designer haiku

Yves St. Laurent wore
blue...peasant tops to work.
then he had to change.

what now?

as ving rhames loved to state...."let me tell you "what now?"....i'm gonna call a couple a hard, pipe-hittin'....." oh wait....wrong movie. what now?

McCain's desperate...on the ropes....and the talking heads are reeling. this morning (saturday by the way...in case any of you missed the fact that the Veep announcement comes on a day where most of us are busy doing something OTHER than watching television) some poor conservative no one's ever heard of was shoved in front of a camera on a talk show begging us to believe the vast "experience" Gov. Palin has. her real experience is as a (is as a?) sitting mayor of a town who's moose population outnumbered the human one.

good for you Republicans.....way to "swing for the fences..." you've underwhelmed us once again with your choices.....but don't stop there. my seventeen year old son, just got his driver's license. he also inherited a car that doesn't run....at least not very well. he'd make a great Cabinet choice for...oh...i don't know....probably Commerce....or heck...as he plays lacrosse...probably Agriculture. we can't wait for him to be vetted!

homage to the democrats

tonight Denver rocked

Obama returns our Hope

from whence came our Bill

save who(m)? the Queen you dolt!

the 2012 olympics are to be held in this merry 'ol england...thus....well....our hats are properly doffed......

God save our gracious Queen
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen:
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save the Queen.

O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter thine enemies,
And make them fall:
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On thee our hopes we fix:
God save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On her be pleased to pour;
Long may she reign:
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice
God save the Queen.

the right thing to do.....or...how i make a difference one sheet at a time

the man known as Eric Greeley considers it his duty to do the right thing: to make sure the copy machine is stocked and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Greeley’s philosophy is that a good deed is its own reward, and it seems to be paying off for the whole office: His refilling actions have single-handedly increased his department’s productivity by an estimated 2.6 minutes a week.

"Is it glamorous?" Greeley asked. "No. But doing the right thing never is." (words/works to live by Eric)."Sometimes I’ll stock it up even if it’s not empty," Greeley said. "Let’s say it’s half full. Well, nine or 10 decent-sized jobs can knock that right out, so I really have to stay on my toes, be prepared for anything. You can’t wait for trouble to come to you." (you have to go after trouble, Eric...wrestle it to the ground...rub pepper in its face...kick it a few times...wipe your hands on your breeches...and say, "well hell, mister....i think i just spanked trouble in the you-know-what!)

well done, Eric. we think you're the owner of the je ne sais quoi of the week....er....this week

the latest dirt on Julia Child

according to newly released documents, Julia Child worked for the Office of Strategic Services, a U.S. spy (soy?) agency.

asked about the plausibility, Marvin Seitzer said," i always thought it was odd how she asked her guests to speak closer to the soup tureen." another passer-by mused out loud, "a six foot tall woman with a high-pitched warbly voice must have REALLY blended in."

what's next? we find Dick Nixon was really a goofus?

i feel like Bella Abzug

i feel like Bella Abzug. not because her father ran Live and Let Live Butcher Shop. and probably not because she did her post graduate work at Jewish Theological Seminary of America (i did grow up around 2 (count 'em....two, sir) seminaries...but never attended)....and, as i was never placed on the master list of Nixon political opponents....well i couldn't possibly have a connection there either.

she was known for her hat collection...i'm fascinated with millinery (who isn't?). THAT's how i feel like Bella Abzug.

is that youns jawin' that french?

my crafty son (fell far from the tree) blessed me with this tidbit...

Le sange est sur le Branche. Le Chat est sur le Chaise. La Sourrie est su le Table. (The monkey is on the branch, the cat is on the chair, the mouse is under the table.) It's the only French you'll ever need to know, and the key to the universe.

Now...shut up...roll over and go to sleep for goodness sakes!

i'm an olympic athlete

it's fun being an olympic athlete. i dive....i run....i raise my own roofbeams....the while soaring through the air/water/what-have-yous. i'm running around the track....with my nation's flag draping my shoulders even though i've not won...(really pisses the winner off!). i'm a self-starter/multi-tasker/olympian/contestant.

oh wait....i'm just watching television.....

wednesday haiku

eva peron says
if i fall look out...there won't
be anyone left.

i feel like bob de niro

i feel like bob de niro. i feel like bob de niro because he was in a movie. i feel like bob de niro because he was in a movie about punishment. i feel like bob de niro because he labored forever with heavy objects strapped to his back in an expression of self-loathing. i feel like bob de niro because he thought that if he punished himself adequately enow....Gott Himself would come rescue him. i feel like bob de niro because after he made the movie he went home to a really groovy house....with a really groovy wife....and an exceptionally groovy car. i feel like bob de niro because after all is said and done, i'm half-full....not half-empty. turns out...i have a great life. better than bob de niro's.

because...well...nobody likes goat porn

Because nobody likes goat porn

My dad has five laptops. Four of them have goat porn on them. The other is brand new, and is now being used to write about said bestial extravaganzas. He can’t write invoices because of all the goat porn on his computer. He can’t send e-mails because five midgets and a donkey covered in fat free ranch dressing run continually across the screen. Everything is full of viruses: little naked pregnant women running around inside your hard drive. Nobody likes goat porn. It comes to me, as four different men of various races run across the screens, unseen, that this is not the way that people do business. At least, not people in the landscaping business.

There’s no reason for it. The frustration begins there. Like goat porn, there’s no reason for the complications inherent in having five machines on which to do business, when the man doing the business is suffering for petit mal seizures and a fair to middling psychotic break brought on by pressures internal and external and for the most part inexplicable and unintelligible. Though a non-believer in a random universe, random acts of madness, entropy, and violence tend to wrap themselves around my father like a tightening maelstrom, or a shroud. It seems to me that no one likes goat porn precisely because of this.

I do believe in randomness: in chance and entropy and mystery, and the things that I find mysterious are often human. My dad came home one day to find my brother and sister arguing in the kitchen. At least, that was his perception. His response was to get on his riding lawn mower, which is dwarfed by his six-foot-four-inch two-hundred and thirty pound frame to such an extent that he appears clown-like, and destroy his lawn furniture and one of his barbeques. His response to this, when questioned later was: “Well, I’ve got two. What’s the big deal?” My siblings, it turned out, were not fighting, just talking and chasing each other around the house screaming, attempting to beat one another with various pieces of furniture and gardening implements.

About three times a week I hear stories, or witness myself, acts of humanity and madness that, like snowflakes in southeast Tennessee, often fail to materialize. One day my dad flipped a 12,000 dollar trailer full of mulch over with a 300,000 dollar front end loader. The next day he striped the ignition on said frontend loader, and after letting it run for about an hour, systematically cit every wire leading from the dash until the engine turned off, turning the equipment into a 15,000 pound paper weight. Edward Abbey on his best day couldn’t do a better job. He and his business partners scream at each other for no reason, then keep working. He chased down a bus driver in rush hour traffic after she hit his three-quarter ton truck and didn’t stop. He was driving on the sidewalk and through red lights, on the phone with his brother the whole time. Even madness can’t stop him from multitasking.

If these events seem jumbled, they are. His affliction is such that the past is all of one plane: immediate, five minutes ago, if he remembers it at all. So every trial and every conflict is as raw as if it had just ended, or it is as if it never occurred, but there is no in between. We now live in a world of extremes, like the propaganda of Kundera’s Czechoslovakia, where things are pure, or they are not, where everything and nothing butt heads, with no buffer, with no matter or situation in between.

my shoes....or; why won't you stop taking them?

my shoes are either too big or too small. i have friends who visit from all over the world (mostly These united states) and seem to rummage through my closet or genkan in search of.....what isn't clear....needless to say...my shoes are invariably missing with a replacement pair in their stead....ones which used to belong to the other party.

i need more friends with a foot size similar to mine.

je n'est sais quoi

well...it's happened once again. yet another blog.....with yet another title (why won't he stick to just one? why isn't he ever sated insofar as blog titles are concerned?)

this'll be fun gol-durned it! it'll be pure joy.