The Ramon Noodle Western

During the course of my work today, I came to the inescapable conclusion that what it is i'm writing is a genre that could best be described as the Ramon Noodle Western. Named such after the substance of choice (and more importantly budget) for starving artists, malcontents, neo bohemians and all the rest who might feel so inclined to be categorized as such but not admit as so.

But just what is a 'Ramon Noodle Western" anyways?

Well I like to think of it as a her who just happens to be the illegitimate daughter of the Spaghetti Western, who got drunk one night back in the late 70's and shacked up with that permiscous floozy the Midnight Movie. She has two uncles. One is the cantakerous old drunk known as the atomic age era Men's Adventure magazine (who stinks like an old book store and rambles on about the War at the most inappropiate times) and the more distinquished HOKO Cinema who taught her ultra-vi ballet when she was just a kid. She has an older sister, the art house crime movie, who she sneaks into her room at night when she's out partying and borrows her clothes without permission. She prefers to date Zombie Flicks and buys the weed she's constantly chain smoking from eccentric old beat authors found lurking around the corners of dusty bookshelves at night.

She has a tattoo of Nick Cave on her right shoulder and likes to sing Tom Waits when she's had a few too many. She tries talking to Hank Chinaski on the Ouija Board sometimes, but if Hank's listening somewhere out there then he's got nothing to say to her right now. She had a period where she told everyone at school that her real dad was Hunter Thompson but all you to do was listen to her to know that it just wasn't true. She passes out drunk to Pogues on the weekends or skanks in her locked room to the Specials or vamps in front of the mirror with the Cramps blasting or stays up late going through a pack of cigarettes listening to the same two Joy Divison records over and over or performs bad karoke renditions of Johnny Cash or whispers misquoted Baudelaire when she thinks no one's listening or just sits on her bed making paper airplanes out of the pages of old silver age comic books.

She is in other words my other muse, but it is of course, as it is with all muses, an open relationship. I know she's seeing other people when i'm not around which makes me even more eager to finish my work before her other suitors finish theirs.

Anyway that's her in a nutshell... The Ramon Noodle Western. If you should run into her, buy her a drink and let her tell you a story in return.

Thanks.

One more before bed...

Ian Curtis

Something pretty for my first muse (she knows who she is) when she logs on this morning. Found this posted on one of my favorite online communitys VintagePhotos.

Also, that's just a great photo of him.

Okay time to fuck off to bed now.

Laters.

Help me Lashe Out!

"This is a public service announcement... with guitars!" ~ Know Your Rights, The Clash

An old friend of mine (retrofatale aka Mz.Veronica Lashe) is trying to make her way to Vegas, to break hearts and kick ass apparently, but she's gonna need your help to do it.

Luckily it don't take much more than a click from you, the good people of Livejournalstan (and all those tourists who have an hour or two to kill at work), to send this lonesome diva on her way to sin city to represent us Atler's in THE VIVA LAS VEGAS ROCKABILLY WEEKEND. I know for a fact she'd be mighty grateful for lift getting on over there.

All you gotta do is move your mouse over her picture and click (hey now... watch where you point that arrow buddy!) You get one vote a day once per IP address from Jan 1-Jan 31, 2008 and after that it's "GAME OVER MAN!"



Much obliged for your attention.


Now back to our regularly scheduled randomness...

BLIZZAPOCALYPSE '08

It's been a long time since the snow fell down upon Terminus and it didn't take much of it for panic to break out on the streets!

It is an old adage that "no one from around here knows how to drive in the snow". But this is actually true. Which is why by law here in the state of Georgia, on first sight of snow (or as we call it in the South: 'White Rain' or 'Godcicles') all drivers are instructed to pull over to the side of the road and exit their vehicle immediately. If this is not possible then the driver, as well as any occupants, must slow their car to a managable speed and then leap from the vehicle as soon as possible. Time is of the importance, so don't waste any trying to turn off the engine or applying the brakes.

This probably goes a long way towards explaining the ten car pile up down the block - the one with the school bus with an ice cream truck embedded in its window that's resting on a pile of crushed police squad cars.

Most businesses have been forced to close early which will most certainly have a crippling effect on what the Europeans laughingly call our economy. This is not done so out of any sense of courtesy to their employees who will be forced to walk home through the elements now that they are legally forbidden to operate their cars, but rather due to the threat of roaming bands of Snow-Men! This was the case during the great blizzard of '94 - when those button eyed, top hat wearing, carrot nosed sons of bitches attacked Dekalb County in mass. The citizens bravely tried to fight back against these abominable creatures - but found that their bullets passed harmlessly through their round snow packed bodies. No one knows how many people died that night, most figures are somewhere around none, but who can really say?

And it's not just the Snow Men either.

The 'White Rain' has been known to bring out hoardes of Ice Giants from their hibernation in the wilds of Fayeteville, who once woken by the elements can only be put back to sleep by 'the burning of seven virgins of true and earnest character'. Then there's the Viking maurauders who have been known to come out and attack during the snow. Admitedly these are usually just local punk rockers who have been waiting for just such an opportunity to don their viking helmets and go ravaging the local scenery. As if that weren't enough one has to contend with packs of feral timber wolves who stalk the now empty streets of Terminus, as well as entire families of ice-skating Yeti. Have you ever been chased by an ice-skating yeti? It's not fun i'll you that for free right now.

Then, when it seems it couldn't get no worse... out comes the Wendigo!

Meanwhile desperate residents who have found themselves trapped in the quarter inch of slush, have been forced to create makeshift campfires from the kitchen trash bins, skin their pets in order that their hides may be used as blankets, huddle in mass around their tv sets for any sign of the coming of the National Guard (or who won American Idol) while quietly wondering which relative they'll be forced to eat first.

"...and the little blind kitten lived through the night. We now go to Paul Osserton for 11 Alive Action News, bringing you the latest updates on what we're calling ... BLIZZAPOCALYPSE '08"

"Thank you Mary... i'm standing here at the Georgia Gold Dome which is currently still not under attack by the inevitable armies of Snow Men that will surely arrive any minute, where Governor Sonny Perdue has begun to lead a prayer vigil in a desperate attempt to save the state from the onslaught of this terrible disaster. We go to that prayer vigil already in progress..."

"O'Santa-Jesus the only son of Jehovah Bodean... please spare us your terrible wrath and know we shall no longer abide godless homonegrofemiliberals and their wicked agenda to turn our youth into Harry Potter reading sorcerers..."

"Whether this anxious plea for mercy from the almighty will actually spare the city from the wrath of the elements... or just merely placate a largely illiterate constituency remains to be seen... this is Paul Osserton here in Fulton County!"

And this is Jack Babalon signing off from the ravaged wasteland of BLIZZAPOCALYPSE '08!!!