I like Joanna Newsom's voice. It's like a kid with a clothespin on her nose mixing sarcasm with nursery rhyme and some of the best poetry ever...like you want to cry and laugh together. My life is like that sometimes. Cheers, Joanna, for a great blog title. Another Poet-aster enters the mix.
So...call me strange, but there was a blizzard two days ago, so I decided to walk to work cuz there was a travel ban. (Yeah, they called up the house and were like "don't drive.") My friends tried to talk me out of it, considering the blizzard and all, but the Poet-aster is only stopped by iambic pentameter and lightning. So I'm walking and walking and the wind is crazy, I think I have some ice marks in my cheek, but dun da DUN, superpoets have Estonian hats sometimes, so I wrapped my hat around my face and strode forward peeping out at the snow-covered streets. Then I punched the light out on this guy's Jag while he was trying to escape a snowdrift. I think that's cool, right, bashing luxury cars? Like rock stars bash guitars, but I feel like poets have to bash more symbolic things. Like Black Eyed Peas albums or pictures of Donald Rumsfeld.
Speaking of bashing, I think all the youth at my work have the occasional urge to bash each other. I'm really glad they haven't tried to do this on my shift, I think it's probably due to my soothing spoken word voice. It's scary, ya know, when you're never sure when somebody's gonna get in a fistfight. Like South Korea right now: North Korea's like "Don't shoot or we'll declare patriotic jihad on you" and South Korea's like "Whatevs, you be Il'in (Kim Jong style)" and they do it anyway. I think if Kim Jong Il had a rap album, I would buy it, but if he got in a fight with anyone of our youth, he would lose big time.
I decided to start writing more blogs this week. Somehow that tied in with making money somehow...don't ask me...although I hear I can monetize this thing...hmm...the Poet-aster's thought process went a little like this: "you should write online articles to make money." "Yeah, but those are lame I'd rather write things I feel like writing."
Thus, two new blogs in two days. The artist remains poor. *sigh* It also helps that I've been on the nightshift, cuz this means I'm awake all night with nothing better to do then torment you with my writing.
Full-time volunteer wanderer poet. It kinda has a ring to it. It's always a fight though. The youth I'm trying to help are amazing! But they don't respect me all the time, and it's really hard, they've gone through a lot of shit. Also, they don't always want help. They're college aged kids: they want to party, they want to be left alone, they think they know everything, and money and settling down doesn't look attractive to them. Pray for the Poet-aster, my friends, because these kids are going to college, they just don't know it yet.
Full-time wanderer poet musician angstball seeks wealthy patron to be absentee wife. We don't have to like, do anything, ya know, I just need to be taken off the market for the sake of all those poor girls and I reckon once I don't have to worry about money and girls, I won't have to worry at all, and Jesus says I shouldn't worry so I should marry an Heiress right? What's the opposite of a cougar? A gold-digger? If that sounds like you, inquire below.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
A Tale of Two Biscuits
I think I need a company car. Or maybe a chicken, cuz I know our budget here at KFC isn't that big. Though if I was gonna ride a chicken across town, I think I'd need a good sidearm, like Anduril or an AK, depending on the chicken's color scheme. Which reminds me of a Russian Folk tale where a prince turns into a Hedgehog and rides a rooster.
So anyway, apparently I've been pegged as the gullible one who will run errands without asking for gas money, so I've been to the bank ("I'd like four hundred in ones please."), and to Staples to replace our ailing printer (apparently it got confused, so when the ink was full it thought it was empty and wouldn't print.). "I love technology." (You know, the wedding song from Napoleon Dynamite...)
But then one day this last week our freezer was on the fritz. In order to save our beloved buttermilk biscuits, I was called into action to ride my noble chicken steed across town to the other KFC where their freezer was working. Sweat and feathers and smoke don't mix (Does this chicken meet California emissions codes?), but the run was successful...mostly...after retrieving the biscuits the next day and fighting through a horde of Uruk Hai with only a Crispy Strip, we found that many of the biscuits had stuck together and The Empire of Yum! in its infinite wisdom decided it was too much trouble to thaw and reform the biscuits, so I came home with two boxes of dough. Which of course means...
Experimental cooking! My personal favorite was my attempt at lembas bread, the perfect blend of Peanut Butter, honey, brown sugar and a few secret ingredients, perfect for recharging after a day fighting the forces of evil. (That is, recharging like a battery. Recharging in battle fulfills Einstein's definition of insanity.) So now we have four gallon baggies of biscuits in the fridge, and seven or so of dough in the freezer, as well as one baggie full of biscuits that I can't remember what I put on them...though the raspberry jam one definitely tasted like one of those pastries you have for breakfast with frosting on it...what are those things called? Anyway, I had that one for lunch with two Ham and Cheese biscuits, after my biscuits and milk for breakfast yesterday.
Unfortunately since the cost of corn is so high these days, I normally let my chicken run around town while I'm at work so he can feed on Pomeranians and small children, but we ran out of Crispy the other day, and we had to put him down. It was hard to convince the customers that a three foot chicken leg was as good as a 16 piece meal, but Anduril is quite persuasive. So I'm once again in the market for a company car. Have you seen any blueprints for a biscuit-mobile?
Peace and Chicken.
So anyway, apparently I've been pegged as the gullible one who will run errands without asking for gas money, so I've been to the bank ("I'd like four hundred in ones please."), and to Staples to replace our ailing printer (apparently it got confused, so when the ink was full it thought it was empty and wouldn't print.). "I love technology." (You know, the wedding song from Napoleon Dynamite...)
But then one day this last week our freezer was on the fritz. In order to save our beloved buttermilk biscuits, I was called into action to ride my noble chicken steed across town to the other KFC where their freezer was working. Sweat and feathers and smoke don't mix (Does this chicken meet California emissions codes?), but the run was successful...mostly...after retrieving the biscuits the next day and fighting through a horde of Uruk Hai with only a Crispy Strip, we found that many of the biscuits had stuck together and The Empire of Yum! in its infinite wisdom decided it was too much trouble to thaw and reform the biscuits, so I came home with two boxes of dough. Which of course means...
Experimental cooking! My personal favorite was my attempt at lembas bread, the perfect blend of Peanut Butter, honey, brown sugar and a few secret ingredients, perfect for recharging after a day fighting the forces of evil. (That is, recharging like a battery. Recharging in battle fulfills Einstein's definition of insanity.) So now we have four gallon baggies of biscuits in the fridge, and seven or so of dough in the freezer, as well as one baggie full of biscuits that I can't remember what I put on them...though the raspberry jam one definitely tasted like one of those pastries you have for breakfast with frosting on it...what are those things called? Anyway, I had that one for lunch with two Ham and Cheese biscuits, after my biscuits and milk for breakfast yesterday.
Unfortunately since the cost of corn is so high these days, I normally let my chicken run around town while I'm at work so he can feed on Pomeranians and small children, but we ran out of Crispy the other day, and we had to put him down. It was hard to convince the customers that a three foot chicken leg was as good as a 16 piece meal, but Anduril is quite persuasive. So I'm once again in the market for a company car. Have you seen any blueprints for a biscuit-mobile?
Peace and Chicken.
Sweaty Modern Art (A Day in D.C.)
Okay Dad, you told me so. Those annoying rolly backpacks that I scoffed at would've saved me pains in the back, shoulders, and feet. But I am a man. With sore arms that will hopefully be stronger when I try to carry these bags in Dublin.
The humidity here in D.C. reminds me of high school in Florida. And makes me sweat like a pig. (Have you ever seen pig sweat? Me neither. But I assume if the pig was wearing a shirt, it would be soaked like mine.)
Travelling alone is a new experience. I've done it many times, but not for two whole days. I don't even know what to think about what I'm doing...like I'm not that excited, I'm just kinda spaced out. I'm enjoying myself, but my voice sounds funny when it pops out, and I feel kinda people-starved.
That being said, my lingering visit to the National Museum of Art (well, two visits, after I missed my train) was much less interesting than the colorful mosaic of people I saw today. I heard probably five languages before I finished breakfast this morning, including one "Shizer" from a girl who scalded her hand in the hostel kitchen. But the best moment by far today was provided by a little guy in the Museum of Natural History: ¨¿Tío, qué le pasó?" ('Uncle, what happened to him?' he says, pointing to the limp gazelle draped over a branch in front of a salivating leopard.) This was of course followed by an awkward silence in which Tío decides whether or not to respond with the gruesome truth.
The pigeons from Union Station garage say hi. They were pecking under my shoes trying to get at my cracker crumbs. Crazy birds.
In case you didn't know, Raphael definitely painted this picture where a mischievous baby Jesus is trying to reach inside the Virgin's blouse. Oh, the Renaissance. I have a really hard time believing that all these nudes were artistic and had nothing to do with Italian hormones. As feminists have pointed out, why are they all women then? Sexuality is such a powerful thing, but it seems almost impossible to portray it without cheapening it. Maybe that just reflects how powerful it is. Or how messed up we are.
Modern art is interesting. I saw one piece (a video) where this artist had set up a huge chain reaction where things like baking soda spilling across the floor tips over a table so it knocks a tire into a bucket that starts a balloon car. Cool. But most modern art reminds me of Elliot talking about 'shape without form' in the Hollow Men. It's...intellectually interesting...sort of...but it has little pathos, because it has no recognizable forms, only shapes, only colors, like letters without words. It almost seems like modern artists are deconstructing the idea of progress by proving that man is actually regressing and has nothing beautiful or important left to say. Shame.
Seeing old friends is refreshing. It feels like I have a couple lives behind me sometimes. But I can only live one at a time, and tomorrow, it's on to Dublin. Peace.
The humidity here in D.C. reminds me of high school in Florida. And makes me sweat like a pig. (Have you ever seen pig sweat? Me neither. But I assume if the pig was wearing a shirt, it would be soaked like mine.)
Travelling alone is a new experience. I've done it many times, but not for two whole days. I don't even know what to think about what I'm doing...like I'm not that excited, I'm just kinda spaced out. I'm enjoying myself, but my voice sounds funny when it pops out, and I feel kinda people-starved.
That being said, my lingering visit to the National Museum of Art (well, two visits, after I missed my train) was much less interesting than the colorful mosaic of people I saw today. I heard probably five languages before I finished breakfast this morning, including one "Shizer" from a girl who scalded her hand in the hostel kitchen. But the best moment by far today was provided by a little guy in the Museum of Natural History: ¨¿Tío, qué le pasó?" ('Uncle, what happened to him?' he says, pointing to the limp gazelle draped over a branch in front of a salivating leopard.) This was of course followed by an awkward silence in which Tío decides whether or not to respond with the gruesome truth.
The pigeons from Union Station garage say hi. They were pecking under my shoes trying to get at my cracker crumbs. Crazy birds.
In case you didn't know, Raphael definitely painted this picture where a mischievous baby Jesus is trying to reach inside the Virgin's blouse. Oh, the Renaissance. I have a really hard time believing that all these nudes were artistic and had nothing to do with Italian hormones. As feminists have pointed out, why are they all women then? Sexuality is such a powerful thing, but it seems almost impossible to portray it without cheapening it. Maybe that just reflects how powerful it is. Or how messed up we are.
Modern art is interesting. I saw one piece (a video) where this artist had set up a huge chain reaction where things like baking soda spilling across the floor tips over a table so it knocks a tire into a bucket that starts a balloon car. Cool. But most modern art reminds me of Elliot talking about 'shape without form' in the Hollow Men. It's...intellectually interesting...sort of...but it has little pathos, because it has no recognizable forms, only shapes, only colors, like letters without words. It almost seems like modern artists are deconstructing the idea of progress by proving that man is actually regressing and has nothing beautiful or important left to say. Shame.
Seeing old friends is refreshing. It feels like I have a couple lives behind me sometimes. But I can only live one at a time, and tomorrow, it's on to Dublin. Peace.
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