I swear Kid Rock looks like every greasy biker trash boy I ever knew back home. His mugshots remind me fondly of parties in dirt yards with the smell of lighter fluid and barbecuing chicken and cheap beer from a foamy keg, already floating.

This month, Kid Rock got arrested for getting into a fight in an all night Waffle House.

Of course he did. And prior to that, there was an altercation in a strip club, which was probably next to an all night Waffle House.

A friend turned me on to Kid Rock’s newest song Hott with such romantic lyrics: “I wanna fuck you like I’m never gonna see you again…”

Everyday Élan Vital | 8 Comments »

I make up this stuff I call FrÄnkenfrokkenfrögen. You have to wear a Viking hat and say “FrÄnkenfrokkenfrögen” with some Ikea-Swedish-Meatballs-like accent, such as the one Rose on the Golden Girls used when she talked about St. Olef. I named this dish “FrÄnkenfrokkenfrögen” because my wife Chris is very suspicious of white people food. I told her this was an old world dish from my ancestors. Really, its just white trash macaroni noodles with Velveeta and ham and onions baked in.

Now that I am looking at the spelling, I think I will change the name to “FrÄnkenfrokkenfrögenp”. The “p” is silent.

Here’s a recipe.

FrÄnkenfrokkenfrögenp

Boil up 8 oz. of macaroni noodles according the directions on the package, drain and dump them in a greased crockpot. Stir in a 12 oz can of evaporated milk and fill the 12 oz can with regular milk and splash that in also. Add two beaten eggs, generous salt and pepper, a buttload of garlic powder, two good handfuls of red onion chopped fine, and a biggo 16 oz block of Velveeta processed CHEEEZ food, cubed. Throw in a goodly amount of slice smoked sausages (Eckrich is great) or cubed or shaved smoked ham. Stir that nastiness around. Cook it on low for a coupla hours. And don’t be stirrin’ it all the time or your noodles with get mashy.

For added drama, serve with biggo quilted oven mitts that go up to your elbows.

I think I am gonna eat my FrÄnkenfrokkenfrögenp alongside fried squash and some cabbage that has been boiled down to a nice grey color. That’s how we do vegetables in the south. It takes longer to prepare, but truly, a prolonged scalding is the only way to get rid of all those pesky vitamins!

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La collana di perle (The Pearl Necklace) an Xray by Italian artist Benedetta Bonichi 2002

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This morning I remembered a time when my velvet lady and I first embraced the fact that we had indeed fallen into a ferocious love. We sat silently across from each other and sketched our goals for the next year, five years, and 10 years.

Well, that was over a decade ago. As raw, wandering and moonstruck as all 40+ of my years have been, how soothing to confront those forgotten old notes we wrote that day, realizing somehow I rarely wavered. I exist in the immediacy of life’s rich colors, metaphoric ironies, sweet pangs of fugitive love, and polished luster of love eternal. This is why it came as such a surprise to recognize on paper an adventure I dreamt in my youth and also lived. Yes, another consistency is that I feel much too deeply and I probably always will, but so far I have survived it.

I never considered neither the gift nor the dare of another ten years. I realized this morning I should probably sketch a new blueprint, if only to discover when I am even older still that my rambling rhapsody was concerted all along.

(Wrote this some time ago, but it fits now.)

Everyday Élan Vital | 4 Comments »

I know there’s some yummy bread around here somewhere. I can totally smell it.

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