Rhinestones, overalls, a tractor, trucker hats, tight jeans. Better than Buck Owens. I first heard Red Simpson perform this song, but Dwight Yoakam does it justice. Why he’s eating a raw tomato is beyond me: one beefsteak, salt, knife and fork, while your love rocks the jukebox: that’s loneliness? I love the country camp, even though Red doubtless imagined a grittier, Bakersfield scene when he wrote “Close Up The Honky Tonks.”
What have I been up to since I fell off a cliff in Utah?
I saw The Way, Way Back. It was way, way bad. And after watching Project Runway, I finally understand fierce.
Baseball Nut is a good reason to visit Baskin-Robbins.
Reading My Struggle (Karl Ove Knausgaard). Dare I say I don’t get Norway?
I like to exercise on my wheelchair. When it rains, I go to the mall in the morning, before the shoppers turn out, and zoom to the muzak. I can also support myself on my left leg, in a cam boot, and hop around using a walker.
I had a box of Chicken McNuggets, which were delicious.
Before my accident I had been reading Kafka on the Shore (Murakami) on the toilet. I finished it, listened to the “Archduke Trio” and “My Favorite Things” four or five times, and finally understood why Murakami has …
A Taste of Paradise is a donut shop in Ogallala, Nebraska. I made the Denver run on one sour cream fritter and 7 oz. of coffee poured out the percolator head.
Love for hops infused pickles at Euclid Hall. Good with iced tea and chicken schnitzel sandwich.
Increasingly interested in textile art.
I no longer want to visit the hippest and hoodest restaurants. These days I’m happy with horchata in a cocktail shaker, carnitas tacos, roomy booths for reclining after three margaritas. Salted maple pecan ice cream, half-finished.
This city is cleaner than Singapore. Do you get spanked if you litter a craft beer can?
Domesticated in Denver?