There’s nothing more satisfying than corrupting the innocent. And there’s nothing more riveting than watching an innocent new friend being introduced to five barking-growling-pooping-snapping-drooling-shedding-ear-plug-eating- Big-Time-Wrestling dogs. Canines of all sizes, shapes, temperaments, appetites, and degrees of snippiness. It’s definitely not for the meek. Luckily, there are those who step up to the proverbial plate, and try not to act too horrified. That being said, I must give kudos to our good pal, the Semi-Fast Maverick Man, for not running screaming from my sister’s house last weekend. It WAS hell in a 2-bedroom box. If it weren’t for the sizeable shot of tequila he was forced to down immediately upon arriving, I’m not sure the outcome would have been the same. As a matter of fact, it could have been downright ugly.
Yes, it was another fun-filled weekend of cocktails and Milk-Bones, as Cinderella and I joined Jill the Bimbo for what turned out to be a rollicking “no-I-don’t-want-to-sleep-with-any-of-those-gassy-farting-mutts” pajama party. Actually, we spent the better part of the evening yelling at the television, and biting our nails, while the Fresno State Bulldogs put up a valiant fight against the USC Trojans. Or as my dad says, the University of Spoiled Children…whatever does he mean? Now Cinderella doesn’t do football. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t care for it, doesn’t see the excitement, doesn’t understand the attraction, and basically thinks it cuts into “America’s Funniest Videos” time. But I have to give her props for maintaining some level of interest, even though she kept asking if the bases were loaded, and where the free throw line was. Unfortunately, even after giving it the old college try, Fresno State got tossed into the dog pound, where they sadly licked their wounds, then triumphantly returned home to a hero’s welcome. Hey, at least our marching band members don’t wear gigantic toilet brushes on their heads.
http://www.usc.edu/dept/band/#
http://www.csufresno.edu/marchingband/picts.html
Now watching big burly men in tights tackle the crap out of each other takes a lot of energy. That, and sustenance.
So before the testosterone-induced mayhem began, Cinderella and I decided to take a chance, and visit an establishment we’d only heard about. The tales were like campfire stories; “you can’t believe it….it’s amazing…it’s mind-blowing…it’s stupendous…it’s almost better than sex.” Better than sex? Well, if memory serves, that would be pretty hard to beat. However, since my love life has been like an African drought lately, I could only take this claim at face value. And so, with the Boo dog happily panting in the back seat, we took the 5 minute trip over to one of Fresno’s most celebrated restaurants; The Chicken Man. Now come on, you know the name just MAKES you want to go. It’s worth it just to snag one of their business cards, which has a giant green flying chicken with CHICKEN MAN emblazoned across his chest, sort of a la Superman. You know, an establishment with the motto “Don’t Heat the Pan, Call Chicken Man” has to be good. And it was. Great crispy, crunchy fried chicken that’s made fresh while you wait…and on time, I might add. Tasty smokehouse baked beans, big fat fries, and toasty slices of garlic bread…now if that ain’t football fare, I don’t know what is.
So after our Chicken Man feast, and the mad rush of blood to our brain cells from much living room cheerleading, the four of us felt perky enough to head across the street to “Nick’s”. As you may recall, it’s a favorite dingy dive bar of ours, with pool tables, an ear-splitting loud juke box (on which someone is ALWAYS playing some head-banging metal band…ugh), and some really frightening regulars. You know, leather chaps and sausage casings are just NOT pretty at 1:00 a.m. after several smart beverages. And since the Semi-Fast Maverick had never been there before, well, we felt compelled to give him the full-on Saturday night treatment. We figured if he could survive the Casa Cornell menagerie without several tranquilizers, well, surely Nick’s would be a breeze. And I’m happy to say, he came through, just like a professional. You have to realize, The Maverick is the shy, quiet, sedate type, who has really good hair, and doesn’t imbibe much. Why, the first time we dragged him to the Brig, it took a couple Purple Hooter Shooters to even get him mildly interested in the dance floor. But I have high hopes for him, now that he’s officially stepped over the threshold and into the spunky world of “Girls Gone Wild”. I dunno, maybe it was the tequila, or the leftover Chicken Man, or the 47 chocolate chip cookies that kept him going until closing time. Perhaps it was just the face-that-traffic-with-confidence thought of attempting the long drive home. Or maybe it was just the terrifying idea of having to actually RETURN to Casa Cornell Cujo-ville. Um…wait, it’s not closing time, is it? Can’t we get ONE more round here?…help me Mr. Wizard…
*And for anyone who knows me very well……you’ll know the importance of these lines today:
The fairest bloom the mountain know
Is not an iris or a wild rose
But the little flower of which I’ll tell
Known as the brave acony bell
Just a simple flower so small and plain
With a pearly hue and a little known name
But the yellow birds sing when they see it bloom
For they know that spring is coming soon
Well it makes its home mid the rocks and the rills
Where the snow lies deep on the windy hills
And it tells the world “why should I wait
This ice and snow is gonna melt away”
And so I’ll sing that yellow bird’s song
For the troubled times will soon be gone
-Acony Bell/ Gillian Welch