… then you open it, and… BAM!!!

A Biggie Smalls pumpkin carving somebody brought over to our house for PumpkinFest 2009.  Also, check out the female zombie pumpkin carving (go here for MUCH better photos) and the, ahem, nice index card suggesting alternatives to the collection of pumpkin inspired foods.  Yes, a few brave souls ate some Thai bamboo worms!

[This is an original watercolor painting by Meghan Taylor... you can buy it over at her Etsy shop.]

Hi, I’m [F]oxymoron, and I want to talk about something near and deep to me, an issue that pulls and tugs on my heartstrings, an issue thousands and thousands of us witness every single day, an issue we must courageously confront with compassion and understanding.  I want to talk about…

(… start playing a Smashing Pumpkins song…)

… I want to talk about the mistreatment of pumpkins.

For every human that marvels at the wonders and the beauty of the natural world, there are just as many who’d rather participate in pumpkin chucking competitions, needlessly throwing pumpkins as far as possible without the least bit of concern for the pumpkins’ feelings!

For every farmer that keeps their patch clean and ready to safely harvest, there are other farmers who force feed pumpkins deleterious chemical compounds and growth hormones.  Did you know, of the 1.5 billion pounds of pumpkin produced every year, some of these pumpkins are subjected to deleterious modifications for the sake of competition!  For weigh-off competitions?  Yes, in 1981 a pumpkin was considered a winner if it weighed a mere 500 pounds.  Now, in 2009, that very same pumpkin would need to weigh 1725 pounds in order to win!  What does this pressure to fit in and compete do to the self-esteem of pumpkins across the world?

Finally, and most tragically, are those innocent pumpkins gathered, sold, and creatively modified for holidays such as Halloween and Thanksgiving.  These creative modifications aren’t art!  Nay.  Nyet.  No, this isn’t art.  It is a madness that must immediately end!

And so we must take back the patch.

Please, I urge you to join us in promoting and celebrating this worthy cause:

National Pumpkin Awareness Month

Bloggers, Media Outlets, And People Who Support NaPALM (NAtional Pumpkin Awareness & Liberation Movement):

[F]oxymoron

Meghan Taylor

This Could Be You!!!

(If you’d like to care too, just send me an email and/or a link)

I’ve long suspected that I don’t know shit. I’m cool with this.

You see, whereas my mind’s alchemy struggles to rearrange experience into relevancy, and on that very rare occasion, genuine advice, there are people who do this all of the time. These are the people who can turn shit into golden nuggets of knowledge and wisdom. These are the men and women who can grab any commonplace object, stare at it for a moment, and then weave a powerful, inspirational narrative that instantaneously changes your life, or at least inspires a monumental change. For example…

“You see this,” he says.

I look at the Q-tip.

“… this Q-tip wants to cleanse your soul.”

I look at the Q-tip and grunt.  I see.  I must HEAR what the world says, what my heart screams! Ah-ha!

“Walk with me,” he says.

We walk in silence. He abruptly stops, takes of his left shoe and whacks the ground.

“Do you understand now?” he asks.

I have no [F]ucking clue. “No,” I say.

The old man flips over his shoe and points a wrinkled finger at a wad of gum stuck to the shoe. He then puts on his shoe and says, “Walk with me.”

When we get to the Metro station he stops, takes off his left shoe, turns it over and shows me the dirty, scuffed up remnants of gum. “Do you understand now?”

I hesitate.   And then suddenly I understand.

“Yes!” I get it now, “That’s cool!

He smiles. I watch his wrinkly forehead waver from the tectonic shifts of wisdom. He holds out his hand.

“Can you spare some change,” he asks.

… this is a bad example.

(I used this photo for one of my India travel stories, “Invasive Earwax Removal“, which was a VERY unique experience.)

They sat around a table. Three women and one man. They discussed strategic planning – whatever the hell that is. They discussed visions of the future – whatever the hell those are. They discussed discussions of such discussions – whatever the hell those are.

He was new. The only discussion he followed was a convoluted path of confusion and indecipherable acronyms. He took notes – doodled.

They talked.

They talked.

And then it happened.

Though some will deny it, and others will claim ignorance, there’s no doubt a spider fell from the ceiling onto the table, sending one woman into a calisthenic montage of fearlessly impulsive despair.

THIS, he realized, was his first test. Competence, valor, and an innocent irreverence for life beckoned him. Calmly, he stood up and walked over to the folder hiding the spider. Peeking under and in this folder, he fearlessly trapped the spider.  Yes! He grabbed the folder, ran outside, and then introduced the spider to the soul of life, a scuffed and slightly dirty realism. Yes, he conquered the spider. Yes, he was a hero. Or was he?

A parade along Constitution Ave. never ensued. He wasn’t asked to autograph any boobies. He was never invited to the White House. And perhaps most importantly, he was never asked to play celebrity squares.

That’s OK. He saved a rational woman form an irrational spider’s fatal web of lunacy.

Spotted in Chinatown, parked in front of the Shakespeare Theatre Company’s building.  How can you miss something like this?  Go here to discover the story behind the Fagbug.

Of the three titles, which book does not belong?  C’mon, don’t be shy, I know you all are creative, brilliant, and looking for some sort of workplace distraction!

(This photo is not even remotely relevant. But I like it.)

If I can read it on Wikipedia or in an introductory level text, you have failed! If I can read it on Wikipedia, but would rather watch your presentation on YouTube, you have succeeded!

If after leaving your mouth, those words turn back around and [b]itch-smack you or taunt my eardrums with the lethargic beat of boredom, you have failed!

If I imagine stick figures dancing the Tango on your shoulders, then yes, I’m paying attention. Barely. No, I’m not.

If you have an accent, especially a tantalizing foreign accent, your presentation will be better. I will imagine wild, spontaneous, tantalizing sexual exploits.

If you screw up, don’t apologize. Embrace your tongue’s mischievousness and dance with the devil. Please, please, please don’t apologize. Instead, take the mistake to the next level.  Or improvise!

My youth is going the way of the dodos. Alternatively, this post could be titled, “I Feel Old.”   Why? Three reasons.

One

“Excuse me, I really, REALLY, have to take a piss,” says a young man anxiously dancing around and grabbing his balls.

“Yeah, he really does,” says his friend.

“Yeah,” says the other.

Right. Is that the best you’ve got? At least tell me you’ve gotta drop a deuce! See all these people behind you?  They need to piss beer too. Learn how to drink, kid.

“Sorry. I need to piss. But I won’t take as long as this douche,” I say, pointing to the bathroom.

<mid piss>

All three of the young men storm into the bathroom. Two find piss receptacles. The young man in urgent need of a urinal is left standing in the bathroom grabbing his balls saying, “Oh man, oh man, I’ve gotta piss. Oh man, I’ve gotta piss. I’m gonna piss in the sink. I’m gonna piss in the sink.”

</mid piss>

“No. Piss in the toilette,” I say.

He waits till I leave the toilette and then runs past me to piss.

I feel old.

Two

I used to be all about being in the crowd, sweaty, bumping bodies, and generally getting pummeled and lost in a drugged up sea of angst. Not anymore. Now I’m all about the music, which is why I think the following rules should be enacted:

1.  If you’re not in the “Mosh Zone” and you bump me with excessive force – 3 lashings.

2.  If you squirm up to the front, stay there! If you incessantly weave in and out , from front to back – 7 lashings; 5 lashings if you’re getting booze; 3 lashings if you’re getting booze for a significant other; and 1 lashing if you just have to piss.

I feel old.

Three

Who the [F]uck drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon beer? By choice?

I feel old, but at least I drink good beer.

Last weekend, while roaming around the Crafty Bastards Festival, I saw Matthew Lesko. Do you remember his infomercials? More importantly, do you know anybody who has actually received something “Free” as a result of using his book(s)?