Friday, August 15, 2003

While Mayor Mike is commending New Yorkers on a job well done during the blackout, LasagnaFarm would like to commend itself for still posting under such duress. The mini interview, unlike the subway, cannot be stopped. It yammers on like your uncle Karl after one too many and won't stop until aunt Janey pours him into the baby-shit-brown Olds and takes his caterwauling ass back to the split-level. While 1010 WINS and NPR were referring to themselves as "essential personel," The Farm gave the people what they want: good clean self-referential, Mobius strip talk that is both humorous and run on a generator's power. Think of The Farm the next time you refer to yourself by your own name, and remember, we make good party guests so invite us to your next get-together.
INTERVIEW WITH A YOUNG MANHATTANITE LEFT DIGITALLY MUTE BY THE BLACKOUT OF 2003

Q: We hear the power's out? That true?

YM: Hells yeah. It's darker than Mike Ovitz's soul here.

Q: But it's day.

YM: True, but I have no coffee.

Q: Ah. So how does it feel not to be in contact with the outside world via digital means?

YM: It sucks. I have just 45 minutes of power on my laptop. And I have much to say about this event. It's not every day that man's technological achievements betray him like a wet shopping bag full of canned goods. Look at us. How do we spend our days? Baiting Gawker for links to our inane posts about silly New Yorkers, traversing the city in search of celebrities to report the whereabouts of, dining out at Wylie D.'s latest ca-ching, pouring copious amounts of fermented vegetables down our gullets? What good are we as people when we can't walk a hundred-and-fifty blocks without heatstroke? I don't even recognize myself anymore. We would be next to useless in the event of an apocalypse.

Q: Take it easy. You're hysterical.

YM: Coffee. C'mon, bring me some. I have a battery-powered TV and all I can get on it is talking heads going on about how there's no power. I'll bet they're killing in the ratings. Must have a 7 share. "Hey Bob, we're number one among hermits 25 to 49 with exersize-bike generators." Imbiciles.

Q: Have you followed Mayor Bloomberg’s instructions? Have you been drinking enough water? Checking on the elderly?

YM: Yes, yes. Mrs. Abramowitz is fine, Mrs. LaMorca says I’m too thin, and Mr. Nelson recommends Metamucil over "that crap Dr. Adler gives me." I’m so hydrated, kids in the street are trying to open me up with a monkey wrench.

Q: We know you're pissed. What will you do now?

YM: I will pack a bag and head for the hinterlands. I will make like Pete Seeger and sing a ballad for our lost electric blanket. I will shower in the tears of 10 million broken hearts. I will sing the booty electric. I will sail the first canoe I can procure to a land where coffee flows freely and people don't need junk-bond investments in infrastructure to make it through the day. I will take a venti latte, half-caf...

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

No More NASCAR

Now that the New Yorker (issue of 2003-08-18 and 25 ) has covered NASCAR (which is both an acronym and an initialism), where will to go for a redneck fix? The Farm cannot condone any sport with skyboxes and pretty-boy athletes and celebrity hangers-on. From here, it's demolish derbies and cock fights or bust. Not likely to find Mariah Carey or John Travolta at one of those. There can only be one wreck or one cock in a room at time. It's contractual.
Fighting Down on the Farm

Someone forwards a post from the Farm to Howard Rheingold author of Smart Mobs: The Next Social Revolution in which he is derided for using the word "reflective." Mr. Rheingold replies in either a funny way or a way that makes the knees of the Farm knock. To be safe, we'll be hiding under the couch.

Correspondence follows:
Forwarding person: "Looks like these guys want to pick a fight with you. :) (I'd choose IM as your weapon of choice)"

Howard Rheingold: "Cute. Maybe they should read the book. (BTW, I never used the word "reflective" -- that was the reporter who quoted me.)"


While Mr. Rheingold may be too big for us, the Farm is more than willing to take on Michael Musto, Melissa Rivers, Star Jones, Daily Candy, Em & Lo from Nerve.com, Cokie Roberts from NPR, and yes, even Will Shortz despite how much we loved his appearance on "60 Minutes."

Monday, August 11, 2003

LIES! How can I ever believe what I see anymore?

It was once so simple. I saw Xmas specials on TV; therefore there was a Santy Clause. I would see my dad kiss my mother; therefore, he loved her. Now it's so much harder to tell truth from fiction. I don't even know if my paycheck is real anymore.
INTERVIEW WITH A YOUNG MANHATTANITE WHO RECENTLY PURCHASED A GLORIFIED BB GUN WHILE VACATIONING IN THE CATSKILLS

Q. We hear you recently bought yourself a Crosman Model 795 Springmaster .177 caliber spring air pellet rifle. What reason could you possibly have for doing such a thing?

A. Peace of mind. Protection. Impotence. Just to name a few. The heart of the matter is that I keep many friends, mainly females, at my upstate compound and their safety is endangered by bears and other mountain predators, threats that are only exceeded by my inebriated behavior. I obviously can't stop myself from drinking a 30-pack of Coors Light but I will do my best to blind these claw-swiping garbage-looters if I can fire off rounds with speed and precision not seen since Oswald and his CIA-organized team of Canadian anti-Semites killed Kennedy.

Also, my parents were visiting and the gun purchase was made on Day 2 amid schizophrenic thunderstorms after watching my dad try to cut the grass with scissors while mom was complaining about the Kobe Bryant trial coverage on cable. Something had to give.

Q. Is that a powerful weapon? Sounds to me like a glorified BB gun.

A. Have you ever met the business end of a pointed-dome pellet traveling at over 600 feet per second? This is serious skin-breaking force that would make a skate ramp mishap feel like a thigh massage. "BB gun" conjures images of your hellion neighbors shooting out the storm windows to your parents’ bedroom. Make no mistake, the Crosman Model 795 Springmaster .177 caliber spring air pellet rifle is not your older brother's Daisy air-pump.

Q. What types of things have you shot at?

A. I am sharpening my accuracy skills on a wide range of metal and plastic products. From Budweiser to Sierra Mist, no beverage is safe from my crosshairs. I am proud to say I can hit the broad side of a '75 Dodge Dart from 25 feet leaving it more dinged than a parallel parking attempt in Manhattan.

Q. Do you think the Catskills, after being written up in New York magazine as "an A-list destination for New Yorkers who've had their fill of the L.I.E. [read: Hamptons]" is the best place to be wielding such a weapon?

A. As a steward of hinterlands blessed with "true freedom," I would expect the thrill of killing your prey before eating it for dinner to be lost on lobster roll diners in Sag Harbor. Foie gras cannot truly be savored until you're able to remember fondly the smell of dead geese, shot and then beaten with a wood club, from that morning's hunt. (Well, it also tastes great when you're totally coked out at L'Absinthe but I think that's a different interview.)

Q. But, as a young Manhattanite, your main domain, at least for most of the year, is wilderness of the taxicab and smoothie-shop variety. Reconcile please.

A. I am completing the transformation from five-borough to Marlboro man. I'm the “Straight Guy with a Bullseye.” I can feel the layers of city-borne neuroses peel away with each pellet-seared beer can. Discharging such arms is illegal in NYC so when the summer hunting season comes to an end it will mount nicely on the headboard of my bed.

Q. Might you shoot your eye out?

A. Unlikely, since my dad was with me when I got the gun and he made me buy yellow-tinted safety glasses too. I kinda look like Roy Scheider with them on.

Q. The literature accompanying Crosman's pellet rifles reads, "Before using any air gun you must have full knowledge of all safety rules." Do you have full knowledge of such rules?

A. Of course. Gun ownership and usage is heavily weighted with responsibility and regulation. Sure, the law mandating a seven-minute waiting period to buy a pellet gun annoyed me, but I fully understand its purpose and intent. Furthermore, everyone who uses my gun must make the following safety pledge to me: "I promise not to point the gun at you."

Q. Do you subscribe to Soldier of Fortune magazine?

A. While I do enjoy their use of phrases like "attaboy" and "good on 'em" I had to cancel my subscription due to the abundance of Big Buck Hunter video game ads and lack of Olsen twins profiles.

Q. Please estimate how long it will be before you grow
tired of shooting empty beer cans?

A. I hesitate to dignify such a loaded question but since I shoot from the hip with a goofy-foot stance let me assure you that my Hestonian devotion to 2nd Amendment culture lies in the simple fact that "you can have my pellet gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands." Or if you just ask nicely.

Sunday, August 10, 2003

A MadLib Based on the "Reality Bites" Section in New York Magazine

The text that is seeking words.

TOWN may be the new East Hampton, or at least the new LOCALE. First came Dia:Beacon art center, and now VOCATION themselves. Moby just VERB on a NUMBER-square-foot house on 25 acres for $1.35 million, complete with 40-mile NOUN/PLURAL: "Going up my driveway the other day, I saw four deer and one fawn, a family of ANIMAL, and BIRD soaring over the valley." He won't be ADJECTIVE in the wilderness. His friend FAMOUS PERSON (who VERB MOVIE) just bought a NOUN on 700 acres near Rhinebeck, about 30 minutes from Moby's.


The words supplied.

Town: Cranston, Rhode Island
Locale: Sewage Treatment Plant
Vocation: Window washers
Verb: Groomed
Number: 26
Noun/plural: shampoo bottles
Animal: Badger
Bird: Canary
Adjective: rough
Famous person: Gsa Gsa Gavor
Verb: Spelunked
Movie: The Last Tango in Paris
Noun: Notepad