Sunday, September 20, 2009

Fang Banger?

It took me almost a month of stalking at Blockbuster to finally get my hands on the first two episodes of Trueblood. Almost every one of you bloggers have taunted me with a few spoilers, or at least enticed me to want to watch this series.

I am just a wee bit creeped by the fact that more than one of today's vampire tales come from the Louisiana swamps. These are my stomping grounds. Great fishing, GREAT FOOD, good people, Electric MUSIC (we call this swamp boogie), and lastly really strange characters on occasion. The next time I go to New Orleans, I will venture to "that" neighborhood, and take a few pictures of the self proclaimed blood suckers for all of you to see. Of course I know that vampires don't exist. Right? They don't ya'll Right? I am a very logical person, and reason most things as it's the trend right now.
However, for years before these tales ever hit the mainstream there have been our "campfire" Louisiana vampire stories. Is this the circle from where these writers feed? Furthermore, are they capitalizing on the doubt that each of us around those campfires have had at one point or another.
New Orleans is all things Voodoo, and some natives of New Orleans have some really strange trains of thoughts. Some just simply state, that people are strange, especially in New Orleans. That's my main theory, but I'll be "dadgum" if there aren't certain aspects of these stories that don't ring a bell.
For instance, drainers. Drainers are another claim from The Voodoo capital of the world. In the voodoo shops of The French Quarter, a vampire's blood is touted to cure impotency in men, and thrush in babies. It's $6.99 for a small vial. Of course, I'm never going to drink anything sold in a small vial off Bourbon street, but the correlation is odd to say the least. I have long since considered it common knowledge that the collectors of this blood are called Drainers. Even knew a "drainer" when I worked in New Orleans, and just blew it off, as some sore of mental oddity that he sold himself as such. I've heard this claim since I was a "wee little one." There is no way it could be a reference from these series.
Clairvoyants (defined as those able to sense things beyond normal senses), simulates to the Gypsies of Jackson Square. Creepy I tell you. Creepy.
Marketing majors of the Swamp South are jumping all over this, as in recent tourism ads, they are have been flashes of these vampire trends. Did any of you remember the movie with Lisa Bonet called Angelheart? Try and rent sometime, and you'll see what I mean. Very authentic Big Easy culture.
Off the subject for a second, Halloween in New Orleans will leave chill bumps on your arms. Promise, strange seeps from the woodwork that night. This year KISS and Eminem will be performing in City Park. On the posters advertising this there is a large declaration at the bottom that states, "NON-SEASONED NEW ORLEANS TOURISTS SHOULD NOT ATTEND THIS EVENT!" Now what marketing mind would ever warn potential spenders of danger? Only in New Orleans.
Two things even in two episodes of Trueblood that are not authentic. The food served in the restaurant where Sookie works. In the swamp we don't do burgers and fries. Come on LA people. It's crawfish, shrimp, and fish. We don't use ketchup either, it's Crystal Hot Sauce Ya'll. Get a Grip!
Secondly, the "accent" coach for Rene needs to be fired. That is the worst interpretation of Creole I have ever heard. A beautiful, and sexy language made to sound down right handicapped. Get an authentic, caramel-skinned, brown-eyed, muscled bound Cajun to play this part, and watch the ratings soar a little.
My last bit of realism tied to fantasy is this little statement that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Certain women who are Gothic in NO, refer to themselves as Fang Bangers. These women live in what's called the Marigny, and have what I believe disfigured themselves to appear to have been bitten by a vampire. My friends in New Orleans when I worked there called them Fang Bangers. It is really odd to hear that term used on HBO twenty years later. Something to think about it.
Despite all this creepiness I am hooked, or should I say I have been bitten, again. I really want to read this series. I have found it on EBAY for cheap and am bidding away. I dropped out of the Twilight saga after the first book.
We'll see where it goes. Anyone want to come visit and me, and aide me in a supernatural research series about the Big Easy. Come on ya'll don't be scared it's not real. Right?
The Bumpkin

Monday, September 14, 2009


I just finished watching the first season of Californication. I think it was the most enlightening experience of my thirties.
Some things I recognized, and some I didn't.
First I'm shocked that I found David Duchovny to be sexy. I never was an X (is this one of those times than X gets an "an" even though it's not a vowel ?)files fan, and he wasn't the love of my twenties like some of my gal pals back then. They would drool over what..... was his name then Moulder or something like that? Me, not so much.
I think the sexy about him in this series is his unfaltering love for Karen, then maybe it could be all the raw sex scenes (as caution, this is shown late at night on Showtime), and I understand why. My favorite scene, when Karen gets called the "C" word at the charity ball. That always deserves a good swing in my opinion. The knight in smoke covered armor, a writer, a sex machine, and a great dad. I think I may be getting old to hear myself say sexy and dad, all in the same sentence.
All of the characters are "groovy" in their own way. They become endearing to you, even the villans. I'm headed to Blockbuster tomorrow, to stalk Season 2.
Love Hank, but my favorite character is Karen, she is so Hippie Voracious.

Has anyone other than me noticed the resemblance to this woman?

Dooce herself, Heather Armstrong, number 26 in milk stains!
[cue jingle]
Photo of Heather and her new addition courtesy of Armstrong Media LLC.

I also rented the first two episodes of Season 1 of Trueblood. I hear you all out there gasping the word,"Eric"
The Bumpkin

What Rainy Days Are For

It has been raining cats and dogs here on The Mississippi Gulf Coast. Everyday last week, and my yard is one big mud puddle.
You all remember Jibbs, my beautiful white American Bulldog right?
If you haven't met him, you can go back and read his story here.

It's hard to keep this one clean. As I have told you, he lives to play the ball.
The ball, The ball, The ball. American Bulldogs are very active, and must be exercised regularly.

The only reason we get great pictures like this, is because we hold the ball while taking them.
He was so restless this weekend in all the rain. Mamma too, so I decided to take a nap before the Bears game on Sunday.

Doggy and Daddy fun apparently took place while Mamma was sleeping. I found these pictures on the camera late last night. I would have never known otherwise.

He was about to bust to play the ball, so I can't really be all that mad.

They covered their tracks pretty well. Jibbs was clean as a whistle,and inside sleeping before I ever woke up.

Look at the dirt in his mouth. He was really having fun! Sometimes even dogs need to let loose, and go "hog wild."
How was your weekend?
The Bumpkin

Saturday, September 12, 2009

A Bumpkin Looks At Forty

Yes, that's correct in about 100 days The Bumpkin will be 40. Thoughts on 40, well, they aren't that good my bloggy friends. As a matter of fact, I would say they are actually depressing. Two years ago, I was hyped about 40, feeling I would surely be Fabulous Forty. Now it seems, Failure Forty is more accurate.
All those things I wanted to do, and didn't. Habits I should have broke, millions I should have made, pounds I should have lost, friends I should have treasured, milestones I should have put behind me, places I should have traveled to, books I should have written, all before 40. Those two numbers seem to be stalking me at this point. Open the closet, 4-0. Look in the mirror, 4-0. Balancing the checkbook, 4-0. Fall Fashions, 4-0. Career, 4-0. Reading, blogging, and even movies, 4-0.
It's everywhere this four-o. I have been translating these demonic numbers as Life= 4 decades... The Bumpkin= 0.
I know right this second you are all shouting, Paxil, Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Lexapro, Prozac, Effexor, Cymbalta, and Xanax. Maybe your'e right, maybe not. I guess I really am taking this hard, my naps seem to be more often, and last a little longer. Actually to be honest, it's more like "Screw it, I'll just head to bed instead." Depression is not a usual member of my circle of friends, but she's recently been promoted to BFF status.
I guess the biggest issue is my career, and maritial status that are really waying on me. As some of my regular readers know, I was down-sized from a great paying job in September of last year. Due to the economy, jobs are few and far between in South Mississippi nowadays. Jobs that pay that I was making virtually non-existent. The competition is ruthless. 300 resume's for every job posted. Casino's are on skeleton staff, and the rest are out there searching flooding the availability.