FireVaney's

Start: There isn’t a time when I wouldn’t eat cheese at sunset in the park. No, I’ll eat cheese at any time, during sunset, in the park. Yes, I would not like to enjoy the turbulent kites of your apples. That makes all of us. When the eatery closes tonight, would you like to go back to my palace for a cup of pea soup? I make the very best pea soup. No, that’s a lie. I don’t make it, I get it out of the can. I’ll pour it into a bowl and stick it in the microwave for three and a half minutes. That’s the truth, Ruth. How are you today, Ruth? I haven’t met many Ruths in my time. Are you named after a relative? Tell me, Ruth, when the apples are ripe you do enjoy eating the worms that don’t want to leave them? Worms have a lot of protein, from what I understand. When I write, I almost always consider listening to a classical station in Wyoming via iTunes. Likewise, I almost always consider “tuning-in” to the same station, “Classical Laramie,” when I read. Unlike WFMT in Chicago, “Classical

Must get Erryk and Izodd gifts. Erryk’s birthday is tomorrow and Izodd’s was several weeks ago. (Oops!) If I can find it, I think I’ll get Erryk one of those little plastic little boys that pees when you pull its plastic pants down. I couldn’t get Ian—I mean, Izodd —the same gift. Why? Well, firstly, that would be weird. One plastic peeing boy is funny; two will earn you a reputation. (And by “you,” I mean “me.”) Secondly, Izodd and Erryk are close friends. Thirdly, Izodd is more mature. Or rather seemingly more mature. Fourthly, Izodd has a wife and a kid (a daughter). Fifthly, Izodd wouldn’t appreciate a plastic peeing boy as much as Erryk would. Must get Ian something more respectable. You know, like maybe a glass ashtray from the ill-fated O’Hareport Hotel and Convention Center. Not that Izodd smokes, no. It’d be a “collector’s item.” He could build a collection of glass ashtrays from defunct hotels from around the world. And once he accumulates a thousand of them, or at least fi

Manager Mick says you give the “guest” what they order, and charge them for what they order, and never try to correct them if they order in error. For instance, if the “guest” orders a latte with extra froth, do not explain that they are really ordering a cappuccino. If the “guest” orders a latte with a shot of chocolate syrup, do not explain that they are really ordering a mocha. Ok, but this is akin to hammering in screws, ordering a McDonald’s cheeseburger with everything that comes on a Big Mac, or concluding that a chocolate milkshake without ice cream is still a milkshake and not simply chocolate milk.  22 February 2001

OXYGEN BARS?!? Yes, according to once source, they started in Los Angeles (naturally), spread to New Mexico, and have recently been spotted in Cincinnati. That’s right, you pay money to inhale a few minutes’ worth of scented air from a tank. The “bartenders” will happily list many of the innumerable (bullshit) health benefits of breathing tanked air. Granted, breathing tanked air might be healthier than breathing LA smog. But how would you know that your tank of choice wasn’t filled with air from the breathing bar’s parking lot?  In other news, Donny and I got into it yesterday. Not about oxygen bars (although I’m sure he’d be happy to plop down twenty bucks to suck it up), but about lattes and mochas. A customer ordered a latte with a shot of cocoa—which, by definition, is a mocha. Donny disagreed. But what, then, in this day and age, does one call the combination of espresso, steamed milk, and chocolate syrup? While, yes, whipped cream is often a standard feature of the American moc

This is not the time for apple pie and pudding. No, this is the time for wilted roses in the dust layered over the seventh floor of a condemned midrise apartment building. The apple pie and the pudding will have to wait. But that’s the good thing about well-prepared food: it has patience. You might say the same of the well-prepared person. Who eats apple pie and pudding during the same meal? Such a gourmand must have one heck of a sweet tooth. And the sun rises on the blue statue of your great uncle Samuel. He was an adventurous man. Well, for his time, he was considered adventurous. Today, however, folks would dismiss him as something of a shut-in. When your great uncle Samuel ate, he only ate apple pie and pudding. (Didn’t see that comin’, did ya?) I gained a pound over split pea soup, several dinner rolls, and half of an egg salad sandwich on rye. It had to be all that bread. Nary a forkful of apple pie, nor a spoonful of pudding. I wouldn’t touch pie – the lard involved and all tha

When Betty sleeps over, she sleeps in the room my mother and her older sister once slept in. Betty spends some part of the night and some part of the morning in Grandpop’s bedroom. She’d spend all night in Grandpop’s bedroom if he wasn’t such a snorer. One night, five years ago, I heard them trying to have sex. When they came downstairs the next morning, Grandpop said, “She’s my diamond. Sometimes I need to shine her up.” He laughed. Betty laughed, too; then said, “Sometimes he needs to shine me up.” Five years later, in the middle of the night, I don’t hear anything; but that doesn’t stop me from plugging my fingers with my ears by which I mean plugging my ears with my fingers whenever I have to use the upstairs bathroom in the middle of the night. That is to say if I plug my ears with my fingers or vice versa I only do it in the middle of the night. Have I not made myself clear?  A doctor recently asked Grandpop how he managed to look so young. Grandpop’s reply? “Lots of sex.”  From

Most of the time you’re a tangled mess. Running, for a period of no less than twenty minutes, straightens you out. That, or it straightens you out as much as can be expected; straightens you out better than just about anything else. Certainly, with respect to running, the effects are longer lasting—the stabilizing effects, the calming effects. But it takes effort to run. It takes dedication to run, to make it a daily habit. The day after a good, long, hard run you feel drained—at least you do lately —and this makes it a chore to attempt it daily. It is better to feel drained than it is to feel anything else or anything more. Curse all that extra effort it takes to feel lust, or love.  9 March 2007

A wealthy man, his wife, and all of his children die in a plane crash. Eighty other passengers die with them, along with the entire flight crew. Very tragic. It’s why I don’t fly. If planes were made of rubber and could bounce off the ground, like a balloon or a beach ball (but not like a tennis ball or a basketball), perhaps I’d modify my position. But they aren’t, so I won’t. Regardless, roughly three and a half weeks after the aforementioned plane crash, an attorney knocks on the door of the wealthy man’s next of kin. Said attorney claims to represent the illegitimate children of the man in question. He (said attorney) offers a deal to protect the dead man’s reputation (from disgrace). Naturally, the legitimate next of kin is/are doubtful. Ah, but the attorney came prepared. He supplies them (the legitimate next of kin) with birth certificates and photos of the dead man with his mistress and illegitimate children. Said attorney offers to arrange a meeting with said mistress and/or s

My specialty? Delicious morsels of vomit. I bake them in my grandmother’s oven. The oven doesn’t exactly work. You turn the dial and it smells gassy. It smells gassy even though the pilot light is on. I should call somebody to fix it, but I’m too cheap. And lazy. Or busy. Yes, “I’m busier than a one-toothed man in a corn-on-the-cob eating contest.” What am I busy with? Stuff. Things. None of your cotton-pickin’ bus-wax. Just now, I’ve looked up that word: “bus-wax.” I wanted to see if it qualified for legitimacy. I’ve not thought of the word “bus-wax” for many years. In sooth, it’s not: “bus-wax,” but: “beeswax.” The dictionary I’m looking at (when I’m not looking at this, or at anything else) offers two definitions. The first defines “beeswax” as “the wax secreted by bees to make honeycombs and used to make wood polishes and candles…” I didn’t know about the “wood polishes and candles” part. We’re really gonna miss those bees when they all buzz off into oblivion. The second definitio