Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Silt
Everywhere he went, Larry left sand behind him.
It didn’t matter that he had never been to a beach.
Nor did it matter he never saw the desert. All across the office, the sidewalk and particularly his apartment Larry-shaped sandprints appeared, like the dotted line that follows Billy around in the Family Circus.
Old Jeb sat on the stoop watching Larry walk by. I asked him what was going on. For a song on my harmonica, told me.
Larry was settling, and like silt at a bottom of a mill pond, the sand was drifting to the floor. I thanked Old Jeb and continued on my merry way – content on having solved the mystery.
It just so happened on that day, I wore my nice white woolen suit to work. This was foolishness on my part as I was not used to wool and itched my way from nine to five. When I finally could stand it no longer, I found that Larry and I had something in common.
Guess I should probably spend more time on the beach.
It didn’t matter that he had never been to a beach.
Nor did it matter he never saw the desert. All across the office, the sidewalk and particularly his apartment Larry-shaped sandprints appeared, like the dotted line that follows Billy around in the Family Circus.
Old Jeb sat on the stoop watching Larry walk by. I asked him what was going on. For a song on my harmonica, told me.
Larry was settling, and like silt at a bottom of a mill pond, the sand was drifting to the floor. I thanked Old Jeb and continued on my merry way – content on having solved the mystery.
It just so happened on that day, I wore my nice white woolen suit to work. This was foolishness on my part as I was not used to wool and itched my way from nine to five. When I finally could stand it no longer, I found that Larry and I had something in common.
Guess I should probably spend more time on the beach.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Weekend Adventures
A remarkable time:
On Friday night, I held a feast.
Chicken wings, onion strings and Venison sausage, aged to perfection. There was singing and dancing. There was baseball on the radio and checkers on the table. It was a time of peace and joy before the wonders ahead.
The adventure began on Saturday. While the squirrels chased one another up and down the Maple trees, we set off on bicycles for the Forested Hills, and the Cemetery within. There we played hide and seek with partners immobile. Bemapped and bemused, we wandered across the yard, feeling like pirates on a treasure hunt. I got to meet e.e. cummings and view Snow White in her glass coffin, but Eugene O’Neil remained hidden from sight. The long day meandered into darkness, lit by the words of Alan Moore’s children stories.
Sunday was devoted to the religious experience that only a circus can bring. A husband and wife, 15 years my senior, wrapped themselves in silk ten feet above the ground, and hanging by only their ankles, gently kissed. Jugglers stood across from each other on top of broken glass and calmly spun and caught machetes flickering in the sun. Pirates sang of the joys of freedom, pillaging and… pirate things. There were Gymnasts, brass bands, and hoopers. A contortionist creeped the audience out, and a remarkable man with a flute got the silent, wondering children to laugh and play for ten beautiful minutes.
When it was over, I sat with my loved one and ate Ice Cream until it was gone.
A remarkable time, Indeed.
On Friday night, I held a feast.
Chicken wings, onion strings and Venison sausage, aged to perfection. There was singing and dancing. There was baseball on the radio and checkers on the table. It was a time of peace and joy before the wonders ahead.
The adventure began on Saturday. While the squirrels chased one another up and down the Maple trees, we set off on bicycles for the Forested Hills, and the Cemetery within. There we played hide and seek with partners immobile. Bemapped and bemused, we wandered across the yard, feeling like pirates on a treasure hunt. I got to meet e.e. cummings and view Snow White in her glass coffin, but Eugene O’Neil remained hidden from sight. The long day meandered into darkness, lit by the words of Alan Moore’s children stories.
Sunday was devoted to the religious experience that only a circus can bring. A husband and wife, 15 years my senior, wrapped themselves in silk ten feet above the ground, and hanging by only their ankles, gently kissed. Jugglers stood across from each other on top of broken glass and calmly spun and caught machetes flickering in the sun. Pirates sang of the joys of freedom, pillaging and… pirate things. There were Gymnasts, brass bands, and hoopers. A contortionist creeped the audience out, and a remarkable man with a flute got the silent, wondering children to laugh and play for ten beautiful minutes.
When it was over, I sat with my loved one and ate Ice Cream until it was gone.
A remarkable time, Indeed.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
*p00f!*
I live at the bottom of the orange line. At times, this is not the safest neighborhood to be in. At times, I’m stretching my legs across Boston in the middle of the night where only those who are up to no good and feelin’ good are out and about. In my travels, I’ve never been molested, requested, divested or arrested –
Now, you might be sayin’ to yourself, “Self, what’s he doing out at the middle of the night?”
Easy. I’m not getting into trouble. How’s that? Why I have an invisibility cloak!
It’s a formerly iridescent brown winter coat, with a big white button pinned on it. Throw that thing on top of me, and regardless how fancy everything else I might be wearing, I suddenly look like a homeless person. It’s QuaMoflague!
Unfortunately, this invisibility seems to have invaded other aspects of my life.
And now, it’s time to disappear.
Now, you might be sayin’ to yourself, “Self, what’s he doing out at the middle of the night?”
Easy. I’m not getting into trouble. How’s that? Why I have an invisibility cloak!
It’s a formerly iridescent brown winter coat, with a big white button pinned on it. Throw that thing on top of me, and regardless how fancy everything else I might be wearing, I suddenly look like a homeless person. It’s QuaMoflague!
Unfortunately, this invisibility seems to have invaded other aspects of my life.
And now, it’s time to disappear.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A rant.
Last night, I went to the Theatre, and realized how much I hate it.
It was so safe, this theatre. Big, comfortable chairs. A warm, rich hall. A proscenium. Funding that totaled millions a year in tax-free contributions. The patrons, grey-haired and professional alike, seemed to know one another and the actors. It was community theatre for the six-figure set.
In a lot of ways, it helped confirm my theatrical beliefs. In others, it turned my stomach. Perhaps I was Tired, Hungry and Cranky, perhaps I was just jealous, but my teeth continued to grind until the curtain went up.
I go to the theatre to be entertained, and I was. The play was well written, designed and acted.
I go to the theatre to be inspired, and I was. The physicality of the actors made me want.
However, for all the opulence, I wasn’t filled with wonder.
For the rest of the night and this morning, I’ve wondered why that is.
Perhaps Brecht has the answers. Perhaps Banksy holds the keys. Perhaps this isn’t my passion, after all.
If it ain’t, methinks I’m in a world of trouble.
It was so safe, this theatre. Big, comfortable chairs. A warm, rich hall. A proscenium. Funding that totaled millions a year in tax-free contributions. The patrons, grey-haired and professional alike, seemed to know one another and the actors. It was community theatre for the six-figure set.
In a lot of ways, it helped confirm my theatrical beliefs. In others, it turned my stomach. Perhaps I was Tired, Hungry and Cranky, perhaps I was just jealous, but my teeth continued to grind until the curtain went up.
I go to the theatre to be entertained, and I was. The play was well written, designed and acted.
I go to the theatre to be inspired, and I was. The physicality of the actors made me want.
However, for all the opulence, I wasn’t filled with wonder.
For the rest of the night and this morning, I’ve wondered why that is.
Perhaps Brecht has the answers. Perhaps Banksy holds the keys. Perhaps this isn’t my passion, after all.
If it ain’t, methinks I’m in a world of trouble.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Qouth Movement
I’ve decided I’ve had enough of growing up.
Don’t get be wrong, there’s something to be said about blossoming into a full grown person; but at the same time I feel like I’ve gone to seed.
I think it’s time to start growing down.
You know, re-examine my roots, see if there’s room to grow underground, like Willy Wonka’s factory.
Learn to play and to take myself less seriously.
I don’t want to abandon my responsibilities, just the stupid ones.
I can’t tell if this is a partial-life crisis or a good idea.
Don’t get be wrong, there’s something to be said about blossoming into a full grown person; but at the same time I feel like I’ve gone to seed.
I think it’s time to start growing down.
You know, re-examine my roots, see if there’s room to grow underground, like Willy Wonka’s factory.
Learn to play and to take myself less seriously.
I don’t want to abandon my responsibilities, just the stupid ones.
I can’t tell if this is a partial-life crisis or a good idea.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Want to read a joke?
A rat walks into a bar.
The bartender says "Hey, didn't I vote for you?"
I never said it was a good joke.
The bartender says "Hey, didn't I vote for you?"
I never said it was a good joke.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Workin' it
the Old electric inkwell is sparking like there was no yesterday.
"Get on with it," it crackles at me, "Don't you know it's time for an upgrade?"
It has a point. I should really switch to digital.
not that blogging is obsolete, but it's not 2004 anymore. Blogspot of the Aughts was the geocities of the nineties.
in no way shape or form does this mean I'm abandoning this post/stump/soapbox/sweater. I happen to like ye olde schoole. If i had the talents of my brother, I'd totally be into steam punk.
thank goodness i don't have the talents of my brother!
Ok, it's time to get crackin' sleeper street doesn't sleep, ya know.
waffles!
"Get on with it," it crackles at me, "Don't you know it's time for an upgrade?"
It has a point. I should really switch to digital.
not that blogging is obsolete, but it's not 2004 anymore. Blogspot of the Aughts was the geocities of the nineties.
in no way shape or form does this mean I'm abandoning this post/stump/soapbox/sweater. I happen to like ye olde schoole. If i had the talents of my brother, I'd totally be into steam punk.
thank goodness i don't have the talents of my brother!
Ok, it's time to get crackin' sleeper street doesn't sleep, ya know.
waffles!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Season 24, Episode 1
Mr. Buff and E-Biscuit were in a bit of a jam.
“Oh Lord,” Mr. Buff said, “Rhubarb and Strawberry. Our secret weakness, Emmet.”
The Great Dane nodded its Harlequin head, lolled its tongue out of its mouth and said “Rell, Ret’s Reat!”
And so they did. Since it’s going to take a while for them to finish, here’s a bit of back-story:
Yes sirrie Bob, Bob and Bobby, these two were a couple of crime fighting Adults-disguised-as-teenagers that made Shaggy and Scooby look like Charles and Snoopy. (I don’t actually know what that means)
In this particular adventure, the Amazing Mr. Buff – Haybine Mechanic Extraordinaire, and his trusty sidekick E Biscuit went off to investigate the mysterious goings on in the big mansion outside of Pella.
They expected the plot would resolve itself as they usually did – the Monster of the Week would be revealed as Old Man Stover in a rubber mask, who would end up going to jail because he was lame.
Sadly, the findings of this case were a bit different. The villain turned out to be The Sis (not in any way, shape or form like a Svaag, a Jatsis or a Pharmasister – just so you know) and unlike most times where Buff and E-Biscuit would walk in, confound the monster by pretending to be something wildly fanciful (like Elvis and a hound dog, a lion and Toto, and a two-person donkey) and eventually victory was theirs; our heroes were put in a defensive position by The Sis, and frankly, it sucked.
Nearly beaten at the commercial-break cliffhanger, the show came back as we found them, up to their necks in their secret weakness, Rhubarb-strawberry jam.
Now, when I say weakness, I don’t mean that it weakens them, I mean that they can’t help but eat it on sight; a handy trait in this situation!
And, since this is a Scooby Doo rip-off, the amazing Mr. Buff and his goofy Great Dane finished eating, (complete with comically distended tummies) and continued advancing the plot - which included a chase scene involving office chairs, skid loaders, dragon boats and rolling on electrical cable spools. Eventually The Sis was defeated with an appropriate use of thermite, marshmallow fluff and mangos.
As The Sis is sent away, Mr. Buff and E-biscuit strike a pose as the episode ends with everybody’s favorite catch phrase – “GO CYCLONES!”
Tune in next week as The Amazing Mr. Buff takes the Haybinemobile across country to investigate the disappearance of Mortimer Q!
“Oh Lord,” Mr. Buff said, “Rhubarb and Strawberry. Our secret weakness, Emmet.”
The Great Dane nodded its Harlequin head, lolled its tongue out of its mouth and said “Rell, Ret’s Reat!”
And so they did. Since it’s going to take a while for them to finish, here’s a bit of back-story:
Yes sirrie Bob, Bob and Bobby, these two were a couple of crime fighting Adults-disguised-as-teenagers that made Shaggy and Scooby look like Charles and Snoopy. (I don’t actually know what that means)
In this particular adventure, the Amazing Mr. Buff – Haybine Mechanic Extraordinaire, and his trusty sidekick E Biscuit went off to investigate the mysterious goings on in the big mansion outside of Pella.
They expected the plot would resolve itself as they usually did – the Monster of the Week would be revealed as Old Man Stover in a rubber mask, who would end up going to jail because he was lame.
Sadly, the findings of this case were a bit different. The villain turned out to be The Sis (not in any way, shape or form like a Svaag, a Jatsis or a Pharmasister – just so you know) and unlike most times where Buff and E-Biscuit would walk in, confound the monster by pretending to be something wildly fanciful (like Elvis and a hound dog, a lion and Toto, and a two-person donkey) and eventually victory was theirs; our heroes were put in a defensive position by The Sis, and frankly, it sucked.
Nearly beaten at the commercial-break cliffhanger, the show came back as we found them, up to their necks in their secret weakness, Rhubarb-strawberry jam.
Now, when I say weakness, I don’t mean that it weakens them, I mean that they can’t help but eat it on sight; a handy trait in this situation!
And, since this is a Scooby Doo rip-off, the amazing Mr. Buff and his goofy Great Dane finished eating, (complete with comically distended tummies) and continued advancing the plot - which included a chase scene involving office chairs, skid loaders, dragon boats and rolling on electrical cable spools. Eventually The Sis was defeated with an appropriate use of thermite, marshmallow fluff and mangos.
As The Sis is sent away, Mr. Buff and E-biscuit strike a pose as the episode ends with everybody’s favorite catch phrase – “GO CYCLONES!”
Tune in next week as The Amazing Mr. Buff takes the Haybinemobile across country to investigate the disappearance of Mortimer Q!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I'm...
Often, I suspect I’ve got a secret agent, a Tyler Durden if you will, working with a completely different agenda than the one I’m conscious of.
Normal people might call this the “Subconscious”.
Jung would call this “The Shadow Self”.
I’m gonna call it (for the length of the blog) my hidden Batman.
Alter-Ego sound waaay too legit.
Anyway,
While I mentioned Tyler Durden earlier, it’s not a case of f’ed up insomnia; it’s more like I feel compelled to do things that are out of character for me. These actions happen right out of the corner of my mind’s eye, so it takes me a bit too see what it is I’m doing, and even longer to figure out why.
For example, a couple of months ago, I started lending out books. Lots of my books. I was like a one-way Library! I don’t know how well you know me, but that’s like Scrooge McDuck giving to charity at the beginning of an episode – BaM! Adam west, you are my hero.
I can’t help feeling like I’m hiding something from myself, like there’s a cave of wonders that will make everything suddenly make sense if I can only figure out that by setting the clock to 4:44 a secret passage will open up and my world will change forever. What will be down there, I wonder? A super computer and garage? Tons of treasure and a magic carpet? A folding table with a chess board on it and a note that says, “Checkmate, Bitch.”?
Whatever’s going on, I need to figure it out soon. I’m getting awfully tired of the old guy in the tux calling me “Master Dick.”
April Fool!
Normal people might call this the “Subconscious”.
Jung would call this “The Shadow Self”.
I’m gonna call it (for the length of the blog) my hidden Batman.
Alter-Ego sound waaay too legit.
Anyway,
While I mentioned Tyler Durden earlier, it’s not a case of f’ed up insomnia; it’s more like I feel compelled to do things that are out of character for me. These actions happen right out of the corner of my mind’s eye, so it takes me a bit too see what it is I’m doing, and even longer to figure out why.
For example, a couple of months ago, I started lending out books. Lots of my books. I was like a one-way Library! I don’t know how well you know me, but that’s like Scrooge McDuck giving to charity at the beginning of an episode – BaM! Adam west, you are my hero.
I can’t help feeling like I’m hiding something from myself, like there’s a cave of wonders that will make everything suddenly make sense if I can only figure out that by setting the clock to 4:44 a secret passage will open up and my world will change forever. What will be down there, I wonder? A super computer and garage? Tons of treasure and a magic carpet? A folding table with a chess board on it and a note that says, “Checkmate, Bitch.”?
Whatever’s going on, I need to figure it out soon. I’m getting awfully tired of the old guy in the tux calling me “Master Dick.”
April Fool!
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