Friday, October 26, 2007


I met a girl named Eugene and I asked here is she would like to
kiss me and she said she would. I leaned towards here, and she
put a small mirror between us. I kissed the mirror, which of
course meant I was kissing me. There was so much of Eugene
in the mirror that I thought, with all modesty, that I was delicious.
“Nice try, mi cupcake dolce,” she said. I agreed that she was
mi cupcake dolce as well, and leaned over to kiss her again,
the usual way. Suddenly she thrusted a 2 x 4 knotty pine wood board
between us; I kissed the board. Eugene laughed: “I love you, you
thoughtless perfect creature of the night” but I wasn’t, in all
honestly, and I knew that by kissing the 2 x 4 knotty pine wood
board that I was kissing our life together: the beautiful ranch
house were surely we would someday live, which would in
all likelihood be built of knotty pine wood. But what if it were
to burn to the ground? Surely, knotty pine wood burns to the ground.
I leaned over to kiss Eugene, my protective kiss to insulate: her lips
were warm and moist. But they weren’t her lips at all! She had ignited
a butane lighter and held it to my own delicious, warm and moist lips–
the ones in the mirror and knotty wood–and suddenly my world was
aflame! My passion was amok! Compared to me, en flambè, everybody
in the world was a creature of the night: living in pine, loving the little
reflection, burning with eternal love to the sparkling ground.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007

Thursday, October 18, 2007


My favorite thought of the day is the very first thought that I have when I wake up. It is usually some sort of insight, or the piercing of a membrane of resistance that has hindered my ability to conceptualize that 'still point' that they are always talking about. This morning, for example, I woke up and thought: "I know exactly how Prince feels!" I think it was because, just the other day, when I was typing a paragraph about a wine from New Zealand, I accidentally typed "Ω" instead of 'Z.' It was the ol' option button problem that you read about sometimes. I looked at it a while, and realized that it didn't have to be a problem, and that I was pretty tired of 'Z' by now anyway and so I just executed a Search and Replace on all my tired 'Z's with zesty little 'Ω.'s. I felt better right away.

Try it sometime. And if you do, don't stop with 'Z.' Remember, 'X,' for example, can also be '≈." And 'B' can be '∫,' 'M' can be 'µ,' and so on. This can work really nicely. Makes things a little perky. Like coffee. Coffee is perky, and Search and Replace can make your writing perky. I recommend it. Like I recommend 'Ω'. But remember, like coffee, a little can go a long way. I don't drink coffee of course, but I could. It's that easy, and my friends tell me it's still perky to this day, even more than it used to be.

But please, if you choose to do drink coffee, for God's sake, be careful.




all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007

Sunday, October 14, 2007


It's Sunday morning, and like all sunday mornings, I am on my bicycle on my way to the market to purchase Pinova apples and Cornice pears and roasted almonds. It is usually a very quiet affair, and I tend to take my groceries and sundry items to the cashier with the Elsa Lanchester tattoo. But today was a little different. First of all, the cashier with the Elsa Lanchester tattoo wasn't there. Secondly, there were two extremely European looking guys from 1972 standing next to their bicycles and sneering at me. And finally, once I got away from the Euro sneering guys, that very nice English man with the little Van Dyke came racing up to me as I passed the Ethnic Gourmet frozen foods. "Did you see what I got for you?" He asked. He seemed very excited. I felt very excited, too, because I love surprises and I love presents and I love Van Dykes, mostly because they aren't as popular and all over the place as those little goatees and it's also nice to be remembered. Unfortunately, what the English man with the little Van Dyke got for me was a frozen concoction that had little bits of fudge and peanuts and waffle cone and whatnot in it. I had actually made a little joke about it some time ago, because I wondered how well waffle cones would survive in a frozen confection when shipped all the way from Vermont in a big truck late at night when the roads are icy. Now when I say 'Vermont' you all probably know exactly what I mean. But I didn't really mean I wanted to find out. I mean, by buying one and eating one. Sure, I like waffles, who doesn't? Well, except for Elsa Lanchester. And my friend Carole who eats that non-wheat weirdo stuff like spelt and kamut, although she probably does like spelt waffles. Which brings me to the subject of Vermont:

What I really wanted today was Putney Pasta Garlic and Herbs Ravioli.

Don't you think that sounds delicious? It really was. It was from their Ravioli line, and their raviolis were sort of like soft, billowy pillows of sea-green deliciousness. They had just the right mix of herbs and garlic–it was so refined and balanced you would think that George Martin had mixed it himself (he didn't; he's pretty deaf now and so he is semi-retired.) Unfortunately, with the loss of Putney Pasta Garlic and Herbs Ravioli (lost, yes, for some reason Mr. Putney of Putney Foods in Putney, Vermont has stopped making them entirely) we, the readers, are left with some very strange, Yellow Submarine-like pasta alternatives. Allow me to list them and explain briefly why each one is completely inedible:

1) CHEESE - tedious. Cheese is not really a word, it is an idea. What do they mean? This is vague, unclear; in short, a very bad essay. You must support your generalizations with specific references to the text. Cheese, indeed.

2) SPINACH AND FETA - please. Everybody knows that nobody likes Feta. At some point though, it became 'cool' to like Feta. Well, it may be 'cool,' but it is not 'de rigueur.' So if you want to be 'de rigueur,' just tell the waitress or chef or even George Martin that you don't like Feta. They will understand. Especially George Martin, who was a revolutionary producer. I think it is time to start an underground movement about this. Somewhere sunny, not Vermont.

3) QUATTRO FORMAGGIO - a fancy and somewhat Italian way of saying 'Four Cheeses' (see #1 for the problems with saying this in English or Italian.) One problem with this, is that there is always, always, always un de la quattro formaggios that taste awful. I am referring of course to Asiago. This if the goofy stuff from Veneto. When it goes towards the frightening 'medio' you have those bad back to high school dreams even while you are still eating and even if you are not sleepy. I don't know how this ever happened to Veneto. Veneto is so nice. Here are some of the things that I like about Veneto:

1) Vivaldi (well, a little)

2) Radicchio (wonderful to eat and to say, crunchy)

3) Grappa

4) The word 'Padua'

5) White Asparagus

No, I am not mentioning 'Asiago.' Oops. I forgot the Dolomites and the 'Bean of Lamon.'

4) BLACK BEAN AND HABENERO: God Save the Queen. 200-300K Scoville units make Habanero the deadliest of the deadly nightshades, unless you count Scotch Bonnet which I never do because it sounds so sweet and friendly and reminds me of those great Bugs Bunny cartoons in Scotland where he plays a very clever series of golf tricks on that dazzling fellow in the traditional kilt attire. My point is: why do you want the tender, billowy pillows of ravioli to do this to you? And again, you noticed I haven't even mentioned 'Black Bean' yet (see: 'Feta.') This recipe would be great without the habanero and black bean and maybe with a little bean of Lamon.

5) BUTTERNUT SQUASH AND MAPLE SYRUP: I saved the best for last, but what can I say? Speaking of God, I stopped believing in God a long time ago, but I imagine if I had not, and I imagine if I had gone to the grocery store later today because I had gotten out of services and had to change out of my coat and tie so that I could ride my bicycle to the grocery store, and if I had discovered this variety of pasta today that I probably wouldn't believe in God anymore even if the sermon had been really first rate. That would be enough to end God for me. Or at least a kind and merciful one. The good news is, if that were to happen, I would be able to get to the grocery store earlier on Sundays, before church let out. Maybe the Elsa Lanchester Tattoo Cashier would still be there–unless she also goes to church. Still, I would face that same problem of having to think about butternut squash and maple syrup.

Let' change the subject for a minute. Here's how Putney Pasta recommends that you eat Butternut Squash and Maple Syrup Ravioli:


PLACE: A comfortable cottage with a hot tub and a view of the mountain, an easy ski away from the lifts.

BEVERAGE: Geary's London Porter.

SOUNDTRACK: Jimmy Smith – Home Cookin'

I don't think I can add anything to this.

Please be sure to stop by next week when I discuss Marie Callender's Savory Herb Turkey Pot Pies.



all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Friday, October 12, 2007


Considered how beautiful key limes and white chocolate sound together

Discovered that Graham Nash, not Stephen Stills, sang Marrakesh Express

Discovered that Darwin floated asparagus in his bathtub

Asked a man named Rudy what I would look like riding a bicycle called the Rockabilly Boogy

Wondered if lions could be nice to anyone like they were to Joy Adamson

Today the clouds came out of nowhere

Today my paper airplane didn't fly

Said, “Today may be roast beef, but Tomorrow will be almond apricot tart”

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007

Thursday, October 11, 2007


I don't know, but on mornings like this I find myself wondering about it. The sun has yet to rise, which it is supposed to do. It feels pretty pure out there, but not completely pure. You know, I don't think that we always want completely pure–sometimes you need a little of something else in you that gives you a little bit of strength that pure things don't. Sometimes I'm sad, and sometimes I say Hooray before sunrise, I say Hooray for little bits of other things in me and you.

It should be light already, but it's not. The sky is like a silver band, stronger than silver, and untarnished.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


1) Sure! why not?

2) I think that California wines are overpriced. (Reception). Actually, this is what I once thought. I don’t think this anymore, though.

3) It's not for me. But then again, I used to think watching field hockey wasn't for me, either.

4) It's interesting that the word 'though' and 'thought' are alike except for the letter 't' even though they share a 'T' with which they begin their journey.

4a) Vive la difference. I like to call it, 'Mr. T.'

4b) It's like the difference between the word 'La Sevilla' and 'Cevice' one, a mating dance between old people in Seville, the other, a citrus-laced lobster shark and bitter orange contraption from the wilds of Peru where you can find blowguns, naked stuff and jungles and things.

5) Even though I don't watch field hockey, it's always possible that someday I will watch field hockey. Near the field, but not too close. Wearing glasses. Field Hockey is definitely for me.

6) Like Peru, marriage is an Argentinian Tango. You always think that the woman, la mujer esa, has a rose in her mouth, but she does not. Not in Argentina, mama. Other places, maybe. As with marriage, the Argentinian Tango is what it is, without a rose. But still, would you have it any other way? No. Unless you married someone else, which would be a mistake, even with the rose thing.

7) Life is not a shark. Life is not a bitter orange. Life is a lobster.

7) In Cuba, they say hello to my little friend, love, in la manera distinguida y vieja. That means: be polite with love, walk with a brisk step as though you know your way.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007

Tuesday, October 09, 2007



If Borges had ever invented a woman, it would be you.

But Borges invented many women, but they weren’t you, you say.

That is true, which is why Borges didn’t do it. Because he could, since he proved it already, by doing it.

But if what you are saying is true, then you have already been invented.

Yes, by Borges, but not you. You can just sit there, very pretty, with good posture, being invented.

Someday, when Borges says, “I must do something that I have already done again.”

Look how quiet he gets when he is working.

Shhh, no one says, be quiet

And the more he does, the more you disappear.

He’s quite good, isn’t he? Borges doesn’t say a thing,
because he cannot hear a thing

What a funny way to be immortal Borges heard you say

After you became Borges.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007


I have always enjoyed Pall Mall cigarettes. When I do something that I am really proud of, I reward myself with one or two Pall Mall cigarettes. No one understands the pleasure of smooth smoking like the Pall Mall cigarette company. Although I would have to say that Bosco understands how delicious chocolate milk can be as well as Pall Mall understands that the greater length of fine tobacco travels, the the more the cigarette naturally filters the harsh tobacco to give you a smooth, mild smoke. Now you can imitate Pall Mall cigarettes, or Bosco, or Richard Nixon, or Leon Trotsky, or Hopalong Cassidy or a dead Indian with an arrow in his stomach, but all you are really doing is imitating these refreshing products and historical and fictional characters and nothing more. No matter how hard you try, you can never be a Pall Mall cigarette. Or a glass of cold, refreshing Bosco. Although taller people tend to be smoother, like Pall Mall cigarettes, and silky, smooth woman with red lipstick who drink whiskey taste delicious, like Bosco. But this is only a pale imitation, and a comparsion that is best to forget. As for the rest, I would prefer to focus on the smooth taste of Pall Mall cigarettes and the delicious refreshment of Bosco chocolate milk, rather than real mortals and the terrible things that happen to them.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007
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