The Future of the American Family

I have seen the future and it's this adorable family.


Last night was Toad Suck's first annual zombie walk. It was a beautiful event. There was unity and peace. Everything I wrote about zombies in Brains is true. I thought I was making shit up, but I wasn't. The horde was calm, walking the streets in an orderly fashion. Admittedly we were slow and awkward, but the mood was gentle. I felt a kinship with my fellow zombies. I felt like I belonged.

Here is but one example of the tolerance of zombies:

Mark went as a Sleestak. At first I thought he would be ostracized, made fun of, cast out for being alive. Not so. The zombies loved him. In fact, so much that those with the ability took his photo. And that's the kind of tolerance America needs.

Zombies are dead. Long live zombies. I love my undead friends.

Valentine's Day Chainsaw

I found what I want for V-Day. Is anyone listening?

American Idle Hands Are the Devil's Playground

Kris Allen came to town last week so Conway had a parade. There was no way I was going to miss this event. But first I had to get liquored up.


It was crowded and humid. There were a lot of fat people and women with big Southern hair. We skipped the parade part and muscled our way off to the side of the stage, winding up on the railroad tracks. I kept fantasizing that a train would barrel through and kill everyone. No such luck.

The big crowd was in front of the stage and they kept screaming and whooping as if Kris himself were coming. But he wasn't. Finally we realized they were watching themselves on the jumbotron and screaming at their own image. It was like masturbating to your own porn: self-indulgent and pathetic. Sexy? Please. That crowd was white bread.

And then there were the families. That damn grandma with the sweaty three-year-old who just had to get in front of us. Why do people with kids think they have privileges others don't? Why does everyone have to bow down to fascist four-year-olds and let them skip in line? It's not like the kid will remember the event. She wasn't even paying attention. Regardless, I let her in front of me, I'm not a total ass, but I gave the tyke the evil eye--we had a staring contest and I won. Take that, three-year-old girl in a dress and pink ribbons!

Then Kris's preacher came out. Now, I have no problem with people praying. It certainly can't hurt anything. But I do have a problem with a man leading a crowd of 15K in prayer at a public event. There's the assumption that everyone is Christian or believes in God. It's so hegemonic! The preacher said the only reason Kris has gotten to the final three is...GOD! God wanted him to succeed...so he did. It's all part of His plan. But I'm not so sure God cares about American (false) Idol. Didn't Jesus smash the temple with the money-lenders? At least he did in Jesus Christ Superstar...while singing. Plus, doesn't God have better things to do? Wars, cancer, famine. Give me an amen!

Then Kris came out and sang. He was okay, I guess. For more on his singing, check out Julee's blog. Julee's a rockstar and I stole my photos from her. Here we are posing so Kris would notice us. He didn't.



We didn't have the best view. Here's the back of the Idol's head. Check out the girl with the green shirt on Daddy's shoulders.


So last night, I watched American Idol, and when Kris Allen performed, I got a little excited. I even called in to vote, but couldn't get through. Despite the fascism of the parade, I hope Kris wins. Kick Awesome!

The Cult of Kris Allen

Kris Allen, of American Idol fame, is from Conway--where I live. In fact, he's a student at the university where I teach, though he's never been in one my classes. If he was, I'd make him sing his final exam, because I've never seen Kris perform. In fact, I've never watched an entire episode of Idol. Except once, when I was visiting my father-in-law and his wife, The Skull, on the mountain they live on in the southwest. My husband and I slept outside in a 60s-era Airstream whose plumbing wasn't hooked up. At night, I heard coyotes.

It was the season finale, the one with Clay Aiken versus that large dude who won and who has since disappeared. The Skull and I sat in her sunroom drinking glass after glass of redwine. There weren't a lot of places to sit in that room--it's full of doilies and antique quilts and magazines, so I perched on a fancy embroidered stool. The Skull teaches a dance class called "authentic movement" and she moved authentically around the tiny room during the show, displaying no irony whatsoever; she was pumped and I caught the bug, squealing along with her. At one point I squeezed her forearm. Our husbands stayed away from us, on the porch, smoking pipes and talking about fish. It was the closest I ever got to The Skull and I'm glad I watched the show with her.

Anyway, everyone's in a frenzy here in Arkansas, banks have his name on their LED displays, and if Kris keeps winning, he'll come to town and perform for just us. But the rumor is, Kris is a member of a cult and not the cult of American pop music either. A religious cult. Apparently the cult cuts you off from your family and friends and if you're not a member you can't even drive on their property. Not even to turn around if you're lost! But I guess Kris is outside the church's fold now and friends with Simon and Paula so maybe that cult claim is untrue, spread by people who are jealous of Kris. It does seem extreme. Unless Simon and Ryan are members too and the whole thing is a giant conspiracy to take over the world with a karaoke competition.

Which is to say, I'm gonna try and get Kris Allen fever. It should be easier to catch than swine flu, which hasn't come to Arkansas yet. Next time he's on, I'll watch him and maybe even vote for him and if he comes to town, I'll go watch him croon. Why not? I just have to figure out what night the show's on.