2003-06-27 - 2:21 p.m.

[Ok, one day later than planned, and we're back. Notify List is a little on the wonky side these days so we apologize to those of you that didn't get notification of the last entry. But we're back for part two of The Quibbler interview that almost toppled the Brazilian government. And by "Brazilian government", we mean Big Banana. Ok, and we're off . . .]

Q: Well, we hinted towards it several times in Part 1, so should we tackle it now?

Z: The ant?

Q: The ant.

Z: Ok. Damn. See, this thing has already been blown waaaay out of proportion. I saw this editorial cartoon in The Phoenix the other day that showed streams of fire ants marching towards my gullet. A bit extreme I thought.

Q: Indeed.

Z: So yeah. For the record, it all went down two Tuesdays ago. I had just gotten home from work, which was no doubt another shift filled with my foisting comics on AlYson and asking her what part of the steak Vegans can eat. My cupboards were bare. I mean BARE. That 6 year old blueberry pop-tart (that Fred and Coty are intimately acquainted with) was starting to look mighty scrumptious at this point. I did my usually quick perusal of Ben's food in the hope that some canolis has mysteriously popped up while I was at work. No such luck. That's when I found the popcorn. See, when Hayley moved out of her dorm to leave for the Cape for the summer she brought in this Act II Caramel Popcorn for me. She knew I liked it when Al-i-son had brought it in a few weeks before. It was true. I did. Even if the sight of caramel caused me to launch into my "Caramel vs Carmel" rant for the 17th time. So I pop the popcorn (THIS SIDE UP of course) in the most tempermental microwave this side of the Mason/Dixon. So you know I burn it a little. Just a little. But then I have to cut into this giant slab of hard caramel. Which is vacuum sealed into this wrapping paper made of 95% tungsten. So I slice it open with some rusty scissors and in the process get goopy chunks of caramel all over my hands. I gingerly place the caramel brick into the bag of popcorn and throw it back into the microwave for another 45 seconds. Which worries me as it's only going to burn the already slightly singed popcorn. Then I take it out. It was a mess. Oh god was it a mess. The bag ripped and hot caramel splattered on to my leg. And outside of Sue Peaslee, I can't think of many people that would classify that as a good time. So I am cussin' and a fussin' and scrubbing caramel off my legs while the popcorn smokes on the counter and Chef Chen Kenichi watches me with curiosity and thinks, "I shall give him another week and a half. Then I will try to kill him." But more on C.C.K.'s motives a wee bit later. So I finally manage to get back into the living room with a 2 inch wide ball of popcorn and caramel /slash/ paper (seared to the popcorn from the caramel attaching itself to the bag) and began watching the latest escapades of those dolts on Real World Paris. Granted, I still like them more than the cocknuggets on Chicago and Las Vegas, but Ace is starting to really piss me off - whether he's on 7, 8, or 9. So yeah. At some point as I'm hypnotized by Christina's mesmerizing . . . eyes, that's it, eyes, I drop some popcorn on the floor. Well, apparently, the many ant colonies living in our house saw this as caramel pennies from heaven. And one particularly large ant threw himself at the sticky glob. And I, not noticing this, swooped down and picked it up. And as I threw it in my mouth, I noticed that there was an ant on it. A big ant. And before I could do anything about it, he slid down my throat like Speedy on so many SurfCoaster slides. So yeah. I ate the ant. That's the story. Now you know it.

Q: And we are dumber for it.

Z: Very cool.

Q: Ok. Let's run down a list of things real quick.

Z: Shoot.

Q: Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix?

Z: [sigh] Ok. Now see. I'm overly critical of the things I like the most. I was critical of Spider-Man for god sakes. And I liked HP5. I really did. And as long as you promise not to tell Scholastic, I got a bit of a jump on the book, just like I did for HP4. But in case Scholastic is reading this, then I'll just go and claim today is Opposite Day. So anyway. I can't really go into my specific issues with the book as I realize not everyone is a freak like Hayley, Al-i-son, Andrea and me and finished it in like 3 hours. I guess I was upset that certain long simmering plot lines were abruptly dropped or "resolved" while other newer mysteries and plot lines just kinda twisted in the wind to be resolved in god knows how many years. Although I was happy to see some characters I never thought we'd see again. And "Christmas in The Closed Ward" is my favorite chapter for showing how deftly J.K. Rowling juggles humor and misery.

Q: Nanny's birthday?

Z: Right. 80 Years old. And doesn't act a day over 14. Seriously. And I don't know if that's a compliment. Her, my mother and my 4 aunts spent last weekend in Ogunquit for her birthday weekend. I know. Sounds insane. The most insane part is that my mother told me that they all got along great. I know, I'm still rather skeptical myself, but that's what she says. Anyway, after a rough night sleeping a few miles from the Ammo Dump, I met them on Sunday afternoon at Poco's for lunch. And you know since my mother was involved we had to sit outside so far out towards the water that we were eating on a tugboat. And you know that once the hot waitress said she was from UNH that was the signal to Nanny that not only must we know each other but that we should be married. They had lots of cameras between them and at one point when the waitress bent over to get something Nanny points at her ass and elbows me hard in the ribs and says, "Now there's a picture for ya!" and throws me the camera. Seriously. I . . . seriously. Sabby and Susie weren't exactly paragons of good behavior (and that's putting it mildly) but once I convinced them to go to the Oxygen Station, they were much better. Oh Oxygen Station, who you won't sedate /slash/ energize at the same time! (Man, that last sentence included waay too many jokes.) I brought Nanny to the Portsmouth Candle Company and told her to pick out whatever stuff she wanted and that would be my present to her. She was thrilled. Although she was pissed they didn't have the Sage Citrus candle. Apparently she really goes for Sage Citrus.

Q: Radiohead tickets?

Z: I got them. We're going in August. Tweeter Center. I'm very happy. Although exactly WHO is coming with me is still up for a bit of debate. Well, Hannah and Andrea are definites. I hope the weather's good. We've got open air seats.

Q: And what was that about the Ammo Dump you mentioned before? The Ammo Dump? On Rt. 16? In Farmington?

Z: Do you know of any other? Ha. Yes. The Ammo Dump. The glorious Dump of Ammo. Technically we went to Middleton. But I'd never even heard of it. Besides, Ben and I thought the party was in Farmington. Albert and Billy, Jeff's friends, were having a party at this summer home/log cabin thing on some lake in Middleton. Ben roped me into going when I got out of work on Saturday and we made the trek up there to find lots of Beirut, a bonfire, a tv blasting The Primetime Price is Right (where Plinko values are doubled!) and foosball! And we even got to watch the Klitschko (sp.?) / Lewis fight. And for some strange reason I was very into the fight. And Lewis won but it was cheap. He shouldn't have won. But it was nice of him to ask Klitschko out for a spot of tea afterward. Such a gentleman. And Jeff ended up sleeping in his car that night, but we didn't find that out until days later and had thought he went missing in the woods in the middle of the night. Wouldn't be the first time. It was a fun time. Will we go back again? Maybe. Will we spend all of our money at the Ammo Dump? Absolutely.

Q: Guster concert?

Z: Andrea, Todd, Rex, Ben, Kate and I went up Wednesday night to Portland for the free show. The place was packed and it was hotter than Tracey Lundgren's box but we had a lot of fun. They played from the top of the Fleet Bank. And Becca and Hannah had tipped me off that they had played Talking Heads' (Nothing But) Flowers at the Boston show the night before, and they played it again in Portland. And I was extremely pleased by it. We even ran into Rob Curtis! Well, we didn't run into him. I'd be dead. But we talked to him for a while. But guess who ELSE was there? Ok. Don't guess. Cause you'll never get it right. But I can tell you that after she walked by us, Ben yelled to me, "I wonder where Thomas Jiminez is?!" That's right kids. Katie "Let me convert you to Jehovah's Witness while I'm naked in the shower with you even though my religion forbids I so much as dance or celebrate my own birthday" Macabee! Damn. It was surreal. But then she kept walking and we went back to watching Guster. But damn, Katie Macabee. Funny shit.

Q: Boothbay Harbor?

Z: Yeah. I feel bad that Ben and I didn't go to Boston last weekend for the first going-away party they had for Liz and Laura. But I worked and Ben worked on the house and then there was the aforementioned Ammo Dump. Plus, they were all going clubbing and when ever Ben and I go down there they are usually aghast at something Ben and I are wearing to go out with, like, "Zach! You can't have brown hair at a club in Boston!" or "Ben, you can't have anal plugs at a bar in Brighton!!" You know, real sticklers. So we're going to Boothbay Harbor to Canada Drive for the final finale of "Liz's Goodbye Lower 48 Contiguous States Tour!" If it's anything like my last trip to Boothbay, then I can only imagine what sort of hi-jinx we're gonna get into! We leave in the morning. Wish us luck.

Q: Chef Chen Kenichi plotting your death?

Z: Right. Well. See. That's a long story. And I'm gonna be late meeting Kate to go see Charlie's Angels (tell no one). So I'm just gonna be cheap and hand you over the transcript of the e-mail I sent to Brett and Monique yesterday detailing little Chef's evil scheme:

To: Brett & Monique

Subject: Anyone in the market for some Chef Chen Kenichis?

Originally this e-mail was going to be a thank you e-mail for my Sopranos/Photo of Niko as a Young Man package. And while I still thank you, I feel something else has come up that you should direct your attention to.

Incidentally, Chef Chen and I got into a little bit of what one might call a "battle royale" last night. I played a little too rough and he played back a little too rougher. He sliced me and diced me like so many Ron Popeil products. Seriously, I was bleeding in 5 different places on my hands alone. I've had a cat in one shape or form (usually in the shape and form of a cat) for my whole life, so I am used to their ferocious behaviors. But this . . . this was different. I was bleeding SHEETS of blood. If indeed blood comes in sheet form. Gale force blood here. Spouting from my hands. Ah, but it was all in good fun right?

Wrong. Around 3:45 this morning I awake to a certain Chef sitting peacefully. On my face. Oh that 1/2 Russian scamp I think. And then I grab him and heave him across the room. I think to myself that I may have broken his little kitty ribcage. But while I suck my bloody digits clean as I fall back asleep, I feel no remorse. And that's where it ends right?

Wrong. Apparently, about 15 minutes later, Chef Chen decided to come back in for the kill. Now, I know I don't need to tell you two that this particular breed of cat (full Russian Blue, 1/2 Russian Blue, or 1,000 Island) like to get into places they shouldn't. Whether that means behind the books on the upper teetering levels of the book shelf, or the bath, or even inside the stove. But this time, as I slept peacefully in the immense heat, Chef Chen had other plans. Above me, placed gingerly on the window sill 1 1/2 feet above my angelic head, trying in vain to keep me cool, was the Airblast 320 fan. Well, despite there being PLENTY of window sills for Chef Chen to explore in the middle of the night, he needed to get to THIS one. Ahhh, but Chef Chen seems to be losing his Niko-esque figure and cutting more of a zeppelin-like Misha profile these days. So sneaking his way between the back of the fan and the screen was not to be. Have you ever been woken up by someone shaking you and saying, "Get up! Get up!"? That's scary. Fire Alarm getting pulled in your dorm at 2 AM? That's scary. Having the Airblast 320 pummel you in the face, WHILE IT'S FLESH SLICING BLADES WHIR MENACINGLY IN THE STILL NIGHT . . . well, that's a wee bit on the shit-your-pants and cry-for-mommy side of things. But it can't get worse right?

Wrong. After I awake in absolute bone-chilling terror, the fan then sliiiiiiiides off my face and crashes to the ground. And in the process - breaks my glasses.

So the moral to the story is . . . perhaps Misha and Niko would like their Country Mouse (as it were) cousin to come visit them in the big city - FOREVER.

Q: Thanks again Zach for your time!

Z: No problem! See you at Cosmic Bowling!

It's been real,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

ps - Just got back from Charlie's Angels. It was definitely Full Throttle. I can't tell you much about the plot, as there wasn't really one to speak of. But that Lucy Liu is hot with a capital H. So, I guess that'd make her Hot. Yeah. Oh yeah. And we got caught in a thunderstorm. And I spilled avocado on my pants. And Kate said, "What won't they use a fire barricade for?" I think that's everything . . .

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