Wednesday, May 31, 2006


a while back i was driving somewhere during the day on a week day. i noticed a cluster of three young men to one side, and had an immediate gut reaction to run them over. you see, it's not that i assumed that they were skinheads cause their heads were shaved. the blue pants tucked into combat boots, with the white wife beaters and red braces were what caused me to flash back to my teen years when we would've lured these kids to an ill-fated (for them at least) brawl of like 10-to-1. these were redneck neo-nazis, if ever i have seen them.

and once the insane urge to beat them passed, i felt sad. i would've thought that we might've long moved past that, but apparently not. this was followed by a new emotion for me, when it comes to skinheads; compassion. cause, oh beloved reader, i looked around, and these three skinheads found themselves deeply ensconced in the kind of neighborhood where anyone white is a minority, and while it might not have been gangland, i didn't doubt there were some bangers around who would've just as soon shot these ignorant motherfuckers as look at them.

so in a matter of seconds, i had gone from wanting to run these bastards over to wanting to pull over and warn them to move to friendlier territory.

a sure sign i am getting old.

in a not-necessarily related story, a friend of mine recently said "the sooner we're all mutts, the better." and i agree one hundred percent. i am doing my part, and the more i see mixed couples with mixed kids, the more i think this was always the way it was supposed to be. children of mixed heritage are so beautiful. on the other hand, we have prince charles.

in yet another not-necessarily related story (the threads tying these bits together is so faint and convoluted as to almost not exist at all, but then, what would writing be without stream of concious, yeah?), i love indian food. east indian, in this case, though i am sure that i would love native american indian food as well, but i digress. there is this great indian place not too far from me where they have a lunch buffet. i love any culture that loves their food. now, let me quantify that. like i'm not a big fan of french food, for the most part, though french love their food, but french love their food to be petite, and fussy. i love italian. lots of it, and as messy and noisy as possible. i loved argentina cause if you didn't eat like five plates of steaks and fries, they asked if you were sick. i love indian food, cause it all ends up in a mish mash on your plate. lots of it, and they aint even trying to keep it pretty. aloo gobi on my tandoori chicken. ladles full of other stuff over saffron rice. and then they hand you bread to scoop it all up with. flavor perversions galore (ty c for that phrase). if you're one of those people that doesn't like the food on your plate touching each other, give it a miss. but if you like interesting combinations and wolfing it all down, oh boy, it's heaven. and if you really wanna do it right, you eat it with your hands! yeah, an opportunity to throw back to childhood.

man, i love indian food.

east asian food too. cause they bring it to you family-style and everyone is essentially eating off the same plate, and you get to try lots of different stuff in one meal. damn.

safe to say i pretty much like all food, as long as it's not boring old meat and potatoes.

oh, and the title? i used to love looking through national geographic (and not for the reason you might currently be thinking, my buddy's dad had a stash of magazines that we could raid for that) at pictures of mummies and bones from pompei and things of that nature. and i remember seeing, at a very early age, a picture of a skull with a window cut into the forehead. this completely tripped me out. yeah, a little skate-punk throw back there. cause what the scientists figured was that if you came to your local brujo complaining of a headache, they were sure you had a demon knocking about, and would hold you down and punch a hole in your skull with a sharp stone to let that guy out. some people actually survived this procedure. imagine the talk around the well a few weeks after you've recouped: "fuck, unga just aint been the same." "yeah, i liked him better before they released his demon." "no shit, he was actually fun." "now he just shambles around and drools and pisses on hisself. i aint inviting him to play dung checkers anymore." shaking heads as they walk away.

but this somehow fascinated the fuck out of me, and still does. and i think had i been alive back then, the first time i said, "you know what would be fun? being trampled by angry mastadons." they'da had me on my back. and i am a bit of a slow learner and glutton for punishment, so no doubt i would've had windows into my gray matter that would've rivaled most million-dollar beach houses.

and this lovely process? yep, you guessed it, trepanning. now go home and scare your parents, kids.

darth sardonic


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