This should be fun. I'm going to give you the location in the photo below, but instead of just telling me where it is, tell me what its significance is. A hint - there's a reference to modern pop culture in the photo. Tell me the who, where, why, etc. of the piece of pop culture that you can find here. Quote anything interesting you find. Tell a story. The more interesting the response, the more likely you are to have some frosty goodness in your future...so the first response won't necessarily win. Here goes - good luck!
Monday, January 7, 2008
Frenzy 5
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7 comments:
Too easy, cousin! Lee Ho Fook, SoHo, London, was immortalized by Warren Zevon in the song Werewolves of London.
"I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fook's
Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein..."
See more musings on this under your original post on the main page. Warren Zevon remains one of my faves--I went right out and bought the album that came out before he died as soon as I heard it. Much calmer than in the old days, I suppose, but he still had it.
Lots of folks assume that Michael Zieven's middle name is "Zevon", but "Zieven" is really a respelling of "Ziven", which means, according to the New Age Baby Name Guide "full of life".
Shameless plug:
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Kathy,
Have you given up sleep? Lent doesn't start til next week.
Scott N.
P.S. The picture is only a facade. Behind the bright lights and chow mein is found a secret CIA prison where captives are tortured with the music of obscure punk/funk bands.
Oops. Lent starts next month. I take typos to a new level.
Lint? Did somebody say lint? It's ALL OVER my black wool sweater, and I can't for the life of me find the lint brush.
It's a reproduction of the Soho restaurant Lee Ho Fook's located at the far north end of the Mall of America.
Yeah...almost too easy Leigh-son. I had the same quote prepared to fire off from the song....but as usual, I'm a little late. HOWEVER....since your soliciting responses as well.
Yeah...almost too easy Leigh-son. I had the same quote prepared to fire off from the song....but as usual, I'm a little late. HOWEVER....since your soliciting responses as well, we'll see if I can't edge out the competition with a little family his-story.
True story, better told when both teller and listeners have warmed their receptors with a few whiskeys, but I'll relay it here nonetheless:
When i was twelve I was staying at my grandparents watching late night TV w/ my Pappaw when a late night spooky movie came on. It was "The Wolfman" and I begged my Pappaw to let me stay up and watch it. Being the spoiled only grandchild, the answer was of course yes, but it was followed by a, "I should have known you'd like this one." from my grandpa.
My pappaw then proceeded to tell me that I was old enough to both hear and appreciate a bit of family history. He proceeded to bring out the family bible where members from generations past had written notes and various comments on family history and directed me to one passage written by my great grandfather Thad "Rip" McCullough (No lie, that was actually his nickname in Blanco where he did lots of drinking and gambling with Sam Johnson...otherwise known as LBJ's daddy (at least in name anyway)....of course there's even more of a scandalous story there, but that'll cost you some beverages and possibly some Mexican food).
So anyway, ol' Rip had made an entry w/ all the brothers and children listed and a very cryptic note that with all the breeding stock of males in the family, the story of the "old country curse" would sure to be carried on. In the days before smiley faces in text, I'm not so sure how toungue in cheek the comment was, but Pappaw relayed the story to me in great detail.
Oooh, story halt...I don't think I can expound too deeply here because, as I stated, the realism becomes weightier with proper motivation (i.e.- booze......oh yeah.....and there should also be at least some female presence actually present because why tell tall tales if there's no impressed cooing at the end)....so here's the very short version:
One of my ancestors slept w/ a "priest's" daughter (my grandpa's words...I'm thinking Druid) in Ireland many generations prior. The "priest" found out and cursed the first born son of every third generation of my family. The curse was simple, and at a time when nights out on the town meant hunting down evil entities and a killin' 'em, was really meant as a death sentence and a hellbound existence. The curse was that the chosen few from the McCullough clan were doomed to be werewolves. Damned souls. My pappaw then described horrible transformations and more than a few family hairy palmed stories that had nothing to do with Farrah Faucet (hey, I was twelve).
After quite a laundry list of descriptors and stories, my pappaw turned to me and told me to guess who the last person in the family was that was supposed to have been afflicted. I shook my head, just a little scared of the answer. It was my great grandpa Thad McCullough, whom I was named after. Oh...and guess what....yeah, you can figure out the rest. Third generation, first (only) born. Yeaaaah.
So anyway, there's a whole bunch of add ons to this story (the dentist doing my first full mouth Xrays and being rather disturbed at the lay out of my teeth, no less than three girlfriends who had a hard time sleeping in the same vicinity as me and not because I snore, an unexplainable oddity having to do with my breast plate bone and how it sits on my rib cage, etc, etc), but I've already breached my allotted verbage, so I'll have to save those tidbits for another time.
So there's my lagniappe for your throwing out the WOL reference. I guess, also needless to say, that song holds some strong sentimentality for myself and my early school chums and lovers. I must say though,that it sounds much better when one of the latter sings the Werewolves of Austin and adds a little spicier version for a certain very appreciative big hairy animal. HAha!!
Many toothy smiles,
Thad
PS- I hope your mom's not on this list! You know how those parental grapevines get going!
What the hell!
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