The Roaring Twenties didn't have to end. 1930 is just a number. The sixties didn't have to end. Look what the seventies brought us--lava lamps, pet rocks and ESP.
The Beatles could have incorporated Yoko into their family. Pink Floyd and King Crimson didn't have to fold their tent. The Doobie Brothers--okay, that HAD to end.
The Carter Administration could have continued if he had just lied to the American people and told them what they wanted to hear instead of the truth that we couldn't be the world's policemen.
Oprah didn't have to end. Yes, she has a network even shut ins are avoiding. Larry King and Regis Philbin had no good reason to quit except they were old. But Betty White and Joan rivers go on and on.
Seinfeld didn't have to end 14 long years ago. Look at what hasn't happened to the stars career wise. Greece didn't have to be swamped with debt. Couldn't the Swiss have bailed them out?
Giselle Bundchen's sun dress didn't have to end at mid thigh.
This blog has to end because I'm going out to meet friends and don't dare think I'm mentioning Yoko Ono in any context.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Compulsive Collecting
Some years ago I began collecting unusual growths from my body. Boils, cysts, carbuncles, pimples, warts, basal bumps, benign tumors, corns, bone spurs, birth marks. I put them in a cooler for preservation.
At some point I asked open minded friends for their growth anomalies and soon I had quite a collection. I sorted them by size and weight. I'm particularly proud of a two ounce carbuncle I sliced off my hip.
Then I got greedy. Sneaked around hospital dumpsters, seeking anything I could take home and add to my stash. I got lucky one night. Found a box of discarded umbilical cords. These lifelines once so vital were shamefully tossed out and forgotten.
You're thinking, this guy needs help. That's your opinion. It's not like I was stealing placentas. Except that one I found that was actually pulsing with life. That has become the crown jewel of my collection. I call it Edward. I don't pretend to know the value of what I have. That's up to E-Bay or Craigslist to determine. I do know that when I die my kids will benefit from this, as their value will only go up. Unlike Facebook. Now all I need is some kids.
At some point I asked open minded friends for their growth anomalies and soon I had quite a collection. I sorted them by size and weight. I'm particularly proud of a two ounce carbuncle I sliced off my hip.
Then I got greedy. Sneaked around hospital dumpsters, seeking anything I could take home and add to my stash. I got lucky one night. Found a box of discarded umbilical cords. These lifelines once so vital were shamefully tossed out and forgotten.
You're thinking, this guy needs help. That's your opinion. It's not like I was stealing placentas. Except that one I found that was actually pulsing with life. That has become the crown jewel of my collection. I call it Edward. I don't pretend to know the value of what I have. That's up to E-Bay or Craigslist to determine. I do know that when I die my kids will benefit from this, as their value will only go up. Unlike Facebook. Now all I need is some kids.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Ten Items or less
I was quietly chastised by the express cashier at Shoprite for having over ten items. I counted two bananas as one item. Same with apples, plums and oranges. She said each fruit was a separate item. By your logic, I reasoned, this bag of grapes contains over 250 items. No it doesn't, she responded, because I only have to ring up one price. But you must weigh them first, I argued. That takes more time. Add in the time you wasted counting my items. Plus (I was rolling now), that woman in front of me ran off to get extra paper towels and we had to wait on her.
The cashier insisted that was within express line parameters because she was back before her order was going to be rung up. I huffed that the tension wondering whether she would make it back caused all of us undo stress. I turned to the patrons behind me, expecting them to back me up. Instead, they just glared at me as though I were the problem.
Here's the issue--Pathmark and everyone else has self scanning lines replacing these friction generating express registers. Plus, all the standard express lines are FIFTEEN items or less, providing more leeway for busy shoppers with important itinerary. How Pathmark lost so much money A&P had to buy it is beyond me.
I took my bags and left without another word. When I got home I discovered one of my apples was bruised. That cashier jammed her thumb into my fruit, no question. I'll get her back, depending on the camera angle on the surveillance CD I'm going to demand.
The cashier insisted that was within express line parameters because she was back before her order was going to be rung up. I huffed that the tension wondering whether she would make it back caused all of us undo stress. I turned to the patrons behind me, expecting them to back me up. Instead, they just glared at me as though I were the problem.
Here's the issue--Pathmark and everyone else has self scanning lines replacing these friction generating express registers. Plus, all the standard express lines are FIFTEEN items or less, providing more leeway for busy shoppers with important itinerary. How Pathmark lost so much money A&P had to buy it is beyond me.
I took my bags and left without another word. When I got home I discovered one of my apples was bruised. That cashier jammed her thumb into my fruit, no question. I'll get her back, depending on the camera angle on the surveillance CD I'm going to demand.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Turkey Neck
After getting my photo taken for my new book, Plowed In-Switchblade Stories, I almost had to vomit. I have a disgusting turkey neck. I knew I had wrinkles, but it looks like an excavation site. There's no way to disguise it. No wonder young people avoid me. I thought it was because I'm boring. Well I am boring, but now I see that blandness is layered over with a patina of horrible wrinkled skin no lizard would leave the house exposing, assuming lizards owned houses.
Now I wonder what the top of my scalp looks like and whether my head has a funny shape. I never bothered with any of this stuff. I mean, I knew my elbows were ugly, but so are yours, everyone's. God must have been aggravated the day he created elbows.
What am I supposed to do? Wear turtlenecks in 90 degree weather? I'm going to make the best of a bad situation. Trim my ear and nose hair, bleach the coffee stains off my teeth, cover the annoying blemish near my nostril with tinted cream, deepen my voice and wear heavy construction boots. Go for the rugged metro-sexual look. Maybe I could wax my neck or go to traction rehab. I heard it's kind of stimulating in a 50 Shades of Gray kind of way.
Now I wonder what the top of my scalp looks like and whether my head has a funny shape. I never bothered with any of this stuff. I mean, I knew my elbows were ugly, but so are yours, everyone's. God must have been aggravated the day he created elbows.
What am I supposed to do? Wear turtlenecks in 90 degree weather? I'm going to make the best of a bad situation. Trim my ear and nose hair, bleach the coffee stains off my teeth, cover the annoying blemish near my nostril with tinted cream, deepen my voice and wear heavy construction boots. Go for the rugged metro-sexual look. Maybe I could wax my neck or go to traction rehab. I heard it's kind of stimulating in a 50 Shades of Gray kind of way.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Pop Up Business
All sorts of ideas for temporary pop up businesses come to mind in these nervous times.
Pogo stick rentals. Great exercise, no exhaust fumes, lightweight, teaches balances.
Soup on the Run. Harried commuters zip past, holding out soup bowls. Spot flashing by beautiful people for a fee. Marriage proposals created, $3 a word. Fifteen minute bassoon lessons. Spank a ballerina.
Create whole life philosophy involving uncooked vegetables. Refold road maps. Renting elders who speak no English for companionship. An argument stand, where someone will argue with you about anything. Shirt stains licked off for a fee. A tattoo parlor specializing in skull art for baldies. Rent a Witch, Rent a Surly Person, Rent a Tackling Dummy, Rent an Economics Professor, Rent a Perry Como impersonator.
Arrange blind dates at nudist beaches. Sell pauses to men whose women won't be quiet. Donuts with smaller holes and more donut. Teach florists how to make a fist. Create edible shoe horns. Create a No Fart Zone.
Train insects to bungee jump. Exfoliate the naval area. Create new uses for mousse and funnels. Perform frown adjustments. Charge people to tickle you. Use a magnifying glass to discover what is in between toes and sell the images. Buy Katheryn Hepburn's old furniture and charge people to smell it.
Set up a 1-800 Blame It On Me number where people can dump all their problems on you. Be Christ-like. For $50 an hour.
Pogo stick rentals. Great exercise, no exhaust fumes, lightweight, teaches balances.
Soup on the Run. Harried commuters zip past, holding out soup bowls. Spot flashing by beautiful people for a fee. Marriage proposals created, $3 a word. Fifteen minute bassoon lessons. Spank a ballerina.
Create whole life philosophy involving uncooked vegetables. Refold road maps. Renting elders who speak no English for companionship. An argument stand, where someone will argue with you about anything. Shirt stains licked off for a fee. A tattoo parlor specializing in skull art for baldies. Rent a Witch, Rent a Surly Person, Rent a Tackling Dummy, Rent an Economics Professor, Rent a Perry Como impersonator.
Arrange blind dates at nudist beaches. Sell pauses to men whose women won't be quiet. Donuts with smaller holes and more donut. Teach florists how to make a fist. Create edible shoe horns. Create a No Fart Zone.
Train insects to bungee jump. Exfoliate the naval area. Create new uses for mousse and funnels. Perform frown adjustments. Charge people to tickle you. Use a magnifying glass to discover what is in between toes and sell the images. Buy Katheryn Hepburn's old furniture and charge people to smell it.
Set up a 1-800 Blame It On Me number where people can dump all their problems on you. Be Christ-like. For $50 an hour.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Liz Claibourne R.I.P.
One day I'm driving past and the Liz Claibourne sign is gone. I email someone I knew who worked there and was told the company had been selling off its assets for two years and my friend left long before the inevitable final closing. Did anyone know of this? I read the financial pages all the time and had no inkling.
Certainly I'm concerned about all those out of work, but I'm especially worried about Liz herself. Is she living on the street? Designing clothes alone in some dingy basement? What else can she do? How shocking would it be to walk into Stop & Shop and see her bagging groceries. Does she have any family? Probably too busy with her career to marry and raise children.
What is it like to have your name on a huge sign for years and suddenly see another company's moniker there? Has this remarkable woman been able to maintain her identity? If the same thing happened to Hugo Boss would he survive?
I'm imagining dozens of formerly hot designers skulking through subway trains, in darkened alleys, battling the elements, begging for spare change. Laura Ashley in tatters, her face a silent scream, wearing matching rags and purse.
I'm thinking maybe Liz squirreled away a few million. I'm okay with this. But if Wendy's disappears...
Certainly I'm concerned about all those out of work, but I'm especially worried about Liz herself. Is she living on the street? Designing clothes alone in some dingy basement? What else can she do? How shocking would it be to walk into Stop & Shop and see her bagging groceries. Does she have any family? Probably too busy with her career to marry and raise children.
What is it like to have your name on a huge sign for years and suddenly see another company's moniker there? Has this remarkable woman been able to maintain her identity? If the same thing happened to Hugo Boss would he survive?
I'm imagining dozens of formerly hot designers skulking through subway trains, in darkened alleys, battling the elements, begging for spare change. Laura Ashley in tatters, her face a silent scream, wearing matching rags and purse.
I'm thinking maybe Liz squirreled away a few million. I'm okay with this. But if Wendy's disappears...
Monday, June 25, 2012
Childhood Games
I took my childhood games seriously. I stood with my calculator when we played leapfrog, trying to determine the exact amount of speed and thrust I'd need to leap over opponents. If some kid's back rises two inches over the norm it screws up the numbers.
With hopscotch, the same basic elements come into play. But balance and quickness are paramount. I usually emptied both pockets of marbles before I entered the fray. Buck Buck combined speed, thrust, balance and courage. If you landed wrong, either you fell off or your testicles got crushed.
Flipping baseball cards is all about angle of release, the twist of the wrist, footwork on the release. Plus you had to compensate for wind gusts. Careful analysis, using illustrations on my Etch-A-Sketch, gave me the advantage.
Spin the Bottle is all about percentages. I'd punch in numbers to the point where I could predict where the bottle would stop and position myself accordingly. Size and weight of the bottle, circumference of the circle of participants, room temperature, in or outdoors, relative strength of twist action for each individual, etc. all were factored into my calculations.
Yes, I did quite well at these games, but for some strange reason the other kids hated me. Go figure.
With hopscotch, the same basic elements come into play. But balance and quickness are paramount. I usually emptied both pockets of marbles before I entered the fray. Buck Buck combined speed, thrust, balance and courage. If you landed wrong, either you fell off or your testicles got crushed.
Flipping baseball cards is all about angle of release, the twist of the wrist, footwork on the release. Plus you had to compensate for wind gusts. Careful analysis, using illustrations on my Etch-A-Sketch, gave me the advantage.
Spin the Bottle is all about percentages. I'd punch in numbers to the point where I could predict where the bottle would stop and position myself accordingly. Size and weight of the bottle, circumference of the circle of participants, room temperature, in or outdoors, relative strength of twist action for each individual, etc. all were factored into my calculations.
Yes, I did quite well at these games, but for some strange reason the other kids hated me. Go figure.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Brutal and Despotic
Three thousand clowns marching in tandem. Floppy shoes clapping against the cobblestones. Entering our city at dawn. Came to a halt in town square. We huddled inside, shivering with fear. Rumor -their squirt guns contained acid. Forced our children to wear face paint, practice falling down.
Made adults squeeze ear-blasting horns. Stuffed us into baggy, polka dot pants, strapped on purple suspenders. Threw buckets of water at us and we made confetti deep into the night
Their leader had his sick way with our stuffed animals and made us watch. The rubber noses gave us skin rash.
Our cries for help to the Great Sky Clown went unanswered. They forced dozens of us into a phone booth for their own entertainment. They blanketed us with fart spray.
Worse than anything were the tight, ugly bow-ties forced upon us. All we could do was wait and hope for rescue by an army of roving jugglers known to be even more vicious than this sadistic bunch.
Made adults squeeze ear-blasting horns. Stuffed us into baggy, polka dot pants, strapped on purple suspenders. Threw buckets of water at us and we made confetti deep into the night
Their leader had his sick way with our stuffed animals and made us watch. The rubber noses gave us skin rash.
Our cries for help to the Great Sky Clown went unanswered. They forced dozens of us into a phone booth for their own entertainment. They blanketed us with fart spray.
Worse than anything were the tight, ugly bow-ties forced upon us. All we could do was wait and hope for rescue by an army of roving jugglers known to be even more vicious than this sadistic bunch.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
The Strategy
This time my strategy is well thought out. I put intense effort into all aspects. There is an arch, a blueprint I am closely following. This time I will reach my goals.
You know what my problem was? I was so intent on thinking outside the box, I didn't respect the box. I should have educated myself about that box before I thrust myself outside it. I was alone in the desolate area known as coloring outside the lines. I thought my strategy was ground breaking, so innovative that strategists would study the process for decades afterward. long books with many illustrations would be devoted to my planning.
This time my goals are more ambitious. I won't mention them--that might disrupt my protocol if you knew my goals. That's another thing--I displayed sloppy protocol in pursuing my strategy. I skipped steps on the way to my goals and when you have the kind of serious goals I'm aiming for you must follow every step, no matter how ruthless.
The word ruthless--now you're worried. Curious, suspicious, maybe obsessed, but mostly worried. You want to know how my goals, my strategy is going to affect your life. Like I'm ever going to give you a hint.
Let me say, this very blog is part of my strategy. One future day it will hit you all at once what my over- arching plan is and you will gasp.
Sleep well.
You know what my problem was? I was so intent on thinking outside the box, I didn't respect the box. I should have educated myself about that box before I thrust myself outside it. I was alone in the desolate area known as coloring outside the lines. I thought my strategy was ground breaking, so innovative that strategists would study the process for decades afterward. long books with many illustrations would be devoted to my planning.
This time my goals are more ambitious. I won't mention them--that might disrupt my protocol if you knew my goals. That's another thing--I displayed sloppy protocol in pursuing my strategy. I skipped steps on the way to my goals and when you have the kind of serious goals I'm aiming for you must follow every step, no matter how ruthless.
The word ruthless--now you're worried. Curious, suspicious, maybe obsessed, but mostly worried. You want to know how my goals, my strategy is going to affect your life. Like I'm ever going to give you a hint.
Let me say, this very blog is part of my strategy. One future day it will hit you all at once what my over- arching plan is and you will gasp.
Sleep well.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Before the Storm
The sky is burnt venison.
Dense air expectant.
Leaves already screaming.
Winds carve into frantic stragglers
cursing reticent umbrellas.
Lightning is white ink scratchings
across black canvas.
The storm vacuums heat from tar
like some grizzly suckling milk
through a straw.
Pity the tents.
Pity the optimists.
Wait for a timid clearing
and run like hell.
Dense air expectant.
Leaves already screaming.
Winds carve into frantic stragglers
cursing reticent umbrellas.
Lightning is white ink scratchings
across black canvas.
The storm vacuums heat from tar
like some grizzly suckling milk
through a straw.
Pity the tents.
Pity the optimists.
Wait for a timid clearing
and run like hell.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Crunch
I was in a car accident Tuesday past. Came away unhurt, but the passenger side was crushed, as well as the window. Thankfully there was no passenger. From time to time I give people a lift. Not that often because I'm not that popular.
I would hate to have to pick glass out of anyone's hair. That would not be a problem for me, considering my lack of hair. A screaming passenger and tons of guilt also would be rather off putting.
The other driver must have been making the same right turn I was. How did he not see me? Solar flare?He was scratching himself?
The back up of traffic ahead caused by one of many lane closures is what made me turn off onto a side street. It is in year eight of continuous road construction near my condo. Eight years of watching guys in hard hats stand around doing little. Things worsened when the whole Wal-Mart mall opened up right where the road work was. Brilliant planning. Our taxes at work. Now I'm stuck with a deductible, which was money I was going to use for my next book. It's looking like I'm going to have to return to my old job to generate income. And I thought I'd seen the last of my Chippendale's spandex.
I would hate to have to pick glass out of anyone's hair. That would not be a problem for me, considering my lack of hair. A screaming passenger and tons of guilt also would be rather off putting.
The other driver must have been making the same right turn I was. How did he not see me? Solar flare?He was scratching himself?
The back up of traffic ahead caused by one of many lane closures is what made me turn off onto a side street. It is in year eight of continuous road construction near my condo. Eight years of watching guys in hard hats stand around doing little. Things worsened when the whole Wal-Mart mall opened up right where the road work was. Brilliant planning. Our taxes at work. Now I'm stuck with a deductible, which was money I was going to use for my next book. It's looking like I'm going to have to return to my old job to generate income. And I thought I'd seen the last of my Chippendale's spandex.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
What I Won't Miss
When I finally croak this is what I won't miss:
Modern dancers falling all over the place as part of the choreography. Foreign films you'd never watch unless you were trying to impress someone.
Abstract paintings looking like they were done during a typhoon.
Charity events for causes that make one nervous.
Three hour lectures by professors on the lack of impact ideas.
Sara Jessica Parker.
The Fringe Festival where writers and actors beg family and friends for money to rent a space for exactly six performances.
Author signings by the Next Big Thing.
Obnoxious film crews dressed worse than the homeless they chase away.
Foreign street vendors with big muscles.
Crazed cyclists, crazed pedestrians, crazed skateboarders.
Parades for every single ethnic group.
Broken water fountains, subway sax men, Bible thumping, ice, suspicious doormen, fast walking women, homeless people with poor posture, wasted napkins, survey takers with clipboards, sales people in upscale boutiques wearing black, screaming traffic cops, Forever 21, crowded Coney Island trains, mingling C-list actors, openings you can't get into, Family Day, yoga in Times Square, cheap socks at flea markets, all those Christmas tree lighting events, unkempt, possibly diseased young people holding free Hugs signs.
I WILL miss the sound of my voice.
Modern dancers falling all over the place as part of the choreography. Foreign films you'd never watch unless you were trying to impress someone.
Abstract paintings looking like they were done during a typhoon.
Charity events for causes that make one nervous.
Three hour lectures by professors on the lack of impact ideas.
Sara Jessica Parker.
The Fringe Festival where writers and actors beg family and friends for money to rent a space for exactly six performances.
Author signings by the Next Big Thing.
Obnoxious film crews dressed worse than the homeless they chase away.
Foreign street vendors with big muscles.
Crazed cyclists, crazed pedestrians, crazed skateboarders.
Parades for every single ethnic group.
Broken water fountains, subway sax men, Bible thumping, ice, suspicious doormen, fast walking women, homeless people with poor posture, wasted napkins, survey takers with clipboards, sales people in upscale boutiques wearing black, screaming traffic cops, Forever 21, crowded Coney Island trains, mingling C-list actors, openings you can't get into, Family Day, yoga in Times Square, cheap socks at flea markets, all those Christmas tree lighting events, unkempt, possibly diseased young people holding free Hugs signs.
I WILL miss the sound of my voice.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
My Instincts
Ever since I sat down and had a talk with my instincts we've been on the same page. I let my instincts take over in my careful selection of friends. Drooling is a red flag. Not allowing me to contradict you is thumbs down. But someone with nice fingernails is in.
If I'm at a restaurant and the food comes too fast, my instincts say not much time was spent preparing it. The only time my instinct let me down was with Anastasia.
We met at a Save the Whales demonstration in front of the Japanese embassy. I was drawn to her dark, intense Scarlett O'Hara looks and her powerful forearms. Her fiery rhetoric excited me, plus she had exquisite fingernails.
Things were great between us for a long time. Then Robert, the scrub brush salesman, ruined us. I came home early one day to find him scrub brushing naked Anastasia. My instinct said kill him right there. But the intense sound of brush against skin was arousing.
I am ashamed of what happened next. No details. This is not that kind of blog. Perhaps one must ignore instinct and take each case individually. Trust impulse. Remember, instinct made Hitler invade Russia and we saw how that went down.
If I'm at a restaurant and the food comes too fast, my instincts say not much time was spent preparing it. The only time my instinct let me down was with Anastasia.
We met at a Save the Whales demonstration in front of the Japanese embassy. I was drawn to her dark, intense Scarlett O'Hara looks and her powerful forearms. Her fiery rhetoric excited me, plus she had exquisite fingernails.
Things were great between us for a long time. Then Robert, the scrub brush salesman, ruined us. I came home early one day to find him scrub brushing naked Anastasia. My instinct said kill him right there. But the intense sound of brush against skin was arousing.
I am ashamed of what happened next. No details. This is not that kind of blog. Perhaps one must ignore instinct and take each case individually. Trust impulse. Remember, instinct made Hitler invade Russia and we saw how that went down.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Harriet's Cheese Fries
Harriet offered me her leftover cheese fries the other night. This is a big breakthrough in our friendship. She also invited me to take her cup of cole slaw. I had to retreat to the men's room to sort this out. Anyone who has tasted cheese fries understands this is a huge sacrifice, far beyond anything I've done for her. Certainly above and beyond my offering to give her some of my mayonnaise three years ago at the same diner.
There were three other witnesses this time and all were as shocked as me. It wasn't like I asked, but honestly, my eyes never left those fries from the time they were served. I didn't realize I was so transparent. Are you sure, I asked, barely able to get the words out. Once, long ago, a woman I loved offered me waffle fries she couldn't finish. But I sensed it was an empty offer. I knew she wanted a doggie bag. A man just knows these things. Soon after, we went our separate ways. It was me or the waffle fries and she chose the latter.
At this moment I have Harriet's surrendered cheese fries in my refrigerator. I periodically open the container and stare at them, thoroughly embarrassed. How can one person have so much love in their heart? I don't deserve Harriet or her fries. But they will be my side dish tonight. I've got a bottle of honey mustard screaming to be opened.
There were three other witnesses this time and all were as shocked as me. It wasn't like I asked, but honestly, my eyes never left those fries from the time they were served. I didn't realize I was so transparent. Are you sure, I asked, barely able to get the words out. Once, long ago, a woman I loved offered me waffle fries she couldn't finish. But I sensed it was an empty offer. I knew she wanted a doggie bag. A man just knows these things. Soon after, we went our separate ways. It was me or the waffle fries and she chose the latter.
At this moment I have Harriet's surrendered cheese fries in my refrigerator. I periodically open the container and stare at them, thoroughly embarrassed. How can one person have so much love in their heart? I don't deserve Harriet or her fries. But they will be my side dish tonight. I've got a bottle of honey mustard screaming to be opened.
Two Dollars
Every spring I hit the Housing Works Book Store, where there's a one day sale on literary mags. I bring a bag and proceed to circle the store, dropping publications into my receptacle. As much as I promise I will not overload, I can't help myself. I want to support the small press in this country, but I also see these as potential markets for my own work. I want to read what's out there, become familiar with the bright minds creating prose and poetry, art and intense thought. I want to be the best NY intellectual I can be.
Invariably I can barely lift the bag, as I trudge to the cafe section and begin sorting out which I will actually buy for $2 apiece, a huge savings. I came up with 12, at least as many rejected. But I have a full list of every single publication in that place and I vow to look up each one and submit something.
Every year the same thing happens. I lug the books home, put them in a corner and forget about my ambitions until the next year rolls around. Yes, I am a phony, but getting on that Path train with all those esoteric titles and noticing the admiring glances of passengers who assume I'm a literary professor, is worth all the trouble.
Their coffee costs more than the books.
Invariably I can barely lift the bag, as I trudge to the cafe section and begin sorting out which I will actually buy for $2 apiece, a huge savings. I came up with 12, at least as many rejected. But I have a full list of every single publication in that place and I vow to look up each one and submit something.
Every year the same thing happens. I lug the books home, put them in a corner and forget about my ambitions until the next year rolls around. Yes, I am a phony, but getting on that Path train with all those esoteric titles and noticing the admiring glances of passengers who assume I'm a literary professor, is worth all the trouble.
Their coffee costs more than the books.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Skunk at the Picnic
I am the skunk at the picnic. When my friends engage in intellectual discourse, I am the one who spoils everything. People like to think their positions are solid, their arguments hold water. Their rationale is beyond criticism. I remain quiet until all are finished speaking. Then I take a sip of coffee, a long sip. All eyes are upon me.
Try as I might to be civil, my superior intellect takes over. In a machine gun monotone, I annihilate their specious arguments by pointing to illogical, flawed ideas, inconsistencies and inaccuracies. I chew Fig Newtons while expounding, barely breaking a philosophical sweat. In fifteen minutes I demolish all their cherished concepts. Humiliation is complete. I feel nothing. Not pride, guilt, or shame. I am who I am and do what I do.
I am the skunk.
They had a vote and decided to allow me to continue to attend, but limited me to one Fig Newton. I understand pure jealousy. Brilliance is always persecuted. Ask Jerry Lewis.
Try as I might to be civil, my superior intellect takes over. In a machine gun monotone, I annihilate their specious arguments by pointing to illogical, flawed ideas, inconsistencies and inaccuracies. I chew Fig Newtons while expounding, barely breaking a philosophical sweat. In fifteen minutes I demolish all their cherished concepts. Humiliation is complete. I feel nothing. Not pride, guilt, or shame. I am who I am and do what I do.
I am the skunk.
They had a vote and decided to allow me to continue to attend, but limited me to one Fig Newton. I understand pure jealousy. Brilliance is always persecuted. Ask Jerry Lewis.
Bossy Pants
This was Lisa's first day as Principal and she was upset. Chaos in the schoolyard, kids running around out of control, teachers helpless. She had to take charge.
"All children must cease running and yelling, line up by height. Posture straight, eyes focused. I am your Principal and I am in charge."
Just then her cell rang.
"Yes, mom, I'm fine. My first day. I am wearing comfortable shoes. I did have a good bowel movement. I used antiperspirant. I smell really good. I am not being sarcastic, mom. I'm in the middle of something. Yes, I brushed my hair, fifty strokes, each side, straight part. My stockings have no tears. I have to go. Please don't call. I'm just fine."
Lisa clicked off. "Get those heads up! Get ready to learn. You will not disgrace my school."
Her phone rang again. It was mom. The children heard Lisa curse.
"Don't forget you're lactose intolerant, dear."
"Yes, mom."
"All children must cease running and yelling, line up by height. Posture straight, eyes focused. I am your Principal and I am in charge."
Just then her cell rang.
"Yes, mom, I'm fine. My first day. I am wearing comfortable shoes. I did have a good bowel movement. I used antiperspirant. I smell really good. I am not being sarcastic, mom. I'm in the middle of something. Yes, I brushed my hair, fifty strokes, each side, straight part. My stockings have no tears. I have to go. Please don't call. I'm just fine."
Lisa clicked off. "Get those heads up! Get ready to learn. You will not disgrace my school."
Her phone rang again. It was mom. The children heard Lisa curse.
"Don't forget you're lactose intolerant, dear."
"Yes, mom."
Why Take Offense?
That's what Custer said to the Indians at Little Bighorn. From his point of view, there was plenty of land for everyone. Yes, some Indians got slaughtered, but so did settlers. Why not call it even and start from scratch?
Where does that leave the buffalo? That's another blog.
If I attend an exhibition, I will certainly voice my opinion of the art. Why be offended? Take it like an adult and move on. However, I really like my neck and I will go to extremes to defend it. I pick my battles.
I sense the trigger for that epic battle at Little Bighorn was a comment by Custer about Crazy Horse's neck, which was followed by some Indian ridiculing Custer's hat, with the feather in the band.
All that bloodshed could have been prevented by turning the other cheek. A blind eye and a deaf ear is the best strategy. Except if its your mother in law's sauce. Something must be said at that point, let the dishes get smashed, the screaming commence, then, when everyone is calm, order out.
Where does that leave the buffalo? That's another blog.
If I attend an exhibition, I will certainly voice my opinion of the art. Why be offended? Take it like an adult and move on. However, I really like my neck and I will go to extremes to defend it. I pick my battles.
I sense the trigger for that epic battle at Little Bighorn was a comment by Custer about Crazy Horse's neck, which was followed by some Indian ridiculing Custer's hat, with the feather in the band.
All that bloodshed could have been prevented by turning the other cheek. A blind eye and a deaf ear is the best strategy. Except if its your mother in law's sauce. Something must be said at that point, let the dishes get smashed, the screaming commence, then, when everyone is calm, order out.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Why Did I Come in Here?
I had a purpose when I left the kitchen. I don't just wander around in a fog. Here I am in the living room, baffled. Maybe I left something in here, like slippers or crackers. I'm a nighttime cracker guy.
I've already opened my blinds, so I'd better look like I have some purpose in case neighbors are peering in. Don't want them to think I'm scattered.
Did I come in to turn on the TV? I could watch TV in bed. If I wanted to sweep, why am I not holding a broom? Same with dusting. Maybe if I retraced my steps. I was in the bathroom peeing. What was I thinking about? How good this pee felt. Before that I was in the kitchen. I was thinking about having to pee.
Perhaps I came in to check something on my computer. Maybe I had an idea and wanted to type it out before I forgot it. It may have been conceived in the kitchen and vanished by the time I got to the parlor. It's hard not to imagine this being a precursor to a downward spiral leading to assisted living. At least my sneakers are tied. I assume they're my sneakers.
Maybe if I exercised the blood would flow faster and clear my mind.
So here I am in the living room, dancing, throwing down moves.
I forgot why I'm doing this.
I've already opened my blinds, so I'd better look like I have some purpose in case neighbors are peering in. Don't want them to think I'm scattered.
Did I come in to turn on the TV? I could watch TV in bed. If I wanted to sweep, why am I not holding a broom? Same with dusting. Maybe if I retraced my steps. I was in the bathroom peeing. What was I thinking about? How good this pee felt. Before that I was in the kitchen. I was thinking about having to pee.
Perhaps I came in to check something on my computer. Maybe I had an idea and wanted to type it out before I forgot it. It may have been conceived in the kitchen and vanished by the time I got to the parlor. It's hard not to imagine this being a precursor to a downward spiral leading to assisted living. At least my sneakers are tied. I assume they're my sneakers.
Maybe if I exercised the blood would flow faster and clear my mind.
So here I am in the living room, dancing, throwing down moves.
I forgot why I'm doing this.
Lonely in a Crowd
Sometimes I feel lonely in a crowd, especially surrounded by others who lack that swarthy, mysterious look I possess. Too often, when I'm invited to someone's home, I find myself in the corner watching others effortlessly kibitzing. This is something I've never mastered, despite spending hours practicing with my hand puppets.
I was really uncomfortable at Easter when my friend Irma invited me to her annual Eater egg coloring session. There's always a table full of delicious food and drink, but try as I might to mingle, I wind up in the cramped egg coloring room, feebly attempting to ward off isolation.
Last year I was near despair when suddenly I felt myself lifted right out of my chair and forcefully thrown to the floor. Before I could react, I was twisted into a cradle position by someone who yanked my left knee up to my chin and thrust my head forward. I screamed and the perpetrator released me. When I caught my breath, I looked up and saw Irma herself standing above me, hands on hips, smiling beatifically.
"I sensed you weren't connecting with the others and I detest people isolating themselves at my events. I've also been taking self defense courses, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Proceed with your coloring."
It worked. I snapped out of my shyness, ate, drank and laughed. My Ukrainian inspired eggs looked more like a child's finger painting, but, hey, who's judging?
I was really uncomfortable at Easter when my friend Irma invited me to her annual Eater egg coloring session. There's always a table full of delicious food and drink, but try as I might to mingle, I wind up in the cramped egg coloring room, feebly attempting to ward off isolation.
Last year I was near despair when suddenly I felt myself lifted right out of my chair and forcefully thrown to the floor. Before I could react, I was twisted into a cradle position by someone who yanked my left knee up to my chin and thrust my head forward. I screamed and the perpetrator released me. When I caught my breath, I looked up and saw Irma herself standing above me, hands on hips, smiling beatifically.
"I sensed you weren't connecting with the others and I detest people isolating themselves at my events. I've also been taking self defense courses, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Proceed with your coloring."
It worked. I snapped out of my shyness, ate, drank and laughed. My Ukrainian inspired eggs looked more like a child's finger painting, but, hey, who's judging?
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Boat Against the Current
Are writers all basically imitators? Are there really only six plots? Free thinkers with bold ideas are an endangered species. Taking the off roads, avoiding the mainstream, resisting formula and refusing to repeat oneself, those are my mantras. Can someone have more than one mantra?
We renegades and rebels grab you by the shirt and rip you away from the safety of the accepted. We bludgeon you out of your comfort zone. Yes, we have bills to pay, but what is food and shelter when originality is sacrificed?
Can one person rise up and take on the center, all those frightened moderates and create true art? Imagine if our Founding Fathers had played it safe. There would be no Delaware.
I am determined to be at the forefront of this antediluvian movement and God help anyone who tries to put me in a box of preconceived assumptions.
Right now I have before me tuna fish on toast. I am leaving out the mayonnaise. Respect my choice and my adventurous spirit. We writers do things like this, things no politician would dream of.
Well, maybe just a dab of mayo. Toast can be pretty dry.
We renegades and rebels grab you by the shirt and rip you away from the safety of the accepted. We bludgeon you out of your comfort zone. Yes, we have bills to pay, but what is food and shelter when originality is sacrificed?
Can one person rise up and take on the center, all those frightened moderates and create true art? Imagine if our Founding Fathers had played it safe. There would be no Delaware.
I am determined to be at the forefront of this antediluvian movement and God help anyone who tries to put me in a box of preconceived assumptions.
Right now I have before me tuna fish on toast. I am leaving out the mayonnaise. Respect my choice and my adventurous spirit. We writers do things like this, things no politician would dream of.
Well, maybe just a dab of mayo. Toast can be pretty dry.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
This is So Wrong
Farina needs to be respected Gretchen. My mother loved farina. Stop it right now. I let you do that with oatmeal because oatmeal is NOT farina.
This is sacrilegious. Pouring hot farina onto my...OW! I am in agony! Applying nutritious cereal to my...ow, ow, ow! I command you to cease immediately. Oh, the exquisite pain, the guilt, the humiliation, the absolute stickiness.
Farina foreplay is something we needed to discuss.
As much as I respect your creativity, I simply...what is that you're carrying? Loosen these bonds! I see steam coming from that bowl. Enough is enough. No, it can't be. You wouldn't. Yes, I am aroused, that's obvious. But this crosses into savagery, subhuman practices, bestial. Not even Rain Forest tribes would...please stop. God. Lentil soup in my navel. The shame! Splashing across my chest, flowing down to my nether regions. You wanton hedonist! Gretchen, this is SO wrong. And so undercooked. If we're going to do this, let's do it right.
This is sacrilegious. Pouring hot farina onto my...OW! I am in agony! Applying nutritious cereal to my...ow, ow, ow! I command you to cease immediately. Oh, the exquisite pain, the guilt, the humiliation, the absolute stickiness.
Farina foreplay is something we needed to discuss.
As much as I respect your creativity, I simply...what is that you're carrying? Loosen these bonds! I see steam coming from that bowl. Enough is enough. No, it can't be. You wouldn't. Yes, I am aroused, that's obvious. But this crosses into savagery, subhuman practices, bestial. Not even Rain Forest tribes would...please stop. God. Lentil soup in my navel. The shame! Splashing across my chest, flowing down to my nether regions. You wanton hedonist! Gretchen, this is SO wrong. And so undercooked. If we're going to do this, let's do it right.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Grandma's Pouch
I always wondered what was in grandma's pouch. She never seemed to be without it, attached to a belt around her waist. It was rather small, a fine leather accessory. I assumed something very valuable was in there. As a child, when we hugged my head would come right up to it. I'd turn sideways and my ear would pick up faint sounds coming from inside. A soft moaning.
Grandma was a tall, stocky woman and I was too intimidated to ask her about it. At night I would lie in bed, haunted by the image of something being trapped in that pouch. I never thought of her as a cruel woman. She was always nice to me. Except that one time. She was baby sitting me and for some reason left the pouch on the kitchen table while she was in the bathroom.
I stared at it and I swear it moved just a bit. I heard that same moaning. Unable to control myself, I began to unzip it. Just then the bathroom door opened and our eyes met. She made a sound like a wolf protecting her babies. She pushed me away and practically pinned me against the wall. A stern lecture on minding my business ensued. Never touch what doesn't belong to me. Her eyes practically turned opaque.
Years passed. I grew up. We found grandma on the floor. Stroke. We buried her this morning. Back at her house, with a few dozen friends and family downstairs at the repast, I stayed up in her bedroom, going through her things. The pouch wasn't on her when she was found. Just as I was becoming frustrated, I spotted it high up in her closet, behind a hat box.
The pouch was pulsing.
I had to open it, consequences be damned. Carefully I unzipped the soft leather. What confronted me completely changed my opinion of grandma. If indeed, that was what she was.
Grandma was a tall, stocky woman and I was too intimidated to ask her about it. At night I would lie in bed, haunted by the image of something being trapped in that pouch. I never thought of her as a cruel woman. She was always nice to me. Except that one time. She was baby sitting me and for some reason left the pouch on the kitchen table while she was in the bathroom.
I stared at it and I swear it moved just a bit. I heard that same moaning. Unable to control myself, I began to unzip it. Just then the bathroom door opened and our eyes met. She made a sound like a wolf protecting her babies. She pushed me away and practically pinned me against the wall. A stern lecture on minding my business ensued. Never touch what doesn't belong to me. Her eyes practically turned opaque.
Years passed. I grew up. We found grandma on the floor. Stroke. We buried her this morning. Back at her house, with a few dozen friends and family downstairs at the repast, I stayed up in her bedroom, going through her things. The pouch wasn't on her when she was found. Just as I was becoming frustrated, I spotted it high up in her closet, behind a hat box.
The pouch was pulsing.
I had to open it, consequences be damned. Carefully I unzipped the soft leather. What confronted me completely changed my opinion of grandma. If indeed, that was what she was.
Take Your Business Elsewhere
I knew the kid was trouble as soon as he walked in. Couldn't have been more than twelve. One of those annoying high forehead kids.
He smacked three $20 bills on the counter, looked me in the eye and said, "I want you to take out my teacher."
"I don't date teachers," I replied.
"Don't play with me. Word on the street is you're the man to see."
"I sell games and puppets and matchbox cars. You have me confused with someone else."
He ignored me. "My teacher, Miss Gimble, hates me. I'm constantly getting punished. I want her gone."
"Look kid, why not have your parents contact her..."
"I don't want them involved. They'd side with that witch. I hear you made the eighth grade guy, De Salvo, vanish."
"I had nothing to do with that. Messy stuff. Too many damn amateurs in over their head."
"$60 is all I have from my paper route." The kid lit a cigarette.
"No smoking in here."
He smirked, slowly circled the store. "I know guys with matches."
He whirled and glared at me. "How fast you think this place would go up, Cisco?"
My name wasn't Cisco.
"I told you. I run a toy store. That's all."
He smacked another twenty on the counter. "$80. My final offer. I'm a kid in need. Where's your compassion?"
I swallowed and shook my head. "Take your business elsewhere."
He smiled and took his money. At the door, he gave me his profile and said, "When I asked to see the graphic comics and you stood right behind me, maybe you were just being friendly. I'll let the cops decide."
"I never..." I knew it was his word against mine. I hated doing business this way.
"Come in. Let's talk."
He shrugged. "My original offer was $60. I think that's fair."
Sonofabitch, I whispered.
He smacked three $20 bills on the counter, looked me in the eye and said, "I want you to take out my teacher."
"I don't date teachers," I replied.
"Don't play with me. Word on the street is you're the man to see."
"I sell games and puppets and matchbox cars. You have me confused with someone else."
He ignored me. "My teacher, Miss Gimble, hates me. I'm constantly getting punished. I want her gone."
"Look kid, why not have your parents contact her..."
"I don't want them involved. They'd side with that witch. I hear you made the eighth grade guy, De Salvo, vanish."
"I had nothing to do with that. Messy stuff. Too many damn amateurs in over their head."
"$60 is all I have from my paper route." The kid lit a cigarette.
"No smoking in here."
He smirked, slowly circled the store. "I know guys with matches."
He whirled and glared at me. "How fast you think this place would go up, Cisco?"
My name wasn't Cisco.
"I told you. I run a toy store. That's all."
He smacked another twenty on the counter. "$80. My final offer. I'm a kid in need. Where's your compassion?"
I swallowed and shook my head. "Take your business elsewhere."
He smiled and took his money. At the door, he gave me his profile and said, "When I asked to see the graphic comics and you stood right behind me, maybe you were just being friendly. I'll let the cops decide."
"I never..." I knew it was his word against mine. I hated doing business this way.
"Come in. Let's talk."
He shrugged. "My original offer was $60. I think that's fair."
Sonofabitch, I whispered.
Citizen's Arrest
I was just trying to get coffee and a newspaper, your Honor. This was a wide sidewalk, plenty of room. Here I am, a senior citizen, just trying to get through the day. I know the neighborhood, wave to everyone, get a return wave.
Well, what do I see up ahead? This stranger, this woman coming at me with not one, not two, not three, but four dogs on four separate leashes. They were taking up the whole sidewalk.
There are friendly faces and there are evil ones. This was an evil woman assaulting my senses with a bunch of yapping animals. Yes, we had words and yes, it escalated. Eventually I ordered her to freeze. I was making a citizen's arrest. A small crowd gathered. I was throwing down the spear in the name of civility.
Unfortunately she felt overly threatened. Further misfortune occurred when it was revealed she knew Tae Kwon Do, which accounts for this sling I'm wearing.
Your Honor, I'm asking you do the right thing and incarcerate this dangerous banshee, Satan's dog walker. She commandeered my sidewalk. What if I showed up at a dog park without a dog? You see my logic?
Well, what do I see up ahead? This stranger, this woman coming at me with not one, not two, not three, but four dogs on four separate leashes. They were taking up the whole sidewalk.
There are friendly faces and there are evil ones. This was an evil woman assaulting my senses with a bunch of yapping animals. Yes, we had words and yes, it escalated. Eventually I ordered her to freeze. I was making a citizen's arrest. A small crowd gathered. I was throwing down the spear in the name of civility.
Unfortunately she felt overly threatened. Further misfortune occurred when it was revealed she knew Tae Kwon Do, which accounts for this sling I'm wearing.
Your Honor, I'm asking you do the right thing and incarcerate this dangerous banshee, Satan's dog walker. She commandeered my sidewalk. What if I showed up at a dog park without a dog? You see my logic?
Monday, June 11, 2012
This Brownie
This brownie is in a paper bag next to me and that is where it will stay. It's fairly large and smells good. I sniffed it right through the wax paper. Mind your own business.
This cafe has lots of candles, perhaps too many. Low lights, hummable music, interesting tea combinations. High quality brownies. B&N stores are closing because of the decline in their brownies. Blondies are okay, but can't support an entire book chain.
So here I sit, trying to come up with a suitable topic to expound on. I am a writer and writers expound. A vibrant essay seems just out of reach. I need to focus. Except I keep glancing at the bag holding my brownie, which I'm saving. Still, if one is having tea, doesn't it make sense to consume something with it?
I mean, when I get home I'm going to eat it anyway. Why wait? I could stroke out before I get to my front door. This is all about discipline. I limit my fridge openings to nine a day. If I hit nine before 3pm, that's it until next morning. I'll just have to watch Criminal Minds without chewing on something to ease my nerves.
I'm taking a quick peek at this brownie. Okay, I'm done. Now I must choose a topic to discuss.
You know, maybe a blast of sugar will get my brain working. I'm sure brownies have nutrients. Why should I deprive myself of good health.
If you wait too long they lose their springiness. Their moistness. Logically, as important as discipline is for a writer, what would happen if I ate it right now? The world would be short one stinking brownie. Whether it's now or tomorrow, the result is the same. Is God watching? God is probably gobbling down a scone.
One bite, just one.
This cafe has lots of candles, perhaps too many. Low lights, hummable music, interesting tea combinations. High quality brownies. B&N stores are closing because of the decline in their brownies. Blondies are okay, but can't support an entire book chain.
So here I sit, trying to come up with a suitable topic to expound on. I am a writer and writers expound. A vibrant essay seems just out of reach. I need to focus. Except I keep glancing at the bag holding my brownie, which I'm saving. Still, if one is having tea, doesn't it make sense to consume something with it?
I mean, when I get home I'm going to eat it anyway. Why wait? I could stroke out before I get to my front door. This is all about discipline. I limit my fridge openings to nine a day. If I hit nine before 3pm, that's it until next morning. I'll just have to watch Criminal Minds without chewing on something to ease my nerves.
I'm taking a quick peek at this brownie. Okay, I'm done. Now I must choose a topic to discuss.
You know, maybe a blast of sugar will get my brain working. I'm sure brownies have nutrients. Why should I deprive myself of good health.
If you wait too long they lose their springiness. Their moistness. Logically, as important as discipline is for a writer, what would happen if I ate it right now? The world would be short one stinking brownie. Whether it's now or tomorrow, the result is the same. Is God watching? God is probably gobbling down a scone.
One bite, just one.
Pills
My prostate pill is failing. The urine flow test tells me that. My graph was unimpressive. Last year the flow was stronger.
A normal graph has a peak and falls off quickly. I had no peak and the fall off was long and drawn out. I did release more millimeters this year. Big deal.
My doctor decided to increase the dosage. I am determined to upgrade my performance next year. I want my urologist to be proud of me.
I take lots of pills, pills for diabetes, blood pressure, sinus congestion, cholesterol, prostate, inflammation, eye trouble, skin problems--you get the idea. I can swallow the really big ones with a gulp of water, but always have apple sauce ready just in case.
I can envision the day when I'll be sitting in a folding chair outside an assisted living compound, gumming oatmeal, grousing about everything. Meantime, I'll keep popping pills to ward off this scenario as long as possible. Plus, I have to eat food with them to prevent stomach issues. A perfect excuse for pizza.
A normal graph has a peak and falls off quickly. I had no peak and the fall off was long and drawn out. I did release more millimeters this year. Big deal.
My doctor decided to increase the dosage. I am determined to upgrade my performance next year. I want my urologist to be proud of me.
I take lots of pills, pills for diabetes, blood pressure, sinus congestion, cholesterol, prostate, inflammation, eye trouble, skin problems--you get the idea. I can swallow the really big ones with a gulp of water, but always have apple sauce ready just in case.
I can envision the day when I'll be sitting in a folding chair outside an assisted living compound, gumming oatmeal, grousing about everything. Meantime, I'll keep popping pills to ward off this scenario as long as possible. Plus, I have to eat food with them to prevent stomach issues. A perfect excuse for pizza.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Interruption
Something is wrong with David's breathing. He just wakes up gasping. I'm his wife, lying next to him, holding Sebastian. That's what I call my facilitator.
David is a good man, but I'm really not interested in him in that way anymore. I love Sebastian. He's always ready to please, never tires or becomes controlling. Never goes through the motions.
When David wakes up I try to calm him, hiding my frustration, gritting my teeth, as once again, my pleasure has been interrupted. I suggest he has sleep apnea and should be tested. He mumbles something, turns over and within seconds is snoring away. I try to subdue my moaning and spasms, as I grasp Sebastian. Once David leaves for work we have all day together, still not enough for a sensual woman like myself.
I've been thinking bad thoughts. If I can bring myself to use the pillow, I think I'm strong enough to push down and...no, that is not who I am. I can still have the security of a union with someone I no longer love, as well as the unabashed lust with my little facilitator. As long as they keep selling C batteries.
David is a good man, but I'm really not interested in him in that way anymore. I love Sebastian. He's always ready to please, never tires or becomes controlling. Never goes through the motions.
When David wakes up I try to calm him, hiding my frustration, gritting my teeth, as once again, my pleasure has been interrupted. I suggest he has sleep apnea and should be tested. He mumbles something, turns over and within seconds is snoring away. I try to subdue my moaning and spasms, as I grasp Sebastian. Once David leaves for work we have all day together, still not enough for a sensual woman like myself.
I've been thinking bad thoughts. If I can bring myself to use the pillow, I think I'm strong enough to push down and...no, that is not who I am. I can still have the security of a union with someone I no longer love, as well as the unabashed lust with my little facilitator. As long as they keep selling C batteries.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Weight Allowance
If you wish to associate with my circle you must bring weighty thoughts to the menu. We are engorged with gravitas. Our insights go deep; perceptions, ideas, concepts and opinions are literally ground shaking. You must deliver gray matter of that magnitude or be gone to a Judd Apatow movie.
No pop culture references (ignore above), no fragments, no rambling, no jargon. We speak in complete sentences, stick to the point, make full use of the vocabulary at our fingertips. We are weighty people, bursting with self importance. Dare you enter our bubble without creating a rippling impact and you shall be smote down with vigilance.
Only those who speak English as a second language get a break.
Is that clear? Well then, have a seat and prepare to engage. Tonight's topic: What exactly happens to dust when you shake out your dust mop?
Hands, please. We'll go in order.
No pop culture references (ignore above), no fragments, no rambling, no jargon. We speak in complete sentences, stick to the point, make full use of the vocabulary at our fingertips. We are weighty people, bursting with self importance. Dare you enter our bubble without creating a rippling impact and you shall be smote down with vigilance.
Only those who speak English as a second language get a break.
Is that clear? Well then, have a seat and prepare to engage. Tonight's topic: What exactly happens to dust when you shake out your dust mop?
Hands, please. We'll go in order.
Winter of my Mind
I lie in bed contemplating the depths of my despair. When I scroll down my Facebook page I am appalled by the lack of depth in the comments. Too many smiling faces on vacation, holding kids and pets. I have no kids or pets, take no vacations, seldom smile. I do not relate.
People are constantly informing me of their projects--saving puppies and kittens from euthanasia, creating compost heaps, protesting high ankle sprains in volleyball. Right now, my only project is to get off this bed and do something with the rest of my day besides watch old movies starring Ann Sheridan. The sun is shining, temperature about 60. Think. What should I do?
I could make out holiday cards in advance, except I never send any. I could send someone I don't like a present and make them feel guilty for not getting me one. I could go to the gym or stay here and wait for a door to door salesman. It is June and I'm in a winter state of mind. Maybe I should join a caroling group. I sense there's lots of hanky panky in those singing bands. Why not summer caroling? Boy, that couch looks good.
People are constantly informing me of their projects--saving puppies and kittens from euthanasia, creating compost heaps, protesting high ankle sprains in volleyball. Right now, my only project is to get off this bed and do something with the rest of my day besides watch old movies starring Ann Sheridan. The sun is shining, temperature about 60. Think. What should I do?
I could make out holiday cards in advance, except I never send any. I could send someone I don't like a present and make them feel guilty for not getting me one. I could go to the gym or stay here and wait for a door to door salesman. It is June and I'm in a winter state of mind. Maybe I should join a caroling group. I sense there's lots of hanky panky in those singing bands. Why not summer caroling? Boy, that couch looks good.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Now, Please Go
Alexandria, you have torn out my heart and flayed it in the harsh light of winter. My spirit is crushed, my will destroyed, my reason for living vaporized.
I offered you my being, my soul, my essence, and you took a sledgehammer to my sensibilities. I am human, with all the fragility that embodies. I am a fount of vulnerability and you manipulated my weakness to your own devious ends. You have stomped on my trust, spit on my loyalty, burped upon my honesty.
I opened myself to you, surrendered all my secrets, my passion, my most cherished beliefs. I shared the full range of my fantasies, all the colors of my dreams, the texture of my dramas.
My plans for us were dashed against the jagged rocks slathered with black foam from the waves of your disdain. You have eviscerated me, left me a shell of a man. Without you, it is a Godless universe I must face without hope of happiness or sense of worth. No philosophy will heal my wounds, no religion will create sense out of nonsense, no sunrise will blot out my despair.
And why? One lousy genital wart, and a small one at that. Leave me be. I'm begging you, remove yourself from my pitiful existence. Please go. Oh. I forgot. This is your apartment.
I offered you my being, my soul, my essence, and you took a sledgehammer to my sensibilities. I am human, with all the fragility that embodies. I am a fount of vulnerability and you manipulated my weakness to your own devious ends. You have stomped on my trust, spit on my loyalty, burped upon my honesty.
I opened myself to you, surrendered all my secrets, my passion, my most cherished beliefs. I shared the full range of my fantasies, all the colors of my dreams, the texture of my dramas.
My plans for us were dashed against the jagged rocks slathered with black foam from the waves of your disdain. You have eviscerated me, left me a shell of a man. Without you, it is a Godless universe I must face without hope of happiness or sense of worth. No philosophy will heal my wounds, no religion will create sense out of nonsense, no sunrise will blot out my despair.
And why? One lousy genital wart, and a small one at that. Leave me be. I'm begging you, remove yourself from my pitiful existence. Please go. Oh. I forgot. This is your apartment.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Bouillon Cube
My name is Ernie Bouillon and I'm pissed. I created the first bouillon cube and my patent was delayed by red tape. The concept was simple--toss a couple of my cubes into a bowl of soup and your sexual potency increases ten fold. My wife Eunice can testify to that.
I've kept my mix of ingredients secret all this time. I was pooh poohed by scientists in the mainstream. One night I had a few drinks at my local pub and blurted out stuff about my cube. Next thing you know, Pfizer gets in touch, making me a generous offer. But I wanted full credit. They refused.
So I turned them down. Well, they made their own watered down version, while I sold mine door to door to much ridicule. Adding insult to injury, they kept my name on it because it sounded classy.
Eunice is out of town. Last time I was alone I tossed a couple of cubes into lentil soup. Gave my pillow a workout all night. Good thing we don't raise livestock.
I've kept my mix of ingredients secret all this time. I was pooh poohed by scientists in the mainstream. One night I had a few drinks at my local pub and blurted out stuff about my cube. Next thing you know, Pfizer gets in touch, making me a generous offer. But I wanted full credit. They refused.
So I turned them down. Well, they made their own watered down version, while I sold mine door to door to much ridicule. Adding insult to injury, they kept my name on it because it sounded classy.
Eunice is out of town. Last time I was alone I tossed a couple of cubes into lentil soup. Gave my pillow a workout all night. Good thing we don't raise livestock.
Clear Out Your Desk
Mr. Baxter told me I was fired. Unavoidable. Nothing personal. Cutbacks. Clear out your desk I have no family. All I had in my desk was Chloe, my rubber squeaky frog. Whenever I felt stress, I pulled out my frog and squeezed it.
Other loan officers objected at first. But, one by one, they each got their own toy. Bill got a panda, Georgette, a monkey, Karen a snake, Albert a parrot, and Antonio, a shark.
Some days all you heard was squeaking.
Chloe looked lonely in her little box. As I left for the final time, the others stood and saluted me by squeezing their toys. Vicious rumors I had cooties prevented them from hugging me. Marge, the receptionist, pressed her rhino, and Hal, the parking lot attendant, tearfully squeaked his rubber giraffe.
As I put the car in gear, I looked up and saw Mr. Baxter, gazing down, holding Ernesto, his lizard hand puppet. He worked its mouth as if to say good luck.I held up Chloe and squeaked my own message in return. Two words, but not good luck.
Other loan officers objected at first. But, one by one, they each got their own toy. Bill got a panda, Georgette, a monkey, Karen a snake, Albert a parrot, and Antonio, a shark.
Some days all you heard was squeaking.
Chloe looked lonely in her little box. As I left for the final time, the others stood and saluted me by squeezing their toys. Vicious rumors I had cooties prevented them from hugging me. Marge, the receptionist, pressed her rhino, and Hal, the parking lot attendant, tearfully squeaked his rubber giraffe.
As I put the car in gear, I looked up and saw Mr. Baxter, gazing down, holding Ernesto, his lizard hand puppet. He worked its mouth as if to say good luck.I held up Chloe and squeaked my own message in return. Two words, but not good luck.
The Switch
Let's do the logical thing. Germany has hundreds of philosophers. We have six, including Gloria Steinem. We have thousands of unemployed haiku writers. Germany has four, tops.
Let's trade.
Frankly, the bottom has dropped out of the US haiku market with no relief in sight. Sonnets are hot now. Germans want more culture? We need deep thinking, complex ideas. Bartering has always been around. Let's go for it.
Follow the market. We'll toss in bamboo furniture. Teach them about open mikes. They can expose us to serious debates on the nature of reality and relative ethics.
Knockwurst is the middle ground here.
Let's trade.
Frankly, the bottom has dropped out of the US haiku market with no relief in sight. Sonnets are hot now. Germans want more culture? We need deep thinking, complex ideas. Bartering has always been around. Let's go for it.
Follow the market. We'll toss in bamboo furniture. Teach them about open mikes. They can expose us to serious debates on the nature of reality and relative ethics.
Knockwurst is the middle ground here.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Shackled
I can't move an inch. Arms tied behind me, ankles shackled. This gag is so tight I'm choking.
My wife is talking to someone in the kitchen. Now the other woman is speaking. I think I recognize the voice. Our new neighbor, Anastasia. Louise can't stop praising her. She happens to be an interior decorator.
I was supposed to clean out the garage Saturday. I decided to go golfing. Louise had an issue with that. She never raises her voice and that was the case this time. So I never expected to be whacked over the head with a pan this morning.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in this chair.
I sense they are getting excited in there by the tone of their voices. I can make out one word repeated several times.
Lye.
Now I hear nothing. Except kissing sounds. Soft moaning. Louder moaning.Cries of ecstasy. Furniture is being knocked over. Never trust anyone named Anastasia.
I am beginning to feel superfluous.
My wife is talking to someone in the kitchen. Now the other woman is speaking. I think I recognize the voice. Our new neighbor, Anastasia. Louise can't stop praising her. She happens to be an interior decorator.
I was supposed to clean out the garage Saturday. I decided to go golfing. Louise had an issue with that. She never raises her voice and that was the case this time. So I never expected to be whacked over the head with a pan this morning.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in this chair.
I sense they are getting excited in there by the tone of their voices. I can make out one word repeated several times.
Lye.
Now I hear nothing. Except kissing sounds. Soft moaning. Louder moaning.Cries of ecstasy. Furniture is being knocked over. Never trust anyone named Anastasia.
I am beginning to feel superfluous.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Yard Sale
I carefully placed my abstract paintings against the wall at Angie's yard sale. I wanted them out of the sun, which damages oil. I expected lots of traffic on this beautiful Saturday.
My concern was whether conservative, yard sale vets would gasp in shock at the mystery and complexity of my work. What possibilities. Would they hug or strike me?
My art was surrounded by a blasphemy of used clothes, dish sets, cheap jewelry, offensively bland book ends, exercise equipment, country music CDs and an violently unstable ashtray. Please. My paintings were embarrassed. Guilt by association.
Six hours later I hadn't made a single sale. Cowards!
One guy offered to buy one so he could paint over it.
I am not distraught. When I step back and examine my work I see borderline genius. There will be other yard, garage, gate and sidewalk sales, many chances to share my vision. I am patient and can wait for the rest of society to catch up with me.
I bought the damn ashtray.
My concern was whether conservative, yard sale vets would gasp in shock at the mystery and complexity of my work. What possibilities. Would they hug or strike me?
My art was surrounded by a blasphemy of used clothes, dish sets, cheap jewelry, offensively bland book ends, exercise equipment, country music CDs and an violently unstable ashtray. Please. My paintings were embarrassed. Guilt by association.
Six hours later I hadn't made a single sale. Cowards!
One guy offered to buy one so he could paint over it.
I am not distraught. When I step back and examine my work I see borderline genius. There will be other yard, garage, gate and sidewalk sales, many chances to share my vision. I am patient and can wait for the rest of society to catch up with me.
I bought the damn ashtray.
Lost and Found
I found a credit card yesterday right on the ground outside Pathmark. As I entered the store examining it, deciding what to do, a young man rushed up to me, claiming it was his. I just handed it over on impulse without asking for ID. Could I have been more careful? But he seemed clean cut and anxious. Should I have expected a reward? Of course not. Well, maybe a small one.
I recall finding a $100 bill on the floor next to a bar at a club. What to do? I guess I was feeling benevolent. I left it on the counter for the bartender and walked away. That was years ago and I still feel stupid. But if I had handed the bill to him what would he have thought? If it were a woman, you know what would have entered her mind.
I walk with my head down almost always and have scooped up lots of change and occasional bills. $20 was the highest denomination. But there is something especially thrilling about spotting a shiny quarter no one else has seen, flashing over and swiping it up and sliding it into your pocket in one motion.
I've never found any jewelry. Sometimes people leave tote bags with free samples at festivals and I'll wait for them to return. If no one comes back, I'll sift through the contents, searching for something more valuable than tiny boxes of cereal. Usually there's a pen and notepad and windshield scraper.
I wish I could find a mysterious note leading to an adventure. Or come across a lost woman with no memory and someone chasing her. We'd hide in a laundromat and plan our escape. We'd use that credit card I found if I hadn't been so quick to surrender it.
Funny thing--it wasn't signed.
I recall finding a $100 bill on the floor next to a bar at a club. What to do? I guess I was feeling benevolent. I left it on the counter for the bartender and walked away. That was years ago and I still feel stupid. But if I had handed the bill to him what would he have thought? If it were a woman, you know what would have entered her mind.
I walk with my head down almost always and have scooped up lots of change and occasional bills. $20 was the highest denomination. But there is something especially thrilling about spotting a shiny quarter no one else has seen, flashing over and swiping it up and sliding it into your pocket in one motion.
I've never found any jewelry. Sometimes people leave tote bags with free samples at festivals and I'll wait for them to return. If no one comes back, I'll sift through the contents, searching for something more valuable than tiny boxes of cereal. Usually there's a pen and notepad and windshield scraper.
I wish I could find a mysterious note leading to an adventure. Or come across a lost woman with no memory and someone chasing her. We'd hide in a laundromat and plan our escape. We'd use that credit card I found if I hadn't been so quick to surrender it.
Funny thing--it wasn't signed.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Head Shot
I'm tired of getting hit in the head. The other day I was at an event outdoors minding my own business when a tent got blown over and smacked me in the noggin. I was momentarily stunned, but stayed on my feet. I got an apology, followed by indifference. They were more concerned with tent damage.
Some years ago a squirrel leaped from a tree and landed on my head. I don't think it was an assassination attempt, but who knows? Are there near sighted animals? Should we be licensing tree jumping creatures?
I have been bopped by all sorts of round objects serving as tools in various sports. People have tossed things at me, which slipped past my hands and hit my face. I've bumped my head on the refrigerator, car, cellar and closet door. My car trunk has almost decapitated me several times.
Holding toddlers resulted in baby smacks to the side, right above my ears. I've been punched in the head only three times my whole life. Each one hurt and caused swelling. I've fallen on my head dozens of times. The older I get, the longer it takes to get up.
Luckily, despite all these unfortunate head injuries I remain a clear thinking, high functioning adult.
Did I take my medication this morning?
How do I shut off this damn computer?
I can't hear you. I've got this ringing in my ears.
Some years ago a squirrel leaped from a tree and landed on my head. I don't think it was an assassination attempt, but who knows? Are there near sighted animals? Should we be licensing tree jumping creatures?
I have been bopped by all sorts of round objects serving as tools in various sports. People have tossed things at me, which slipped past my hands and hit my face. I've bumped my head on the refrigerator, car, cellar and closet door. My car trunk has almost decapitated me several times.
Holding toddlers resulted in baby smacks to the side, right above my ears. I've been punched in the head only three times my whole life. Each one hurt and caused swelling. I've fallen on my head dozens of times. The older I get, the longer it takes to get up.
Luckily, despite all these unfortunate head injuries I remain a clear thinking, high functioning adult.
Did I take my medication this morning?
How do I shut off this damn computer?
I can't hear you. I've got this ringing in my ears.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Hit Pause
I had a friend who needed a pause button on her forehead. She just would not shut up about her projects. I am convinced pause buttons for all of us are essential. Examples: the Lady GaGa Impersonator who stunk, wearing a white cauliflower wig that kept sliding off. Pause and regroup please. You have to pee on a stalled subway. Pause that urge.Just before you say something stupid. When you're driving past a hot person. Savoring the aroma of something just out of the oven.
Pausing the entire year I turned 25 so I could enjoy everything more would have been healthy. But no Stop button. I have to accept and deal with all the negative stuff. I would never avoid the negative because how would I appreciate the positive? Even all those who've driven me nuts have value. What would I be writing about without them?
When I am among friends or strangers in an enclosed space and feel gassy, yes, I'd beg for a pause button to avoid embarrassment. But I would not hit a Stop button. Once alone, I can't imagine not enjoying the freedom of releasing an atomic fart and all that pent up tension.
Pausing the entire year I turned 25 so I could enjoy everything more would have been healthy. But no Stop button. I have to accept and deal with all the negative stuff. I would never avoid the negative because how would I appreciate the positive? Even all those who've driven me nuts have value. What would I be writing about without them?
When I am among friends or strangers in an enclosed space and feel gassy, yes, I'd beg for a pause button to avoid embarrassment. But I would not hit a Stop button. Once alone, I can't imagine not enjoying the freedom of releasing an atomic fart and all that pent up tension.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Anxiety Cafe
Sometimes I just can't get a seat at Starbucks, so I head to a smaller place a few blocks away, the Anxiety Cafe. It's not ideal for writing because the regulars are so wracked with nerves and depression it becomes contagious. I'll just shut my laptop, sit back and listen. This is what I hear:
I think one of the Barista people spit into the coffee.
We'll never get a seat, we'll have to stand for hours.
That hot woman in the corner is going to reject me.
I'm going to pass out from the excessive deep breathing in here, sucking up my oxygen.
They're purposely putting too much ice in my tea and overcharging me.
Something moved in my brownie.
Loud talkers over there ruining my vibe.
I think this straw was used before me.
The lemon slices leave a lot to be desired.
I can't write here, I simply cannot write anything in this place.
Acoustic folk Wednesday will kill me slowly.
I only come here twice a week. Don't want them to think I don't have a life.
I am agonizing over how much to tip on decaf.
Those people over there seem more interesting than our group.
I sense that guy is going to remove his shoes.
I think their WiFi is monitored by the government.
Is that a vomit stain?
I hate their loud flushing toilet.
Where did you park? I can never get parking.
I heard a rumor this whole place is being sold and converted into a dialysis center.
My Anxiety Cafe t-shirt shrunk in the wash.
I think one of the Barista people spit into the coffee.
We'll never get a seat, we'll have to stand for hours.
That hot woman in the corner is going to reject me.
I'm going to pass out from the excessive deep breathing in here, sucking up my oxygen.
They're purposely putting too much ice in my tea and overcharging me.
Something moved in my brownie.
Loud talkers over there ruining my vibe.
I think this straw was used before me.
The lemon slices leave a lot to be desired.
I can't write here, I simply cannot write anything in this place.
Acoustic folk Wednesday will kill me slowly.
I only come here twice a week. Don't want them to think I don't have a life.
I am agonizing over how much to tip on decaf.
Those people over there seem more interesting than our group.
I sense that guy is going to remove his shoes.
I think their WiFi is monitored by the government.
Is that a vomit stain?
I hate their loud flushing toilet.
Where did you park? I can never get parking.
I heard a rumor this whole place is being sold and converted into a dialysis center.
My Anxiety Cafe t-shirt shrunk in the wash.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)