Who's to Say the Drapes are Really Curtains?

Hello Deer Breaders,

The Wombury's brain is in overdrive from all the footage he's watched of himself back in September out on the road, with Bob. He's remembering how he and Bob bickered over everything for 5 straight weeks. At least in the Wombury's mind he was in the middle of a vicious battle. Bob seemed to be just having a good ol' time.

For five days the Wombury has been taking notes on each entered snippet of footage. So far, he's up to Day 2 of the journey, and he's worried he'll give up this project the way he gave Stand-up Comedy and Showering everyday and flossing and lifting weights and swimming and cooking his own meals and telling his girlfriend she was pretty.

And you know, dear reader, it's getting late, and, well, dammit to Fred, life is so complicated in its infinite kaleidoscopic permutations that it bowls the Wombury over. Today, for instance he found out "Ernie" , the live-in boyfriend of Lana"-the Wombury's landlord-, is 30. 30! That means Ernie and the Wombury are the same age, which is totally not what the Wombury had in mind, but Ernie and the Wombury were chatting tonight about work and the Bronx. Ernie is from the Bronx. Grew up in Castle Hill. The Wombury asked Ernie if he remembered the days of the 70s when the Bronx is Burning was going on and all that inner city Jazz. This seemed reasonable to ask since Ernie mentioned knowing the exact street corner where Hip Hop started back in the 70's. But Ernie said he didn't remember 70s much on account of his being born in 1977. The same muthatrucking year as the Wombury!

you're my age? We're peers? We were in Junior high in 1991 and 1992? It makes the Wombury ponder what it felt like to be in 8th grade in Castle Hill, watching TV. Did Ernie watch A Different World and relate to Dwayne Wayne? and Cheers? Did he find Cliff Clavin comical? The world of a Boston tavern was barely less accessible to Ernie than it was to me. Did he watch Designing Women and fantasize about sniffing Delta Burke's pantyhose? and Saved by the Bell? Did he view Screech's obsession to Lisa Voorhies and think, "it's a good day for race relations,"? Did he think Larry Bird was a pasty white twat? Did he hate white people? Did the Wombury hate white people? Does the Wombury hate white people? Are half-arabs white? Are emotions racial? They must be.

and now the age of Lana is completely mysterious to the Wombury and there's no decent civilized way of divining such information, but stop and consider Lana's son, "Jordy" is 14 or 15, so Lana can't be much older than 30, so there's like three 30 year olds in the house and one 14 year-old, but you couldn' t ask for a three more different 30 year-olds than Ernie, Lana, and the WOmbury.


and irony of all of this, the irony is that the Wombury chose this apartment because he wanted to live with people who weren't his own age, wanted to live with something far removed from his situation, something stable like a family with hopes of emotional osmosis, and the thing is, Lana and Ernie are 30 but they're not the same age.



And now for a picture of a bank robber from San Marcos,

(I wanted to caress the inside of your wrist but I forget my radio)

Until then,

The Wombury

Where in the World is My Fur Trapper?

Hello Dear Breeders,

Quick image for my loyal denizens to behold as they carry on with their fruitful, emotionally stable lives. You do have emotionally stable lives, right? Oh, dear readers, how I long to hold each and every one of you in the palm of my hand, as if you were Thumbelina and I was Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade, and how I would coo and tickle your chin and tell you magnificent stories about lawn mowers and wing nuts and the time I bolted from a gypsy cab without paying as a cop pulled the cab driver over for running a red light. In the meantime, we shall accept the wall that lies between us, dear readers, and I will share this nugget of a image.

Me, the Wombury, in the hallway, during the last period of school, bent over at the waist looking down at E, a three foot munchkin of a sixth grader, but a munchkin with a vicious flat-top circa 1954 that the Wombury can't stop staring at. We're locked in a mighty power struggle, like Ahab and the Whale, only the whale is the size of lawn gnome. The Lawn Gnome is winning this battle, because everyday the Lawn Gnome finds creative ways to get under the Wombury's skin. Today's technique: a-rhythmically banging a pencil on his desk-with a thumping power achieved only by the likes of John Bonham of Led Zepplin playing "When the Levee Breaks" on the '75 tour and Animal from the Muppets from the '79 season-despite the fact that the Wombury is staring right into his eyes. Lawn Gnome's response? Smirk. Smirks everytime. He always shrugs and says innocently, "Que paso?" So today I gave in and phoned his mother. She wasn't home. She's coming for a visit on Friday. The Wombury is going to recommend shearing his flat-top, as it seems to be his Sampson-like seat of power.

With that, I will leave you with a picture of a doctor and two men from Mongolia:

(We never discussed Spinoza; then again, you were lazy)

Until then,

The Wombury

Hide the Veggies, Stan, before the Wombury Hears Us!

Hello Dear Breaders,

Just a little post to get you through your day, which, I'm sure, consists of nothing but hard work, good deeds, and deep, meaningful pranayama.

Quick observation on the difference between grocery shopping at Whole Foods in Manhattan and grocery shopping at Western Beef in the Bronx: produce. Not one shopper in the produce section of Western Beef. Not one. In fact, they keep produce in a separate, closed off room, as if it's being shunned from the rest of the food. Different story at Whole Foods. Quite the opposite. Produce is the featured player, the main attraction. The shoppers at Whole Foods use produce to cement yuppie status, as evidenced by the climbing over each other to see who can fondle the fruits and vegetables more knowingly, and lovingly.

Word of caution. Please do not draw conclusions about the conclusions you think the Wombury will draw. We all know you're thinking the Wombury is suggesting crude generalizations about the implications of socio-economics and bean sprouts. If only the good people of the South Bronx would eat their spinach things would turn around quicker. But I'm not making those conclusions. First of all, the Wombury is not so sure all those sophisticated Urban Dwellers in Manhattan are truly, honestly, really consuming a higher volume of produce. They just buy more produce. Mostly because they feel guilty if they don't. It's like their New Yorker subscriptions or their children. They don't really want these things, they just don't want other people to know they don't want these things.

The Wombury is a post-modern ironic hipster, which is a second cousin twice removed to the Yuppies, so he knows that of which he speaks. Perhps 20% of total produce being bought is consumed. The rest is left to rot in that bottom drawer of the fridge, commonly known as the crisper, but really understood to be the carrot coffin.

So, in the spirit of vegetation, let me introduce you to a picture of a man from Albania,

(For once I'd like talk about this relationship without watching you slurp noodles)

Until then,

The Wombury

Sock it to Me Julio!

Hello Dear Breders,

Word up, homies. The Wombury is coming at you live from his new digs in the Bronx. More like his room. Just moved in last night, with the help of a friend, D, whom I haven't seen since the summer of '05. Anyway, the comic and dramatic possibilities of this living situation should keep the Wombury's blog plenty well stocked. For those of you don't know, the Wombury is currently taking a room in a family apartment, just 10 blocks from his place of employment. The convenience and the price were right, so it was easy to overlook the small absurdity of being the 30 year old White Dude boarding with a local Dominican family. As of now there are no hilarious hijinks to report; the funniest people in the apartment are the siamese cats, Sasha and Tiki who feel no compunction about making themselves at home in the Wombury's bedroom.

Overall, the Wombury is finally realizing a lifelong goal of having monk-like quarters where he can read, write, and create in solitude, free from the cares of the larger world. It was either this or the mental ward of Belleview.

Now, for those of you brothers and sisters who enjoyed J Clarke's masterfully comic, semi-fictional (but 100% "accurate") video portrait, I say Amen! Spread the gospel. Share the video with your friends and family and co-workers, even the ones you doinked or wanted to doink or shouldn't've doinked but the egg nog was too strong, send it to those people too! Make Ma Wombury famous! She deserves it. So does J Ferris.

And now here's a picture of a dead woman from Saskatchewan.

(Those cold nights were no match for your brisket and foot massages)

Until then,

The Wombury

Happy Birthday Mom

Jeff Tweedy - People Talking During Concert