THE SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK NOOS » tourist

California, I hardly knew ya

8 09 2006

DAY 5 - SAN FRANCISCO

Note to self: Fog doesn’t so much as roll in, cialis generic patient it moseys like a cowboy into a saloon lookin’ for a challenge.

Few survive.

This could be a phrase about life, discount viagra illness except that’s a very fatalistic view. But heck, help let’s face it. No one survives, baby. Not even kelp.

Speaking of kelp, we’re on a beach. The sand is black. Earlier, we’d been reading the local guide in the warmth of our Gualala hotel. It seriously was the best piece of writing I’d read in a long time. I wanted to congratulate the soul who wrote it, for this is how they expressed themselves:

“The ocean is mesmerizing and extraordinarily beautiful, almost hypnotic. But the ocean is also treacherous, bitterly cold, and has awesome power…. Even on the calmest days, a roller of extraordinary size will crash ashore and engulf anyone on the water’s edge.

Never turn your back on the ocean…

If a large wave hits you, drop everything and hang on tight.”

I wondered for a moment what exactly you were supposed to hang on tight to? Sand? From what I remember, sand has a tendency to dissolve through your fingers like a poorly thought out writing career. But onwards…

A few hours later and here we were. At a beach that exhibited this awesome power—the reason to ‘never turn your back on the ocean.’

And Matt ignored it all.

‘What would I do,’ I wondered. ‘If Matt were swept away right now? Would I drop my camera? Would I scream? Would I gesture wildly at the ocean and yell for someone else to save him? Or would I be working on my ‘yeah, I seen it’ speech for when the reporters arrived.’ Read the rest of this entry »



A slug out on the shoulders of giants

6 09 2006

DAY 3 - EUREKA

Note to self: There is nothing more visually arresting than seeing a gentleman wearing blue pantaloons and sporting an axe.

The day’s going kind of cashew shaped. You know, viagra usa cheap meatily tasty but easily split. We’re standing next to a fish gutting platform looking at some fat slobs trying to flop themselves onto a long pontoon. These vile creatures seem to think they’re in some kind of aquatic curling tournament.

Matt is both mesmerized and enamored by them. He finds the honking of these fat sea lions fantastic. Sergey and I exchange a glance. We both know if we lived nearby, viagra generic a shotgun would be in their future.

“You’d get sick of it soon enough,” says Sergey.

“No, I wouldn’t! I think they’re great!”

Matt is so earnest in his reply, I think briefly about buying him a CD of Sea Lion honks for Christmas as a joke. National Geographic probably has one. Right next to the Whale Song Operas and Cicada Symphonies, but I strike the thought. He’d probably love it and annoy his neighbors by playing it all the time. And face it; I’m notoriously tight fisted with my wallet. A card will do him just fine.

After what seems like an eternity of honking, we succeed in dragging him away from their torturous wailing and proceed down the coastline in an orderly manner.

We’re heading towards the Redwoods. I’ve been looking forward to this. Nothing gets me going more than a tree so girthy you can drive a bus through it.

We start seeing random, semi-fat trees on the side of the road. These are the Milli Vanillis of the redwood world. Sure, they dance well in spandex, but the lip sync is just a little off and not the real deal. They’re big. But not big enough to make it to the big leagues.

We wind on down the road for a while, occasionally glimpsing ocean, then back inland again for more trees. I’m looking for something in particular. I glance down at my claw. There, waded in my clammy hand is a brochure touting the glory of the Trees of Mystery. I fancy a good Nancy Drew. I jive with the Famous Five. Ask anyone. Read the rest of this entry »



Of quail and Noodles

4 09 2006

DAY 1 - CONDON

Note to self: It’s bad karma to kill locals.

The victim never saw it coming. He met his fate on a deserted Oregon road in the late golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. Life extinguished. Gone. Snuffed out in a nanosecond. No Colonel Mustard on the scene. No candlestick. Don’t even ask about a library.

I tell you this because life ain’t no board game, viagra canada clinic kids. This proves it. Just a puff of feathers, best viagra patient a dull thud, and you’re gone. Feathers are optional of course, but will always add to the mystique.

“Umm…was that a duck?”

“Looked more like a quail,” I say. “But I did only see it for a split second.”

The murderer—let’s call him Matthias N. of Queanbeyan, NSW, Australia—turns towards me. I am nearly blinded by the guilt flashing in neon on his face.

“You swerved to hit it,” I say, thinking this will be a good bit to needle the boy with. But poor Matt, he wears his guilt like the Bayeux Tapestry. All stitched in, complete, and hung for all to see.

“Actually, maybe it was a grouse?” I say. I have no idea what grouse look like, but there’s a distinct possibility that I’ve just seen one.

The golden fields flash by and Killer Matt is quiet. I note for future reference that he is far too honest and pure. He’d be hopeless in a line up. Crack like a walnut. I rule out any future Bonnie and Clyde-type heists with him.

So you’re probably wondering where we are. Let me bring you up to speed. Read the rest of this entry »



Clueless begets unafraid

9 10 2005

Jack: What are your legs?
Archy: Springs. Steel springs.
Jack: What are they going to do?
Archy: Hurl me down the track.
Inspirational running coach Uncle Jack, discount cialis pilule from the film “Gallipoli”

Here I am in a foreign land, cialis sale within a foreign land. I’m in the enigma state. Riddles and mysteries a’wrestlin’ on a Rubbermaid floor. Without the correct ear protection.

This state is called New Hampshire.

Here you live free or die.

The ‘free’ they speak of on their license plates is not related to nudism. The ‘die’ could be spelt differently and have something to do with textiles. But it doesn’t. This ‘die’ is 100%, prescription bona fide death, deadybones, doornail type stuff.

Mix the ‘die’ and ‘free’ with ‘live’ in a stainless steel cooking vat and it can be interpreted thusly:

“If you wear a Yankees baseball cap in our backyard on the day when that bunch of overpaid fat chats with manicures are playing the Red Sox, today is the day of your death. Oh, and if you try to drive normally here—you know, obey traffic rules and that malarkey—well, you might die too.”

I wish we’d known this before we went. Read the rest of this entry »



The river wild

3 10 2004

Preliminary Report by Dr. Killingsworth
TEST SUBJECT:
NOODLE, best cialis malady ID: 5143287


Session 1:
Location: Subject’s apartment
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Attendees: Noodle (test subject), Amelia Crook (old friend)

9:30 PM
Outside influence, Miss Crook, is slated to arrive from London at any moment. No sign. Test subject Noodle appears calm and aloof, and cracks open a beer with what appears to be joyous aplomb. Apartment is rudely clean. Highly suspect. Her constant examination of her appearance in the chrome kitchen bench top remains unexplained. This level of primping is highly unusual for a subject who barely remembers to comb her hair before leaving the apartment.

Later, 12:30 AM
Crook still absent. Subject Noodle’s form is eerily contained as she maintains a compact and almost rigid posture on the sofa. Yet a clear scent of simmering fear (or perhaps agitation?), is sauntering off her like a tsunami. Outward appearances with this subject are often a cunning subterfuge—crafty masks for hiding real feelings of doubt. It should be noted in the file that this subject bears all the classic signs of advanced Keepitinsideaphelia. Her ‘about to explode at any moment’ aura can be quite…smothering and pre-volcanic in nature.

Subject speaks to herself frequently while maintaining eye contact with the final minutes of the program hosted by TV impresario, David Letterman. She appears engaged, yet is obviously not altogether ‘with the program’ (double meaning intended). Miss Crook is significantly late.

In a sudden burst of activity, test subject moves furniture and flips out the sofa bed. Preparatory motions are made for a hopefully satisfying REM cycle. It is evident by her muttering that she is required to report for copywriting duty the next morning, and needs to retire to bed to achieve this task.

Lights out.
Subject lies in the dark, but with eyes painfully open wide. Sighing. Fidgeting. Sighing and sighing most woefully. It is extremely irritating. I want to suffocate her with a pillow, but I will remain true to my oath. I take this opportunity to partake in a swift mind raid, since none of her mutterings are revealing her real thoughts on the matter. And I would dearly love to get this session over and done with as soon as possible, so I can jump in the Benz and toddle off to the Club for a cigar.

Mind probe projects various scenes; a plane crash; a mugging at JFK; a sad Miss Crook wandering the streets of New York lost, pressing buzzers of random buildings etc. I swear, if it’s not one thing, it’s another with this subject. Her imagination is totally out of control as she thinks of reasons for Crook’s lateness. She gets up for another glass of water (unnecessary). The pillow option is looking more attractive to me. Read the rest of this entry »



A Haw Par tour

25 08 2002

People, best viagra prescription I have had my eyes opened and my retinas violated. It was tops!

Lately I’ve been prattling on with this baloney about seeing and tasting and touching and sniffing things to make sure all your opinions are based on fact. With this baloney in mind, decease I dragged my poor unsuspecting parents along to a tack-ridden kitsch fest to rival the late Liberace on his best day in Vegas.

Haw Par Villa
The Lonely Planet guidebook sent me there. The words ‘grotesque statuary’, ‘gory comeuppance’, and ‘10 courts of hell’ leapt off the page at me. Made me all a-tingle. And only $5 entry. How could I resist such a tourist mecca? And there was a story to go with it—the Tiger Balm fortune story. Next time you go rub a bit o’ balm into your corked thigh, you can think of this place.

Two quick observations
1) The $5 entry fee has evaporated. It may have been used in the past to actually maintain the joint, so the absence of it perhaps gives some clue to Haw Par’s run-downedness.

2) If you want to make your parents look completely aghast for a couple of hours, take them here. I’m sure if the place had been in full working order, it might have been a better experience for them. But it’s run down. The water isn’t running through the channels and paint is flecking off statues all over the shop. But still. As I said to them in my wise and all-knowing manner, “You have to see the bad in life—it makes the good look better.” Read the rest of this entry »






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