30 posts tagged “vox hunt”

Show us an awesome mustache.
Submitted by Soup.

Alright, Soup, I will.

 

 

  Granted, this is not a mere mustache, and the overall look is quite dependent on the beret, I think.  Still, you have to admire this.  I think this takes a certain amount of huevos, a definite inner confidence.

 

 

 

Although, perhaps not as much as this facial hair/headgear combination.  It's not a mustache, so it doesn't qualify, but you still have to admire the balls.

Show us your favorite comfort food.
Submitted by nosa.

I give you the intensely satisfying and comfortingly robust pozole rojo--all the delicious that one bowl can handle.  Also a good hangover cure, as are most comfort foods.  Mexicans usually argue menudo is a better hangover cure, but let's face it, people:  Tripe tastes like ass, and not without reason.  And who wants to eat ass when they have a hangover?

When I'm hungover or sick or feeling a little blue, what I want is most definitely loads of chile and pork fat.  Yum.

Avgolemono, though, or even pho, will do in a pinch.  I wonder how often people find themselves in a pinch that can be alleviated by the addition of soups of Greek and Vietnamese origin.  I'm guessing not that often.

(The linked recipe for pozole looks roughly adequate to me--I don't use a recipe when I make it, but this is at any rate the right ingredient list.  The only thing I do different is I usually use pork shoulder rather than ribs, but I don't see why ribs wouldn't be equally good.  Anyway, since I haven't actually used that recipe, though, I vouch not for it.  Ditto the pho recipe--it seems about right to me, and I learned to make pho in a Vietnamese restaurant, but I don't ever use an actual recipe.  I can assure you, though, that the charring of the ginger and onion is crucial.  Pho broth that has uncharred aromatics is bleh, very bleh.)

Show us your favorite flower.

The iris.  The standard purple-and-yellow are fine, but not my favorite.  My favorite place in Tokyo that is not a drinking establishment is the Meiji Iris Garden in full bloom.  The scent of the irises--that wet, dense perfume they give off--drifts all the way out to the main path that leads to the Meiji Shrine and it curls around you as you walk toward the iris garden.  I love the weeping, open shape and the patterns of the colors.  

On one of our first dates, I had gone to Nagoya to see T, carrying a copy of a Heisei-era poem that had been composed about an iris garden near Nagoya.  The poem itself, in ancient Japanese, started each line with a syllable from the Japanese word for iris (kakitsubata--thus the five lines started with the syllables ka-ki-tsu-ba-ta).  I wanted to see this garden, allegedly still standing.  T worked on deciphering the poem and its context from the photocopy of the scholarly text I had got it from (don't ask) and found the temple and the garden and took me there.  I would have married him there on the spot.  It's a beautiful little ancient garden, and it was so sweet of him to find it for me.

Show us a good time.

If you're ever in Idaho, I will.

Show us one of the world's great mysteries that you're dying to hear the explanation for.

How did this asswad get elected? 

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

If science can ever explain this level of dumbassery, I will be so very grateful.

Share your current favorite song or music video.

 It's a toss-up.  Either this:

Or this:

 

Show us the last album you listened to.

This album never gets old.  Never.  I love the bonus tracks on it, too--"Green Shirt" is one of my favorite EC songs.

This album also contains some of my favorite lyrics of all time:

"I don't wanna be a goody-goody, I don't want just anybody, and I don't want anybody saying you belong to me, you belong to me."

"You're easily led but you're much too scared to follow."

"Don't ask me to apologize, I won't ask you to forgive me."

"You can stand to attention, you can pray to your uncle, only get that chicken out of here."

"She said, 'I catch you taking liberties and they do not impress me
Attach me to your credit card and then you can undress me'
Everybody is on their knees except the Russians and the Chinese"

Plus, masturbation songs are always fun.  Hey, that gives me an idea for a new themed compilation.  How many masturbation songs are there?  Tons, I'm guessing.  Although, Crispin Glover's is still the undisputed champ for me.

I'm rambling.  But, seriously, have you heard that Crispin Glover song?  You should.  Right now I only have it on cassette, a cassette I preserve in a quiet archival setting for posterity, but if I can get it some other way, I'll put it up.  Because seriously.  You need to hear it.  Unless you have something against auto-manipulation? 

Why do I suddenly feel kind of like I need a shower?

Audio:  Share a song guaranteed to get your party started.
Submitted by Felipe Anuel.

Well, the thing is that there are different kinds of parties, with different sets of friends, different drinks, and different music.  Plus, it was Friday back when I started answering this, and that means it was time for a 5.

1.  The Redneck Party:  Or, the Party that would totally appall Lokii.

The drinks served would be cheapish beer, sangria, and Jack.  Food served would include nachos and, oh, maybe some cocktail wieners.

 

 

Also on the playlist would be this gem--almost required at a redneck party:

 

 

 

 

 

2.  The Missoula Party: 

Drinks served would likely include Missoula microbrews and some sort of cocktail.  Food would be cheese and crackers that Ken Twist stole from a motel room.  Seriously.

Oh, no question it has to be a Volumen song.  And this one always gets me going:

 

3.  Fiesta!

Drinks:  Mojitos and batidas.  Food:  Empanadas and arepas.  Dancing:  Sexy.  Bring it.

 

4.  Party for Two:

Food and drink are unimportant at this type of party. 

 

Marvin Gaye is certainly always welcome at this party as well.  I don't mean Marvin Gaye, the man, as he is long-since dead and probably not singing all that well these days.  But Marvin Gaye, the music, is always a good thing at this type of party.

5.  Stoner party. 

Drinks are unimportant but should probably include clear, cool water.  Food is of the utmost importance and should revolve heavily around Doritos.

 

So, there you go.  Five parties for a Friday night (now early Saturday morning, as I learned the joys of file sharing, since I have apparently lost some of my CDs).  Actually I only have the Camper van Beethoven on vinyl, which prompted rude comments from some quarters about my age.  Feh.  I'll show you whippersnappers who knows how to party.

Video: Show us a movie you feel guilty for and/or would deny loving.
Submitted by Captain Manta. 

Ha.  Well, as my husband can tell you, I am prone to watching movies over and over again, endless times, and many of them would be, erm, somewhat embarassing.  I think the big one, though, the queen of my guilty pleasures is...no, I can't really admit this in public, can I?

Oh, to hell with it.  It's Pretty Woman.  Do I need to show you a video clip, because I really think everyone has seen it already?

Just shutup.  I hear you laughing at me.  I love Julia Roberts, even more now that she's a super-mommy in Taos.  And Richard Gere is some kind of hot. 

How about if I just sit here reciting the dialogue?  It'd be so much better though if I looked as good in a hat, or owned such fancy hats, as Julia Roberts does. 

There are other movies that could have made this post.  Indeed, I have already admitted in this space to loving both Hoosiers and The Boondock Saints.  While neither is an entirely embarassing movie, I seriously doubt this is the sort of movie people normally think I would love.

Audio: What was the first song you ever slow-danced to with a girl or boy?
Submitted by Rev Stan.

You know, I don't think I've ever slow danced, in the way that I think this question is meaning it.  We just didn't really do that where I come from. 

See, I come from rural America--the country, hillbilly heaven, whatever you want to call it.  We danced a lot, almost exclusively to country-western music.  We two-stepped.  We waltzed.  We polka--dude, what the hell is the past tense of polka?  Polkaed?  Polkad?--anyway, we did that, too.  We even did a little cotton-eyed joe and schottische.  Occasionally, at our dances, someone would put on some Skynyrd, and we would all look around uncomfortably while trying to figure out what we were meant to do with our bodies to this crazy rock-and-roll, and then the girls would dance, and the guys would look sheepish and dorky and head to the sidelines.  I do remember, back in the halcyon days of Hammer Time, that we were taught to do an exotic dance known as "The Running Man" by some visiting fellow from Tucson (seriously--I am completely not making that up), and after that someone would inevitably play "Can't Touch This" obliging us all to make total asses of ourselves.

There were slow waltzes, sure, and even slow two-steps sometimes--lots of them, of course, from King George (that would be George Strait, for those of you who are unintiated in the ways of countryfolk).  And I was trying to think of what song I probably first danced to that was slow, and then it occurred to me that the writer of the question probably meant that weird, cuddly, wobbling-back-and-forth thing that I've seen city people do at the prom.

We just didn't do that. 

During a slow love song, you might get a little cuddly with your boyfriend or the boy you wanted to be your boyfriend, but it was still a waltz--some form was maintained, some distance was kept (lest the knees bump too much, which isn't fun--that damn Michael, man, for some reason he and I were always getting our knees all tangled up--I could dance with Brandon or Blaine or even Richard and not have a problem, but not Mike). 

Our prom theme song my junior year (I didn't go to prom my senior year) was "The Dance" by Garth Brooks, which is a slow, sad song.  I don't suppose anyone cried over it at the prom, but it brought back sad memories, and I think if ever we were inclined to do that wobbly, cuddly slow-dancing it would have been during that song at that prom.

[There are a lot of reasons why we chose it as our theme song, but the sad memories had to do with the deaths of several friends during our high school years.  Our high school was very small--my class had 12 or 14 kids in it--so the deaths affected everyone deeply.]

So, here is a song I possibly did a slow-dance to (although...I don't know, but it seems likely):

 

That song always makes me sad. 

Here's a fun bit of trivia about my junior prom:  All of the boys wore jeans instead of tuxedo pants (they wore tux shirts and ties and jackets, with black jeans, a look I'm pretty sure would get fugged if they took it to LA, but in the country, we like it that way) and most of them also wore black cowboy hats.  The girls wore normal formal dresses.  My mom made mine, and it was awesome.  Damn...I should scan in my old prom picture!  Ha!

Now, we need to two-step.  How about this one?

 

In case you were curious, that's the song I hear in my dreams.  Steve Earle, wherever you are, I think you are the awesomest person ever.

Or this one--this was huge in my high school.  HUGE.

Onward, to Dumas Walker's we go:

 

Ah, yes, fun times.  Wish I could find a video for "Guitars, Cadillacs."  Yes, I still listen to and love all this music.  Country and bluegrass (along with jazz, Motown, and the Delta Blues) are among America's finest achievements, and no matter how much I love XTC and Morphine and Coltrane and all of that, there is nothing else for me like country music.  In my heart, in my dreams, in my very deepest recesses, there is mainly country music and deserts.  I will never feel at home anywhere that gets a lot of rain, and I will never feel at home without Johnny Cash and Steve Earle on the jukebox. 

Oh, and what the hell, since I'm enjoying this, and since I mentioned him:  King George.  Be still my beating heart.  Note:  This song is not from my high school years; it's quite recent.  But, Jesus, look at his starched-and-creased Wranglers--my kind of man.  Yum.

 

Damn, I used to spend hours every week ironing my jeans into those same starched crease lines.  Sigh--the folly of youth.  My jeans weren't Wranglers, of course--they were Rockies, and they made my ass look perfect, which is nigh miraculous.

OK, enough.  I guess.  If you hate country music, I don't really want to hear about it, OK?  This is a topic to which we shall return, someday.  And as Hank, Jr., would say, if you ain't into that, I don't give a damn.