The egg came first.

It's much better to fry an egg in mayonnaise, instead of butter, because it's easier to dab a little mayonnaise out of a jar, than to get butter on your fingers while you fuss with the waxed paper wrapper.

Also, I don't like cutting butter. It has an unreliable hardness-factor.

My friend Adam told me that it's a good idea to crack an egg on the bottom of the pan, not the edge.
That way you don't get a lot of gooey egg white solidifying on the edge of the pan.

Also, a guy with a speech impediment who worked in a deli once saw my filthy hands, and told me that mayonnaise was a very effective hand cleaner.

I know this post may not be as entertaining as usual, but it is often the mundanely informational, that can have the most impact over the long run. You will thank me when you are older.

no

no

no

NO!!! GET THEE BEHIND ME, SHAPE-SHIFTING BUTTER-JEZEBEL!!!

That's more like it.

Well duh!

don't mind if I do!

That's cool, I'll be having my fill of egg soon anyway!

I am conflicted.

Lunches with Farrington episode 7

Once again, Adam Farrington leads the way with an industry fist!
I give to you, "LWF, the feminine edition!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kp0CdrmRbg8

I should have played the new game.

I used to have this sporadic nickname back in the day...
Adam-bomb.
My friends call me Adam, for short.

When I was 13 my parents sent me to YMCA camp. I didn't want to go. Last time I went to a camp I had to stand by like a dumb-ass, while they pelted the retarded kid with wet toilet paper.  I was well aware that camp can be a haven for sociopaths.

But they said I had to go, and the best I could do to salvage a bad situation, was to choose which session to attend.

There were different themes. Choosing was a delicate balancing act. I wanted to avoid the psychos, but the safest end of the spectrum wasn't for me either. I'm talking about "New Games" week. I  really didn't want to push around the old earth-ball, puff up the tie-dyed parachute, or have to play "head to head", a game where the leader yells out, "head to head!" and you stick your head to the other kids head.  I wanted to avoid any blatant brutality, but complete pussification was too high of a price.

no thank you!

none for me!

Trying to find a middle ground, I settled on "woodsman week". I figured it would be a fun and educational week of learning how to build shelters from pine boughs, using a compass, and foraging for wild greens.

I was disappointed to learn that woodsman week was really a week of playing war games in the woods.

You know that summer in the 80s when every kid had a rambo-knife dangling from his belt?
I'm not saying that columbine was a good thing, but at least no more kids have to go through the awkwardness of making new friends at a summer-camp where every kid is armed with their own dagger.

So there I was, playing war games. It was an adaptation of Stratego, where everyone took the identity of a game piece, and we ran around in the woods "attacking" each other.

Remember the bomb?  It can't attack anyone, but anyone who attacks the bomb get's killed?

The counselor deemed the bomb as being such an important role that it couldn't go to just anyone, so he held interviews, where you got your chance to explain exactly why you were the man for the mission.

I said I'd like to be a bomb, and when it was my turn to have an interview, I conjured my most ernest demeanor.  "Ever since I was a very small boy, I've always wanted to be a bomb."
I got the role on the spot and spent the rest of the day blundering around, blowing people up.

I endured camp.  The last day came. Bored kids passed the time by throwing Jarts at one another.
Finally it was my turn to get on the big yellow bus.

and jart-o was his name-o!

Flashlight fun.

that's my name...

don't wear it out!

blinded by the light!

wrapped up like a douche-

another runner in the night...

RUN!!!

Art I did when I was little.

This is a self portrait I did of myself when I was in nursery school.
I only did it because they forced us to.
I had a terrible sense of foreboding about the project because at that time I had no formal training in the arts.

I was so mad about painting through my arm, and disgusted about my lopsided body.
When I got back from school my father asked me, as usual, "what did you do in school today?"
As usual, I said "nothing". (It was bad enough to have to waste all that time going to school, I sure didn't want to talk about it afterwards.)

He was so proud of my self portrait, that he framed it, and hung it in the hall forever.
I'm glad I have it now, since I've gotten attached to it over time. But back then, I don't know...

The Photograph tucked in the corner is me, when I got to New Orleans in '95. I was welding a sculpture under a deck that was outside of my basement room. Nobody was forcing me to paint self portraits.


This picture was a collaboration between my father, Ray Johnson, and myself when I was 3.
I didn't know that Ray was an artist. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ray_Johnson I was was just impressed because he was the only bald person I'd ever seen. My father did the car, Ray did the guy saying "And Ray", and I did the rest.

NO HAIR!

Strangely hypnotic success guru videos

I don't know what it is about Elaine Love...
It's not about this one video, it's more of a cumulative effect.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMgPjbogDEs&list=UL4fdvr0on0OQ&playnext=9

Paper towels

I bought some paper towels.

They were "Bounty, extra suave"

I gave them to my wife, but not before expressing my disappointment in her, for her unsophisticated previous choices in  paper goods.

One...singular sensation!

Many thanks to my neighbor, Gothic Hangman, for the use of his top hat.

http://gothichangmanstudios.com/
update!
After I'd finished shooting the pictures, Gothic Hangman suggested a little moustache.
Hooray! Look! These towels already had one!