Newlyweds

A wedding so colossal, even the afterparty had an afterparty. Here's a photo I took of the Dockery-Fehrenbach at the next-day soiree in Shelbyville.

- - JSH

The Doc Round-Up

I don't feel tardy, as the man said.

I've been lost in the wilderness, mum being the word, with a dead duck of a computer, victim of some kinda April Swine hocus pocus for laptops & fools. It's hard to find time to rectify such situations when one is about the business of getting married. So let's forget about the months of April and May. I'll return to my regularly scheduled programming later, tater. With a hunk of meat in my hand. Or duct taped to my leg. Or maybe just a new computer.

Speaking of meat, I have yet to mention my own eating habits of late, perhaps, I'll just have to admit, that may be that I'm a bit on the embarrassed side, so I'll have to suck it up and make my confession (Father, pass the wine). After a life of burgers and steaks and bacon and them eggs, I have, since October made a switch to a vegan diet. Yup, you heard me right. I've kept it about 90-95 percent legit, zero animal products. Except for that 10 to 5 percent margin for error.

Just to clarify, I embarked on this style by way of a suggestion by a progressive doctor who thought it a good idea for my arthritic condition. That said, now that I've dropped some weight and gotten more or less adjusted, I will say the old Doc engine burns clean. I don't mind it. I eat vegan, but I'm not a vegan. There's a subtle difference there, folks. My leather boots give me away.



Watching vegan boxer Timothy Bradley beat the snot out of Kendall Holt makes me feel less like any sort of ponce in the bigger scheme. To quote Bradley on the subject...

“I see myself having a lot more energy, clean. I feel cleansed all the time. I can pretty much drink my sweat if I wanted to. I'm pretty much clean. I'm serious. You know how you eat a lot of meat or a lot of sodium and then it burns when you get sweat in your eyes? I never have that. I just feel lighter, healthier, my skin looks better, cleaner. Vegan, I think, is the best way to go. It only makes sense. You got a silverback Gorilla who eats fruits and vegetable and you see how big and strong they are.”


Photo of Ben Durham by Joe Turner.

But enough about drinking sweat, or eating healthy, and instead just focus on drinking to our health. I have to recommend my newest bourbon discovery. Ben Durham, artist, and pal o' mine (did the letter press cover text for my In Tongues book, as well as letter press on my wedding invites), had folks out at his place in Midway to celebrate the fact that the motherhumpin' Whitney museum bought one of his pieces. Ben had picked up a bottle of Corner Creek, which I had never heard of previously, and it was some smooth stuff, would gladly buy it for myself. Something nice about the fact that it comes in a wine bottle, as if that's just what they had around to use. Fancy stuff, worth the price of admission. Corner Creek on the rocks with an Arturo Fuente cigar in Ben's backyard in Midway, with a fire going in the pit...life is good. Even without a computer.

On a final note, Kathleen Hensley at WRFL 88.1 FM in Lexington, Kentucky has resurrected yet again the Late, Late Show format founded by our dear professor J.S. Holland back in 1994. Initially envisioned by Holland as an alternative to the then jazz shows on the station, representing the crispier, syncopated side of things, the show evolved into, in essence, the equivalent of WRFL's "oldies" program. Genre was all over the map, with the guiding principle of anything from 1869 to 1969 fitting, focusing on the primitive and the ridiculous. As time went on, Holland passed the reigns to Brian Manley and myself. We did it up with a co-host approach, trading half hours of the three hour schedule. We quit and then came back to the show several times, with our final run settling in the midnight to 3AM slot on Sunday. I departed at the very end of 2004. Brian kept on for a bit longer, then the Late, Late Show closed its doors. Now some four or five years later, Kate Hensley, once a listener (going all the way back to her own high school days, tuning in to the Doc & Manley version), has animated the corpse once again. I suggest you listen Sunday nights. As a matter of fact, I'm headed out the door right now in a bit to join Kate as guest DJ for the last part of her show. Expect me to make a habit of doing so this summer season. Circles & cycles & (Edison) cylinders. Gimme a drink. Put the needle on the record. Hang on to our coattails.

--JTD

Biere de Mars

Well, it's finally happened. Hell has frozen over. The mighty Ommegang has made a beer I don't like.

Biere de Mars is not a bad beer, really, and it is very popular, so what do I know? It just doesn't suit my highly specific aesthetic, which has its basis in a certain breed of buttery golden Belgian ales like Duvel, Diabolique, and Hennepin.

It's brewed with the uber-funky Brettanomyces yeast, which worked well for me when they did it with Ommeggedon, but not this time. This beer's got a wheaty kind of bitterness, not the hoppy kind I prefer.

(On the other hand, maybe I got a bad bottle. Others report a big frothy head on it, where I got hardly any head at all.)

- - JSH

Tweeting About Eating

I've heard a couple of different people complain lately about how some use Twitter mainly to talk about eating, drinking, and shopping. Struck me funny, because that's what I mainly use it for myself. I mean, hell, it's supposed to be microblogging, and there's not much else useful you can do with it besides "tipsy texting" (as Karissa calls it).

Ever read Andy Warhol's diaries? I love that book. For the most part, it's hundreds of pages that basically amount to retellings of what clubs he went to last night, what restaurant he ate at last night, what he had to eat and drink, and how much it cost. And being a food-oriented sensualist, that's precisely the sort of voyeurism I like. I don't care about your love life (not unless you wanna go into salacious details), what mundane gossip or petty drama is going on with your friends, how sucky your job is or what an ass your boss is. I don't want to know about your rent problems or your parental problems or how your Uncle Rupert is laid up with the gout, nor do I want to know how much you cried at last week's episode of Ugly Betty.

No, what I want to know is, what are you consuming?

Where do you buy your groceries? What bar were you in last night? What bar are you in right now? What're you drinking? Did you go home with anyone last night? What did they eat and drink? Did you go through their kitchen while they were in the bathroom and find out what kinda cereal they eat? Had any good steak lately? Oysters? Martinis? Cigars? Where you shoppin'? Whatcha buyin'? Good food? Good DVDs? Good wine? Good books?

These are the subjects that are relevant to me in life. Shallow? Of course it is. But Tweeting - and all blogging in general, including this very one - is supposed to be self-indulgent crap. Welcome to the internet.

So.... where'd you go for lunch today? Huh? Huh?

- - JSH

Party Like It's 1996

Apparently those spooky Mulders over at Telecrylic International are plotting a gallery/museum of my artwork, somewhere in the South, later this year. Not sure when they were planning on actually telling me about it, since I had to hear about it secondhand from my friend Nandita.

I'm going along with it, mainly because I'm told there will be delicious cake at the grand opening.

So, I've been going through the deep recesses of my storage units looking for grist for this alleged gallery (I suggested they call it "The JSH Presidential Library". They chuckled. But I wasn't joking!). Sifting through the detritus of a lifetime of malfeasance and loutdom, I found an already-yellowing old copy of Georgetown University's newspaper The Georgetonian, dated November 7, 1996. It has a nice article about Cheeseburger & Fries' first appearance at the SoUP Fest, and a photo of myself and Commissioner Dockery gettin' our 618 on, puttin' our thing down, clearing the room.

See that our graves are kept clean.

- - JSH

Mine That Bird!

Shortly after I made yesterday's blog entry about not taking part in this year's Kentucky Derby, the lovely and talented Victoria Lee texted me and said "hey, I'm at the Derby, want me to place a bet for you?" And I'm the boy who can't say no.

We both decided to go for the longest of all long shots - Mine That Bird to win - and to my amazement, that nag came in by a long length and left all the other ponies in the dust. The favorite, Friesan Fire, ended up near the back of the pack.

It just shows to go ya. I love this planet. Drinks are on me for the next month, peeps-o-mine.

- - JSH

Meat!

Waitress: What can I get you, darlin'?
Hasil Adkins: Meat.
Waitress: Anything in particular?
Hasil Adkins: Meat.

This year, I'm staying clear of all the Derby madness and staying home and grilling. Now that my horse is scratched, my heart ain't in it.

The ol' JSH grill is getting a lot of use lately. Yesterday I fixed sirloin steaks (see photo), drank a couple bottles of my beloved Duvel and smoked a Natural Dirt see-gar whilst sitting on the veranda and observing the forest, watching the trees undulating in the wind. Life is good.

Today's menu: blackened grilled chicken, Appalachian Voodoo style.


- - JSH