Tag Archives: Bob Neal

Mechanistic Lover part 3: The Rewards of Fast, Disposable, Convenient Culture

A Brandon Follett and Bob Neal collaberation

A Brandon Follett and Bob Neal collaberation

Mechanistic Lover Part 3
The Rewards of an of a Fast, Disposable, Convenient Culture
previously published in The Arbiter

The microwave has nuked
my sex life.

Always thought
I could keep my eating habits
separate from my love making.

Veronica started to throw out comments like
“Aaron you treat me like a piece of meat.”
I’m a herbivore.
It didn’t dawn on me
that I really treated her
like a veggie TV dinner
until it was too late.

Our bedroom troubles began
when I bought a microwave.
Out went the homemade pizza.
Out went the sex.

Only after, she left me
I realized
how much I begun to mimic
the rewards of a fast, disposable, convenient culture.

I noticed:
I didn’t kneed the dough.
I didn’t gently wash the tomatoes.
I didn’t spread the creamy garlic sauce
and mozzarella cheese
from side to side
top to bottom.
I didn’t wait for the oven to heat up.

Eating has become gorging.
Sex has become fucking.

After another Veronica comment
I heard myself saying,
“However, I’m sure you’ll agree
doesn’t my penis feel good
like the feel good taste
of an instant Tony’s Pizza?”

She did not agree!

So I traded in Veronica
and all the things my 5 senses
cherished most about our sex:
sweet moans, tasty kisses, gentle touch,
sex smell, and visual curves
for a world of me me me

fast food,
convenient rest homes
disposable plates
fast orgasm
convenient internet dating
disposable cameras
fast cooking
convenient child care
disposable friends
fast sex
convenient microwave
disposable Tony’s Pizza.


I’m now married to instant gratification.

Vegetarian Pizza Recipe:

1 cup of warm water
1 tablespoon of active-dry yeast
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon of sugar
Let it sit approximately 5 minutes
Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil
Mix well
Add 2 cups of flour
Work the dough with your hands and add  half to 1 cup more flour.
The dough should be easy to handle and little bit sticky.
Spread the dough on lightly buttered cookie sheet.

Olive oil infused with garlic, red pepper flakes, and basil.

Tomato, basil, garlic, red onion, mushrooms, pine nuts, mozzarella cheese

Did George W. Really Eat Here?! (guest omelet review)

by Jeanne Huff, Treasure Hunter for the Idaho Statesman and Boise poet

Bob and I stopped in for Sunday breakfast at Moon’s Kitchen Cafe, 815 Bannock St. in Boise.

It’s a cute spot, shaped kind of like one of those skinny houses, not very wide, but way deep. And it has a kind of mullet mentality: business in the front — there’s this weird gift shop full of knick-knacks and jokey adult toys; party in the back — the cafe.

I say party in the back where the cafe is, because really, that’s where most everybody is. The only time I’ve ever seen folks in the weird gift shop part is when they’re waiting for somebody or waiting for a seat or waiting for their bill.

In the back then, is the restaurant. It feels and looks like a 50’s style mom and pop cafe or diner, straight out of a novel by that guy who wrote “The Grapes of Wrath.” Seating is cafeteria-style with rows of long tables covered with plastic, oily tablecloths and place settings.

Signs cover the walls. One sign proclaims Moon’s has been a tradition since 1955. A good omen, I thought, since that’s the year I was born. Other signs with pithy sayings — Danger: Men Cooking, Notice: Prices Subject to Change According to Customer’s Attitude — here’s my favorite: Cows may come and cows may go, but the bull in this place goes on forever. There are old automobile signs and John Wayne is EVERYwhere! In paintings, photos, posters and his image is even on a U.S. flag. There are also signed photos of local celebs and legislators — a few on the national level. (Did George W. and Barbara Bush and Dick Cheney really eat here?!)

By the way, the milkshakes here are legendary. I even brought my chocolate-loving son Tyler here once for lunch, hoping to impress him on the wonders of Boise.
And if you do order a milkshake, or anyone does for that matter, avoid sitting at the third stool from the north end. There’s a sign there that reads: Sit Here At Your Own Risk — Milkshake Machine Sprays. The sign is perched in front of an ancient-looking monster of a mixer. Hmm, I think. Although a milky-sweet shower could sound appealing at times, today it is snowing outside. The chill in the air puts a damper on thoughts of fun, frothy frolic.

Because of the seating, you get to sit with a variety of breakfasting neighbors. Over at the next table, we see a group of wildly-clad party people. Are they still up from last night’s midnight mayhem? They do look a little wilty around the edges.

Bob and I agreed that it’s nice when a breakfast restaurant can offer entertainment by way of people watching while you wait for your breakfast.

Our omelets came to our table, sharing space on the
overladen plate with a mountain of hash browns and a pile of toast. Um-mm.

We both agreed, the three-cheese and mushroom omelet was good; much better after you peeled the squares of processed orange American cheese off the top so you could then enjoy the new two-cheese and mushroom omelet. The two cheeses — real cheddar and real swiss — complemented the freshly sliced mushrooms folded inside a thin egg blanket perfectly.

The service here is also 1950s-style: your server is a waitress and she’s probably going to call you “hon” no matter what your gender is. She looks a little rough around the edges — but you just know she has a heart of gold.

We gave it a “Double Yum” rating.