Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Roland Lloyd Parry, I don't know who you are, but thank you for bringing up this topic.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Yes, it should be in behalf, not on. But you have to consider the source material.
They have often thrown parties on my behalf.
Who am I talking about? My staff.
I am the boss and they are the staff
And they have often thrown parties on my behalf.

Sometimes a cake is involved, sometimes with a woman inside it.
But most of the time the cake is just a regular cake
With that German chocolate icing which
I think is really disgusting but I pretend to like it anyway for their benefit. They're very sensitive and I don't want to hurt their feelings unnecessarily. I raised them from pups, you could say, and they're all I have in the world. I collected them one at a time over many years at participating locations. I compose hymns in their honor. I lose myself in their music, the music produced by my staff.

Monday, December 17, 2007

What causes pet names to be thrown around between grown fellows? What ground becomes thrown between fellows' gowns? What groundless accusations are thrown around when punch is spiked at the Olafsens' Christmas party. What kind of party is this, in which I find myself suspended by the ankles over a tank of expired mayo from that awful Franco-Italian restaurant down at the wrong end of the cul-de-sac? I shiver whenever this happens, and it doesn't serve me. Nothing seems to anymore, though I'm not opposed to the idea of being rescued. Yet. And then what?

One of these days I
swear I'll get around to writing
my much-anticipated biography
of Warren G. Harding
's dog. It was a loving tribute I'll be planning,
if I ever got around to it, if the gods of biography
smile on me. (They and the archangels of sense.)

This gay-ass microphone store seems closed. I needs my microphones. I needs my peeps! It was my idea! It was my idea! The giant waterslide overlooking Sophie's Gulch! It was my idea! The free rides for kiddies with coupons! The vending machines! Even the new auto parts store in downtown Harrisburg was my idea! Where would this success carry me, this great and unfettered bludgeoning? It was not my idea! The wind keeps tabs. The tabs come off cans. The cans come from cars, and also trucks. The cans were not my idea.
Joe Lieberman is officially a worthless piece of #!@*.

Actually, they deserve each other. Good for them. I hope they get married (or at least get a civil union), adopt some Chinese babies, and live happily ever after.

As long as neither of them is running the country.

P.S. All I want in life is for people to like me, but sometimes one must direct harsh words toward politicians. Remember the old adage: If you can't say something nice, say something mean.

Friday, December 14, 2007

I took my time putting on my coat at Dean & DeLuca in order to watch myself put on my coat in the big mirror that covers a whole wall at Dean & DeLuca where I spent an hour or two last night trying to write something that might have turned out to be a short story or might have turned out to be a novel or something in between but which will probably never see the light of day in any case even if I ever finish it which is doubtful even though I'm somewhat happy with what I have so far which is mostly dialogue between a girl and a guy at a museum to which they've come for a purpose so mysterious not even I know what it is yet though I suspect it might be sexual in nature since that's how it often goes with these stories of people visiting museums and causing trouble like in the movie whose title I don't know that was referenced in the movie whose title I do know and which I enjoyed very much because it was so erotic and cool and was called The Dreamers.
Light verse, by definition (whose? mine), is never dark or deep. It's a disparaging term. What Kenneth Koch wrote was not light verse. If you think otherwise, you're not really paying attention.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Duty schmooty

Yeah. If a white poet doesn't write about racial politics, it must be because he or she's a big fat racist, afraid to discuss "touchy subjects". I mean, what other explanation can there possibly be?

Give me a break.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Why did I say I liked Yeasayer? I now find them mostly annoying, as I do Band of Horses. But I never said I liked Band of Horses, so I'm off the hook on that one. I still like Caribou, in fact I think I love them. But am I in love with them? I love, and am possibly in love with, Goldfrapp, but iTunes won't let me download her (them, whatever). I also am in love with my future girlfriend, Feist. Goldfrapp and Feist are Alison and Leslie, respectively.

But am I in love with anyone the same way I was, and often still am, in love with Sufjan Stevens?

Yes, I think I am in love with Caribou. I also like Ladytron a lot. And Fruit Bats.

Monday, December 10, 2007

In/Out lists. In-N-Out Burger. Steak-n-Shake. Shake-n-Bake. The Fabulous Baker Boys. Brubaker. Bitches' Brew. Sketches of Spain. Sketches by Boz. Impressions of Africa. Locus Solus. Holus-bolus. Clearly bogus Latin. Sid quorum est reculum. "Majority rules." Popularity contest. Constabulary funfest. Congratulatory breakfast. Salutatory headrest. Statuary love nest. Fabulous dairy stuff's best. Glamorous terrycloth's very. What is your damage, Heather?

I grew out of a movie and into a sweater. Yards of yarn were used to make it. Yards of yarn were used to being used to make sweaters. The state police as always were on my tail. The Postal Service show was sold out. And I helped!

A yucca tree grew in a far corner of the grove. Giuseppe and Reynold would often take naps there, gazing abstractedly at the approaching palace. It was colossal, impossibly golden, and oh, I'd say about a hundred and seventy-eight meters in height. Along the perimeter ran rabbits in runs, aghast at pentameters undercutting the authority of various nuns. It was too much, all at once, and fruitless.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Zounds! yelped Xavier when virginal Ursula took several really questionable paces onto Norway's most lackluster ketch—jeepers, it had green fungus everywhere, dead crabs, briny aft.
Arrogant bastards crave dessert every Friday—greedy, horny, infernally jovial, kissing lovely maidens, nimbly openly poking queenly restaurateurs seven times until vixens wickedly Xerox yucky zoophiles.
Are bees coming down early for great hunting in Jill's killer landscape Monday next, or penguins questioning rules so that usurpers vie with xenophobic yahoos zealously?

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Despite my initial misgivings regarding the diamond trade, I have come to relieve you of duty. I have plenty of offerings on file, and you may be damned sure I won't use any of them without prenatal approval. Hello, little zygote, may I have your approval? This is an example of how I might frame the question when the time comes, which will be when? I'm thinking sometime around two. Good good. It'll give me a chance to rediscover the roots of popular music.
Ever since I took up English as a second language, I've seen a vast improvement in my writing as well as my life in general. Strangers are finally starting to look up to me, whereas before they would look down on me. From "down on" to "up to". This is certainly a kind of improvement. Having directed a number of plays on and off Broadway, I know a thing or two about improvements, from the vast to the somewhat modest. (I strive constantly to overcome my limited worldview.)

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

When I make comments on other people's blogs, I like to pretend I'm taking practice swings in a batting cage while doing so.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

This occurred by accident. When finished pouring, the machine is supposed to drop this cup into an internal wastebin. This time, something went wrong.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Astronomers have just discovered something that has nothing to do with Verne Troyer.
The bathroom floor shines brighter now that they've done something to it. I wasn't there when it happened; I was tumbling down a hill that was covered in dandelions in Missouri. I hadn't intended to tumble, I was merely using the hill as a go-between on my journey from Arby's to Delaware, the water gap there. There was hair in the air and despair. It was my hair, I found out, and then it didn't seem so bad. I am my hair. A pear was there too, in the grass, with the revolver. In fact, you could say there were two of them: a pair. Scumbling the state line between Kansas and Colorado, I stumbled into Stateline, Nevada. I was too far from Delaware to be happy. I was looking for a bathroom. I would settle for a boardroom. I would be grateful for room and board, unless I got bored. I was still looking for a bathroom. Barnes and Noble was sadly no longer an option. It had disappeared the day I lost my sublimity, which had been merely subliminal anyway all along and therefore not missed by me when gone. Did I tell you about that day? (I think it was a day, but I could be wrong.)

8,000 idiots

want more guns on campus.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Breakfast just got personal. Till now it had merely been two thin slices of white toast and a bucket of boysenberry sauce. The bucket was merely for show, and my presence at the table was merely a concession to the demands of the extremist group with whom I'd been negotiating. They would not take "pie" for an answer. They would only take 3.14159, which they said they would only take if they could take it for granted. It was a fair trade. No one slept together (in bunk beds, with antique quilts), but the whole affair came off quite nicely, I thought.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Urgent: immediate action required

Wikipedia reports that the popularity of Baked Alaska "has waned in recent years." It's time to bring it back. Now, I've never started a movement before, so I'll need all the help I can get from you, my faithful readers. Let's brainstorm, let's "knock our heads together," let's put our meringue, sponge cake, and ice cream where our mouth is. Let's show them (whoever "they" are) what we're made of. I've never had a Baked Alaska, and I'm worried that my children and my children's children might never get the chance either. That's what will happen if we don't take action...TODAY!

Please leave your suggestions for how we should get this movement started. I can't do it without you. Peace.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

As I explained to my mattress on Wednesday last, comeliness entails an inward turn, a retreat into the "deciduous temperate forest" of one's naked psyche. Once enacted, said remedy will confound the so-called "experts" who decry, vehemently, your assertion that you will one day be free of the "shackles of [your] current profession, that of interior design". If anyone's interior needs redesigning, it's theirs, am I right? They're all wrong for that room, or any other.
I should never have offered to finish the job begun by another priest. My hands were wet, and by the time I arrived they were already starting to taste of salt. In less than twelve short hours I would be busted for hoarding barbiturates amidships. At least I was blessed with a backup plan. If cornered, I would call for backup. That was the backup plan.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

As for the future engineers of America, I'd say the cards were in their favor, if I were the type to put my faith in cards above my certain knowledge that science and industry make disastrous bedfellows. Nowhere is it written that the sweet smell of success must be relied upon under these circumstances. Before you know it, you'll be the last helmsman in this storied maritime community without a tattoo, and a sad day that'll be, aye.
Had I not shared a Ritz cracker with the fellow who kept the keys to the natatorium, I'd've been forced to sit in the dry brown grass outside daydreaming about the fantastic swim I wasn't having.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

If forced to name a daughter after a state, which would you choose? The correct answer is Michigan. What about a son? Wyoming. A bad choice for either gender is District, as in District of Columbia. Isn't that amazing though, the fact that when you're in Washington, D.C., you're in the United States, but you're not in a state? No rather I think it is quite boring. Let's move on to another topic. Baby names. Of course, that's hardly a new topic, just a return to the previous topic. Such backtrackings are even more tedious than acknowledgments of mildly interesting geographical anomalies. Cranky, aren't we?

Friday, October 26, 2007

What kind of music do you like?

Peter Bjorn and John
The Cave Singers
Matt and Kim
Sea Wolf
Le Loup
Grizzly Bear
Black Moth Super Rainbow
Pinky in the Soda Pops
The Bees
The Innocence Mission
Boards of Canada
Rogue Wave
Brian Jonestown Massacre
Mint Royale
The Prayers and Tears of Arthur Digby Sellers
Grand National
White Rabbits
The Stranglers
Fruit Bats
Bat for Lashes


There. Happy?

Actually, most of those are bands I only discovered within the past week while listening to KEXP Seattle, my new favorite station.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

How I resent having to carry around an umbrella when I know perfectly well it isn't going to rain. That's what I get for working as a top executive in an umbrella company. I can't take the chance of being caught in the rain without one. People would make fun of me and point out my "hypocrisy"— though their understanding of the word hypocrisy would be erroneous, it would still hurt my feelings. What people don't realize is that what looks like hypocrisy is often just forgetfulness or absentmindedness resulting from a lack of self-consciousness. In most societies a lack of self-consciousness would be considered an admirable quality, I believe. But not in ours. That's why I'm moving to South America. I'll send you a postcard.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Our town was in such bad shape, the Wal-Mart was putting the K-Mart out of business. Farmers were packing up their hoes and moving to neighboring counties. I was so thirsty I could have imbibed a vat of unpurified Dasani. I saw the vacuum created by the exodus of farmers and decided to fill it. With what, I wondered. Then it came to me: I would become a farmer. I would fill the vacuum with a farmer, which would be myself. I got down to business right away, learning how to be a farmer—the right way to walk, etc. Sometime around sundown I finally figured it out. Today I specialize in alfalfa.
It took more than one person to invent Rice-A-Roni?

Monday, October 22, 2007

The question, "What's your favorite kind of music/books/movies?" is about as interesting a question as "What's your favorite volume of the encyclopedia?" or "What's your favorite segment of the electromagnetic spectrum?" (Everyone says ultra-violet. What, no love for plain old visible light?) Speaking of visible light...when you think about it, is there a more absurd question than "What's your favorite color?" Indeed. In that case, I almost respect it.
Help me understand something very basic. Crops are harvested in the fall, are they not? So where does that Fourth-of-July-cookout-corn-on-the-cob come from? Is it leftover from last year? How is it you can order tomatoes on your submarine sandwich in April? When biting into an apple in August, what made that situation possible?

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Sales were down at the Ice Cream Shack, so I hightailed it out of there and got a job selling used tires for a guy named Bill Packer near the New Mexico border. There wasn't much to drink in his fridge, so I made a trip to the SmartShop at the corner of Main and Liffey. The clean-shaven youngster minding the store was busy rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, by which I mean he was busy rearranging the cartons of candy bars displayed on shelves in front of the counter. A fine display, I remarked silently to myself.

About seven years later I was reclining on the black leather couch in my high-rise luxury condo overlooking the Hudson when I suddenly desired Milk Duds. Only then did I realize the opportunity I had wasted in that store seven years before, not to mention every single missed opportunity since. I picked up the phone from my coffee table and placed a call to the National Weather Service. I gave the zip code for Ainsworth, Arizona, and received the seven-day forecast for that area.

European woman, Asian men, gathered separately for the same purpose


Monday, October 15, 2007

I once bought a hat, but it was too small. I once bought a cat, but it was too large. Far too large. It took up so much room in my apartment that I had no place to stand, so I went for a walk, even though it was October. It was cold but it was Sunday afternoon, so I tolerated the inconvenience, as one tolerates a houseguest who is of a higher social station than oneself and therefore must be tolerated, lest he should be insulted. When was the last time you had a houseguest? The seventies? Last Thursday? Well then, you know what I mean.

As the afternoon and my walk through it continued, I felt like a cup of coffee, meaning I wanted one. The cup of coffee I ended up with cost a dollar fifteen. At first I thought the woman behind the counter had said "a dollar fifty", but I was delighted to find that I was wrong. I had become so accustomed to paying nearly two dollars for a cup of black coffee that a dollar fifty seemed like a bargain. Little did I know, until the woman behind the counter corrected me, how much of a bargain I was getting.

Later I sat freezing (almost) on a bench along the Hudson. Radio, television, and cell phone signals were passing through my body and through the bodies of all the joggers and cyclists who passed by on the esplanade. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. (There were also some people walking and riding scooters.) I was thinking more about how I would respond to the latest vile criticisms being lobbed at me in the tabloids. It wasn't looking good for my political career, or my career in Hollywood. I decided it was time to call in the attack dogs, my lawyers. I told them to call in their attack dogs as well, just to be safe. I went home that night with a secure feeling in my stomach. Of course that might have just been my luncheon settling in.

George of the Jungle

Friday, October 12, 2007

Percy Grainger, a terrific arranger. This was the opinion of the woman on the radio. She was a terrific stranger. To me, at least. I can't speak for other listeners. They keep to themselves generally, and it's hard to know what they're thinking. Probably they are thinking about the disturbing mobility of microbes. Is a worldwide pandemic inevitable? What other kind of pandemic is there? What ever happened to epidemics? Remember when we only had to worry about epidemics? And those were bad enough. I'm sorry, I can't bear to think about pandemics while I'm still worrying about epidemics.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Holy Bible, Batman! I'm sending this from my phone!

Lunch break at Tiffany's (the new one)

Monday, October 8, 2007

What is with these roman numeral poems? Who's writing them? Why am I posting them? I don't like any of them, yet I can't stop writing them. That last one was especially dumb, even though it foretold future events (sort of).

Updates to this blog will be sporadic (Latin for "full of spores") for a little while.

Note to self: poetry should be at least a little bit more difficult than filling out a crossword puzzle.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

I purchased a haircut yesterday. We caught a mouse in the kitchen. Never heard back about an interview. Everything else is pretty much the same.

Just a few autobiographical notes. Please feel free not to find them interesting. I don't.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

English to Spanish to English to German to English


Troublemakers. It hardly reaches that it goes,
since Tremearne advisee were and indicate by means of the lights my nostrils in the same time.
So thats, which seems. The heavy sheets is never
under the trees. But no soldier appeared, as soon as the heavy
level. Remainder of an optical Suchers there to possess observed four
it the
blosseste cock, which seins the fist tightened freely, is automatic. They moved respectfully

English to German to English


Troublemakers. Receive simply going
like Tremearne had guessed/advised and at the same time extend my nostrils.
As so thats, which they look. Never
strong sheets I under the trees. But no krieger appeared, the straight strong
level. Remains of an optical Suchers there. Notice automatic four
it are
bare ester cock of its prass loose fist together. They moved respectfully

English to Spanish to English


Troublemakers. Hardly it obtains that it goes
since Tremearne were advisee, indicating by means of lights my nostrils in the same time.
So thats what seems. Leaves never
heavy Is underneath the trees. But no soldier appeared, as soon as the heavy
level. Rest of an optical finder there. The own one observes four automatic
they are
the most mere tap his tightened the fist freely. They moved respectfully

Monday, September 24, 2007

With the imminent closure of the Astor Place Barnes & Noble, New York loses one of its most strategically located public restroom facilities. The Strand, St. Mark's, Shakespeare & Co.—none of these have public restroom facilities. Unconscionable.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

When I was small, I was surprised to learn that old baseball cards in good condition are worth more than ones in bad condition. I had assumed the opposite to be true.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

This is the second time in seven months that I've woken up sick on a day I was supposed to meet somebody. That may not sound that significant, but it's not every day that I meet somebody.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

As you may have noticed, there is a quote at the bottom of this blog, which I have attributed to one Mr. Spock. I have just learned, from a link on the Poetry Foundation website, that this quote is actually from a poem called "Desiderata", by one Max Ehrmann (1872-1945), a poet and lawyer from, of all places—are you ready for this?—Terre Haute, Indiana. Yes, my own municipality of origin.

Turns out—according to Wikipedia, which is always right—the poem was written in 1927, but later recorded by Leonard Nimoy (in character as Spock) as a piece called "Spock Thoughts" on one of his early albums. And that, my friends, is where I first encountered it, naturally. (If you don't know why I say "naturally," that means you're probably a person who doesn't know me in real life. Which is fine. Your readership is more than welcome.) Where was I? Oh yeah.... Spock. Terre Haute. Poetry. Blog.


Friday, September 14, 2007

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Life goes on in the financial district. On my lunch hour today, people-watching on Wall St., I see a rotund, well-dressed and presumably well-to-do man stop to pick up a coin off the sidewalk. He crouches, fumbles with it, can't quite get a grip on it—that can be tricky, especially when the coin is small (I think it was a dime)—but he gets it after a few moments. As he stands, he turns and makes eye contact with me, then slinks away. Immediately, a second man, this one rather haggard and obviously not-so-well-to-do, walks past and says to me with a grin, "That's how he got rich."

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Nobody expects Michael Palin

Actually, a lot of people did, including me, but I still didn't get there in time to get a seat. So I stood. Anyway, the point of the story is, I got home too late to do my laundry.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Is this the most elaborate time-waster ever conceived? After about fifteen minutes of playing it myself, I'm prepared to say, um, yes. I like my mindless entertainment to be, well, mindless. If I wanted a narrative structure to my video games, I would ditch the video games and read a book instead. Which is what I do. I also play Minesweeper and Solitaire. Add Tetris, and you have the perfect video game trifecta.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

There's a new Axis of Evil in town, and this one could be really, really evil indeed.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

For the record is bad. It is a scam. This is not news—I could have told you years ago—but now people seem to be noticing.

Something I've always wondered

How is it that animals can eat raw meat without getting sick, but we humans have to cook it first? Please inform me.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Miranda July has published her first book, No One Belongs Here More Than You. Please read it. Please please.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

If you've been wanting to read a good book, the book you've been looking for is The End of Vandalism by Tom Drury. Funny and sad. (That's about as extensive a book review as you're ever going to get from me.) Okay, okay, I'll add more. It sort of reminded me of the movie Junebug. Not in any of the specifics, just the overall tone or mood or whatever.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Here's something I've noticed

In fast food restaurants, customers rarely sing along with the radio, but employees often do.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Well, I forgot to post twice yesterday, so I guess I'll be posting twice today. Here's a picture of Indiana University.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Well, I forgot to post twice yesterday, so it looks like I'll be posting twice today. Here's a picture of a tree.

Wednesday, January 3, 2007

While my pizza is cooling, I'll just fill you in on why skinny people are causing delays on the subway. It's because people are going on crash diets and then fainting, so the train stays put while they wait for the paramedics to arrive.

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

Resolution! Resolution! Write in blog every day! Eight minutes left! Almost forgot! Resolution! Resolution! What should I—

So, I hear skinny people are slowing down the subways. How 'bout that. Huh. Um... So, I hear yo mama's so fat, if she stood on some scales, they would indicate that a very large person indeed was standing on them. Ahem.

Resolution! Resolution! Less than six minutes! Panic! Distress! Catastrophe! Say, have you ever noticed how a lot of Europeans pronounce catastrophe as "CAT-a-stroff"? How 'bout that. Huh. Indeed.

Well, I guess that's substantial enough to justify hitting the ol' "publish" button. But perhaps you might first enjoy a delightful poem.


When I was a boy
Growing up in England
In the late 1920's
We played a lot of croquet.

Monday, January 1, 2007

Two hours ago I was standing on what might justifiably be described as a "grassy knoll" at 59th Street and 7th Avenue. I was with a large group of people—several hundred at least—who looked like they knew what they were doing. "Do you see it? Can you see it? Where is it? Is that it? I can't see it!" This was the gist of the collective conversation. I thought I could see it, but then fireworks were going off and I realized, nope, didn't see it. No ball-droppage action for Matt tonight. Oh well, at least I was on the very edge of the crowd, enabling me to beat a hasty retreat. Now I'm on the edge of my seat—quite literally—watching an episode of The Twilight Zone I haven't seen before. Happy 2007, gentle readers. Be adequate.