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Friday, November 07, 2003
The Safe House.
kookymojo 4:37 PM
Monday, November 03, 2003
I won $100 at the Potawatami Casino yesterday. With my very last quarter. Well, actually, I won $2.25 in vouchers on top of that but I gave those to Sharon and quit while I was ahead, making a profit of $80.50 on the twenty bucks I had played on. So that was good.
Then Sharon won forty dollars using the vouchers I'd given her, so I got half of her winnings on that, too. That worked out nicely, because I owed her $20 anyway.
After that, we went to Menards because that's what you must do on Sunday afternoon when you're a homeowner. I kinda like those places, though. It's fun to look at all the stuff you might take home if you had a place to take it to, and to daydream about your dream home. They're also surprisingly good places for people-watching. People get possessive over shopping-trollies (or, shopping-carts, if you're American), and it's always a great opportunity to snark about other peoples' appalling taste.
Well, it was that, or drive around in the rain some more.
Ate dinner at the Star of Burleigh (pr. "Burl-eye"). I do reccomend the homemade soup -- we had cream of celery with potato, and it was good. Their pancakes are huge, too.
kookymojo 3:26 PM
Thursday, October 30, 2003
I really want to ship some stuff home, so that I don't have to deal with lugging it around when I leave. Unfortunately, UK postal workers are still on strike. Hmm, maybe if I send parcels off now, they might get home the same time I do, and won't be sitting in a warehouse somewhere. But I doubt it.
kookymojo 6:56 PM
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
I just came across a bunch of links hidden in the "drafts" section of my Blogger account, which I had forgotten even existed. So here they are, before I forget about them again:
Created: Mon Sep 22, 12:12:16 PM
Boston cartoons
If you need a place to stay in Boston, you can stay in Al Capp's old house.
Created: Sat Oct 11, 03:23:37 PM
Nightmares
I keep dreaming that I'm back in London. Often I dream that I am asleep in my bed back in London. Waking up has been very disorientating, lately.
Created: Tue Oct 28, 04:45:50 PM
mmm, donuts
Vote for your favourite NEW Krispy Kreme! When are they going to get Krispy Kreme franchises in the UK? If they must import crap American stuff, can't it at least be crap American stuff I like?
kookymojo 8:10 PM
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
A couple more SPX tales which didn't make my ST report.
On Saturday, some time after lunch, I ran into Paul Pope standing by the elevator. I had been thinking his haircut was sort of cute, so I told him so, adding that he might not remember me, but we had met at SDCC 2000, when his hair was a lot longer. "Sure," he said, "I remember you. Your hair was different, then, too. It's redder now."
My god. That was me in fangirl heaven right there. Not only did he remember me from three years and however many people-he-met-at-conventions ago, but he remembered my hair! That was way, way cooler than the time Paul Jenkins asked me about my wisdom teeth. (And, the thing is, my hair isn't that much redder than it was three years ago. I've been using henna for at least a decade, on and off, and even though San Diego 2000 was one of the "off" times, it's not bright red now, as a look at any of the photos I've posted on here will show you.)
Later that night, I found myself sitting opposite Paul and amongst such topics of conversation as shoes and 100 Bullets, he told me about his new project, which sounds pretty fucking cool, but, y'know, I can't talk about it. I'm not saying that to sound Big and Clever, but because he asked me not to. So I won't. But I'm excited about it.
Also on Saturday, I had a bizarre encounter with someone whose work I like. I was looking for Heidi, and found her talking to Jessica Abel. I was wearing my Paul Frank Lucha Libre t-shirt, and when Jessica spotted it, she said, "Oh, those aren't real Lucha Libre masks." She pronounced it as "looka leebray".
Well, I thought, I haven't even been introduced to this woman and she's already dismissing me as a trendy wannabe. Anyway, isn't it pronounced "loocha leebray"? Well, she did live in Mexico, so maybe she does know what she's talking about.
Well, even so, I couldn't resist pulling an ace out of my sleeve. "So, Heidi," I said. "Did I tell you that when my mum first saw this t-shirt after I got back from staying with you in New York, she told me we had some of these masks knocking around the place, and she didn't even realise they were Mexican? She thought they were Chinese! I guess my granny must have bought them before they left Mexico..."
As you might imagine, that rather put the dampener on anyone dismissing me as a wannabe. (My grandparents lived in Mexico for the best part of ten years and it's where my mother was born.) To be rather snarky about it, I'm no more of a wannabe than anyone else, and at least I know how to pronounce "Lucha Libre". And if the images on my t-shirt aren't "real" wrestling masks, then how does that make the ones on her Mexican wrestling poster any more authentic? Of course they aren't "real". It's a design. That's like getting worked up because people think that she actually is Artbabe -- that's a design, too.
Still, despite that rather strained encounter with her, I remain a fan of her work. But her husband was far more charming to talk to.
kookymojo 2:40 PM
Thursday, October 16, 2003
As promised weeks ago, a report of SPX. Since I can't be bothered to write it all out again, you can read the one I wrote for Sequential Tart (make sure you hover your cursor over all the names of comics and publishers, or you'll miss some links to good stuff that deserves a plug). Some photos which Ed took of Friday night's Big Gay Dinner are here. And I still know what to do with my beer.
There are a couple more stories which didn't make it into my report, but you'll have to wait for those because this weekend I am going to Hell. Literally.
kookymojo 7:52 PM
Boston was rainy the day I left, so I forked out for a cab to the airport. (I should have said I was a student at Tufts, as they get a set fare, which is cheaper than the metered rate.) Once again, I had a loquacious cab driver, who kept a constant stream of chatter going. He was the literal cabbie cliche, telling me all about the people he'd had in the back of his cab ("One time, one of them answered the door in her negligee..."), which would've been more entertaining if I'd had more sleep, but thanks to the antics of that darn cat, I was too sleep-deprived to pay much attention.
My flight to Dulles was incident free, except when the zipper on my cardigan set off the detectors at Logan airport. Once at Dulles, it took a while before I discovered that my hotel did not have a shuttle from Dulles, so I had to catch a bus to the Metro and make my own way to the hotel, which meant getting another bus. I got there eventually, exhausted, only to discover the hotel had no record of my booking. When they eventually sorted my room out -- by which point, I had almost passed out on the lobby's sofa -- I did not get the kingsize bed I had booked, but I was too tired to care. I tried to nap, but got too hungry so after a shower I went to find food. The hotel was practically in the middle of the freeway, and there was nowhere nearby to eat. I walked until it started getting too dark to see -- the nicest thing I saw all day was the sunset, but I turned and went back because I didn't want to walk back to the hotel in the dark, mostly because I didn't want my flip-flopped feet to deal with the cockroaches I'd spotted earlier on my walk.
Dinner was weird. I was ravenous, so I had to pay ten bucks for a tuna melt, which was the cheapest meal-like thing on the hotel menu. It came with cold fries but I was too hungry to complain. Eating was a distinctly uncomfortable experience, too, as the maitre d' stuck me alone in a corner with my back to everything -- I assume for privacy. However, the waitress kept pacing past my table and asking if everything was okay. I just said yes to get her out of my way.
Initially I had made vague plans to hang out in the hotel bar and chat to whomever else was there, but was too tired and creeped out by the other hotel guests. So I went back up to my room to discover I had The Noisiest Family On Earth next door to me. They had their television on so loud that it made my bed vibrate, even though it was on the other side of the room. I guess I should have complained, especially as the staff kept saying that my comfort was the most important thing and that any complaints will be dealt with to ensure my comfort, but I was just too tired to deal with it, having hardly slept all week.
Not the most auspicious night of my life.
kookymojo 7:51 PM
Boston, Day the Eighth:
Actually, I didn't spend it in Boston; I went to Salem and wandered around the Peabody Essex Museum all afternoon. It's a wonderful place; rooms are arranged by culture and country rather than strictly chronologically, so you actually get some ancient context for the contemporary art and vice versa. They have a fascinating variety of artefacts and fine art, housed in a beautifully designed building. The rest of central Salem was a bit of a let-down after that. Granted, much of it was already closed, apart from some tacky tourist stores and a couple of antique shops, but it seemed a little gloomy and dull after the vibrancy of the museum. I was glad to get the train back to North Station and go back to Davis Square. Spent a really nice evening watching the world go by from a window seat at the Diesel Cafe, and browsing McIntyre and Moore. Didn't get a whole lot of sleep, though, due to that darn cat.
Day the Ninth:
I was supposed to meet my friend Alex at South Station, but I ended up waiting an hour, feeling like I was a bit of a dodgy lech for eyeing up all the women who resembled her. Turned out she was waiting for me at the bus station, and had given up after an hour, too. Still, at least I was sitting in a pretty place (South Station's commuter clientele is to North Station's commuters what Victoria Station is to Charing Cross, back in London, ie. more affluent and intellectual and, well, cleaner. I didn't see the trains, though). Spent the rest of the day wandering around the shops alone as Alex and I had no way of rearranging another hook-up. Naturally, the first stop was the original Filene's Basement, but after that, I just meandered around with no particular place to go.
Spent my last night in Boston in the company of Miss Jen, as the person I had made plans with was, like Alex, unable to make it. Jen and I ate way too much food at Joshua Tree and drank lots of lovely Belhaven there, before staggering across the road to The Burren for even more. (An aside: I still haven't figured out why Belhaven seems to be almost a "local" beer in Boston -- it's in most of the bars I've visited in Boston, but I've never seen it anywhere else in America. More to the point, I've never seen it in any pubs in the UK, and it's a Scottish beer. Weird.) Even without the company of the big Red Sox fan, there was no escaping the Red Sox game on the televisions. So far in this country's bars there is no escape from the Red Sox. I can think of at least two people who will be delighted to know that.
kookymojo 5:54 PM
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Back in Boston, Day the Sixth:
Due to overtiredness, the trip to the seaside was cancelled, much to my disappointment. Instead, Jen and I mooched around Davis and Porter Squares, but -- after waking up late, and attempting to eat the largest omelettes I have ever seen in my entire life over brunch at Orleans -- that was the extent of our ambition for the day. Well, it was Sunday.
Day the Seventh:
Another day of mooching with Jen, this time around the fun stores in Harvard. We ate another lunch of huge proportions at the Greenhouse Coffe Shop, a Harvard Square institution. The size of the triple-layer cakes has to be seen to be believed, and many of the other portions are gigantic too -- for a very low price. Definitely worth going back for, if only for the people-watching. We were also unable to resist trying a selection of gourmet chocolates from LA Burdick. If I hadn't been so full of lunch, I would have eaten my way through a number of their delicious-looking pastries, too.
Food is good in Boston. No wonder I miss it so much.
kookymojo 5:32 PM
Saturday, October 11, 2003
As I mentioned at the time, I didn't sleep after we got back from the bar. As a result, I spent the rest of the weekend in a daze. I just about managed to drag my feet along to the main purpose of our visit that weekend, Pulp Art: Vamps, Villains and Victors from the Robert Lesser Collection, which was well worth a looksee. Unfortunately, we timed our visit with the guided tour, which was given by an increasingly loud woman with The Most Grating Voice In The World. We decided to look at the paintings out of order, to escape her nasal utterances, but no matter where in the rooms we were, The Most Grating Voice In The World found its way towards us. There was no escape. This marred what was otherwise a wonderful exhibition, though it actually wasn't the only thing which marred our enjoyment. For some obscure reason, many of the smaller paintings had been hung way up high on the walls, so that those of us of short stature, and even those who were not, couldn't really get a proper look at the artwork. Apart from that, it was marvelous to see it all at close quarters, and fascinating to see how the colours changed in the printing process.
When the museum closed, we dragged ourselves down to the East Side to find somewhere to eat before I passed out from hypoglycemia. By chance, we ended up at Stingy Lulu's, which I had been wanting to visit for a while, but had forgotten about. We were joined for drinks by the Martinroys, who wandered down to Canal Street with us. Wandering through the East Village on a Saturday night inspired Lauren and I to invent a new game: Hipster Mumblety Peg. The Martinroys saw us off on the Fung Wah, which got stuck in a traffic jam all the way to the pit-stop it makes in Connecticut. People understandably bitched and groused about the snail's pace, but soon shut up when we passed a couple of ambulances, a police car and a horrifically mauled wreck of a car.
We made it back to Boston at some small hour of the morning, and were looking for a cab when we were accosted by two men with very thick Indian accents who wanted directions to their hostel which was some distance away. I was almost too tired to even open my mouth, as I hadn't slept on the bus either, so it took a while and a great deal of patience from DDP to help them. I was ready to pass out in the cab, but we had a very friendly driver who wanted to regale us with his theories about the constant rerouting and roadworks in Boston. According to him, it was nothing to do with the Big Dig, but was actually an experiment conducted by MiT, using closed circuit television. He seemed to make sense at the time, and his argument was rather persuasive, but maybe that was just because I was so tired.
kookymojo 6:22 PM
After three days in Boston, there was a side trip to New York. Several hours trying to catch up on sleep on the Fung Wah bus, then a dazed wander through Chinatown and the Lower East Side. Despite my tiredness (am I always tired? Yes), as we walked in the direction of the Empire State Building, I was alert enough to notice one guy's outfit with admiration. It was kind of hard to miss him, really, as he was sporting a brilliant white wrestling leotard, adorned in red flames up the legs. Despite the fact that he was pigeon-chested, had very pale skin, the trouser legs of the leotard ended somewhere halfway up his calves, and he was sporting a visible panty line to boot, DDP and I were delighted that the first New York Personality we spotted on this trip was a superhero.
Since we'd boarded the bus before breakfast, we were hungry, so the first thing to do was find food. I wanted sushi, but DDP had just finished reading Gyo and, for some strange reason I just don't get, wasn't in the mood for sushi, so we settled for some cheap diner food, after which, it was off to Todd and Lauren's bijou but funky apartment in Williamsburg. The Martinroys (as we like to call them) are two of my very favouritest people in the whole wide world, you know, and it was just a charm just to sit in their living room watching old Simpsons episodes and catch up on their lives. I don't get to do that often enough.
Later, it was off to the Joshua Tree to meet some friends for drinks. It wasn't the first, or best, choice of venue (the air conditioning only worked in the toilets, and the waitress forgot a few drinks orders), but the SexFro was in town to work at the Big Apple Anime Fest and we didn't want him to get lost by straying too far from his midtown hotel. Also in attendance were Mike, Miller, Miss Reen and a bunch of other lovely people who you can see in these photos Lauren took. It was a great night, but once again, some people spent more time watching the Red Sox game on television, and once again there was Not Enough Damn Time To Talk To Everyone I Wanted To See. Dammit.
Though we did round off the night in a piano bar singing show tunes.
kookymojo 5:44 PM
I do like Boston; it's probably one of my favourite cities. There's not really very much to say about what I did there, though, since it was pretty much the usual things: I ate crap food, I drank lots of beer, and I saw something of my friends -- though, in many cases, not nearly enough of them. Still, in the interests of completion, here's what I got up to:
Day the First:
Ate a couple of slices of greasy pizza at Mike's Restaurant in Davis Square, and drank Sam Adams at the Sligo. My Dining and Drinking Partner (whom I shall henceforth refer to as DDP) was rather more interested in the Red Sox game on the television screens in both places. I'd have been more offended if I hadn't been so tired.
Day the Second:
Said hi to James at Comicopia, who reminded us that it was his last week at the shop, and we should come to his goodbye drinks the following night. Had a Cuban buffet lunch, which was the first proper thing I'd managed to eat since living off bagels and corn chips, and then wandered off down Newbury Street. That evening, my fair hostess and I shared gossip over mojitos and martinis at Orleans.
Day the Third:
Spent the day wandering around the stores in Downtown Crossing. Was pleased to see that I remembered my way around the city pretty much without the aid of a map, and walked through Boston Common and back down Newbury Street to The Other Side Cosmic Cafe where DDP and I ate tuna melts and drank more Sam Adams, and were eavesdropped on by a dork with no dress sense -- not hipster grunge, not designer yuppie, more like the chess club nerd still wearing the same clothes ten years after he left college. He had a slick white iBook and was editing some live gig footage, but that didn't stop him from trying to butt in on our conversation -- which was awkward enough at certain points as it was. After that, on to Cornwalls for James' leaving-do. I was much amused by the mural of famous Britons on the wall (which I sadly can't find a picture of, or else I have no doubt you would be, too). Didn't really get to talk that much to James, as he was holding court telling everyone else about his experiences on Jeopardy, but it was nice to catch up with a couple of other Bostonians -- but I still didn't get to spend nearly enough time with most of them. The one thing I hate about my life is that there's never enough time to see everyone I want to.
kookymojo 4:15 PM
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Though, of course, I did have some kind of icky virus the next day which left me taking naps in the afternoon and unable to eat anything but corn chips and bagels for three days. I was still feeling pretty run-down when it was time for me to go to Boston, and I had to fly via Chicago O'Hare, which meant first I had to get there via bus from General Mitchell airport here in Milwaukee.
That wasn't so bad, because it meant that I got to pay a visit to one of the best things I've discovered in Milwaukee thus far: the airport's only bookstore sells second-hand books. Only second-hand books. And they have an amazing selection, especially of the vintage pulp paperbacks I adore. I picked up some vintage pulps "at vintage prices", as the man said when I went to pay -- three of them for less than ten bucks.
I'd read a third of Mrs. Mike before I'd even got on the plane. The copy I'd found had a classic pulp cover: romance with a hint of sin. A dark haired young woman lay supplicant on her back, gazing up with adoration at a swarthy fellow above her. I'd picked it up as a joke present for Jen; since it was about a young Boston girl who falls in love with a man named Mike, it seemed appropriate. It turned out to be nothing like as schmaltzy as I'd anticipated, and was actually a fascinating "true-life account" of what life was like in Canada at the beginning of the twentieth century, before the pioneers had made many inroads. (It's back in print, if you're curious. There's one chapter that involves a bear trap and a man's leg that was just about the most wince-inducing thing I've read all year.)
Once I was on the plane, it was delayed by a thunderstorm that left us all a little nervous while we waited to see what happened next. At least we weren't actually in the air when the lightning started flashing every two minutes or so, and it passed as soon as it had begun. I was glad when I got to Boston, though.
kookymojo 8:06 PM
It was a beautiful sunny day, one month ago, when Sharon took me to visit her childhood home. We left without breakfast, and arrived just in time to join in on the chicken-slaughter.
Oh, I didn't join in. That wouldn't be fair, since I wouldn't even be eating them (I eat fish, but not meat -- but I prefer not to deal with dead fish until it's been filleted and defaced for me, too). Sharon, however, was expected to join in as soon as she stepped out of the car. No time for breakfast, just straight to that table and start plucking. We'd arrived after the chickens had been beheaded, so I didn't even get to see that crazy effect where the chickens' nerves continue jumping, and the birds run around headless. Sharon's mother says that's a myth, anyway, and in all her years of farming, she's never seen that happen. I'm a bit disappointed by that.
Since I wasn't assisting with the plucking, there wasn't much else for me to do except lounge on the grass, scratch the dogs behind the ears, and listen to the family banter and bicker. Once in a while I had to follow after Sharon's youngest nephew, Levi, who is a toddling hunk with a deep fascination for all things involving water, and keep him away from the hosepipe that was filtering into the barrel with the chicken bodies in it. Blood and water, you know. Very symbolic.
"Are you a feet person?"
Someone wasn't plucking properly, and was leaving feathers and feet attached, much to everyone else's annoyance. I was grateful not to be involved, and even more grateful when they finished up and we had lunch.
After lunch, Sharon had to run a couple of errands, and we ended up at the local Wal-Mart, where her brother works. Sharon tried to persuade him that he should marry me so that I could have a green card and stay here longer. His response was that he would play along, since he had nothing better to do, and then he shooed us away from him because we were distracting him from his current task of putting all the ice cream away before it melted.
Sigh. Ousted from True Happiness by forty pints of ice cream. "Nothing better to do."
Back at the farm, we had a few hours to kill before we had to change for the wedding, so we took a relaxing dip in the pool with Levi and Dylan, his elder brother. This wasn't as sophisticated as it might sound. Sharon grew up in farm country, and the general ambiance of the lazy summer afternoon was somewhat spoiled by the overpowering smell of pigshit being sprayed across the fields of the farm next door. When the smell got too much, and Dylan got too cold, we took our cue, and began to get ready for the evening ahead.
Take one knee-length, 50s-style A-line skirt with slight flounce and large pink flowers, add one moss green tank top and a pair of matching moss green flip flops. Combine with some dark green (almost black) eyeliner and some pink lipstick, and then you're ready. Or I was. Nothing too way out or over the top, I assure you. I would not have looked out of place at any pub garden in the English countryside on a sunny Sunday afternoon. But I did look somewhat out of place when we arrived at the wedding reception. Not because I was underdressed -- far from it. In fact, I was overdressed, and so was Sharon, in her plain black cocktail dress and plain black shoes. This was a casual wedding. I always thought you couldn't get much more casual than any outfit which required flip-flops, but what do I know?
So, just on arrival, I had become That Girl. The fact that I had arrived with Sharon, and neither of us had a male date only encouraged the view that we were Those Girls. Of course, we did nothing to discourage this view, either. We both decided we were going to have some fun, to hell with whatever the people might say. I was especially vehement about this, because I knew I was never going to see them again, and I was damned if I was going to leave them with the lasting impression that everyone from Britain is a prissy killjoy with a stiff upper lip who doesn't know how to fun, like these people always saw on TV.
This doesn't mean I was rude, on the contrary. I was extra polite to everyone, because I see no reason to be obnoxious just because you're challenging peoples' views. But I couldn't resist throwing things into the conversation just to watch people boggle -- which isn't hard when the groom's family comes from the Ozarks, and the bride's from Sheboygan County. The bride was fun, though. A friend of Sharon's from high school, she had a naughty sensibility that instantly made me warm to her, and I was genuinely pleased to see her happy and wish her all the best on her wedding day, even though we'd never met before.
Despite the transatlantic difference -- and the cultural divide between my oh-so-cosmopolitan big city upbringing, and their Guns'N'Ammo farm-country lifestyles -- the general atmosphere of the wedding was much like any down-to-earth wedding that might be held in Essex or Cheshire or Devon. The DJs -- a married couple who brought their daughter and her boyfriend along, and who not-so-tastefully plugged their upcoming gigs at the county fair whilst the bride and groom were having their first dance together -- played all the classic cheesy songs that wedding DJs play at every corner of the western world, up to and including I Will Survive, which must be one of the least appropriate songs one could ever play at a wedding. Interestingly, the only people, aside from Sharon and myself, who were dancing to that song were the DJs' daughter and her boyfriend. The fact that he knew all the words and had made up a large number of dance moves to go along with them suggested to Sharon and myself that he must spend hours singing it with a hairbrush in front of the mirror at home. He was so dolly he had to be queer. But, y'know, from Sheboygan County. So, probably best not to mention anything. Probably best to snark about it under your breath, out of reach at the bar, over a sweet Old-Fashioned that you haven't paid for because the groom's brother is trying to impress you, even though he's too tired to keep his eyes open, except when they're boggling at you because you've just said something to shock him. Probably.
I love weddings.
kookymojo 5:59 PM
Monday, September 08, 2003
I have a lot of stuff to post about, so be sure to tune in over the next week for stories about:- the Sheboygan County wedding
- travelling
- hanging out with Miss Jen
- fun in Boston
- fun in New York
- even more fun with hotels
- SPX
- and my fuckwittery
kookymojo 5:24 PM
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
I find it supremely ironic that it seems to be nigh on impossible to find a pair of plain red socks for sale anywhere in Boston. Doesn't anyone else find that ironic?
kookymojo 4:17 PM
Monday, September 01, 2003
I know, I know, I need to update more often. I've been kinda busy, though. And I have so many stories! They will come, but it'll be after SPX.
kookymojo 12:54 PM
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