All posts by Lambchop

Could you be mine, would you be mine?

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Lambchop

Mr.Rogers

O, Mr. Rogers! You have gone on to tv heaven. Every afternoon in 1978 Little Lambchop sat too close to the tv, rocking her bottom and singing along while Fred cardigan swapped. I don’t really have any jokes to insert here, because I am having a rare moment of a sincerely fond recollection.

I must add, however, that I am rather agape at Mr. Rogers mode of checking out. What’s the point of me trying to quit smoking and curb my alcoholism if Mr. Bloody Rogers dies of Cancer?! How can such a soft-spoken man have been riddled with tumors? Can’t really picture him bingeing on red meat and pouring vodka down his throat, lighting a smoke with the butt of the last one and screaming at his wife to get off his back about the goddamned dishes, can you? Well, another of the universe’s mysteries.

Thanks for Sharing. Farewell, Fred.

Purging

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Lambchop

I have lost a day in there somewhere. Really. I spent all of yesterday believing it was tues. And was hopelessly unable to count or determine how many days had passed since sunday without getting up and looking at my desktop calendar. It just goes to show you, a day without a blog is like a broken pencil. Pointless.

Its all about self-improvement, though. Yesterday i learned how to purge an eggplant! (it does not mean what you think it does. thanks to Stu for the scrummy link!)

It has been pointed out to me that this Blog is rather lacking in personal information. I, who get to spend all day being me, am not sure this is a deficit. But ever ready to please, here is a List of the Top Ten Things I Hate That are In My Closet:

10. The punk rock belt I am no longer punk rock enough for.

9. The tube top with the picture of the dog on it. (I was with you, Lickety, when I bought this- please explain!)

8. Underwear that is only fit to be bled upon.

7. Yards of leopard fur that I am going to “do something with”.

6. Moths.

5. That silvery dress that looks so pretty on the hanger but makes my hips look like airport terminals.

4. Moths (i really do HATE them, scourge, but it’s too dull an item to occupy the top spot)

3. The unfathomable tangle of run, colored stockings.

2. The pink feather boa that Sheds.(I got rid of it on another continent and still get greeted by a puff of feathers when i open the door)

1. That stinky corpse.

Top Tens are all about payoff, aren’t they?

smooch

Can I have some more, please?

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from the desk of Kitty Winn

Dear Kitty Winn,

I wrote to you a few weeks ago and your advice about the breast implants was swell, but I must admit that I knuckled under and paid off my credit card debt instead. But I do have a few bucks left, just not enough for elective surgery. So I’m slinking back to you to ask how I should fritter $1,000. Is it time for a vacation? Some shiatsu massages? Or should I be practical all the way and tuck it back in a musty bank vault? And then there’s always charity. Surely there’s some starving children somewhere. Is Biafra still trendy? Kitty, you’re my last resort since I usually do all my financial planning in a whirl of penitence following a drug binge. And I’m out of drugs!

-Mo’ money, mo’ problems

Dear MoMo

Now I know how the workhouse master felt when Oliver Twist asked for seconds. We don’t double dip in askery here. Do you think Dan Savage has to sit around all day, dreaming up new places for his readers to stick their rude bits? Well, I’ll take this indignity on the chin since you have caught me at a blank in my schedule. That impossible black hole when Rockford Files is over and Magnum, P.I. won’t be starting for another 40 minutes.

However I think you will find you have answered your own question- what you really seem to need are drugs. And if crawling around on the floor for a couple of days, playing with scotch tape and string cheese while blaring Scott Walker does not give you any ideas, well, you will be out the money anyhow. Tidy, isn’t it?

Now go away.

-Kitty Winn

State of the Lambchop Address

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lambchop

Many of you have been inquiring about my health under the mistaken notion that I have been hit by a bread truck and am now zipping along on a Lark. Here is a sample of today’s mail:

“…braces and broken ribs…new teeth to replace the ones that you had put in last Fall. WHAT HAPPENED?!!!! Were you in an auto accident or some other mishap? Fall down a flight of stairs? Bike mishap? I am worried…”

Please stop sending flowers and your spare organs to my house! I have been painting figures swathed in gauze and other medical accoutrements. There is nothing the matter with me that can be explained by medical science.

Lambchop

springtime for hitler

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lambchop

It’s a strange, skull piercing event when the sun shines in Berlin in winter. Yesterday was one of those warm-ish days that drives everyone out into the open, forcibly exuding good cheer. I took a walk in Kreuzberg to take in the air of the first great thawing of dog shit. It’s a harbinger of spring when everywhere doggie briquets are defrosted and their richness permeates. I played bocci in the park and went to a horror movie on a snootful of sudafed. I drank myself under the table for a second day.

If you’ll excuse me now, I will continue my richard burton impression elsewhere.

smooch

Farewell and Adieu, ye Fair Spanish Ladies

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lambchop

I feel like a Frenchman has moved into my bronchial passages- he is playing his squeezebox, kicking up his heels with some whores, and having a nip at the pipe in there. Well, thats what I get for being an American living abroad in these troubled times. That’s right, Frenchmen. Hanging out in the lungs.

So I awoke from a bad night’s sleep searching my bag desperately for a clementine I thought I had left in there. I didn’t find a clementine, but I found that the wonderful letter that I carry folded up with me, had gotten wet and the words all been washed away. I can still make out the impressions in the paper, and I know the words by heart, but it was a habit of mine to take it out and read it in a blue moment- like when trawling home drunk on the subway. Perhaps it is somehow fitting that I am now in possession of the world’s only Blank Love Letter.

But the human spirit will rebound! Though I choke on my own slime, I am hard at work. The show must go on!

smooch

workaday

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When I was an undergrad studying art, we thought that being a painter meant being asked for your opinions while sitting in a café in paint-smeared clothes. When I was a grad student we thought that being a painter meant being asked for your opinions in Vanity Fair, wearing Versace. But I’ll tell you it really means spending the day in your underwear listening to the Psychedelic Furs, and being asked to take the trash out once in while.

Oh, sometimes making stuff, too:

Lambchop and Licketysplitsmooch

Winn-ers and Losers

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Dear Kitty Winn,

I am a very critical person..Definitely cynical, definitely a champion worrier. But yet…I’m pretty happy overall. I just can’t help it. I’m lucky and I know it, but I don’t typically discuss that. This annoys my miserable friends.When I have good news to report, they don’t say things like “Congratulations.” They take my news and turn it around until it’s self-referential. Let’s say I get a new job without even looking very hard. They are having a hard time finding a job, so the first thing they say is “Oh, I’ll never find a job.” I smile pleasantly, displaying my gleaming white smile, and respond with something like “Oh sure you will, one thing that worked for me was finding out which friends’ companies are hiring.” But I want to yell at them. To say “Look fucko, how about a ‘way to go, sport?’ How about not thinking about yourself for one freaking irksome minute of the day?” Not to mention the fact that I had just been laid off, hadn’t even bitched about that, had gone out and started blanketing people with resumes and making phone calls instead? Never pissed and moaned so they felt compelled to pick up the check at lunch out of embarrassment at their own good fortune.

Tell me, Kitty, am I wrong to consider just ditching these people? Can you rehabilitate an energy vampire, or do I need to find a silver stake or something? There are a few…It would deplete my friend roster, but with friends like these, yadda yadda. Am I misunderstanding something? If I do ditch them, do I owe an explanation? I don’t know that it would help, but it might be akin to exorcism.

-Johnny Handsome

Dear Handsome

It seems that you are the one who needs to vent! Forget your loser friends. How about we have lunch? I fancy a bit of chilean sea bass in a cozy lounge as a respite from job-hunting, which is going really terribly since you asked.

1 o’clock good for you?

-Kitty Winn