.
2) A CCE does not neccessarily cause traffic accidents.
3) Twenty four BSGs do not fit into a convenient countertop display.
4) BSG more closely resembles the older Rick James.
5) CCEs ultimately disappear after Easter. BSG is a fixture on various Midtown corners from now through the Fall.

******Laurie Anderson "Strange Angels"

STUDY CLAIMS: Confident, resilient, self-reliant kids grow up to be liberals; Whiny children: conservatives...

I am just getting in from the road trip from hell with my boss. Thankfully, Tim and I are kindred spirits and these trips always turn out to be fun and gratifying in most cases.

Just leaving the comfort zone of the perimeter of I285 that surrounds Atlanta is an adventure for me nowadays.

I285 acts as the "Great Wall of Atlanta", and ultimately differentiates “us” from “them”. Here you are either ITP (inside the perimeter) or OTP (outside the perimeter). The terms are used interchangeably as derogatory or with a sense of self importance, depending upon your status as an ITP or OTP person.

An example: An ITP girl has a smart haircut and drives a foreign and extremely fuel efficient compact yet sporty car with a tastefully placed leftist bumper sticker... while her OTP counterpart has decidedly bigger hair and drives an SUV with a “W The President” bumper sticker. Another example: An ITP boy drives a sporty or vintage car with either a leftist, rainbow, or HRC bumper sticker…while his OTP counterpart drives a Hummer or truck with some variation of Nascar based allegiance, some cartoon kid pissing on an icon of some other automobile manufacturer, or some hackneyed Conservative slogan du jour adorning the backside of said vehicle.

“You are soooo 404”. You are “soooo 770”. This is another way we differentiate ourselves to make sure the divining line of I285 separates us and solidifies our distinction of being a “red” city in a “blue” state.

So anyway…I am rambling. Tim and I left the safety of the perimeter and traveled to some of the branch stores this week and had a jolly good time. We both have a carnal need to stop at every Stuckeys and every odd little side of the road souvenir traps that beckon you from the side of the interstate traveling from here to Nashville, down to Birmingham, and then back to Atlanta. We stop at them all and “eww and ahhh” at the 10,000 uses of peaches and peanuts in Georgia, the 15,000 references of hillbilly folklore, moonshine, and VOLS football in Tennessee, and the 20,000 applicable tourist product ramifications of NASCAR, Confederate flags, and yankee hating slogans to be found in the roadside tourist meccas of Alabama.

Tim and I spend an inordinate amount of time in these places, like amateur sociologists. All I know is, we walk up and down every aisle, holding up sweet examples of “Southern Culture on the Skids”, manufactured chiefly in China, for each other’s approval, amusement, and commentary. I am, in all fairness, not trying to paint the contemporary South in a negative way....

....as we do actually purchase these items and bring them back to our buds in the lair of ITP. We were both born and bred in the South that produced the consumer demand and stereotyping of these products. We both still love the South, wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, and relish all the schizophrenia of it.

I’m feeling very indignantly white trash and southern from my road trip through the hot spots of the dirty south this week. I’m also feeling very Darren Stevens thanks to my desire for the perfect martini served up by the perfect domestic partner upon my arrival from a hard business trip. I have it all and I am good.

We collected our hounds from their day spa visit to Inman Park Animal Hospital, where they were groomed, probed, coddled, inspected, “anal glands extruded”….(Gracie had been rubbing her butt around the lawn the past few days). They checked out fine and are healthy as they can be. All in all, a blissful time here at the Doghouse. I’m obsessive and content, Marc is centered and intense and full of love (and blogging again with some fascinating brain dumps), the hounds are healthy and hyper as shit…….life is good here.

I’m in a “I like what we make of it” kinda mood. I feel like Darren Stevens coming home to a tidy 1960's obligitory sitcom martini. Maybe it’s the martinis that are the source of my current bliss…the martini which I have been craving...and by the way…don’t try to order one in Athens, Alabama.

Oh yeah….that full article from the snippet at the beginning of the post is from the Toronto Star via the Drudge Report...

The Article

*****Rick James "You And I"

Bear with me. I'm sure that there is a funny story here, but due to my ADD, I'm just gonna throw down some dis-jointed keypoints about the first rental house that two of my friends from high school and I moved into after we left our parents' nest for the first time.

I'll delete this and flesh out the story after I whip up some Hamburger Helper and get back from the road trip from hell with my boss. I just want some brain dumps about the story down for now. These could actually be chapter titles.

Again, this will be deleted when I can actually write the story.

1) Drag queens and a prostitute downstairs.

2) Peep holes in the playroom.

3) Earl the Squirrel and the Astro Turf Yard

4) Overbaked hyponic weed...Wally's gone to Florida...quick, stick your head in the oven.

5) Yes, there are male fag hags and they live among us

6) Christmas in July

7) The Y of your ass...don't fall asleep there

8) Don't worry...there are shots for that

9) Plain, but good-hearted girls...I can't believe you did that

10) What you did in Vegas must have stayed in Vegas...how did you get so fat?

11) If I had known that, I would not have flushed the hash down the toilet

12) I have never seen one that fat and short before

13) Kraftwerk, Rick James, and Chaka Khan

Chris, Wally, Joi, Marylin, TJ...chime in and help me remember some details. From what I remember it was fun.

******Elton John "Burn Down The Mission"

Again...best with sound.