Well, shiver me full-figure and tumble me a cheese dip, National Nacho Day was rather glow. I had nachos for lunch and dinner. For a light snack, I had nachos. And so did many readers of this blog!
This pic from Louisiana:
Beer, Beatles beer glass, knife, nachos, shitty magazine. Add some underwear dangling from a ceiling fan, and I’d call that a pretty perfect evening.
Check out The Idiom, bringing it all hot pepper/petrify true with his cat eating nachos! Word.
He also mentions a certain trash talk, a certain Nacho Battle that has been brewing in the hipper dodecahedrons of the web.
He pretty much summarizes this thing up: “I’m tossing a benjamin on Lovelace. Dude is coming out with salsa lust, swinging nacho libre. He truly trumpets the cause of the nacho, and that’s points in the TKO of life. Yeah, mother fucker! Yeah!”
Blake would be all laid out, all splayed like a Christmas sweater. His mouth afire, volcanoes in his limbs, eyes all bioluminescent lamps.
(Anyway, I thought Blake was dead. Must have got a clutch of some real nachos [for once])
Wow, did Official Brown MFA Blog bring it crazy.
This, my friends, is indeed the spirit.
To the many others who sent photos, I apologize but most I can not post. In one a person is buck-ass naked. In the others, the images seemed more about you, and not about the nachos. The nachos are the reason for the season, or said another way: “In Muncie I spent two years eating roasted nachos and drinking oil-thick beer on woven mats in cafes and smoking rolled up tortilla crumbs from hookah hoses and sometimes holing up in my second-story two-room nacho flat for two or three or four days at a stretch without putting on clothes, drinking wine and smoking and tripping on nachos and making love, friends sometimes dropping by to join in, the rises and sets of the sun as inconsequential and amusing and unreal as a TV show.”
I think the best was this essay by Ali Plath. I post it all, verbatim because I find it beautiful like a motorcycle or a sizzling mist and why would I change such a thing?
Lo, for I have joined in the celebration of national nacho day this sixth of November. Unfortunately I do not have pictures, because I cannot get them off my phone. I will tell you about them instead.
Originally I had intended to make my own bbq tofu nachos. But making bbq tofu is a long and involved process with pressing and frying and broiling and I am on vacation. There is world of warcraft to play. So I started by making some black beans in the slow cooker. I used the recipe from Vegan Lunch Box by Jennifer McCann. The nachos did end up being vegan, although I did not originally plan it that way. Anyway, the beans were in the slow cooker with half an onion and some dried red pepper and some liquid smoke. They are good. I made a lot of them. I have a ton left over.
I had to go to the store to get chips. I don’t eat nachos much. I don’t run much either. If I ran more, I could eat more nachos. I will take this under consideration. I got some hippie organic multigrain chips, because I am a hippie.
I put the chips on a plate, and then put some of the beans on there. Then I added olives. Everything was going really well so far. Then I tried to melt some cheese. I had pepper jack and some of those babybel wedges. I thought the wedges would make the jack be liquidy enough to pour on the nachos. That did not work out. It was an unappetizing blob in a ramekin, instead of a sauce. So I threw it out. I took it as a message, as cheese is the hardest holdout for me in embracing veganity. So these nachos became vegan nachos.
Instead of the tofu, I chopped up and heated a chipotle grain roast sausage. Then I put on some salsa. It is Newman’s Own.
They are pretty good nachos.
Happy Nacho Day!
I read Ray by Barry Hannah.
People hype this book, so I was prepared for my head to turn into fragile pianist’s hands. Like carefully squeezed into music.
It was damn good. But I got fatigued, a hell of a thought for a novella.
I would like to talk to a woman who read this book. It seemed like women in these pages were pretty much orifices or maybe shrieking, fucking chuckles turning to coughs. It seemed like women just barely made it past prop, or automobile. Hysterical engines!
The point of view/tense/time leaps were simply stunning. I don’t know what to say that hasn’t been noted about this book’s structure. Finally, my head did indeed go phantom limb.
It seemed like women were airplanes.
Language can redeem. This is why Faulkner meant about the Grecian urn and your grandmother, folks. Language can overcome. The sentences in Ray are going to make you wear a long dark skirt of thinking. A hundred feet of silk, and I mean gliding. Hannah is putting these words together and cobbling them and building robots to construct the robots to clean the robots that will flash-weld these shiny, chrome, glaring sentences. Jesus, they are good.
I don’t like cheap shots at nurses, period, so fuck you, Ray. (When readers talk to your fictional characters out loud, you most likely have hit on something good.)
Well, I’d like to sit down and have coffee with a woman and discuss this here book.
But the language, it do redeem.