1. Where's your number one on your top 8?
Definitely Young Guns Two
2. What is your favorite possession?
My yellow platform peep toes
3. Do you own a gun?
Nope.
4. If you could tell your last ex something what would you say?
I miss you, you douchebag.
5. Do you get nervous before doctors' appointments?
Yes.
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
I'm for them.
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Coffee and a sidecar, Wilmington, ma boy.
9. Can you do push ups?
Can YOU do push ups?
10. Is your bathroom clean?
Yes.
11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
The ring my Grandmother left me.
12. Do you take painkillers?
Every chance I get.
13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
Rhetoric. Or boobs. Depends on the situation, really. Which makes it all rhetoric. So, there.
14. Do you have A.D.D.?
My powers of concentration are legendary.
15. Still have a birthmark?
I don't know what this means.
16. What are you doing tonight?
Drinking with people I don't particularly like. Unpacking in a desultory fashion.
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?
February sweeps are AWEsome. Thank you, Michael Leff. I like vodka.
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought?
Pears, eye drops, blackberries.
19. Name 3 things you drink regularly:
Tea, vodka, Coke Zero.
20. Are you on a diet?
Diets are for pussies.
21. Who's number one on your top 8?
Warrene.
22. Current worry:
Warrene.
23. Current hate:
Falsehoods.
24.Favorite place to be:
In the sun.
25. How did you bring in the New Year?
Coldly.
26. Where would you like to go?
Somewhere beachy.
27. Why do you wanna go there?
Winter is stupid.
28. What shirt are you wearing?
Eh. Something black.
29. What is your current relationship status?
I have many irons in the fire, son.
30. Favorite color(s)?
Summer.
31. Would you be a pirate?
Yes. I look good on boats.
32. Are you gay?
All the time.
33. Do you sing in the shower?
All the time.
34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
My rabid dog. Where is Atticus Finch when you need him?
35. What's in your pockets right now?
Lint, most likely.
36. What are you going to do after this?
Call my mom.
37. Who do you want to be with right now?
Johanna.
38. Worst injury you've ever had?
I got dysentery.
39. Best feeling in the world?
Winning.
40. Worst feeling in the world?
The end.
41. Who is your loudest friend?
Britt
42. Who is your quietest friend?
Katie
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
Who doesn't?
44 Do you wish on shooting stars?
Always
45. What is your favorite food?
Skillet enchiladas. Or macaroni and cheese.
46. What is your favorite candy?
Anything Swedish
47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?
Get in My Car by 50 Cent
48. What song do you want played at your funeral?
See 47.
49. What were you doing @ 12 AM last night?
Watching 300.
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up?
Love.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Zombie Haiku of the Day
Last year, my friend M sent me a book called "Zombie Haiku" by this dude named Ryan Mecum. The premise of the book is that a bad-poet-turned-effective-zombie journals about his undead experiences.
Here's the sad part. I totally lost that book for, like, months. But then I moved and What ho! She is found again!
Here's the happy part. In honor of the finding, and of the move, and of the new-apartment awesomeness, I will share two of my favorites with you:
Blood is really warm.
It's like drinking hot chocolate,
but with more screaming.
-And-
They are so lucky
That I cannot remember
How to use doorknobs.
It's funny because it's true, son.
Here's the sad part. I totally lost that book for, like, months. But then I moved and What ho! She is found again!
Here's the happy part. In honor of the finding, and of the move, and of the new-apartment awesomeness, I will share two of my favorites with you:
Blood is really warm.
It's like drinking hot chocolate,
but with more screaming.
-And-
They are so lucky
That I cannot remember
How to use doorknobs.
It's funny because it's true, son.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Poetry Night at the McGurkens, Part Two
So I'm moved in to the new place. There are Russians everywhere--which makes me wish I'd done more, um, retention practice in my undergrad years. That said, we did have a good time in that Russian class, B and I--she spent more time in my classes than she did in her own. Perhaps it was the delicious, full-palated nature of the Cyrillic alphabet. Mostly, though, I'm pretty sure that it was this: Tuscaloosa is just eons cooler than Starkville.
I hired professional movers. It was a cold Sunday, and a good day to not be lifting/axing heavy objects. The McGurkens were out of sight--but totally within listening range. Even as I was putting the last few bits into the bed of the truck, I could hear the cursing/yelling/money-begging/groaning. They were an adventure to live near--but I will not miss their troll voices or the creepy interest they demonstrated in my life.
Anyway. The move happened mostly flawlessly. Not effortlessly, but flawlessly. The only thing missing, really, is Schnapps. But I guess that might be poetic justice. Perhaps there is some value to cycles and circles--other than rhetorically, I mean. Maybe personalities leave and enter our lives in similar fashions.
If that is the case, I wonder... can I predict endings? Am I like the Oracle of Delphi, but with more control over the meanings of my own utterances and deliveries? Are we as formulated and sprawling as TS thought? I like that idea, sort of. I like that idea better than pedantic priests telling me what it is I say and do not say. Balls on someone else's misguided interpretations. Balls, I say.
Considering my new-found skills of prophesy, I was thinking of doing some predicting. But that might be (read: is) way too morbid for a Tuesday night musing.
So. Instead, I will let you imagine the ending, dear reader. Show me what you're working with.
I hired professional movers. It was a cold Sunday, and a good day to not be lifting/axing heavy objects. The McGurkens were out of sight--but totally within listening range. Even as I was putting the last few bits into the bed of the truck, I could hear the cursing/yelling/money-begging/groaning. They were an adventure to live near--but I will not miss their troll voices or the creepy interest they demonstrated in my life.
Anyway. The move happened mostly flawlessly. Not effortlessly, but flawlessly. The only thing missing, really, is Schnapps. But I guess that might be poetic justice. Perhaps there is some value to cycles and circles--other than rhetorically, I mean. Maybe personalities leave and enter our lives in similar fashions.
If that is the case, I wonder... can I predict endings? Am I like the Oracle of Delphi, but with more control over the meanings of my own utterances and deliveries? Are we as formulated and sprawling as TS thought? I like that idea, sort of. I like that idea better than pedantic priests telling me what it is I say and do not say. Balls on someone else's misguided interpretations. Balls, I say.
Considering my new-found skills of prophesy, I was thinking of doing some predicting. But that might be (read: is) way too morbid for a Tuesday night musing.
So. Instead, I will let you imagine the ending, dear reader. Show me what you're working with.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I have loved you for so long
You are beautiful and powerful, strong and righteous.
But, Wonder Woman, I have to be honest with you... I may have a new crush.
But, Wonder Woman, I have to be honest with you... I may have a new crush.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
In Which I Submit some Strongly Worded Letters
Dear Weather.com,
I know I live in a place that is too cold when I get excited about a 40 degree day that may (or may not) happen in two to three days.
Also, what is up with the new layout? Different is bad; we fear change.
Balls on you, weather.com. Balls, I say.
Warmly,
A Misplaced Florida Cracker
Dear 30 Rock,
I know I am late to this game, but is there an episode of your show in which Alec Baldwin is not laugh-out-loud delicious? If there is, I don't want to know about it.
Love,
James
Dear Students-from-Last-Semester-who-are-Concerned-about-their-Final-Grades:
I wish that you had thought about this during the fall/early winter. Checking on your grades, visiting office hours, completing assignments--these are just some suggestions I have for your next few years in college. Sometimes, preemptive strikes are best.
Sincerely,
Dr. James
Dear Future Landlords,
I hope you are not as bat-shit crazy as my current landlords. It will make for less exciting stories, I know, but I am willing to make that sacrifice, if you are.
Best,
A Tenant with Too Many Books
Dear Schnapps,
This place just isn't the same without you.
Love.
I know I live in a place that is too cold when I get excited about a 40 degree day that may (or may not) happen in two to three days.
Also, what is up with the new layout? Different is bad; we fear change.
Balls on you, weather.com. Balls, I say.
Warmly,
A Misplaced Florida Cracker
Dear 30 Rock,
I know I am late to this game, but is there an episode of your show in which Alec Baldwin is not laugh-out-loud delicious? If there is, I don't want to know about it.
Love,
James
Dear Students-from-Last-Semester-who-are-Concerned-about-their-Final-Grades:
I wish that you had thought about this during the fall/early winter. Checking on your grades, visiting office hours, completing assignments--these are just some suggestions I have for your next few years in college. Sometimes, preemptive strikes are best.
Sincerely,
Dr. James
Dear Future Landlords,
I hope you are not as bat-shit crazy as my current landlords. It will make for less exciting stories, I know, but I am willing to make that sacrifice, if you are.
Best,
A Tenant with Too Many Books
Dear Schnapps,
This place just isn't the same without you.
Love.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Poetry Night at the McGurkens, Part One
It's the beginning of the decade, and I'm moving again. Sigh. I have too many books. And too many shoes. And too many martini glasses. Wait, wait. Scratch that--there is no such thing as too many martini glasses. Who knows when a thirsty visitor might stop by, desperate for a cold, tall libation? I was raised right, after all. I am, despite all efforts to the contrary, indomitably hospitable.
I have not written consistently in this blog for a while now--it was a busy semester. But I miss writing. So I am going to start again. It might not be in this blog, I'm sorry to say. I am working on a couple of projects right now that deserve some attention. But today, I am going to tell you a story, seeing as how it's the new decade and all.
Poetry Night at the McGurkens*
This tale begins with a traumatic move and ends with a mysterious disappearance. In April of 2009, I moved from a comfortable, one-bedroom apartment in Queens to another comfortable one-bedroom apartment in Queens. But here's the twist: this one was already occupied (inside and out).
My then-roommate and I were trying to save money. Turns out there are more important things than cash--like being friends with someone and not living on top of them. And not moving into a house occupied by landlords from space. Today, I am going to tell you about the landlords. I will save the roommate drama for another post (hope, hope).
Character DevelopmentThere are (I think) three to four people living in the apartment above my head.
The Father: I write the rent check to The Patriarch of the family. He is an old, retired Irish NY cop, and he looks a bit like this:
But whiter and with more watery eyes.
The Matriarch: The wife is small and round and has a voice like the trolls from Fraggle Rock. Also. She has been known to wear t-shirts that say "Alpha Bitch."
Peter: He is tall, like his father. And super loud like his mother. He smokes many different kinds of things--on the porch, of course, and works odd jobs around the neighborhood. Once, he was kicked out of our local watering hole for (a) being a douche and (b) carrying some sort of knife. Fun guy. Sometimes, he knocks on my door and asks for $20.
Moist Man: He is rumored to be a soon-to-be-ex-husband of one of the McGurkens' daughters. He is perpetually damp. Even in the winter--which can't be good for his health and might explain the monstrous cough from which he suffers. He lives in the basement of the house and in a brown van that is parked on the street. It seems to be some sort of time-share arrangement.
In the summer, they sit on the porch (right in front of my bedroom windows), screaming at each other and any poor sod who happens to wander by. They seem to have two levels of volume--very loud and 10 decibels above pain. They are very unkind to one another--abrasive, short, and abusive, but they love animals and have a menagerie of sorts. At times, The Patriarch walks up to three dogs at a time--allowing them to poop freely on other people's lawns.
The Matriarch has serious mobility problems. She rides around the neighborhood on one of those wheel-chair scooters with a red flag streaming from the back, and she is always eating Tums, which lend her an air of frothing-at-the-mouth rabidity. Her mobility issues are part of the reason for my upcoming move, but I will get to that in the next installment of Poetry Night at the McGurkens: The Case of the Unhoused Dentures.
*Names have been changed to protect the demented/innocent.
I have not written consistently in this blog for a while now--it was a busy semester. But I miss writing. So I am going to start again. It might not be in this blog, I'm sorry to say. I am working on a couple of projects right now that deserve some attention. But today, I am going to tell you a story, seeing as how it's the new decade and all.
Poetry Night at the McGurkens*
This tale begins with a traumatic move and ends with a mysterious disappearance. In April of 2009, I moved from a comfortable, one-bedroom apartment in Queens to another comfortable one-bedroom apartment in Queens. But here's the twist: this one was already occupied (inside and out).
My then-roommate and I were trying to save money. Turns out there are more important things than cash--like being friends with someone and not living on top of them. And not moving into a house occupied by landlords from space. Today, I am going to tell you about the landlords. I will save the roommate drama for another post (hope, hope).
Character DevelopmentThere are (I think) three to four people living in the apartment above my head.
The Father: I write the rent check to The Patriarch of the family. He is an old, retired Irish NY cop, and he looks a bit like this:
But whiter and with more watery eyes.
The Matriarch: The wife is small and round and has a voice like the trolls from Fraggle Rock. Also. She has been known to wear t-shirts that say "Alpha Bitch."
Peter: He is tall, like his father. And super loud like his mother. He smokes many different kinds of things--on the porch, of course, and works odd jobs around the neighborhood. Once, he was kicked out of our local watering hole for (a) being a douche and (b) carrying some sort of knife. Fun guy. Sometimes, he knocks on my door and asks for $20.
Moist Man: He is rumored to be a soon-to-be-ex-husband of one of the McGurkens' daughters. He is perpetually damp. Even in the winter--which can't be good for his health and might explain the monstrous cough from which he suffers. He lives in the basement of the house and in a brown van that is parked on the street. It seems to be some sort of time-share arrangement.
In the summer, they sit on the porch (right in front of my bedroom windows), screaming at each other and any poor sod who happens to wander by. They seem to have two levels of volume--very loud and 10 decibels above pain. They are very unkind to one another--abrasive, short, and abusive, but they love animals and have a menagerie of sorts. At times, The Patriarch walks up to three dogs at a time--allowing them to poop freely on other people's lawns.
The Matriarch has serious mobility problems. She rides around the neighborhood on one of those wheel-chair scooters with a red flag streaming from the back, and she is always eating Tums, which lend her an air of frothing-at-the-mouth rabidity. Her mobility issues are part of the reason for my upcoming move, but I will get to that in the next installment of Poetry Night at the McGurkens: The Case of the Unhoused Dentures.
*Names have been changed to protect the demented/innocent.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Remembering Accidentals
In 1996, I was drinking buttery nipples and Miller Lite (I know!) with some friends from school when one of them said to me, "Hey, James! Do you want a cat?" I was deliciously tipsy and feeling magnanimous, so I said, "Sure."
The next day, I met this scrawny, ugly, angry little thing that was going to be moving in with me. Rob, Amanda, Lisa, and I spent some time discussing the name of this mangy animal--I wanted to call her Buttery Nipple, in honor of our original coming-together, but we thought that might be awkward. So we settled on Schnapps.
Over the last thirteen years, Schnapps and I got close. And I mean, Super Ridiculous close. I wanted her to be an outside cat, but she decided that would not work. I thought she should not attack my visiting friends and family. She, however, was a fan of the secret-ninja-hand-nibble, and she scared the dickens out of poor Ed many times.
She moved with me to several cities in North Carolina and several apartments in Austin, Texas. She saw me through three different degrees, numerous writing panics, illnesses, disappearances, and heartaches. I dragged her into houses filled with dogs (whose main idea of entertainment involved biting her on the face and flinging her across the linoleum tile), out of a marriage filled with crushing desperation and expectation, and after the hope of a New Start in a Big New City.
Last weekend, she disappeared. And she has not come back. Pretty soon, I will be moving again, and I will have to do something with her little food bowl. Right now, though, I'm going to leave it alone for a little while longer.
She is the most beautiful cat I have ever seen, my favorite familiar, and one of the best accidental companions I have ever had. I will miss her.
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