Here we are once again at the end of a decade, or at least everyone thinks it's the end of another decade. I'm of a mind that when you count out 10 of anything the tenth thing is part of the whole, which means that the decade would be 2001 through 2010, but I lost that battle at the turn of the millennium. So, the end of another decade. Naturally everyone's wondering what to call the decade about to be past. We had the swinging 60s, the go-go 80s, and so on. What were the past 10 years?
Some people are calling them the Aughts, but I find that awkward and not at all catchy. It's also not descriptive, and when naming a decade one wants at least to be descriptive. In that sense, there's really only one word that encapsulates our collective experience, only one word that will do to remind everyone what we have to show for the early years of this century. What we have to show for these years is nothing, and it's therefore only appropriate that this decade be known as the Naughts.
Let's look at our economy. We began the Naughts at the end of the tech bubble, then saw growth, then a small recession, then a huge bubble based on bad paper, then a crash. We end the decade with the stock market right about where it was in 2000, with nothing in terms of wealth accumulation to show for it all. Naught. Real estate values soared, then crashed, leaving property values either maybe where they were in 2003. Naught to show for everything, except perhaps for way too much debt. Unemployment? The job market is worse than it's been all century, so nothing doing there.
We were attacked and launched a war on terror, and for that we have gained absolutely nothing while losing thousands of lives. Billions spent in Iraq, nothing to show for it, treading water in Afghanistan, nothing to show for it. Our status abroad is no better than it was a decade ago, so we also have nothing to show for what has passed for diplomacy until recently. We've got the exact opposite of peace in the Middle East, no resolution to the Israeli-Palestine conflict that Clinton tried so hard to resolve before leaving office ten years ago.
Every year fewer and fewer things are manufactured in this country, but the glorious information age where everyone works at home creating ideas and even more information has morphed into everyone sitting at home looking for work while they take quizzes on Facebook. Technology has given more of us broadband and large screens on which to watch HDTV, but not much else. The delivery of information has morphed from the page to the screen, but the quality of that information hasn't increased. We've got naught to show for all our technological advances.
All in all, we have one thing and one thing only to show for the past decade of our lives, and that is the fact that we're all 10 years older. Sure, we've got silicon and Botox and collagen in abundance, for those of us with the inclination and financial resources to attempt to erase the recent past, but again that would just be making physical what is intellectually and emotionally true. At the end, we're left with nothing.
Showing posts with label fun with language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fun with language. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
On Writing
The blank page is always before me. Some mornings it's white with hope and opportunity and I rush to fill it. More often its whiteness is a reprimand, a symbol of thoughts that I don't have, ideas that never occur to me, sentences I haven't constructed. This is one such morning.
Tomorrow the sun will shine, and I will leap from bed flush with the desire to narrate. Today my main desire is to crawl back into bed with a book and spend the hours caught up in someone else's narration. Tomorrow the excitement of my own words will spill from the keyboard and emanate from the screen. Tomorrow the laundry will be done, the groceries purchased, the paperwork filed, the distractions shoved aside. Tomorrow I will command the letters of the alphabet into paragraphs, each perfectly constructed.
Writing is always for, and about, tomorrow.
Tomorrow the sun will shine, and I will leap from bed flush with the desire to narrate. Today my main desire is to crawl back into bed with a book and spend the hours caught up in someone else's narration. Tomorrow the excitement of my own words will spill from the keyboard and emanate from the screen. Tomorrow the laundry will be done, the groceries purchased, the paperwork filed, the distractions shoved aside. Tomorrow I will command the letters of the alphabet into paragraphs, each perfectly constructed.
Writing is always for, and about, tomorrow.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
You Can't Fight the Water Authority
Our water authority is about to increase its rates. There's nothing surprising there; just another utility charging us more. The average increase is something like $0.72 a month for residential service. What's galling is the letter my hairdresser received yesterday, as he was giving me a cut. He clearly uses a bit more water than the average person, what with all the shampooing and rinsing and washing of towels, and this fact was not lost on the water authority.
"Congratulations!" his letter exclaimed. "Our records indicate that you are a Special Care Customer. Because water is essential to your business, we want to ensure that you will never suffer a loss of service." His letter goes on to explain that his bill will increase a bit more than mine so that infrastructure can be improved. "We care about you," says the water authority, "and because we care about you, we're going to make you pay us more."
OK, but I actually do know something about water delivery in my fair city. All of us, Special Care or not, are hooked up to one main or another. If a main fails, everyone - hair salons included - hooked up to that main loses service until the main is fixed or service is rerouted through another main. Besides, who wouldn't suffer without water? I may use less, but I need water to drink, cook, bathe, just as much as he needs it to wash hair. Marketing-speak cannot change that simple fact.
Here's another simple fact. Around a month ago a filter at the water treatment plant went down for about two minutes. As a result, "all" customers received a phone call telling them to temporarily boil their water before drinking, just in case. I never received this call. I did receive my water bill the other day, so they certainly do know where to find me when they really need to. Of course, I don't use enough water to qualify for Special Care. I suppose you really do get what you pay for.
"Congratulations!" his letter exclaimed. "Our records indicate that you are a Special Care Customer. Because water is essential to your business, we want to ensure that you will never suffer a loss of service." His letter goes on to explain that his bill will increase a bit more than mine so that infrastructure can be improved. "We care about you," says the water authority, "and because we care about you, we're going to make you pay us more."
OK, but I actually do know something about water delivery in my fair city. All of us, Special Care or not, are hooked up to one main or another. If a main fails, everyone - hair salons included - hooked up to that main loses service until the main is fixed or service is rerouted through another main. Besides, who wouldn't suffer without water? I may use less, but I need water to drink, cook, bathe, just as much as he needs it to wash hair. Marketing-speak cannot change that simple fact.
Here's another simple fact. Around a month ago a filter at the water treatment plant went down for about two minutes. As a result, "all" customers received a phone call telling them to temporarily boil their water before drinking, just in case. I never received this call. I did receive my water bill the other day, so they certainly do know where to find me when they really need to. Of course, I don't use enough water to qualify for Special Care. I suppose you really do get what you pay for.
Monday, September 22, 2008
How to Spend a Saturday
There's little better to do on a gorgeous late summer/early fall weekend than to drive around the country, go to an orchard for apples, buy produce at roadside stands, and enjoy what scenery is left around here before it's paved over into strip malls and subdivisions. This time of year, nurseries are full of "hardy mums." Everywhere we went Saturday, signs encouraged us to purchase "hardy mums," as if somewhere down the road one could find a stand selling "delicate mums." If each and every mum is "hardy," why bother with the adjective?
One friend who gardens told me "hardy" means that these are mums that can survive a light frost. Another told me that it means that you can plant them in the ground, that "hardy" mums are perennials. The internet told me that all mums are perennial, all mums survive a light frost, and therefore all mums are "hardy."
Except my mums. The sign at the stand where I purchased mine said, "Hearty Mums."
One friend who gardens told me "hardy" means that these are mums that can survive a light frost. Another told me that it means that you can plant them in the ground, that "hardy" mums are perennials. The internet told me that all mums are perennial, all mums survive a light frost, and therefore all mums are "hardy."
Except my mums. The sign at the stand where I purchased mine said, "Hearty Mums."
Friday, September 19, 2008
Does Lassie Twitter, Too?
Fan fiction is nothing new. Wander around the web and you can find fan-generated versions of your favorite books, movies, and TV shows, especially if you like science fiction or anything with a supernatural element. Some fans take their creative impulses beyond the written word. YouTube is filled with home-made versions of reality shows: The Real World Perkiomanville, Survivor New Paltz, etc. Marketers setting up social networking sites to promote fictional products is somewhat new, but not unexpected; finding a MySpace page for a movie comes as no surprise. What is new, and altogether interesting, is the use of social networking sites for the creation of fan fiction, and the best example of this is the use of Twitter by some dedicated Mad Men fans.
Yes, Don Draper Twitters. So does Betty, Roger Sterling, Peggy Olsen, Pete Campbell. Not only does every major character on the show Twitter, the minor ones do, too, including the Drapers four year-old son Bobby. They post updates, tweet one another, and will even respond to those who tweet them. The whole thing is done entirely in character, to the point where, when I first discovered the Mad Men Twitterverse, I thought, "What brilliant marketing. I had no idea AMC was so with it!"
AMC isn't with it. The entire project is the work of We Are Sterling Cooper, whose avowed purpose is the creation of fan fiction through social networking. AMC, in fact, at first sent out a cease and desist, and for a while all the Sterling Cooper Twitter accounts were suspended. Someone in the AMC marketing department finally figured out that this is ultimately a good thing, allowing the characters to Twitter away. What was Peggy doing last night? She was home alone reading, of course. Roger and Don went out for drinks. It's 1962, with Blackberries.
I honestly don't see the point of micro-blogging. If I posted occasional updates that described my actual activities, I'd end up producing a string of "writing a press release" or "drinking coffee and reading," a string of banalities. I'd want to make my updates more interesting than that, because the point of social networking is to interact with others. I'd need to make myself more fascinating than I am. I'd need to be performative rather than merely descriptive. I'd need to turn my "self" into a persona.
In that sense, all of the selves presented on Twitter are works of fiction. The line between "Elucidator" and "Don Draper" is a thin one indeed. The possibilities that We Are Sterling Cooper's project raises are, in the end, not about fan fiction, but about fiction itself. I could easily set up multiple accounts, each belonging to a different character of my invention, and create a narrative through the tweets these characters send each other. What I'm waiting for, in other words, is a novel conceived and composed this way, a novel that unfolds 140 words at a time, a novel that is performed as it is composed. It's coming, if it isn't already here.
Yes, Don Draper Twitters. So does Betty, Roger Sterling, Peggy Olsen, Pete Campbell. Not only does every major character on the show Twitter, the minor ones do, too, including the Drapers four year-old son Bobby. They post updates, tweet one another, and will even respond to those who tweet them. The whole thing is done entirely in character, to the point where, when I first discovered the Mad Men Twitterverse, I thought, "What brilliant marketing. I had no idea AMC was so with it!"
AMC isn't with it. The entire project is the work of We Are Sterling Cooper, whose avowed purpose is the creation of fan fiction through social networking. AMC, in fact, at first sent out a cease and desist, and for a while all the Sterling Cooper Twitter accounts were suspended. Someone in the AMC marketing department finally figured out that this is ultimately a good thing, allowing the characters to Twitter away. What was Peggy doing last night? She was home alone reading, of course. Roger and Don went out for drinks. It's 1962, with Blackberries.
I honestly don't see the point of micro-blogging. If I posted occasional updates that described my actual activities, I'd end up producing a string of "writing a press release" or "drinking coffee and reading," a string of banalities. I'd want to make my updates more interesting than that, because the point of social networking is to interact with others. I'd need to make myself more fascinating than I am. I'd need to be performative rather than merely descriptive. I'd need to turn my "self" into a persona.
In that sense, all of the selves presented on Twitter are works of fiction. The line between "Elucidator" and "Don Draper" is a thin one indeed. The possibilities that We Are Sterling Cooper's project raises are, in the end, not about fan fiction, but about fiction itself. I could easily set up multiple accounts, each belonging to a different character of my invention, and create a narrative through the tweets these characters send each other. What I'm waiting for, in other words, is a novel conceived and composed this way, a novel that unfolds 140 words at a time, a novel that is performed as it is composed. It's coming, if it isn't already here.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Call Me Ishmael
I have no idea where or when, but at some point I read the claim that all stories begin one of two ways: "A stranger came to town," or "I {he, she, they, etc.} set out on a journey." I couldn't fall asleep last night, so instead of counting sheep, or counting weeds in my yard, I lay there trying to figure out whether or not this is true. Does every story really begin one of those ways?
Set aside all memoir, biography, and autobiography - generic convention means all of these begin with the setting out on a journey. To narrow this down, I worked my way though a syllabus for a 20th Century American lit class I once taught. Here's what we have:
Sister Carrie: she set out on a journey
In Our Time: he set out on a journey
Their Eyes Were Watching God: a stranger came to town, then they set out on a journey
The Sound and the Fury: everyone avoided setting out on a journey, except Caddie, and her setting out ruined everything
Let Us Now Praise Famous Men: strangers who had set out on a journey came to town
On the Road: I set out on a journey, then kept journeying trying to replicate the joys of that first journey
In terms of the fiction from that class, the journeys have it. But then I realized that's because I was teaching American literature, which is classically about journeys, movement, lighting out for the territory. The Europeans are much more the "stranger comes to town" types.
Here, though, is the question of the day: can you think of a story that doesn't begin either of these two ways?
Set aside all memoir, biography, and autobiography - generic convention means all of these begin with the setting out on a journey. To narrow this down, I worked my way though a syllabus for a 20th Century American lit class I once taught. Here's what we have:
Sister Carrie: she set out on a journey
In Our Time: he set out on a journey
Their Eyes Were Watching God: a stranger came to town, then they set out on a journey
The Sound and the Fury: everyone avoided setting out on a journey, except Caddie, and her setting out ruined everything
Let Us Now Praise Famous Men: strangers who had set out on a journey came to town
On the Road: I set out on a journey, then kept journeying trying to replicate the joys of that first journey
In terms of the fiction from that class, the journeys have it. But then I realized that's because I was teaching American literature, which is classically about journeys, movement, lighting out for the territory. The Europeans are much more the "stranger comes to town" types.
Here, though, is the question of the day: can you think of a story that doesn't begin either of these two ways?
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Overheard at Sweet Briar College
I've been going through more piles of old papers, and I found the following. These are real quotes said by real people at my alma mater sometime between fall, 1984 and May, 1985. I can't believe I survived.
When you hang around with women, you kind of degrade yourself.
- Ross Dabney, Professor of English
But black people here seem so happy - they're always singing and dancing.
- Amy Graves, Class of 1988
I think people in the outside community are sort of envious of us. I mean, they'll spend their lives in places like a grocery story and we've got the chance to be bankers or something.
- Page Franson, Class of 1987
The Hebrew Profits
- course title from January, 1985 Continuing Studies Catalogue
Do the gay people on campus have any distinguishing characteristics?
- Amy Graves, Class of 1988
There's no need for women's studies here, we already do plenty of that. Why, I always teach Hamlet from Ophelia's point of view.
- Ralph Dabney, Professor of English
But Ross, it wasn't written from Ophelia's point of view.
- Nenah Fry, President of the College
I had always suspected Cyndi Lauper was a feminist.
- Elizabeth Baer, Assistant Dean
We have enough women here already. Why study them?
- Jean Jenkins, Class of 1986
I've never met a real atheist before. Let's discuss it sometime - over tea, perhaps?
- Maggie Fogarty, Class of 1987
History changes a lot.
- Bella Abzug, guest speaker
I enjoy going to Washington and Lee and degrading myself. So what?
- Joan Collins, Class of 1985
I'm voting for Reagan because I don't believe in women's rights.
- Stephanie Hardin, Class of 1987
Which world war was with the Germans?
- Nancy McMullen, Class of 1985
I love money. I'm going to marry someone who has a lot of it.
- Lewis Lagrone, Class of 1985
I hate Milton. He's an asshole.
- Lewis Lagrone, Class of 1985
You know Latin pretty well. You should go to Latin America and speak it.
- Lenetta Archard, Class of 1985
For Black History Month I want to interview some blacks from Amherst to find out what it was like to be alive during slavery.
- Maggie Fogarty, Class of 1987
I can't break down the comprehensive fee but I can tell you this: part of it goes for board, and all the rest, except for the part that goes to the rooms, goes to tuition.
- Peter V. Daniel, Vice-President and Treasurer
Why does everyone make such a big deal out of Soviet jewelery?
- Nancy McMullen, Class of 1985
When you hang around with women, you kind of degrade yourself.
- Ross Dabney, Professor of English
But black people here seem so happy - they're always singing and dancing.
- Amy Graves, Class of 1988
I think people in the outside community are sort of envious of us. I mean, they'll spend their lives in places like a grocery story and we've got the chance to be bankers or something.
- Page Franson, Class of 1987
The Hebrew Profits
- course title from January, 1985 Continuing Studies Catalogue
Do the gay people on campus have any distinguishing characteristics?
- Amy Graves, Class of 1988
There's no need for women's studies here, we already do plenty of that. Why, I always teach Hamlet from Ophelia's point of view.
- Ralph Dabney, Professor of English
But Ross, it wasn't written from Ophelia's point of view.
- Nenah Fry, President of the College
I had always suspected Cyndi Lauper was a feminist.
- Elizabeth Baer, Assistant Dean
We have enough women here already. Why study them?
- Jean Jenkins, Class of 1986
I've never met a real atheist before. Let's discuss it sometime - over tea, perhaps?
- Maggie Fogarty, Class of 1987
History changes a lot.
- Bella Abzug, guest speaker
I enjoy going to Washington and Lee and degrading myself. So what?
- Joan Collins, Class of 1985
I'm voting for Reagan because I don't believe in women's rights.
- Stephanie Hardin, Class of 1987
Which world war was with the Germans?
- Nancy McMullen, Class of 1985
I love money. I'm going to marry someone who has a lot of it.
- Lewis Lagrone, Class of 1985
I hate Milton. He's an asshole.
- Lewis Lagrone, Class of 1985
You know Latin pretty well. You should go to Latin America and speak it.
- Lenetta Archard, Class of 1985
For Black History Month I want to interview some blacks from Amherst to find out what it was like to be alive during slavery.
- Maggie Fogarty, Class of 1987
I can't break down the comprehensive fee but I can tell you this: part of it goes for board, and all the rest, except for the part that goes to the rooms, goes to tuition.
- Peter V. Daniel, Vice-President and Treasurer
Why does everyone make such a big deal out of Soviet jewelery?
- Nancy McMullen, Class of 1985
Monday, June 2, 2008
Cead Mile Failte
A new Irish pub opens in my town on June 17 - Slainte. The Celtic word has proven too difficult for one of my non-Irish friends. He instead refers to it as "Schlong."
I call that "getting it wrong with style."
I call that "getting it wrong with style."
Friday, May 16, 2008
A Little Something to Evelyn Wood
I've been thinking. I haven't been posting because I haven't been home much this week, but I've been thinking nonetheless. On occasion, individuals become so associated with an activity or set of actions that their name can become shorthand for that activity. This happened on the corporate level when "Xeroxing" became synonymous with photocopying. I've come up with some shorthands that I think should enter the popular lexicon; feel free to add your own to this list.
Bukowski: to become so inebriated that you cease functioning. "I Bukowskied last night and woke up this morning wearing someone else's underwear."
Hillary: to stay in a competition well beyond the point at which the competition is over. "The fact that my ex is remarrying doesn't mean that he isn't still in love with me. When he finds out how much I've Hillaried over him, he'll come back to me."
Lohan: to morph from pert post-adolescent to scary party animal seemingly overnight. "Suzy was a straight-A student until she Lohaned."
W: to have a complete inability to recognize the mess you're making of pretty much everything. "I really did a W when I took out that fourth mortgage so I could lease an SUV."
Spitzer: to profess something publicly while doing the opposite privately. "My neighbor says she's a vegan but I've seen the McDonald's bags in her trash. Spitzer!"
Michael Jackson: someone who repeatedly has plastic surgery while pretending to not have had any work done at all. "Jennifer told me she spent last month at the shore. What a Michael Jackson."
Day Lewis: to not only make a scene in pubic, but to spit while doing so. "Bob was so Bukowskied last night he Day Lewised until he was thrown out of the bar."
Henin: the opposite of Hillarying - to quit or retire while you're ahead so that you can claim to have never lost. "This list has been fun to make, so I'm calling a Henin."
Bukowski: to become so inebriated that you cease functioning. "I Bukowskied last night and woke up this morning wearing someone else's underwear."
Hillary: to stay in a competition well beyond the point at which the competition is over. "The fact that my ex is remarrying doesn't mean that he isn't still in love with me. When he finds out how much I've Hillaried over him, he'll come back to me."
Lohan: to morph from pert post-adolescent to scary party animal seemingly overnight. "Suzy was a straight-A student until she Lohaned."
W: to have a complete inability to recognize the mess you're making of pretty much everything. "I really did a W when I took out that fourth mortgage so I could lease an SUV."
Spitzer: to profess something publicly while doing the opposite privately. "My neighbor says she's a vegan but I've seen the McDonald's bags in her trash. Spitzer!"
Michael Jackson: someone who repeatedly has plastic surgery while pretending to not have had any work done at all. "Jennifer told me she spent last month at the shore. What a Michael Jackson."
Day Lewis: to not only make a scene in pubic, but to spit while doing so. "Bob was so Bukowskied last night he Day Lewised until he was thrown out of the bar."
Henin: the opposite of Hillarying - to quit or retire while you're ahead so that you can claim to have never lost. "This list has been fun to make, so I'm calling a Henin."
Friday, May 9, 2008
Word of the Weekend
The following was contained in a chain email that was forwarded to me. I think this word may be what I was looking for to describe the story of my life:
Christopher Foyle, British owner of Foyle's Bookshops, has
recently published Foyle's Philavery: A Treasury of Unusual
Words. In it he defines arcane English words currently dropped
or seldom used. Among them "Dentiloquy" (speaking through
clenched teeth) and "Latrability" (the ability to bark). One in particular needs to be returned to mainline usage:
"Kalopsia" is the condition in which things appear more
beautiful than they really are. It's like where girls (and
boys) in bars, for example, tend to look more attractive nearer
to closing time. For example: "At 1 AM the bar was high on
kalopsia."
Sound familiar?
Christopher Foyle, British owner of Foyle's Bookshops, has
recently published Foyle's Philavery: A Treasury of Unusual
Words. In it he defines arcane English words currently dropped
or seldom used. Among them "Dentiloquy" (speaking through
clenched teeth) and "Latrability" (the ability to bark). One in particular needs to be returned to mainline usage:
"Kalopsia" is the condition in which things appear more
beautiful than they really are. It's like where girls (and
boys) in bars, for example, tend to look more attractive nearer
to closing time. For example: "At 1 AM the bar was high on
kalopsia."
Sound familiar?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
From the Archives
We might be lurching toward paperlessness, but I came of age in a world full of paper. My house is full of paper: notes from when I was teaching, journals I've kept since the age of 12, notes from papers I wrote in grad school plus the papers themselves, poems I've written since the age of 13. It's a lot of paper. I spent some time last weekend trying to weed out some of it, but it's hard to let go. It feels akin to tossing out my past, and I'm not ready to toss out my past.
Then, of course, rather than weeding I started reading. The weirdness of experiencing a journal kept by my 14 year-old self is fodder for a different post, but I will say that if you ever want a weird experience, spend some time with yourself as a young teenager. In looking through a folder, I found this poem. I was 21 when I wrote it. I'd pretty much forgotten about it, but I think I still like it. At least, I still like it today. Meet the 21 year-old me:
neon light
drops from the bar
like petals tonight,
the radio only plays
songs we can sing to,
and the world
has become a home
and at the bar
the bikers
are taking off their beards
and the pool players
are humming a tune
they call Friday night
that everyone is singing
and even if it rains
the puddles will sit there,
wanting to shine
the bikers’ faces will gleam
like polished chrome
and they’ll waltz
spinning around the bar,
buying each other rounds
and the players will tell you,
Each of these balls
is a man
who didn’t kill me,
and they’ll pocket them,
laughing, one by one
while the city packs away
its parking meters
and a janitor swings his broom
like a date at Roseland,
knowing it isn’t his life
he’s been collecting
and when an old woman
enters the bar
she’ll throw aside her hat
and bags and say,
Call me work
with no payday,
footless dancer,
cup without wine
and the janitor
will let her sleep
in his building
and under our clothes
our bodies will glisten
as we move like dancers,
all of us,
as we become a shot glass
that never empties,
a street with no noise
and children won’t cry
in upstairs rooms
and the food
on every menu
will come without asking
and when the bar closes
we’ll enter the night together
and it will be soft
as a breast,
and we’ll go down on it
without fear,
this world
falling from our mouths
like kisses
Then, of course, rather than weeding I started reading. The weirdness of experiencing a journal kept by my 14 year-old self is fodder for a different post, but I will say that if you ever want a weird experience, spend some time with yourself as a young teenager. In looking through a folder, I found this poem. I was 21 when I wrote it. I'd pretty much forgotten about it, but I think I still like it. At least, I still like it today. Meet the 21 year-old me:
Night Falls at Sam’s Place
neon light
drops from the bar
like petals tonight,
the radio only plays
songs we can sing to,
and the world
has become a home
and at the bar
the bikers
are taking off their beards
and the pool players
are humming a tune
they call Friday night
that everyone is singing
and even if it rains
the puddles will sit there,
wanting to shine
the bikers’ faces will gleam
like polished chrome
and they’ll waltz
spinning around the bar,
buying each other rounds
and the players will tell you,
Each of these balls
is a man
who didn’t kill me,
and they’ll pocket them,
laughing, one by one
while the city packs away
its parking meters
and a janitor swings his broom
like a date at Roseland,
knowing it isn’t his life
he’s been collecting
and when an old woman
enters the bar
she’ll throw aside her hat
and bags and say,
Call me work
with no payday,
footless dancer,
cup without wine
and the janitor
will let her sleep
in his building
and under our clothes
our bodies will glisten
as we move like dancers,
all of us,
as we become a shot glass
that never empties,
a street with no noise
and children won’t cry
in upstairs rooms
and the food
on every menu
will come without asking
and when the bar closes
we’ll enter the night together
and it will be soft
as a breast,
and we’ll go down on it
without fear,
this world
falling from our mouths
like kisses
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
And You Think You're Bored
I stumbled across this site yesterday. It's the funniest thing I've seen in awhile. Put your mouse over the blue word and click. You'll be glad you did.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Memoir in Six Words
Can you describe your life in six words? The editors of Smith magazine asked readers to do just that, and a compilation of the best submissions has been published as a book, Not Quite What I Was Planning. Now everyone' s doing it, and you can too. Here are some examples:
Failure was apparently an option here.
Crawl, step, run, step, crawl, lay.
Making shit up as I go.
California, Pennsylvania, Jersey, Manhattan, Vancouver, Seattle.
Fat man in a sweater vest.
Here are a couple that I wrote:
I meant it at the time.
Play, Stop. No FF, no rewind.
Moved one place, then to another.
Too many books. Too little time.
Dog. Dog. Cat. Cat. Dog. Dog.
So, join in - see if you can write your autobiography in only six words.
Failure was apparently an option here.
Crawl, step, run, step, crawl, lay.
Making shit up as I go.
California, Pennsylvania, Jersey, Manhattan, Vancouver, Seattle.
Fat man in a sweater vest.
Here are a couple that I wrote:
I meant it at the time.
Play, Stop. No FF, no rewind.
Moved one place, then to another.
Too many books. Too little time.
Dog. Dog. Cat. Cat. Dog. Dog.
So, join in - see if you can write your autobiography in only six words.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
WordWatch 2008
Mountaineer. Navigator. Trail Blazer. Escape. Excursion. Aviator. Tundra. Santa Fe. Wrangler. Expedition. Bronco. Outback. Forrester: Vehicles that can never be driven off-road.
Countryside. Glenndale. Fernwood. Brookside. Fieldcrest. Meadowlawn. Mountainview. RiverRun. Forestgate. Parkland: Streets that are named for that which was destroyed during their construction.
Younger boxer-like mix. Adult mixed breed. Spuds McKenzie look-alike. Feisty bull-terrier mix. Nice disposition mixed breed. Not good with cats. Large terrier mix. Sweet pit-a-poo. Gentle giant: Ways the shelter describes pit bulls.
Countryside. Glenndale. Fernwood. Brookside. Fieldcrest. Meadowlawn. Mountainview. RiverRun. Forestgate. Parkland: Streets that are named for that which was destroyed during their construction.
Younger boxer-like mix. Adult mixed breed. Spuds McKenzie look-alike. Feisty bull-terrier mix. Nice disposition mixed breed. Not good with cats. Large terrier mix. Sweet pit-a-poo. Gentle giant: Ways the shelter describes pit bulls.
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