if you’re a fan or water towers at all, north dallas is your louvre. here are a few of my favorites:
big sky country in garland …
plano’s an upscale community of refined elegance, which i think is clear …
here’s lewisville’s piece of shit …
they do things a little differently in frisco …
north dallas … may your sprinkler systems and soaker hoses always be dewy.
***
for anyone concerned about big kev who, as you all know, has pneumonia, i spoke with him earlier today and “the pain is almost gone” but he “still gets the shakes in the morning” but thinks “that’s probably because i’ve been drinking a lot of coffee.” he is also “getting a little funny, kinda weird and fuzzy in the afternoon” but he just “eats something and feels a little better.” we’re gonna get together tomorrow to, again in his words, “grab a few drinks in the hotel lobby.” he is obviously still alive, though i’m starting to wonder why.
for those of you who know big kev, he threw one of his famous shit fits when i grilled him about not working too hard. he finally pulled out his pattented “ok, i gotta go, bye” move. it was similar to the morining i picked him up at his place in topanga to take him to the airport where he was flying – all expenses paid no less – to honduras for a few weeks. he wasn’t packed yet, and threw a shit fit for the ages that climaxed with the infamous “i don’t wanna get on an airplane! i don’t wanna go to honduras!” tantrum.
buck up big camper …
i think the real reason i’m so sensitive to all this is because pneumonia killed jim henson, which means pneumonia killed the muppets, and i’ll be damned if i’m going to fuck around with anything that kills muppets. the thought of it curves my spine … fozzie hacking up blood. kermit lying shivering in a pool of sweat on the cool tile floor. miss piggy darkening into a dusky shade of purple. rowlf the dog losing hair by the fistful. harrowing shit.
on a lighter muppet note, i once saw my good friend lisa tremain, on stage with the readers, ask the crowd to raise their hands and “tell me who your favorite muppet is, and you MUST defend your answer!” i didn’t get called on that night, but i’d have to say … gonzo the great. because he’s the only one.
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couple a things i have issue with in this latest blog:
lewisville water tower. i’d disagree with calling it a “piece of shit.” to me it looks like a massive, metal jellyfish enthusiastically advertising the town logo across it’s breast.
and another thing…well i guess that’s really it. i agree about pretty much everything else, including the part about big kev being a baby.
tell big kev “i don’t want to fly to honduras” should be his myspace headline.
ps i called him when i found out he was sick and told him he had some stuff that i wanted in the event that he wasn’t going to pull through…
never heard back from the guy.
i guess i’m being a little hard on lewisville … we always hurt the ones we love. never made it to big kev’s tonight. he had a dinner meeting and was “too wiped out” to meet up after. waah … i’ve got pneumonia, i don’t wanna get on an airplane, waah!
my favorite muppet is sweetums
defense of answer
he doesn’t speak
he’s tall
he’s scary
he’s fabulous
where are the pics of your damn house
who the fuck is sweetums? leave it to dingus to pick a muppet nobody’s ever heard of.
pictures are coming. i’ve been busy, damnit.
i don’t know dingus, but i sure know sweetums. he’s the big huge brown guy who doesn’t speak (though he occasionally sings) and often eats other muppets whole.
we are working on other muppet-inspired songs, by the way. welcome home, gonzo.
oh, that one’s sweetums. that’s a great yet unexpected name for that particular muppet. how did you all know his name? is there a listserve or something i can get on?
You (at least the men) are all overlooking our obvious muppet champion, kermit the frog
He’s an amphibian-what would be cooler, really
He’s a musician
He accepted male pattern baldness with quiet confidence
And most importantly, he tried to teach us all (again, at least the men), long prior to our first urges how we would spend our lives-in a futile chase to satisfy the women who really call the shots in our lives and couldn’t care less about said urges
Is it his fault we were too busy looking at miss piggy’s rack to pay attention
hooch! makanda’s poet laureate. touche’, my man. i raise an abita restoration pale ale … to kermit!