Sniffing glue

If you've heard of the Demeter Fragrance Library you are probably familiar with the boozy perfumes they carry at Urban Outfitters like, "Gin and Tonic" or "Sex on the Beach." All of the scents in the library smell uncannily like their namesakes, including the more unusual ones like "Condensed Milk." They also have "Glue."
I really had to be all immature and ask them to send me some under the dubious pretext of this publication.

They actually sent me a small bottle of glue scented Pick-Me-Up cologne spray. (I never heard back from the MD 20/20 people.)

It really does smell like airplane glue. There's an after-hint of bubblegum but it brings back some vivid and poorly-ventilated sense memories the second it hits your nostrils.

The Web site insists, in priggish capital letters, that "NO it will NOT make you high" but I'm definitely wearing too much of it now and starting to feel light headed.

To be fair, getting free stuff in the mail makes me a giddy. Plus, anything from spicy Indian food to topical Benadryl gel can make me feel like I'm floating. So, I'm sure they know what they're talking about.
For more information, visit www.demeterfragrance.com

The plan as it has been explained to me

I've been outclassed before I even got out of the gate.
Bobby wants a fish bowl party. I'm going to have to find a fish bowl.
We've explained this to various naysayers quite a few times now: In the mythic swinging '70s this was a party for couples; the dudes put their keys in a fish bowl and the ladies a picked a set of keys and went home with their owner. The idea was you got a night "off" from your better half.
We're changing the rules a little because that's kind of lame.
First: no distinctions will be made as to gender or sexual preference. You could wind up going home with a member of the same sex. They may share your interest in boys or girls or Thai food. They may not. You'll get to know them or you're a spoilsport.
Second: there are no expectations. If you draw Jamaal's keys you might be playing Guitar Hero at his house until the wee hours. Sure, you can make out if you want but that's up to you and, in all honesty, I don't want to hear about it.
The only nervous Nellie to prick my conscience so far suggested that some dudes might get a little more aggressive and set us all back 37 years. A point.
Bobby isn't worried and says this will be an exclusive, invite-only gathering (his place sometime in August). I say there should also be a set of screening questions for participants to determine if they know how to act right.
One agreed on rule: singles only. We're not fucking up anyone's relationship here.
Bobby and I are both exempt from participating because we are throwing the party. I say this also means I get to wear a mask and, possibly, a boa.
Throwing a themed party is like having an all-access pass to pretension and I'm not passing this up.
It's a terrible idea. But we're locked in now. It's on.

Science Fiction, Yes (A short review of Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis series)

For those of you who don’t know Octavia or her creations, she was one of the most amazing and intense science fiction writers ever. She passed away in early 2006 and has left this great collection of inspirational and empowering literature for all of us to lament and to celebrate. Her pages feel more home-like to me than my own body.

All of her work greatly touches upon these very intuitive, sexually charged, and socially aware ideas while still remaining very
individualistic to each character that is personified in her writing.

Dawn, the first book in the Xenogenesis series, revolves around the character Lilith Lyapo and the loss of her entire family and planet as she is swept up and “saved” by a nomadic alien race called the Oankali. Earth was nearly destroyed by constant warfare and the Oankali were in search of a new civilization in order to partner with physiologically. It becomes extremely relevant that she learn the ways of the Oankali and find out their true plans.

I don’t know, suspending your disbelief is one thing, but this is just too good of a mysterious, creepy, and fantastic story - how could you resist?

So to that I say, yes. Yes to fantastical space voyages of strong black women. And even though current situations are shit in the world, ice caps are melting, extra firm tofu just went up twenty five cents, pessimism is rampant (I might not be helping), and education costs are rising — so if knowledge is power, then the dollar supersedes that ideal? — wait, okay, so:
science fiction is more real than real and the work of Octavia rules my mind.

-Donovan Vim Crony

Hank Musgrove Tells You How To Live Your Life

Bad Idea Potluck has an advice columnist named Hank. That's his given name and he has a tattoo of two pigs fucking. He can solve your problems. Write in, like some of my friends from college and one stranger did. Extra points if you can guess which one is from a total stranger:


Dear Bad Idea Pot Luck,
I am about to host a birthday party in a few weeks, and I need some tips to make sure it rocks. Any advice?
Thanks,
Dumbfounded In Greenpoint


HM for BIPL: Dear Dumbfounded In Greenpoint, You should try to score an eight ball of coke from your local drug dealer, Invite a bunch of random underage kids.
Then collect money at the party for beer, wait a while though — usually when everyone is already a little buzzed. My friend's brother once got a 100 bucks at one of my parties.
Once ya have a nice chunk, go for the cheap shit like some Natty Ice, the Beast or PBR. Start chugging.
I have no idea what the outcome will be but I'm pretty sure it will rock.

****** ********

Dear Bad Idea Potluck:
So I've got a master's degree now, and no job. What the hell do I do for employment? I've been sending out resume after resume, and not even a call back. When I call them, they tell me to stop calling. Any ideas?
-Stumped in Stony Brook

HM for BIPL: I never put too much stock into degrees. All my friends who ever landed swank jobs in swank offices actually never graduated high school. What they did was pretty much lied thier asses off, hustled, made up phoney references (using friends posing as previous employers) and photo shopped fake degrees.
my advice is to put on your game face, brush up on your photo shop skills and try to shove as much bullshit down your future boss' throat as he or she can take.

****** *******

Dear Bad Idea Potluck:
My asshole is bleeding. What should I do?

HM for BIPL: Eat more fiber and put a Band-Aid on it.

An introduction from memory

I got the idea for this blog the same night I learned about a flavored wine drink called Mad Dog 20/20. Around this time last summer, a Japanese post-something-core band called Envy was playing at the Double Down and I was sitting on the low wall outside when a boy I know sat down next to me and started chewing on a sleeve of my t-shirt.

I'm one to hold people accountable for their actions drunk or sober but, looking at him, it was clearly no more personal than if he had knocked me over while in the throes of a seizure. I'm not sure he knew who or what I was just then.

That night I learned Mad Dog comes in a variety of blow pop-type flavors and turns strong men in the flower of youth into hell hounds with Alzheimer's.

I later learned Mad Dog is just a nickname. The drink is called MD 20/20, the letters stand for Mogen David. I learned it from either the maker's website or www.bumwines.com. Can't remember.

I also heard the phrase "bad idea potluck" for the first time. My friend Sandra and I were passing out fliers for a show she was putting on. I got tied up talking to a guy wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt and braces.

Sandra met a nice boy from, I think, Maine who was in town visiting family and we walked him part-way home.

On the way, we noticed the poorly-healing brand on the back of his calf in the shape of a bike gear. He explained how, back home, he and his friends hold bad idea potlucks. Everyone brings a bad idea to share. Once, they all waxed themselves. Another time, it was branding.

They seem to have gone about the branding in a totally different way from how this is practiced in, say, black fraternities. For instance, they used bike parts.

Never mind that his brand was obviously infected. This boy was a revelation to me.
The idea of a bad idea potluck focused my ordinarily disordered thoughts. The months leading up to that night on the far side of the summer had been kind of a jumbalaya of bad ideas. Some of them so embarrassing I don’t think I’m ready to list them here.

Ok, I broke my arms skateboarding at night and joined a random online dating site because it had a cool quiz and asked out a nice boy on there based largely on the fact the he was a pastry chef. I failed to notice he was also Christian. That precluded any long-term potential for the relationship but this didn't sink in until I had made a nice mess of things. Then there was the flash flood chasing and my dream date to the tranny bar but that came after the Envy show. I survived all of this but can't recommend any of it in good conscience.

In the midst of this, a stranger from Maine passed through my life and touched it with inspiration. His story moved me in a way that I can't explain.

I tried to get my friends to have bad idea potlucks with me — we would try to contact the dead and give each other jail house tattoos — but I don't really have very many friends and the ones I have are smarter than to let me be the leader.

A year has passed and my only recourse is to start a blog. "Bad Idea Potluck: a journal of inadvisable living."

The fall, winter and spring have been great but only a little less stupid than usual — and I can't take too much credit for the improvement myself. In all objectivity, the past year hasn't been that different from the preceding 26.

Which means I might, finally, be writing on the one subject I'm actually qualified to comment on.