hirsute

This morning I was zoning out, listing to music on my headphones while enjoying a shvitz at the gym. An Ethiopian man came into the room and starting making frantic motions in my direction, making circles around his shoulders with his hands. I took off my headphones, and caught that he was asking me if my shoulder hair ever stops growing out, like two balloons that can be blown up forever......

For those of you who have never seen me with my shirt off (I am sort of like a super hero, with my hirsute costume neatly tucked under my button-down shirt), I am old-school man-hairy. I have the full, long sweater - back, shoulder's, ass, chest. My shoulders are puffy, as if I transplanted the afro's from two teenage kids in my neighborhood on either side of my body. But there is of course a limit to my body hair growth. It is not like the hair on your head where it could grow on forever, creating a long shaggy coat. Duh.

I informed the man of the reality of my body hair, and he proceeded with the (of course) logical follow-up question, "Is it true that woman like very hair men because the hair feels sensual on their skin?" Uhh...what? Has this urban myth been going around? How have I never heard of this before? Who asks this to a half naked man-beast taking a shvitz? My answer was, of course, "Yes, I am a more advanced sensual being." This was a lie (just ask Cathy), but when a hairy man is pressed, he must defend his honor. I think usually my hair just makes me overheat and causes me to have to clean the drain in the bathtub more often.

I have been openly vocal about my positive feelings regarding my body hair. There have been some summers where I get Cathy to trim me down (sorry dear) due to the increased insulation, but in general, I regard my bear-like self-image as a positive. Recently, as Cathy and I rounded the four year mark on our relationship, I started to worry that if we produced any male offspring, it would probably be a smooth-chested creature. This is no good. This child would view me as a freak, would not be out in the world increasing the numbers of hairy men, and would generally be a weaker being, incapable of surviving the revolution and coming ice age that will grip the world during his lifetime. This is very bad. The only solution will be for Cathy and I to adopt a child from Eastern Europe or maybe a cute young Indian boy.

sorry state

(I am totally beat by the time this photo was taken on Sunday afternoon)

2009 festival season is FINALLY over. I am exhausted but ready to move on. I am also a little weirded out by that last post. What was I thinking? Gross.

Pisspot

UPDATE 8/21: My father just left me a phone message to let me know that his restroom would have wall to wall carpeting to capture any spill-over and absorb the aroma for generations to come.
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While taking a leak today, I started to think about Cathy's store vs. my father's (and Aunt's) jewelry shop.

Cathy's concept has to do with creating an atmosphere where items can be highlighted without too much clutter or interference with the thought that minimal stock will allow the quality to stand out. My father is old school and likes to put as much product in front of the costumer as possible, with the thought that low prices and lots of variety will drive sales.

Both are merchandising concepts with their own positive attributes and the truth is that both can work. When done well, both can lead to a lavish lifestyle for yours truly.

However, while taking said leak earlier today, my thoughts wandered and I began to wonder, "what if these two visionaries took their individual concepts and brought them to the design of the men's rooms?" My vision was this.

The Cathy inspired men's lavatory vision:

One large 20 x 16 cream colored room with just one white urinal in the middle and a basic faucet in the corner. No sink, just a drain in the floor. I imagine a man in a double breasted suit and wingtips walking silently into the room, standing in front of the urinal, unzipping, doing his business and departing. He doesn't wash his hands. A few seconds later, another similar looking man enters and follows the same routine. This continues infinitely as the line outside of the door has no discernible end. In the corner of the room calmly sits a Labrador retriever puppy.

Lee Kohn house of piss men's room:

One cramped 20 x 16 green and brown tiled room with hundreds of urinals inches apart. Some of these urinals are on corners, and their piss-catcher-tips nearly touch. Large troughs of disinfected water serve as hand washing stations. While starting empty, hundreds of large men, from what seem to be an Eagles game, pour into the room and work their way into the urinals. Since they are all so close together, men touch thighs, feeling awkward, shout homophobic slurs at one another. In the middle, an older man has dropped his trousers to his ankles, farts while taking a piss. In a few seconds all of the men, feeling creepy, but with infinitely less in their bladder, bolt for the door. None of them wash their hands. In the corner, Christmas decorations are hung, but are not turned on since it is August.

Buddy Holly & blueberries

These "Cricket" mobile phone store are popping up all over DC like swine flu in an elementary school. Does DC really need more commercial eyesores? Cathy's store sits about a block and a half away from a new one of these places and almost helps to create a karmic zeroing of their aesthetic banality. What a waste of positive visual space.

This past weekend we put up the permanent sign for the space. It was one of the first pieces completed, but the DCRA was maddening as usual, and the sign permit ended up taking a back seat to more pressing paperwork. Finally, Cathy succeeded in showing enough leg to get the permits, and we were off. Unlike with the Cricket Mobile stores, we have done most of this work ourselves or with the help of good friends who have a high tolerance for aggravation. Using a 24 ft. ladder, a hammer drill and the keen ability to ignore common sense, I was able to secure the sign in place. Many of our new neighbors came out to smoke, talk shop, and watch the semi-semi-professional work up close. 3/4 of the way through the process I removed a dull drill bit that had been stripped. As with all of the small tools I was using, I placed it in my left shirt pocket. What I didn't think of was that the drill bit has gotten molten hot and, while precariously perched atop the 24 foot ladder, and I had to struggle to get the bit away from my person before I set myself on fire. Thankfully I didn't fall, but my left nipple did not fare so well.

The Montana festival feels like a lifetime ago at this point. Cathy and I are gearing up for the Maine festival where I will run around like a mad man making sure that the hundreds of artists are happy while Cathy will be digging for old clothes and stuffing her face with lobster and blueberries (often all three at the same time).

Summertime blues

Sorry it has been so long since I posted anything of substance. It has been a crazy, crazy month. From the successful last push to put the finishing touches on Cathy's AMAZING new store, to the rocking festival I booked in Montana, to the 12+ hours I have spent in layovers, delays and canceled flights in Colorado, Montana, New Hampshire and DC, it has been a sleepless whirlwind few weeks.

Currently I am Philly for a few days sitting on a music panel and continuing to get fat from lack of aerobic motion. I want to give a full rundown of the past months events, but it seems too dense to get to in one post. I will hopefully do a slow roll-out along with photo's. In the meantime, let's talk Cathy's parents....

Last weekend, my one weekend at home, Cathy was at the store and got a call from her folks saying they wanted to drop food off at the Chungkohn palace. Since Cathy has yet to actually tell her folks that she is a small business owner (god forbid!) she put the onis of parental interaction squarely on me, her poor non-Korean speaking Jewish man-servant-man.

Cathy's mom is a little sprite of woman with boundless energy to feed her children and her children's partners. I have had three conversations with her. Ever. They consist of the following topics:

1. Hungry?
2. Eat this.
3. I will give you this to eat.

Cathy informed me that both her parents were going to stop over and deliver food. Since they didn't have a cell phone, and the Chungkohn palace door ringer doesn't work in humidity, I was instructed to wait for them on the stairs outside. When they did finally arrived, they didn't come in the house, even though I invited them in. Instead, they proceeded to enact what could only be a "drive by feeding." The car parked illegally in the bus zone, they opened the trunk and forced food upon me Although I succeeded in not taking the bag of onions and dried fish cakes, they were able to leave DC less the following items:

one 5 gallon tub of kimchi
5 pound sack o' potatoes
8 pound bag of enriched white rice
bag of clementines
bag of oyster mushrooms
5 home grown cucumbers (very good)
5 whole, unfrozen large croaker fish
bag of scallions
dried squid stuff/thing
large bag of crushed garlic
bag of carrots
bananas
bag of cherries


(tub of kimchi)

Thanks Chung's.

To prepare you for the next post, I have attached a picture of the chuckwagon from the festival. The positioning of this was completely unintentional.

Sherry never forgets

Sherry never forgets. My mother found my blog, read the posts about herself.

The Fix

We built a store. Or we almost built a store. I am tired, but proud of the work Cathy and I (with some quality help) have accomplished. At the end of April I had no handyman skills whatsoever. Really. I had never painted a room before or put up a set of shelves.



To date, I have earned my merit badge in:

1. drywall patching
2. sanding, wood refinishing
3. caulking
4. basic carpentry
5. piss-poor plumbing
6. painting
7. cursing
8. yelling
9. sweating
10. accidental limb painting
11. paint stripping
12. creative design of natural gas piping, metal piping
13. questionably legal worker negotiating
14. old ass window repairing
15. plumber crack showing
16. humming to myself while I work-ing