Edgy Mama

The Usual Suspects rolled out the red carpet for Ashvegas blogger glitterati Friday night, and the Fall Ball and Cotillion did not disappoint.

Screwy and Uptown ushered in the guests, all groomed and natty. Uptown was accompanied by the lovely Mountain Faerie, while syntax and I held our own with Jim and his sunny daughter, M. The Modern Peasant held court, as usual, with a couple of Scrutiny Hooligan groupies, while DEMbloggers arrived a bit later to the party.

Clearly, the paparazzi had expected a much bigger turnout. Joan and Melissa Rivers seemed a little slack-jawed during the run-up. But alas, it seems that this core group remains the most we can muster. That’s quite all right. There’s clearly a difference between those who blog the blog and those who can do that and then some.

The drinks - from a classically refreshing New Orleans Pimm’s Cup from Screwy to Uptown, to heady Omegang for yours truly, to a couple of whiskey/bourbon shots for Screwy - flowed as freely as the conversation and the ideas.

Some of what we learned:

Uptown will start a new peak oil blog soon, designed solely for the purpose of helping us avoid the inevitable crash of our nation’s dependence on fossil fuel. We’re living dangerously, Uptown warned, urging us all to check the back of those tomato cans to learn from whence our nourishment really comes.

Screwy once sang the Muslim call to prayer before embarking on an improvised poem during a slam competition at the LEAF festival, a war in which he was hopelessly outclassed. At least he saved his dignity. (I added that in my one and only slam poetry competition several years ago in downtown Ashvegas, I kicked the ass of the crowd favorite - a precious 10-year-old who rapped about his frog. Then I gloated.)

syntax allowed as how he’s really against banning books, but the Anarchist Cookbook really shouldn’t be available to teenagers via the Internet. He told of mixing up some dangerous concoction once, but never actually blowing anything up. syntax also shared his desire to start up a Web music label, an idea that ModPeasant jumped on immediately.

Jim picked up on anarchy, telling a story on himself. As a young man, he and a friend had a blast mixing up some smoky smoke bombs, including one that melted through a coffee can and clouded his home. He reported that his father wasn’t too happy that day.

M. and Mountain Faerie chattered happily. Me and M. bonded over “Lost,” while Faerie mourned the loss of evening television due to the requirements of putting a little bee to bed. We got gossipy about car behind his back.

Talk of Flashville (thanks for the lulu tip, Uptown) and Drinking Liberally lingered briefly. More on those topics soon enough, my pretties. We can’t give it all away tonight. Hang close to the velvet rope.

(Ash, inside the Edgy Mama bloghouse, grabs a granola bar off the kitchen table and rushes over to print out the latest spreadsheets on EM blog traffic, comments and Blog-o-love meter)

Alrighty, then. This should be good. So far, I’ve posted a little satire that’s good for the soul, a nice photo and thoughtful literary piece. Can’t go wrong. Yeah, I’m good.

(Reading printouts, Ash goes ashen. Blog traffic at a new low. Comments, new low. Blog-o-love meter needle stuck on E)

What? Huh, huh, how can this be??? (Ash buries face in clasped hands, sobs) Wha -What’s happening!? Don’t people understand my gee-gee-genius?!? WAKE UP out there, sheeple!!! (hysterical, Ash kicks cat and throws rest of granola at stereo, scattering EM’s Dar Williams cd collection)

No quips from T or Hoss or Chels. All Eddo says is, “This is a blog post…” I, I, I, I’m a failure. (Ash wipes globby snot on EM’s divan, dabs eyes with unlaundered boosh T-shirt)

OK. OK. Get it together man. (Grabbing oval beauty mirror from EM’s bureau, Ash steels himself, then brings it up to his face) OK. I’m going to do this. I’m going to win them over. No matter what it takes. (big sigh)

Because I’m good enough.

Because I’m strong enough.

And doggone it - people like me.

(Ash grabs tux jacket, straightens cummerbund and dashes out to the Blog Ball and Fall Cotillion)

Native son Thomas Wolfe’s birthday is coming up. I’m jumping the gun a little - he was born Oct. 3, 1900 - but I figured we should note it. It fits, after all, with Edgy Mama’s writerly purpose here.

Wolfe, of Look Homeward Angel fame, grew up in Asheville. He immortalized this town in his book. Most people know the reference, though I think few have read it. It’s worth it if you have not. It’s worth it because, like so many, Wolfe did the only thing he knew how to do. He lived his purpose - writing. He found his story and got it down.

Wolfe lies buried here in Asheville, in Riverside Cemetery. It’s a beautifully solemn place. You should go sometime. And spend a minute at his gravesite, contemplating whether or not you’re living your purpose.

..a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces.

O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

-Thomas Wolfe

(Posted by Ash, even though it says Edgy Mama. Just want to be clear on that so y’all can jump on me, not her, if you don’t like this, just like Eddo ravaged me for my wi-fi post and so shamed me that I took it down and replaced it with this.)

Ash here. Time to get my guesting on, so let me start by giving all you Edgy readers an exclusive, behind-the-scenes look at the EM bloghouse.

Like MTV’s Cribs, we want to know how our local celebrities live. We want inside every nook and cranny because, well, George Clooney let us inside his jaw-dropping Italian villa, so why can’t we get a peek inside Edgy Mama’s posh Ashvegas bloghouse? It’s the price you pay for our loyalty, EM.

So without further ado, let me open the door. C’mon in…

(entering bloghouse) Hmmmm. Living room seems nice enough. But lots of stray words and phrases blowing around on the floor. Sheafs of undone enneagram homework strewn about. Dirty laundry piled in the corner. Clearly not one for drudgery, this one. Tons of books. Oh, hey, there’s Peter Pan. (walking over to pick up book)

Ouch! $&#*%(!

Great. Just what I need - a half dozen Lego puncture wounds. Guess it’s part of that whole “crunchy” thing to reduce the draw on the local power grid by not running the vacuum, and to save water by wearing the same stank clothes for a week straight.

(sitting down on couch to tweeze out toys) A soft enough divan, but it looks kinda nasty. I don’t even need my blacklight to tell you that. And there’s a faint smell of cat pee in here. Houdini, you devil.

(moving on to kitchen) Very nice. Lots of gleaming surfaces. No dirty dishes. Makes sense, right? Not much cooking going on here. (Opening fridge) OK, we’ve got some Juicy Juice, leftover meatballs from last week’s Greek Fest, sprouts, Green Life deli hummus, a bottle of Chimay. And chocolate - cake, bon bons, ice cream, cookies. Sheesh.

Martha Stewart, she’s not.

(Popping into the bedroom) Figures. Canopy bed. Pillows upon heart-shaped pillows. A stuffed Teddy and panda. Poster of Viggo on the ceiling. Yeah, I said ceiling. About 36 pair of those Southern belle slipper shoes the debs down in Atlanta like to wear with their track suits. So much for the tomboy persona. (peeking into the dresser) This is interesting. A leather bustier. Latex gloves. Fishnet pantyhose. I think I’m getting the hell outta here.

And this? What’s this??? Aha! The porn stash. “Shaving Ryan’s Privates.” “Moulin Splooge.” “Porn and Paradise: An environmentalist’s guide on how to make love in the grass and not harm another living entity.” Eww. (dropping videos, squirting anti-bacterial soap on hands and wringing) Frankly, we expected a little more of you, EM.

Well folks, there you have it. Your peek inside the Edgy Mama bloghouse. Now you know.

Ash here. I’ve entered EM’s bloghouse and I’m starting to poke around. I found this T-shirt, which I thought was interesting. Seems to confirm a few things we’ve come to know about her.

As part of my ongoing spiritual journey in letting go (mantra: I do not need to try to control everything), and because I’m going to Atlanta for the next three days for a big family wedding, I’m allowing my friend and compatriot AshVegas, the spirit of Asheville, to guest blog here this weekend.

He may post once, he may post twice, he may juggle human skulls while riding a unicycle. Have fun, Ash. I am leaving the door wide open for you, just don’t let it hit you on the heinie on the way out….(and one small, teensy, easily followed rule: PG-13, Ash, PG-13).

I’m accepting applications for guest bloggers for the end of next week as well, when I’ll be beaching it with the book group.

Have a great weekend, friends. Comment often, imbibe freely, and hug your loved ones.

I mentioned a few days ago that I’m reading Peter Pan to my kids. This is one strange children’s book. I managed to skip over the scene where Hook disembowels one of his pirate mates because the guy had the misfortune to jostle him. Tonight, however, I read the following line aloud before I quite comprehended what I was reading: “…and Peter standing on guard. After a time he fell asleep, and some unsteady fairies had to climb over him on their way home from an orgy.”

Luckily, the kids were close enough to sleep, and this book already has fostered enough new words on them, that neither child piped up with, “What’s an orgy, Mommy?” In Barrie’s defense, I wondered if the word carried the same, uh, sexualized connotations in 1907 that it does today. Anyone have an OED to hand?

Dictionary.com says this: orgy:

1. A revel involving unrestrained indulgence, especially sexual activity.
2. Uncontrolled or immoderate indulgence in an activity: an orgy of spending.
3. A secret rite in the cults of ancient Greek or Roman deities, typically involving frenzied singing, dancing, drinking, and sexual activity.

Word History: The word orgy has become connected in the minds of many of us with unrestrained sexual activity, but its origins are much less licentious. We can trace the word as far back as the Indo-European root *werg-, meaning “to do,” also the source of our word work. Greek orgia, “secret rites, worship,” comes from *worg-, one form of this root. The Greek word was used with reference to the rites practiced in the worship of various deities, such as Orpheus and Dionysus. The word in Greek did not denote sexual activity, although this was a part of some rites. The rites of Dionysus, for example, included only music, dancing, drinking, and the eating of animal sacrifices. Having passed through Latin and Old French into English, the word orgy is first recorded in English with reference to the secret rites of the Greek and Roman religions in 1589. It is interesting to note that the word is first recorded with its modern sense in 18th-century English and perhaps in 17th-century French. Whether this speaks to a greater licentiousness in society or not must be left to the historian, but certainly the religious nature of the word has gone into eclipse.

…but I’ve been sitting in front of it all day anyway–wreaking havoc with my eyes.

I present to you a photo I took about a year ago at the North Carolina State Zoo in Asheboro, N.C.

This polar bear was rescued from a circus in Mexico, and at 800 pounds, was seriously malnourished. But he had not lost his sense of fun. He played ball and did back flips in the water for about 45 minutes. My kids were mesmerized.