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- Feature - Lloyd Kaufman: The Kotori Interview
- Feature - Martin Luther King, Jr.'s Road to the Mountaintop
- Feature - Losing LeBron
- Feature - The Crazy Legend of Slowhand Jack
- Feature - The Giving Lens Gets Focused
- Notes From A Polite New Yorker
- Tommy Digital's Pussy Cocktails
- The Octopus Files
- Wasims Rants
- The Guys You'll Meet on Earth, But Not in Heaven
- Slippery Id
- The Shameful Truth
- Writing for the Sake of It
- Void Creation
- Frankly Speaking
- Pulling At The Fringes
- These Altered States - America Trying to Become Itself
- The Worthless
Void Creation: A Tale of Two Travel Mugs
This event sent me into a reflective mood as I recalled the previous time that I had resorted to vomiting in a travel mug.
A few months ago, while hurtling down the 110 Freeway in Los Angeles late one night, I had the opportunity to vomit in a travel mug. It was a sudden affair with very little advance warning in which I had very extremely limited time to scramble for a solution. Being at the tail end of 3 months of pregnancy and the lucky recipient of some good old "morning sickness" (which never seemed to strike in the mornings), periodic surprise vomiting had become something of a routine part of my days. This, however, was the first time that the uncontrollable urge had struck whilst I was driving, alone, in my car.
As the metallic taste took over my mouth and my saliva glands started working overtime, I knew I had only a matter of seconds to make an executive decision as to where I would direct this special delivery. There was no time to stop or pull over, and aiming it out the window seemed far too risky and potentially messy.* *(I had recently attempted an out-the-window high-speed vomit traveling east-bound on the 10 freeway from my husband's passenger window, which resulted in a Scion spray-washed with stomach chunks). Luckily there was an empty travel mug, acquired while touring with my band through the Midwest at a Kum & Go, that had been rolling around on the floor of my messy car for months.
By a miracle of perfect proportions, my regurgitated salad and lemonade recently eaten at the Shakers in South Pasadena filled the mug right to the brim, but not beyond, and I was able to gracefully pour it out of the window on a hairpin turn while exiting the freeway at Via Marisol. No harm, no foul, no mess, and very little stench. Glory be.
This event sent me into a reflective mood as I recalled the previous (first, and only other) time that I had resorted to vomiting in a travel mug, which coincidentally also occurred while driving at high speeds down a Los Angeles freeway. That time it was the 405 South.
It was the morning after Thanksgiving Day in the year 2000. I had been up all night popping someone else's prescription pills, drinking Jack Daniels, and listening to the same Madonna album over and over and over and over and over again with some old roommates in Newhall. This was our Thanksgiving. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
The game I was playing that night consisted of my taking a few of some hard-to-pronounce mystery pills (purloined from an absent roommate's dresser drawer) and then jumping on the Internet to see what those just-ingested pills were supposed to "do" to me.
At about 5am I started vomiting uncontrollably. At about 8am I decided that it was time for me to return home to the glorious couch I was then crashing on at another friend's place in Woodland Hills. On that long ride down the 405, I had to continuously puke into a travel mug and dump it out the window to keep all of the previous night's poisons ejecting out of my body. I have no doubt that travel mug saved not only the interior of my Toyota Tacoma truck, but also my life.
And now, here I am. Almost 10 years clean and sober. Almost 8 months pregnant. At the precipice of being some kid's mother. Glory be. Let the revolution begin.