Texas-guard

2

Salt shaker. Want the story? OK.

So, this particular thrift store was in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Surrounded by primordial forest. The hand-painted sign outside the beat-up building listed much stuff inside and one of the items was misspelled, I forget what.

I couldn’t say no, right?

The proprietor was a weird old man with tons of energy and some missing teeth. He prevailed upon me to go outside, to the outbuildings in back. “That’s where the real good stuff is!” 

I walked out there alone and saw seven corrugated tin shacks, big ones. Doors were all open but there was no electricity. Did I mention it was hotter than hades? 

Everything inside these big shacks was helter-skelter. Computer books from the 80s, cassette tapes, mah-jongg, cutlery. Piled high on rickety card tables, 1970s weighs-a-ton furniture, car hoods. And it was hot. Oh my gosh, it was hot.

All I wanted was to get out of there. I was thirsty but I had no water and I didn’t want to ask the weird old man for a drink. But first I had to find something to photograph. One thing. For the blog. So, slowly at first, I began shuffling crap.

And then I picked up the pace. Faster and faster. SO HOT. Sweat was pouring off me, staining some bullshit Herbie Hancock book that I *almost* photographed but discarded. Not good enough.

Nothing. So I walked to the next shack. 

And the next.

And the next.

Finally I stood in the last tin hot house, throwing crap everywhere, screaming “WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT?!! IT’S GOT TO BE HERE!!!!!!!!!” Dehydration had made me demented, crazed, an animal. But still there was only awful stuff that should have been in a landfill: 1960s milk bottles, an ugly porcelain baby’s pacifier, stuffed tomatoes that upon inspection were ratty sewing pincushions, cheap-o water glasses. Where does this old guy buy all this garbage, I wondered. And why does he keep it?

I nearly swooned and fell down. I realized I had been in these corrugated prisoner-of-war hothouses for hours. But I would not give up. 

And then, as if by divine mercy, I saw this little angel salt shaker. So tiny–couldn’t hold more than a teaspoon of sel. Two holes atop its little head. Somehow, it was perfect. I cried, I was so happy. I knew it! I knew it was here!

And I do realize in retrospect that this salt shaker is “blah,” especially for the (dare I say) high standards of this blog. However, at the time, I truly thought I’d discovered the Grail. I was so ecstatic I wanted to buy the thing, for any price the old man asked. But back in the store, he had disappeared. Where? There was nowhere to go, except the woods. 

Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer. I set the little salt shaker reverently upon the man’s ancient cash register, strolled out, got in my vehicle, and drove away.

I did it for you.

Not your Ordinary Family

I love this family so much!  

I was listening to We are Family by Keke Palmer from the Ice Age: Continental Drift. I just thought it fit so well!

You have Timon who is the adoptive father of Simba, which makes him Kiara and Kion’s adoptive grandpa. Pumbaa who is the uncle (since he and Timon have a brotherly relationship) that Simba never had, which makes him the adoptive great uncle to Kion and Kiara. And Bunga is Simba’s cousin/brother since he’s the adopted nephew of Timon and Pumbaa plus they have a brotherly bond. Which also makes Bunga kind of like an uncle of Kion and Kiara too XDD

Goths, the latest from the Mountain Goats, is about the journey between life in the dark and death in the light, and ultimately trying to find a home somewhere between.

That elusive, literary home for John Darnielle—the lead singer and songwriter of the Mountain Goats for 26 years—has been a theme in his writing lately….

This final turn by Darnielle is what makes him a songwriter nonpareil: macabre humor, tales that weave in and out of fiction, and the smile he cracks after leaving a gaping hole in your heart. Beware, ye goths, life waits for us all, too.

—  Pitchfork review of Goths that claims John Darnielle is “in his own private league of songwriting” with which I couldn’t agree more, meaning I can almost forgive them for giving The Sunset Tree a 7.2

im annoyed @ myself bc i truly aint talk to this boy in FOUR YEARS and now that we started talking again for the past 3 days straight im hooked for some reason like the conversation has been SO GOOD like !!!!! i love witty boys who hold a conversation and arent scared to send paragraphs but w/o being creepy and clingy YAKNOW!???? anyways he had work all day so he hasnt texted me since we said goodnight (even tho technically he was the last person to text so i could text him but like …….no) and its literally affecting my mood like FOR WHY!??? he aint shit i been living and breathing for years w/o his contact so why do i care rn lmao pls @ myself stop