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update: 5.01.03

I’m momentarily resurrecting the tradition of adding a preceding link... First of all, Darren says “I found you a man!". He knows he is wrong–he don’t love himself. And furthermore, the University of Kentucky seems to do strange things to its students and alumni.

So my mother had a physical yesterday. While lounging on the sofa afterwards, she told me that she had been taking anti-anxiety medication for a few weeks now and that it was making a huge difference. And how long do you think it was before someone suggested I could benefit from these wonder pills? What is this, the Stepford Wives?

In less paranoid news, Dr. Carr the Physics Professor returned our labs yesterday. Mine was covered with a bright red 95 but also with snippy comments like "I think you missed the point of this lab." I hate to break it to the Doctor, but I’ve missed the point of the entire class. He was even more succinct with the Lebanese Boy, however, and scribbled "NO! NO!" in huge red letters all over his report. For the rest of the afternoon I whispered “NO! NO!” whenever he turned around to talk to me. Dr. Carr is arbitrary, absentminded and difficult to please but I have a high A in the class so far and that's all that matters.

Meanwhile, poor Bubba is leaking a mysterious brown fluid all over the driveway (No, it’s not oil), so I had to skip class and take him over to Bimbo’s. But first, I had the Lebanese Boy crawl under my vehicle last night since he works in an auto shop. He got all gritty while I stood aside and fretted. “Now be careful!” Unfortunately, he couldn’t diagnose the problem but I doubt it’s serious.

My Calc II professor has a very dry humor. Yesterday he walked into the room and calmly announced “I am about to reveal the five most important numbers in mathematics to you!” We quivered with anticipation while watching him write 1, 0, e, p and i on the board. (i is just wonderful, incidentally, but I’m sure I’m preaching to the converted here.) Later, while delighting us with the complexities of Euler’s Formula, he got lost in some complicated equation and began scribbling gibberish. Upon realizing that he was on a tangent, he stopped himself and, while marveling at the tangled mess he had made of the problem, declared “That’s not very sexy!”

.::Rob::.

update: 5.05.03

My friend Cathy is getting married at the end of this month, so I'm gonna start off by saying "Congratulations!" I doubt she's taking time from her busy schedule to ghettopimp, but maybe she'll stop by sooner or later.

Now, did everyone watch the Kentucky Derby on Saturday? It's a big deal around here, as you can imagine. Shelbyville shut down in the early afternoon as everyone headed home to prepare. You know me...being a grump I'm all "Bah!" when invited to a Derby party, but at two minutes till you can find me frantically flipping through channels looking for a horse.

Before we closed the store, my mother found time to complain about the email she has been receiving. "What kind of sites do you go to on this machine, anyway?" she asked suspiciously. "I'm getting all kinds of pornography these days." Meanwhile, she is receiving closeup photographs of luscious bosoms bouncing across the screen and she is aware that I don't go to sites featuring luscious, bouncing bosoms...

This is my Pop's favorite time of year because he can bust out his riding mower and give the yard a good working over every three or four days. Whenever we pull up the drive, he gazes fondly over his verdant acre and says "Boy, look at that grass!" I wasn't surprised when he came in the kitchen after the Derby and declared "Well, I'm going to go mow the grass now!" even if it had only been two days. "Yeah, it's about to turn into a meadow out there!" I hollered as the front door slammed. He poked his head back in and replied "I'll have to bale it if I don't get busy!"

.::Rob::.

update: 5.5.03 v.II

Still hung up on playing No Limits Coaster every night. The design of the evening:

.::Rob::.

update: 5.6.03

I paid the tuition for summer school on Monday and went to the bookstore to get the books for my final Anthropology class. This one is grandly called Cultural Diversity in the Modern World...in Lexington, KY no less.

Now, this madness is being taught by the same Sociology professor from the LQ and Crew days and I should have known better than to take another course with her at its helm. On the positive side, she loves me; on the negative side, I had to buy five books for a four week long class! Outrageous! Most of them are anthologies with vignettes from around the globe. If she follows precedent, she'll require us to read only one or two of these minidramas. Has she ever heard of a photocopier?!

The fifth book is called Neither Man Nor Woman: The Hijras of India by Serena Nanda and, if you haven't figured it out yet, it is about Hindu trannies. As soon as I got home, I cast the others aside and began flipping through the saga of The Hijras, quickly noticing that trannies are the same the world over:

"Hijras are infamous for insulting and cursing families who do not meet their demands of money and gifts. They may start with mild verbal abuse in the form of ridicule. [...] They gradually move on to stronger insults. [...] The act that is most feared is the threat that the hijras will expose their mutilated genitals to public gaze."

The Hijras isn't all fun and games, however; there is also the following hair-raising tale of castration to contend with:

"The client's clothes and jewelry are removed. The [...] penis and scrotum are tightly tied with a string, so that a clean cut can be made. [...T]he dai ma takes the knife from her sari and makes two quick opposite diagonal cuts. The organs--both penis and testicles-- are completely separated from the body. A small stick is put into the uretha to keep it open. [...] When the cut is made, the blood gushes out, and nothing is done to stem the flow. [...] The hour just after the operation is considered to be the critical time during which the client's life or death is in the balance."

With that in mind, I'm off to breakfast...

.::Rob::.

update: 5.08.03

Earlier in the week I discovered a cricket in my bedroom. Well, I didn't actually discover it--I just heard a commotion coming from the bookshelves and figured out what was going on. I tried to find the creature with no luck.

The damned thing kept me awake for at least an hour that first night with all its cheeping. The next night was the same story--all kinds of racket coming from behind the bookshelves. Whenever I investigated, the noise stopped or else seemed to be coming from some other corner than the one I was in.

"No big deal," I thought. "We'll meet up around here sooner or later!" Then, for good measure I added a sinister "Muahahaha!"

So last night I was comfortably watching television when that beast commenced its racket again. It seemed especially loud too, almost like a different specimen. Then I noticed there were suddenly two of them! One was across the room, scratching out a message and the other was still behind the bookshelves, delivering its response. They've set up camp!

I investigated every inch of the basement but couldn't find either of them. Whenever I got close, the cacophony stopped until I passed. No sooner did I give up and sit down than it started again full blast, reverberating off the walls. I was ready to pull my hair.

Just about then I began to wonder why I had a cat. Aren't they supposed to take care of these things? India just sat there staring at me dumbly, probably wondering why I was on all fours peering behind shelves. She is hopeless. The other night I was in bed when a deadly black spider descended in my face. After suffering a mild cardiac episode, I looked at India, who had not moved, and said "You're not doing your job." She rolled over and demanded a rubbing.

Humph.

.::Rob::.

update: 5.10.03

About twenty-five years ago, Rob went for a swim...

Later that year, he tore into his Kwanza offerings...

While, across town, Katie began her career as an exotic dancer...

.::Rob::.

update: 5.12.03

While my Pops is picking up Chinese food, my mother flips past An American Werewolf in London.

"Stop right there!" I shout.

"What's this?" she asks and I tell her. She is the picture of boredom when the two teens are attacked by the creature. I hastily assure her that the transformation is much more exciting. "Fine" she says.

Just then my Pops returns with the food. After we get our food dished out, we sit down together in the living room.

My Pops kicks back, stares at the telly and witnesses a hapless lycanthrope wandering the English moors. "What's this," he asks, "An American Werewolf in Hollywood?"

My mom and I snicker mischieviously, then tell him the correct title.

"Just wait for the big transformation scene," I insist. "Then we can turn it."

My mother begins a story.

"One time your father and I went to see a scary movie and just when the monster jumped out, he screamed! We were with another couple and when we got outside the lady asked why I screamed like that. 'Screamed?' I said. 'I didn't scream. That was Bob!'"

Just then the big transformation scene begins. It is not as compelling as I recall but apparently too frightening for my Pops. He gets off the sofa and dramatically exits the room.

"Whattsa matter?!" I demand. "Are you scared?"

"I'm not watching that!" he hollers from the living room. We laugh at him briefly but then change the channel.

"Alright, you can come back in now!"

He peeps around the corner suspiciously, sees Most Extreme Elimination Challenge and then grandly saunters back in the room.

.::Rob::.

update: 5.14.03

An Ethnography

Our grades were posted online yesterday. As I looked mine over, I noticed that I failed Calculus II. There was little use in becoming hysterical since that was obviously wrong. So I called my professor and gave him what for...

Professor
Oh my! Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! There's some mistake!
Rob
You're telling me, buster! Whaddya gonna do about it?
Professor
I'll have it fixed by the end of the week.
Rob
End of the week?! Why, I oughta!

...and it was taken care of.

I alt-tabbed over to my Hotmail inbox. A dude with a vaguely erotic-sounding name sent a note with its subject line reading "Bessel Functions!" (It's a math thing). I clicked away deliriously and anxiously awaited the complex equations about to be revealed. Instead, a luscious bosom slithered across my screen. Personally, I'd rather see the functions.

I win+d'd, then headed off to face the first day of summer school. My class is Cultural Diversity in the Modern World. This is my third anthropology course and, frankly, I've had enough. But these things are required, after all. Too bad it's being taught by the same nut from last autumn's Sociology class. This isn't much beyond an introductory course so she only gave us 45 handouts; her more advanced courses require challengers to absorb all of human knowledge.

The professor put on a film. A group of monkeys dressed in Greg Allman wigs and Elton John sunglasses filled the screen. They clutched musical instruments and a background sign pronounced them to be the latest musical sensation The Evolution Revolution! While Desmond Morris flapped his arms and defended his infamous hypotheses, the band performed a snappy little number.

I looked around the room and decided I didn't like anyone in it. The dude to my left was passing notes to the appreciative gal beside him. The girl to my right was drawing on her desk in that ghastly elementary school bubble handwriting. The guy in front of me was working a Jethro Thug look.

After surviving a two hour lecture, I came home and looked in the Hotmail inbox again. Darren sent me an email. You recall that he don't love himself... Well, he still doesn't. Warning: it's nasty.

In the middle of Neither Man Nor Woman, Pops called to tell me two hillbillies who work at the prison with him were on their way over. They needed to take a look at the air conditioner.

You can just hear the sultry music starting.

.::Rob::.

update: 5.19.03

My Pops went to Michigan on a mission. He was to deliver a table to a couple who came in the store awhile back. The wife was a short, dark-haired little thing and the husband was a ghastly apparition dressed as a woman. You can well imagine the hilarity of a 6'4" middle-aged drag queen brushing elbows with the matrons of Shelbyville, KY while examining Jadeite.

For once, my Pops knew the score and required little explanation. He spotted the tranny, then flew behind the counter and asked "Is that a he-she?"

"John, would you be quiet?!" my mother hissed. Meanwhile, I was gleeful.

When the pair arrived at the counter, my Pops was the picture of professionalism and chatted amiably while totalling the sale. The wife was friendly and warm but the drag queen maintained a sinister and mysterious distance, lurking around the counter like Michael Caine in Dressed to Kill.

The wife let slip that she was from Michigan. My Pops is as well and they discovered that they were from neighboring towns. There was a big commotion while they carried on about old friends, then she asked about the delivery policy. Pops agreed to deliver their furniture the next time he went to visit his son. She offered to take him to dinner as payment when he did.

I can imagine my Pops in many situations but few more delightful than him sitting down to dinner opposite a tranny. What a situation to find yourself in! And he would see the fun in it too. I can picture him sitting eagerly on the edge of his seat with a big grin spread across his face.

Unfortunately, Pops called to tell me the tranny went incognito.

"Whaaaat?"

"Yeah," he said, "he was dressed as a man. He's a doctor."

"Yeah, Dr. Frank N. Furter. Did anyone mention that this was the same creature who haunted our store like a phantom?"

"No, Robert, it didn't come up."

"Well, this is a fine little scandal. You should have asked! Something simple like 'Weren't you in a wig the last time I saw you?!'"

Not a very dramatic conclusion to the tale. It would have been much better if the character had arrived as Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. Now that woulda been a story! Instead, my Pops was subjected to some garden-variety cross dresser. Even he was bored.

.::Rob::.

update: 5.21.03

Summer school has been a film festival so far--we've seen at least one feature every day. The professor introduces each new film by assuring us that "This was purchased legally!" and as it rolls, she proves a running commentary, as though she were its auteur. Since my readers were unable to attend the event, I decided to provide a review of Strange Relations.

The film is set among the Wodaabe of Niger and revolves around a torrid romantic entanglement. (Beloved by anthropologists, Wodaabe tribesmen are trotted out like trained ponies whenever talk turns to the so-called natural gender roles. In Wodaabeland, it's the men who bat their eyelashes and spend hours in the makeup chair.)

As the film commences, we are introduced to Djojaabe. Though already in possession of both a good fortune and three wives, he decides to channel Max Factor and go on the prowl. After the allegedly demure Fatima witnesses his erotic courtship display, she falls in love. Determined to wed Djojaabe, she abandons her family and rushes from her home. Unfortunately, her lovesick husband trails forlornly after her. Fatima and Djojaabe escape detection by first ducking into a crowded marketplace and then speeding into the desert on camelback.

In the film's most beautiful shot, Fatima's husband looks across the desert expanse, realizes he has lost his wife and regretfully acquiesces. "She's made her decision..." he says and his voice is tinged with regret.

The scene shifts to the new couple reclining by fireside. "What would you like me to slaughter?" Djojaabe wantonly asks Fatima. After a debauched honeymoon, the couple returns to the homestead where Djojaabe's other three wives impatiently await his return. They first bully and mock Fatima, but she eventually gets settled. As the film closes, Fatima reviews her new circumstances and husband and defiantly declares "Now, I have married for love!"

You can imagine the effect such a powerfully interminable piece of filmmaking would have on a class. Several students shamelessly napped, while others loudly talked with their neighbors. I was playing Dope Wars on my Palm Pilot. Even the professor was limp with boredom.

.::Rob::.

update: 5.31.03

Sorry for being MIA for ten days but you know how it is, rockin' and rollin' and whatnot.

I did work on a new header for the page. I'll put that up tonight when I get back from Shelbyville. I'm also going to be transfering my site to a new host within the next week or two, though I doubt that'll make much difference to anyone. I am learning PHP in order to make my employers site database-driven, so maybe I'll hook up ghettopimpin.com too.

Check back tomorrow for the new look but don't expect much. You're looking at the extent of my design skills.

.::Rob::.