I was tall enough to clearly see what was on the counters as I walked through the kitchen. Because of this my mother knew not to leave out things that would spoil my appetite: Cookies, cake, chips, black licorice or even a bowl of sugar. If it was sweet I was into it. And if it was within my reach I was into it.

Imagine my surprise upon spotting a lone spoon with a lovely scoop of caramel in it.

Hello, what’s this?

Stopping in my tracks I squared off with this gooey bit of good fortune. A dessert? A candy apple? A pudding? What was she making? Well the one thing that she was definitely making was a mistake by leaving this within my reach.

After a quick survey and convinced mom wasn’t around the spoon was pressed up against the top of my mouth. A heavenly flood of golden sugary delight combined with the sinful feeling of wrong doing was what I was expecting.

Instead I realized why the caramel spoon hadn’t been hid away and why it was in a saucer in plain sight. If it wasn’t in the saucer the juices of canned wet cat food would have run all over the countertop.

Yes that beautiful scoop of delicious caramel was in fact the nasty residual goop that coated the unfortunate spoon my mom decided to plunge into a tin of cat food. The smell and taste that possessed every corner of my being that moment left a deep and instant scar. Most people don’t like this smell, some even cringe and hold their breath but when this insipid fume revisits me I am left flayed gagging and speechlessly crashing back into this instant I had made an incorrect assumption.

Oh my yes it’s time for a new catch phrase. Remember in Jurassic Park when Dr Grant and the kids were getting chased down by the T-Rex and it cut to a shot of the car mirror where it says “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear”? Of course you do, that was a great cheeky gag.

T-REXING THE REARVIEW is when you find something online you feel like is going to be the next big thing and you blog it to kingdom come. You know how big it’s going to be, how big it ACTUALLY is, now matter how small it may appear to the world (the rear view).

You could say something like, “This band is gonna T-REX the rearview”

Any thoughts here? Other usages people thought of?

My Uncle Bob is an accomplished man who’s mild manners keep him from being easily excited. However, mild mannered is not to be confused with boring, he has a knack for finding memorable unique hole in the wall side excursions during his vacations. Having never traveled with him before I had yet to learn what this meant, but since he’s had this reputation long before Google existed, I knew we were in for treat.

After attending my cousin Liz’s beautiful country wedding in the outskirts of Austin Texas we drove back into town with our few days left on the trip. We rubbed our hands together as we looked to Uncle Bob for what he had in store. When he said we were heading to a little bar that had country music I thought he was joking. In Texas? Who would’ve thought!? No smirk, no wink, no “you don’t even know”. From his description it sounded like any other redneck bar Texas has a plethora of.

Hmmmm.

OK.

Uncle Bob, Auntie Di, Mom, Dad, Lindsey, Bobby, Fiona, Thwing, Delia, Mel, Amy and myself crammed into two cars and made our way on secondary highways passing strip malls that were a far cry from the wild west.

We parked, not mind you, on a dusty road under a lone scraggly pine tree, like you would expect in Texas, but on the same concrete covered strip we had been driving on. Wasn’t looking good for Uncle Bob’s reputation.

The sign read, “Ginny’s Little Longhorn Saloon“.

Sigh.

Well if we must. After you.

Inside things immediately started to look up as fulsome rough cut floorboards led us past a buffet of free hot dogs. What? FREE HOT DOGS? My 12 point spur rowels spun wildly. How is this possible? Is this being subsidized by the Bush administration? Obviously it was, there could be no other explanation. Wait what’s this? $1 Lone Stars! (local swill) Dinner and beers for the night for $5. What a day, I take it all back.

Suds and dog in hand I leaned up against the bar while not 6 feet in front of me a well seasoned rock n’ roll man with faded tattoo sleeves and heavy leather bracelets picked out a country tune under a perfectly pruned pompadour.

I asked Uncle Bob.

Dale Watson. A true country musician who doesn’t realize how famous he is or at least should be. I closed my eyes. Nice.

My free food, cheap beer, steel guitar drenched unreal golden glow could only be eclipsed by the surreal. Which tonight took the form of the large wire cage on top of a table in the middle of the bar that we passed on the way in. Chicken wire stapled onto the 2×4 frame enclosed a bingo type grid on the worn plywood cage floor. But why was it empty? Why all the lights? Why all this effort? I wanted to ask but didn’t want to appear stupid. The focus of the bar was around this set up and obviously the reason for coming here.

I spent the next half hour eavesdropping and pieced together the gist of what to expect. For a dollar you can buy one or more squares in the cage you were then given a piece of paper with your square’s number on it. After all the squares are bought then a live chicken is put inside this cage. She walks around until she relieves herself at random. Whichever of the numbers her leavings happen to fall on is deemed the winning square. The pool of money goes to whoever bought that square at the beginning of the round.

Wow.

We waited for the first round to begin as more and more people packed into this little bar to come play Chickenshit bingo. Ah ha! Here is how they are able to give away free food, look at all these thirsty gamblers. I realized there were far fewer numbers than people in the bar and had better get on it. Grinning like only an idiot does when he thinks he’s REALLY clever I went to the bar to buy my number.

Number 2’s taken.

Shit.

OK well what have you got?

17 n’ up.

Once all the numbers were purchased the chicken was brought out from a back room. As soon as her feet hit the floor the entire bar erupted into a frenzy of attempts to get the chicken’s attention and somehow convince her to move to their square. People placed their pieces of paper up against the walls to show the chicken what number they had bought and that if she could kindly move towards that square before relieving herself it would be most appreciated. Which was delivered at full volume to the tune of, “SHIT OER HERE YUH STOOPID CLUCK!

Those signs at the aquarium which ask you kindly not to tap on the glass would have gone to good use here. Most likely being torn from the wall, rolled up and rammed through the gaps in the cage to prod the bird. Since there was no such sign to make use of a couple pool queues would have to do.

While these chaotic attempts to sway the game in their favor ensued I was amazed that no one was trying to stop each other from cheating. Maybe everyone was basking in the glow of free food cheap beer and the strong possibility of striking it rich? I shrugged, clearly they were not bothered.

The only one I that I could imagine not enjoying themselves was the chicken. After being dropped in the this cage a stream of incoherent noise and objects were forced upon her from the surrounding darkness and didn’t stop until she had the shit scared out of her. I was pretty sure that I was the only one in the bar thinking this. In their eyes this was not even on the same planet as animal cruelty. Any outsider who saw this as inhumane was clearly confusing animal cruelty with a cultural gap. Maybe they were onto something.

Is this chicken’s life really all that bad? She got the spotlight every night, all the feed she wants and all she has to do is take a dump and everyone cheers. Actually sounds like a pretty interesting life. I’d like to try it out for at least one day before condemning it.

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As we left Portland for SXSW09 WTM consisted of four main ingredients Jeff, George, James and myself. Landing in Austin we did the usual airport routine of deplaning, walking to baggage claim and hailing a cab to the hotel.

We were in good spirits as we were on a vacation of sorts. I recall us smiling. I remember us laughing. We all felt quite gay. Especially to our cabby. Who’s first words to us were.

“So what part of San Francisco you boys from?”

Silence.

WTM: Ummmmm… the Portland part?

In his head, silly taxi driver (STD) was thinking, “Port-land-San-Fran-cis-co, same thin cuz it AIN TEXAS.” But out loud he said, “yuh ‘lowed et hev ruhcoons as a pet up ther in Portland?”

WTM: Raccoons? I’m not sure, I don’t know anyone who’s ever tried. What about here?

STD: Oh ruhcoons are the most beautiful n docile creatures. Loyal n lovin animals they are.”

WTM: Really?

STD: Yep you taint never been kissed till you been kissed by ruhcoon.”

WTM: Uhhhhhh…ssssoooooo you… have one?

STD: Oh yeah.

WTM: How did you end up with a Raccoon for a pet?

He sat back and got cozy for a good old fashion story telling’, “Well I were out in the back yard burnin some trash and o’er by the porch I heard a lil’ russlin. Jus so quiet, a scratchin a scratchin. Well I crept up slow and took a look under my tarp. An sure nough there were a whole family a ruhcoons. They all died though. Sept one. Which I brough snide.

WTM: Oh my. Is that right?

STD: Yep, she’s a beautiful animal. She died yesterday.

WTM: Oh no we’re sorry. What happened?

STD: Well she had the flu which she caught from me. And since you’re not ‘lowed to have pet ruhcoons I couldn’t bring er to the vet cuz they woulda took her. So she just passed.

He started to get a little choked up at this point. I don’t really recall anything aside from small talk for the rest of the ride to our hotel. We all looked at each other with an equal level of amazement and lack of what to say.

With those few minor quirks aside I did feel badly for him. Having pets pass on is horrific. They really are a part of the family. A brother. A daughter. Or for this strange trash burning emotional mess of a prejudice zoophile, a wife. I can’t imagine losing my beautiful raccoon wife, sounds awful. But then my rational mind bubbled up and reminded me that this guy before even saying “hello” had made up his mind about us and made sure to remove any doubt to wether we were welcome in his city of god fearing raccoon snogging normals.

A conundrum.

Truer words have never been spoken. What it is about them? Maybe because they’re not around anymore so we have no preconceptions to what they’re really like and thusly can be anything that you want them to be. Or perhaps because they’re so big that you can always see them coming so they will never give any upsetting surprises.

With that said they can never throw you a surprise birthday party. Can you imagine a surprise party thrown by all your dino buddies? Extra RAD!  At your old birthday parties there would always be some kid who would take off his cone shaped hat and sullenly down a fat slice of YOUR cake. NOT SO with Dinosaurs! Wouldn’t you think that dinos would eat your cake before you got a chance to blow out the candles? Nope. They are very good party goers wild and excitable when you need them to be, but know when to pull it back and give their undivided attention while you’re unwrapping your presents. Plus dinosaurs ALL politely wear birthday hats and keep them on while they belt out “happy birthday” at such a deafening level that all the kids who purposefully didn’t get invited to your party could clearly hear the fun they were missing across town.

Elephants and hippos are really big. Not doubt about that. Yeah they’re kinda awesome… buuuuuuuuuut they can’t really jump. Suppose they could, would that place them on par with Dinosaurs’ awesomeness? Probably not, but wow jumping elephants and hippos, that would be loud and entertaining beyond Gallagher vs Carrot Top where they have only stage props and noise makers to defeat each other.

Let’s hope Gallagher wins.

PS this image was something I saw in the background of this Perry Bible Fellowship cartoon.
Return of the Ghost. Which I think he saw in the Simpson’s kitchen.