Slow news day for the Harrison Daily Times.
I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of Shake Rag Hollow. Nor can I vouch for the relative trustworthiness of either Mr. Baughman or Mr. Snelson. Nor can I speculate as to their relationship with AmeriGas, which, off the record, seems a little suspicious.
As some of you know, I have developed something of a milkshake addiction in recent months. Chocolate chip cookies of course being a gateway drug to heavier substances, I recently went to Wendy’s for a shake. I know they’re called “Frosties” there, but I didn’t figure that semantics would be a big issue with them. I was sadly mistaken.
I pulled up at my local Wendy’s and scanned the menu for my quarry. A young lady’s voice came crackling over the speaker,
“Welcome to Wendy’s may I take your order?”
“Yeah, do y’all have milkshakes,” I replied, as I saw no mention of the word milkshake in my admittedly cursory examination of their offerings.
“No sir, we don’t have milkshakes.”
“Oh wait, what is a Frosty? That’s a milkshake right?” I asked, noticing the Frosty was the sole item listed under the somewhat prolix heading “Frozen Dairy Dessert.”
No response.
“What is a Frosty, anyway?” I asked.
Still no response.
Some moments passed.
Clearly I had caused her a catastrophic system error, rendering her unable to function, so I capitulated.
“I’ll have a large Frosty.”
“Thank you that will be $1.63. Please drive through.”
We made our exchange, and although I sensed no tension, I had clearly exploded this girl’s worldview. No doubt she’ll spend the rest of her evening contemplating the definition of the milkshake vis á vis the Frosty, a frozen dairy dessert. What is a Frosty? What is its Platonic form? What separates it from the milkshake? What is the essence of the Frosty? Not quite food item, not quite beverage, the Frosty must reside in a culinary netherworld, seldom visited by other foodstuffs.
As I drove away, the subtle distinction of the Frosty from the milkshake was made clear to me: Frosties are served not with a straw, but with a spoon. Eureka!
Perhaps it was the warm weather, or perhaps I had so existentially wounded my server that she sought to extract her revenge on my frozen dairy dessert, but when I got home I noticed that the Frosty was leaking all around its lid. A significant portion had liquefied and was running amok. I got to the kitchen and transferred it to a cup, yet I continued to make a mess of myself. If only I had been given a straw…
Indeed, my Frosty runneth over.
Finally, it is done.
The picture is a little bright, but you get the idea. I think I’ve mentioned before that I got a book of Japanese advertising art from 1958 at a book sale at the Arkansas Arts Center. So impressed was I with these works that I wanted to put them on a guitar. When I purchased the $150 Ibanez in Dallas in March, I knew I had the perfect instrument for the job. Through much trial and error I settled on a process whereby I scanned in my favorite ads and a matte of the guitar’s shape. I arranged the ads inside the matte shape, stretching and resizing to fit the curves of the body. Then I printed them out in four pieces onto white contact paper. Contact paper doesn’t take ink well, so I put down a layer of transparent contact paper over that. Then I cut them out and stuck them to the guitar.
I played it at the Superflux gig at Cajun’s last Saturday; hopefully soon Steve will have the pictures over at superflux.cc.