R.I.P. Eddie “Bozo” Miller, It’s All Gravy, and the Tenderloin Revisited
I like to troll the obits sometimes for interesting stories. I’m not really all that morbid—I just think sometimes they can be very interesting. A couple of weeks ago there was a picture of a man with an eye patch and I was compelled to read his very long entry all about his affinity for the sea and making model ships in bottles. It could not have been more perfect. Today I happened to see a short news story about how Eddie “Bozo” Miller died at age 89. That is a fairly long life for a man “known for his amazing capacity for food consumption.” Apparently he ate 27 2-pound chickens in one sitting as part of a bet.
This past week I got an Evite from my friend asking me to come over and eat some country gravy. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten an invitation like this and so I had to reply “yes.” I think I said I’d wear my stretchy pants and possibly a scrunchie and my fake Uggs. I want to be comfy as I eat this gravy which I’ve only had once before but I do know is amazing. The other girls plan on eating it like soup which I find very disturbing. Shouldn’t it be like…on something? It is a sauce after all. I was told I could bring biscuits if I must.
I had a terrible semi-drunken dream last night. I was in a large, beautiful house in, I think, India and somehow a toucan got in and before I knew it, it was eating the baby parrot I loved so much. I kept screaming, “No, not the baby! Eat the mom instead!” I also had lots of dreams about swarms of ants and I really hated it.
Tonight is Girl’s Night Out in the Mission. For the longest I boycotted the Mission, or the “Mish” as I heard it called by disgusting non-native hipsters, because well, I didn’t feel cool enough. I still don’t. And then I think….wait a sec. I was born here. I know what the Mission was like before the dot-com invasion. I know that Taqueria Cancun does not necessarily have the bomb-est burritos. So, funk all that noise—I have some native rights here, don’t I?
Maybe what I need to do is explore some different part of the City. The Marina is out. The Sunset’s too far out. Downtown can be overwhelming. SOMA? I can learn to like the Tenderloin, I suppose. The TL and I have an interesting relationship. Mostly I hate it, but it does provide some amusement. Mario gets mad when I walk down Hyde from his. He walked with me the other day and, despite my assertion that it is relatively safe (especially when raining), we saw just oodles of crackheads looking for their next hop fix. I saw nuns, too, so that made me feel okay. Anyhow, I got a semi-anonymous email from someone in the Tenderloin that reads:
Subject: Hello from Kiyoshi in the Tenderloin
You look like someone I know. I am sitting here in my new apartment looking down at the city and doing searches on my space for tenderloin girl. lol
My name is kiyoshi and if you want to chat let me know. My myspace profile has nothing, I am 30 and I make music and I played where is my mind by the pixies for a talent show when I was in the tenth grade. I plyed drums and this girl sang. My friend byron was on guitar. Many acid trips later I became a producer. Well I hope you dont know anyone I know. If you do then fuck off I never even knew you.
I don’t even know when it was that I became a freak-magnet, but I suspect it was long ago because I barely batted an eyelash.