Nov 26, 2007

Scottsdon't AZ.


I survived another Arizona adventure with Megs dad's family. Every time i go down there I have the same thing to say. Scottsdale is brown. No fucking doubt about it. Everything is a shade of the poop colored. Tan, Sienna, Umber, Khaki.. its all fucking brown there. And its fake. Theres all these houses being built on our way out of town to see some actual "Ancient Indian Ruins".

Most of them were finished. Huge houses, no yards, landscaping that was, carefully and legally, crafted to blend in with the natural landscape of rocks, dirt, cactus, shitty desert bushes, shitty desert trees, more rocks and more cactus. The houses all look like they were made out of the natural resources that surround it but if you drive another 100 feet you'll see some being built. Skeletons of 2 x 4 framing, Sheetrock, top of the line insulation ducting and everything else the Native Americans that once inhabited that land didn't have. How could they? the 50 Walmarts and Home Depots near the freeway hadn't been built yet. It was all like a movie set, or ride at Disneyland or something.

here's some pictures I took at the "Indian Ruins" we went to.
I'm in the mystery room. don't ask.


huge rock just chilling on the edge of a cliff. luckily those huger power lines will catch it if it falls.

I made this one!


more giant rocks hanging out.



from the car


foundations of ancient native American houses. no AC, no wonder they left.




The next day was Thanksgiving. It was a pretty standard spread. Turkey foods, Family members, awkwardness toward aunts and uncles that I nor meg knew existed.

the bowl of pink mystery food was some family jello recipe passed down like 3 generations. I didn't eat it.

this was the table, set for 20, no, 19, no 18 people. Aunt Kathy used tape measures and math to set all this up. when people canceled it screwed up her whole game. I took this pic to show the mirrors tho. theres only one table. the mirrors are courtesy of Aunt Kathy and Uncle Franks hip style.

this is Uncle Frank's fire pit. burning wood must be against the law too because, like megs dad's fire pit, this is pure gas baby! Those are uncle Frank's 70 yr old legs too. cut off slacks, black leather shoes, black socks and a black button up short sleeve tucked in with a Swisher Sweet puffing under his 100% Sicilian mustache. Dude is a character! cracking jokes, telling stories. so rad. Breaking up the monotony of desert rocks, Frank has a artificial grass putting green not far from the gas fire pit. A must-have in Sun City AZ, where Golf carts can drive on the streets legally.

The highlight of the dinner was when Megs 94 yr old great uncle Hardin gave me props on my beard. I figure in almost a century he's seen a lot of beards, so that must mean mine was pretty notable.

Megs dad's girlfriend made Ham Balls. they were delicious. Usually I'm skeptical about trying new shit, especially from strange families. I asked her what was in them and she said "its ham, and sausage" - say no more! - I ate like 5 of them. later, over pie I told her "Your balls were delicious" she blushed and said thank you.

Another highlight of these trips is the drives from place to place. Since we dont have a car of our own we all pack into either meg's dad's car or his girlfriends car. The first part of why this is cool is because either way, its 5 of us are packed into either a Volvo 2 door coupe. or a BMW 4 door sedan. All the car companies say "seats 5" but have you ever really done it? .. it sucks. among other things one of the funnest parts is the seatbelt ass grab dance. "you're in my thing" and "where's the middle seatbelt?" wondrous.

But the all time best thing about these joy rides is the music. Both cars are locked into KNIX, Phoenix's #1 country station. After riding from dad's to uncle Frank's to Bashas, (Scottsdale for Safeway) or to the Indian Ruins on the mountain, I've come to realise one thing. It's not a surprise to me, but Country music lives up to every stereotype. The music is simple and the lyrics are even simpler. There was no mystery or poetry in any song lyric i heard that whole 3 days. they are very literal and to the point. It was ridiculous. Just because you rhyme "neck" with "heck" doesnt mean your artistic or poetic. Its like people just talking about shit to someone, to music. Boring twangy, rehashed music. It was just variations on "I lost my wife, I lost my house that was made out of logs. my car broke down, and I lost my dog" look I just rhymed Logs and Dog. Call Nashville, someone fucking give me a recording contract.

So now when i say i hate country music, dont ever fucking say "you need to give it a chance" because i've been locked in a small car with my toes jammed under a seat force fed this shit for 3 days. I HATE COUNTRY MUSIC. its stupid music, for stupid people. GO AMERICA!!

The flight home was kinda scary. Usually i can handle planes. and a little turbulence and bumps are fun. then I heard "this is your captain speaking" (his name was capt. Kirk btw!) "... sorry for the bumpy ride. It going to be like this for probably the next half hour..." ugh, like i said, I'm usually cool but it stopped being fun about 10 mins in.. then i started to get kinda woozy. i was trying to draw and gave up. I got a new page and just put my pen in the middle and let the turbulence draw like a Richter scale. It didn't help Meg who is freaked out by flying anyway. she was 2 chardonnays and a giant margarita deep tho. Which was probably for the best.

this is what turbulence looks like.


After we landed i was still kinda uneasy and light headed. Fuck you turbulence!

now I'm home. back to work. same BS different Monday.
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