Posts tagged ‘Electric Venom’

February 23rd, 2009

Word Fugue: The Lite Edition

by Venomous Kate

Blogging will be light tomorrow for reasons that are none of your damn business. (I mean that in the nicest way.) I just have a lot of crap going on, and I’m not yet ready to discuss it with the Interwebs, m’kay?

So, what say we play some Word Fugue, that annoyingly addictive little game begun here at EV. A game which gets under your skin and works its way down into your belly like a bad memory. A game which, let’s face it, gives you both a reason to think, and a reason to stop thinking.

Oh, don’t mind me.

If you’ve never played it before, here are the rules:

1. I start it off with a word.

2. You look at the most recently posted comment.

3. You leave ONE word that comes to mind upon reading the most recent comment.

4. You may play as many times as you like, but you may not use the same word twice.

5. Don’t leave links. They’ll only send you into comment moderation.

6. Word Fugues that wind up in comment moderation will get deleted.

7. The game continues until you bore me, at which point comments are closed.

Ready?

Here’s the word:

survival

Your turn.

January 25th, 2009

Word Fugue: The Wii-Wii-Wii Edition

by Venomous Kate

So. After 3 years of begging VH1 to agree to buying a Wii, I finally defied him and bought a Wii console from eBay.

And I lurves it. Oh, you told me that I would but, then again, you tell me that my ass doesn’t look fat in these pants. So why should I have believed?

Except that I do now. Ooooh, my Venomites, I do believe.

So, because I’m too lazy to spend time writing something meaty here (though I have plenty of lovely things lying in wait for you this coming week), perhaps we should play Word Fugue™?

If you’ve never played it before, here are the rules:

1. I start it off with a word.

2. You look at the most recently posted comment.

3. You leave ONE word that comes to mind upon reading the most recent comment.

4. You may play as many times as you like, but you may not use the same word twice.

5. Don’t leave links. They’ll only send you into comment moderation.

6. Word Fugues that wind up in comment moderation will get deleted.

7. The game continues until you bore me, at which point comments are closed.

Ready?

Here’s the word:

Private

Your turn.

November 25th, 2008

Word Fugue: The Multi-Tasking Edition

by Venomous Kate

Not only is it Tippling Tuesday — the day on which we celebrate, with alcohol, the most under-celebrated day of the week — but it’s also time to play Word Fugue. Why’s that? Well, because I’m going to a party this evening and don’t have anything else with which to keep you miscreants entertained.

To tide you over until I recover from tomorrow morning’s hangover we might as well play that addictive little word association game that we’ve all come to love, or at least tolerate. If you’ve never played it before, here are the rules:

1. I start it off with a word.

2. You look at the most recently posted comment.

3. You leave ONE word that comes to mind upon reading the most recent comment.

4. You may play as many times as you like, but you may not use the same word twice.

5. Don’t leave links. They’ll only send you into comment moderation.

6. Word Fugues that wind up in comment moderation will get deleted.

7. The game continues until you bore me, at which point comments are closed.

Ready?

Here’s the word:

paralyze

Your turn.

June 23rd, 2008

I Have Seen Heaven – It’s In Texas

by Venomous Kate

There is a place in Central Texas where class and age and race have no meaning, where strangers gladly rub elbows with one another, and where Heaven and Hell themselves join together to glorify the cloven hoofed pig. That place, my friends, is Smitty’s Market in Lockhart, Texas.

From the moment I entered a cloud of fragrant black smoke enveloped me. Not that I could see it, mind you. If there’s one thing darker than the cast iron stoves perched to either side of the meat counter it’s the confines of the pit room itself. Layers upon layers of creosote coat the pit room’s walls and ceiling, a grime so deep and black it seems to suck up the light from the twin roaring fires.

I turned to my brother, certain we’d stumbled into a back room not meant to be seen by civilized (and heat intolerant) customers. His only response was to point out the menu to me, a chalkboard bearing the honor roll of a good BBQ joint: hand-made sausages (spicy and regular), ribs (by the pound or by the slab) and brisket (full fat and lean). I would have salivated, but so fierce was the heat in that small, dark room that my saliva had instantly dried up, along with my contact lenses.

Smitty's BBQ pit roomA woman stepped through the murky haze of billowing smoke, and there in that hellishly hot room I was not in the least surprised to find her clad in red and wielding a trident-sized fork from which hung a slab of beautifully crusted, blackened meat. “Help you?” she asked as the juices dripped from that tender smoked flesh she had speared. I was giddy. Too giddy, in fact, to order and fortunately my brother handled that for me.

Just as fast as he could utter the glorious words “Full slab of ribs, six regular sausages and two pounds lean brisket” the meat appeared before us. The fork-bearing woman whipped out a knife and began slicing and sliding the meat onto sheets of brown paper, the kind they used to wrap packages in for mailing. Our packages didn’t have far to travel, however: once the meat was paid for we stepped through a pair of glass doors I hadn’t previously noticed and entered a dining room out of the 1950s.

At Smitty’s you don’t order your sides along with your meat. You also don’t ask for sauce. I suppose you could — if you wanted to look like a fool — but you wouldn’t need it. You do, however, need side items if only to cleanse the palate between sausages and ribs. Side dishes are served in the dining room behind a long wooden bar overlooked by old-fashioned Coca Cola signs. Here the temperatures are cooler and if the walls aren’t perfectly white they nevertheless look pristine in comparison with the pit room. Whether it’s potato salad you’re after or, incongruously, a whole avocado, they’ve got it… but don’t expect to eat it with a fork. Just as they don’t offer sauce at Smitty’s they also don’t bother with forks. Never have.

By the time I’d ordered Texas-style pinto beans (my personal favorite) and a Big Red soda the rest of my family had already seated themselves on folding chairs pulled up to one of the six long wooden trestle tables in the room. In this palace of all things pork-related there’s no such thing as private seating: you eat alongside everyone else, crowding closer and closer together as business picks up. But lest you worry what some stranger might think of you tearing into a rib and licking your fingers, it’s really no problem: everyone licks their fingers at Smitty’s. Sometimes they even lick the sheets of brown paper that serve as plates. It’s that good.

Now, having lived for the majority of the past 20 years in the Kansas City area — a place that’s been known to make some damn fine BBQ — I like to think of myself as a bit of an aficionado. I know, for instance, that the crap Chicago calls BBQ is a travesty, and that Memphis might think they know what they’re doing but their sauce all tastes like vinegar to me. And don’t get me started on the putrescence of South Carolina’s mustard-based sauces.

So you can imagine my surprise when, juices streaming down my chin, I found myself eating the very best BBQ I’d ever tasted. A BBQ with no sauce. A BBQ consisting solely of meat lovingly and carefully smoked, basted with its own liquids and worth every drop of sweat expired in pursuit of its fleshy perfection. I cannot tell you how the pinto beans were, nor whether Smitty’s potato salad is creamy or tart. I can’t because after that first bite of meat I lost all interest in everything else; the world dwindled down to me and a big pile of steaming meat, and for thirty-five solid minutes it was the most intense, heady relationship of my life.

Alas, all good things must end and after two sausages, six ribs and a massive pile of lean brisket, I had to bid adieu to Smitty’s. If ever in my life there was a moment when I toyed with the idea of becoming bullimic it was there at the center table in Smitty’s as I gazed longingly toward the glass doors leading back to that dark, sweltering pit room where, I knew, there waited a seemingly endless stream of meat. Ultimately, however, like Adam and Eve shuffling away from the Garden of Eden, my brother and I had to leave the paradise of pork behind, too.

Stepping out into the blinding rock-lined parking lot, I turned to my brother and said, “You know, I think I’ve figured out why the Islamic extremists hate us. Wouldn’t you be pissed if you’d been forbidden to eat food like that?” And there in the heart of the Lone Star state, our bellies bulging as we sood beneath a searing sun, we agreed that the key to world peace might very well lie within the unassuming brick structure wherein Smitty’s is housed. Yeah, their BBQ is that good.

June 13th, 2008

Catch Me On The Radio

by Venomous Kate

If you’re in the Tulsa area, be sure to tune into The Pat Campbell Show on 1170 AM right around 7:05 on Tuesday morning. Even if you’re not in the area, you might recognize Pat’s name from his appearances on the Fox News Channel, including the O’Reilly Factor and Fox & Friends. Pat Campell runs Tulsa’s only morning talk show and, of course, he blogs.

As an added bonus, I’ll be a guest on Pat’s show where we’ll be discussing… Michelle Obama.

Let me just tell you now that I’m somewhat nervous. I had no idea when I wrote that piece that it would generate that kind of response, much less three separate death threats (and counting) and one of the first Fiskings I’ve done in years.

I don’t know whether to be scared as hell, or to announce: Venom is back, baybee.

June 12th, 2008

Tonight’s Television Viewing

by Venomous Kate

I honestly don’t know how families without TiVo or a DVR watch television together in the evenings anymore. The other night, with a tornado watch keeping my family confined to the basement, VH and I found ourselves flipping through channels in search of a show we could watch with our Big-Eyed Boy. Oh, sure, there’s always the cartoon channel, but even that has its own dangers: all of the commercials trying to push cross-marketed merchandise on kids. (“Mommy, can I have Hulk Hands?” “Honey, do you even know who The Hulk is?” “No, but I need them anyway!”)

What we really hoped to find was a sitcom the whole family could relate to, one that wouldn’t introduce concepts or words that our son doesn’t need to know about, like the menage a trois frequently mentioned on Two and a Half Men, a show that VH and I enjoy when our son isn’t around. Unfortunately, there’s just not a whole lot of good, wholesome programming anymore. Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot of good programming, period.

During tonight’s tornado watch — which, let’s face it, is pretty much a given if you’ve been paying attention to the weather in my area of late — we’ll be watching The Bill Engvall Show. (Season premier is tonight on TBS at 9 p.m. Eastern). I admit, we’re big fans of Bill Engvall around here, although I’ve yet to live down the night I laughed so hard while watching “Here’s Your Sign” that I wound up peeing a little.

In a recent interview (check it out below), Bill Engvall said that one of his goals for the show is to make it a template for the families that want to come back to watching television together in the evenings. That’s almost exactly what VH and I had said about the show last season when we caught the first episodes: that we’d been waiting since The Cosby Show for a program that would appeal to us as well as to our kids, one which is funny without being filthy, and which focused on inherently good, normal people living lives much like ours.

So, given my anticipation of yet more severe weather tonight, I’ve re-stocked our supplies in the basement and ensured that we have fresh batteries for the flashlights just in case the tornado sirens go off yet again. And, since we’ll be watching The Bill Engvall Show on TBS, I made sure to put a couple of spare pairs of underwear downstairs, too.

Like I said, the man is funny.

June 11th, 2008

Petrol Punditry

by Venomous Kate

My article about “The High (Gas) Price of Feeling Good” is up at Pajamas Media.

June 3rd, 2008

Laughing at the Lohans

by Venomous Kate

My article about Cleavers to Lohans: The Downhill Slide of the American TV Family is up at Pajamas Media.

Meanwhile, enjoy the vicious wit of Tracy Ullman doing Dina Lohan (NSFW):