I hesitate to call this a second draft. It's coming along.
Letter head
Should we call me a cat’s toy or
tired mouse? Wound
rewound, rusty key wrench
thumb flat on my
back back back. Click
grind. How we see
me… that’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps
from my nose and collects
rushing across the continent
to stand unread. We
won’t extend one finger,
probe an envelope licking line
on a brief paper kick – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. We, fog of loose’d pages
a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. We boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing
each pad of fingers I own.
I the whole hand, cup
at the sea, open.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Mosquito Coast
Last night Sean and I took Frieda to the ball field around the corner from our house and kicked a soccer ball around while muttly sniffed, defecated, etc. We weren't feeling terribly energetic, so when a couple of mosquitoes showed up, we decided to head back home rather than dealing with them. Really, though, there were maybe a dozen mosquitoes buzzing around the entire field and they weren't terribly aggressive. Back at home I trolled YouTube for footage of Alaskan swarms of mosquitoes and found this.
Yes, it's a very accurate representation of summer in the interior. All it's missing is an outhouse and my bare ass.
Camping, Alaska highway, 2005
Yes, it's a very accurate representation of summer in the interior. All it's missing is an outhouse and my bare ass.
Camping, Alaska highway, 2005
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Sacha Baron Cohen = Genius
Well, we already knew that, right?
Yes. But this latest Texarkana cage fighting stunt, perpetrated by his character Brüno, is beyond beautiful.
God bless us, every one.
Yes. But this latest Texarkana cage fighting stunt, perpetrated by his character Brüno, is beyond beautiful.
God bless us, every one.
Rewrite and On Gonzo
I guess we can call this my first full draft of my latest poem (the rough draft appears several posts back). I like where it's going, my goal is to expand it for readability. It's still pretty cryptic - it's about miscommunication if you must know - but I'm not looking to write a story, either.
Letter head
Should we call me a cat’s toy or
tired mouse? Wound
rewound, rusty key wrench
me back and back – flat thumb
return. Ding. That’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps from my nose and collects
collections unread. We
won’t extend one finger,
unfurl a knuckle inside the crease
split a jagged paper line – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. Rip, shred. We, flurry of loose’d
pages a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. We boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing each pad of fingers I own.
I the whole hand, cup
at the sea, open.
In other news... there's a heat-wave going on here right now. It's dry heat, but the sun is pretty intense, so everyone is bracing themselves for noontime. Mostly, I enjoy it, though I do realize I need some lighter weight pants or some more long skirts - my many pairs of jeans ain't doing me any favors this week.
My in-laws are apparently heading up to wine country for a week on Friday, so we'll be camping out at their house for some of the time they're gone. Such stays are like living in a hotel where you need to clean up after yourself. They have a dandy tub (huge, just huge), a dishwasher (brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it), a washer and dryer and several enormous TV's which are great for watching movies like Dr. Strangelove, Manhattan and MASH (especially the latter). They also live much closer to Stanford - a big plus. The downside is that their neighborhood sucks for Frieda. We have to keep her on a leash at all times and most of the dogs around there a jerks. Or else their owners are, same difference.
When our laptop ate some of iTunes files last month (prompting us to buy a beeeautiful iMac), we were forced to remake our song lists. I burned all of our Hank Williams cd's and made a huge Hank Sr. list - I've been listening to nothing except Hank and Tom Waits this week. I think it's treating my mind well. They're both amazing song writers, especially lyricists, and are a good reminder that simplicity can work when used well.
Speaking of good writers, a documentary has been made about the good doctor Hunter Thompson (a modern writer very dear to my heart, especially for his work on Nixon's '72 campaign). It's called Gonzo and from what I can tell by the trailer, features commentary by Tom Wolf, Jimmy Carter, Ralph Steadman (of course), Jann Wenner, Pat Buchanan (insert your own chortle here) and George McGovern. The director, Alex Gibney, also directed Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, which was excellent. It's been since Xmas, with the release of Juno, when there was actually a new movie out I wanted to see. High five.
The trouble with Nixon is that he's a serious politics junkie. He's totally hooked and like any other junkie, he's a bummer to have around, especially as President.
- Dr. HST
Letter head
Should we call me a cat’s toy or
tired mouse? Wound
rewound, rusty key wrench
me back and back – flat thumb
return. Ding. That’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps from my nose and collects
collections unread. We
won’t extend one finger,
unfurl a knuckle inside the crease
split a jagged paper line – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. Rip, shred. We, flurry of loose’d
pages a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. We boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing each pad of fingers I own.
I the whole hand, cup
at the sea, open.
In other news... there's a heat-wave going on here right now. It's dry heat, but the sun is pretty intense, so everyone is bracing themselves for noontime. Mostly, I enjoy it, though I do realize I need some lighter weight pants or some more long skirts - my many pairs of jeans ain't doing me any favors this week.
My in-laws are apparently heading up to wine country for a week on Friday, so we'll be camping out at their house for some of the time they're gone. Such stays are like living in a hotel where you need to clean up after yourself. They have a dandy tub (huge, just huge), a dishwasher (brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it), a washer and dryer and several enormous TV's which are great for watching movies like Dr. Strangelove, Manhattan and MASH (especially the latter). They also live much closer to Stanford - a big plus. The downside is that their neighborhood sucks for Frieda. We have to keep her on a leash at all times and most of the dogs around there a jerks. Or else their owners are, same difference.
When our laptop ate some of iTunes files last month (prompting us to buy a beeeautiful iMac), we were forced to remake our song lists. I burned all of our Hank Williams cd's and made a huge Hank Sr. list - I've been listening to nothing except Hank and Tom Waits this week. I think it's treating my mind well. They're both amazing song writers, especially lyricists, and are a good reminder that simplicity can work when used well.
Speaking of good writers, a documentary has been made about the good doctor Hunter Thompson (a modern writer very dear to my heart, especially for his work on Nixon's '72 campaign). It's called Gonzo and from what I can tell by the trailer, features commentary by Tom Wolf, Jimmy Carter, Ralph Steadman (of course), Jann Wenner, Pat Buchanan (insert your own chortle here) and George McGovern. The director, Alex Gibney, also directed Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, which was excellent. It's been since Xmas, with the release of Juno, when there was actually a new movie out I wanted to see. High five.
The trouble with Nixon is that he's a serious politics junkie. He's totally hooked and like any other junkie, he's a bummer to have around, especially as President.
- Dr. HST
Monday, July 7, 2008
It's that time again...
where for no reason I start feeling homesick for NY. I know all the cons: it's expensive, it's crowded, the winter is too cold, the summers too hot. Oh, and the whole gentrification thing. I agree and am even enjoying the perks of California living - there is no such thing as "cold" here and I can drive to an ocean, a mountain, a redwood forest or a desert with ease - the geographical diversity is spectacular.
But there's just that je ne sais qua that New York has and almost everywhere else doesn't. San Francisco is adorable, but it doesn't have this:
Or this:
Or subways (worth traveling). Or pizza. Oh god. East Coasters take note: you leave NY, you leave pizza behind. California thinks it has pizza, but it only has cheesey bread. Sometimes this cheesey bread is satisfying, but mostly it's not. Often it's horrendous. An ex-co-worker of mine (one born and bred in CA) once commented to me "Oh, you like NY style pizza."
No.
No. There is pizza (which is found in NY) and everything else purporting to be such. Saying "NY style pizza " is like saying "Pizza Pizza."
And to give California it's due - there is no Mexican food on the east coast. Trust me, you may think you're eating a burrito, but you're not.
Um, anyway. I'm homesick. I'm not moving back. I guess I should learn to enjoy this feeling.
*sniffle*
But there's just that je ne sais qua that New York has and almost everywhere else doesn't. San Francisco is adorable, but it doesn't have this:
Or this:
Or subways (worth traveling). Or pizza. Oh god. East Coasters take note: you leave NY, you leave pizza behind. California thinks it has pizza, but it only has cheesey bread. Sometimes this cheesey bread is satisfying, but mostly it's not. Often it's horrendous. An ex-co-worker of mine (one born and bred in CA) once commented to me "Oh, you like NY style pizza."
No.
No. There is pizza (which is found in NY) and everything else purporting to be such. Saying "NY style pizza " is like saying "Pizza Pizza."
And to give California it's due - there is no Mexican food on the east coast. Trust me, you may think you're eating a burrito, but you're not.
Um, anyway. I'm homesick. I'm not moving back. I guess I should learn to enjoy this feeling.
*sniffle*
Um...
Gentle reader (readers? I have my doubts that anyone but I actually reads this stuff), accept this as one of many pointless blog postings. I just felt like blogging.
This being the case, I don't have much to tell you. Our weekend was great - my friend threw a drunkin' good time party on Friday night - while I was not drunk, such inebriation does the heart good. There was drinking, bean dip and the inevitable firecrakers. No one was burned or disfigured, which is almost disappointing. On Saturday we gorged ourselves with fine sushi and I finally returned to yoga after a two week hiatus. Kevin, the instructor, cranked the heat and tortured us like the yogi sadist he is. We took Fried to the beach in Half Moon Bay on Sunday with my co-worker Lisa and her husband Ted. This was directly proceeded by a terrific lunch over which we hatched a plan to put another fellow co-worker out of her misery via a massive nicotine fit (still in its planning stages).
California is still on fire. I am, this very moment, experiencing a high fructose corn syrup fit - my employers stock the office fridge with Cracka-Cola. I will resist.
See? If I had real drugs this wouldn't be a problem. Damn you, farm bill.
We have a trip to the Grand Canyon booked for next June, including a burro ride into the chasm - the other night I dreamt that the trail ride led us over rickety bridges and at one point we were required to carry our burros while we scaled the vertical face of the wall on a dodgy rope ladder. Maybe I'm afraid of the Grand Canyon? Doubtful.
And well, I've run out of steam. Hopefully my next post will be better.
This being the case, I don't have much to tell you. Our weekend was great - my friend threw a drunkin' good time party on Friday night - while I was not drunk, such inebriation does the heart good. There was drinking, bean dip and the inevitable firecrakers. No one was burned or disfigured, which is almost disappointing. On Saturday we gorged ourselves with fine sushi and I finally returned to yoga after a two week hiatus. Kevin, the instructor, cranked the heat and tortured us like the yogi sadist he is. We took Fried to the beach in Half Moon Bay on Sunday with my co-worker Lisa and her husband Ted. This was directly proceeded by a terrific lunch over which we hatched a plan to put another fellow co-worker out of her misery via a massive nicotine fit (still in its planning stages).
California is still on fire. I am, this very moment, experiencing a high fructose corn syrup fit - my employers stock the office fridge with Cracka-Cola. I will resist.
See? If I had real drugs this wouldn't be a problem. Damn you, farm bill.
We have a trip to the Grand Canyon booked for next June, including a burro ride into the chasm - the other night I dreamt that the trail ride led us over rickety bridges and at one point we were required to carry our burros while we scaled the vertical face of the wall on a dodgy rope ladder. Maybe I'm afraid of the Grand Canyon? Doubtful.
And well, I've run out of steam. Hopefully my next post will be better.
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