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Monthly Archives: March 2026

November 2015 I answered an ad calling for restaurant workers at the airport; got a Cashier/Host gig at Matt’s Big breakfast in Terminal 4 right by Gate B5 at Phoenix Sky Harbor Int’l Airport; gave two weeks’ notice in September of 2022; had some glorious semi retirement adventures; reapplied for work with parent company SSP America after doing a three-week prep cook training course; was hired as a prep cook for the SSP Commissary in May of 2023; was tapped for tomato-slicing duty by Chef Adam that November. My main job since then has been running thousands of tomatoes through a manual hand-slicer with multiple parallel blades. Over two-plus years I have gotten to be good at it. It is not rocket science, but it does involve some choreography, especially when I start running out of tomatoes.

My good-humored co-workers call me “Mr. Tomato” or “Tomatoman” on occasion. That is fine with me. I strive to be the best Tomatoman I possibly can be. And to the other Tomatofolks out there, amateur or professional, I salute you. May your tomatoes ever be firm yet not underripe!!

When I was growing up our family library included books of fairy tales, and one of my favorites was The Wonder Clock by Howard Pyle. And my favorite of the twenty-four stories in that book was “How Boots Befooled the King.” The book is in the public domain now, and I urge interested parties to find it via Google Books or Project Gutenberg. It is lavishly illustrated in glorious detail by the author.

“How Boots Befooled the King” came to mind because tomorrow is April Fool’s Day, a day for practical jokes and pretense. It was once my favorite holiday. The challenge of coming up with believable fakery delighted me.

One memorable April Fool’s Day in the late 20th Century I called my mother and crestfallenly asked her if it would be OK if I stayed in her guest house a few days–domestic trouble at home; looks like a divorce is in the cards. She bought it hook, line and sinker, and was furious when I “April Fool!!”ed her, but also enormously relieved that it was a joke. (Alas, in 2004 or thereabouts it started to become obvious that the marriage wasn’t working out. We were growing apart. Eventually we agreed to stay together until our daughter had finished her education. The divorce was finalized on December 19, 2011.)

One prank I pulled right before an April Fool’s Day 5K footrace called the “Fools 5K” in the early 90s, which I and my running pal George had signed up for, happened just before the airhorn sounded to start the race. I looked George in the eye and said, “Hey, George, some advice. Whatever you do during this race…try your best not to think of the Jetson’s theme song.” Poor George was doomed to run every step of the three-miles-plus with the obnoxious “Meet George Jetson…” theme song looping in his head. In my defense, at least it was only a 5K and not a marathon. And I bought lunch after, to make up for my mischief.

My Sweetheart Donna had a younger brother, Scott, who was born on April Fool’s Day. “I teased him mercilessly on his birthday,” she says, calling him an April Fool and “Scott the Snot” and “Scott the Pot.” But she couldn’t fool him. “He was so much smarter than I was, or ever will be.” She loved him profoundly, and he loved her. Tragically, Donna lost Scott to the AIDS epidemic. She grieves, and always will.

I wonder if and how I will celebrate April Fool’s Day tomorrow. I feel too old and sober-sided to pull any shenanigans, especially in these harrowing times. Most likely I will do a search on “April Fool’s Day pranks” and vicariously enjoy other people’s japes. And I will definitely do a search for Norman Rockwell’s famous April Fool’s Day painting, wherein all kinds of crazy-impossible things happen, including birds flying upside down.

I hope you have an uplifting and good-foolish April Fool’s Day tomorrow, Friends. 🙂

well-thrown form

could be a globular vase

but demands to become yet another bird,

and i ask her,

“why, bird, must you exist,

when i have already made

so many of you??”

she coyly replies,

“maybe you got me right this time.”

the crowd size this weekend dwarfed everything ever

yet trump-sanctioned stations acknowledge it never

a cloud of unknowing with thugs on the make

produces a silence that’s in itself fake

..

see, dark money talks and it wheedles and whispers

and killers hide hemlock in dressers and crispers

pretense is their strategy silence the essence

with smothering heralding reich’s recrudescence

Life Is a Ping-Pong Paddle, and We Are the Ping-Pong Balls

Well, Life is a ping-pong paddle

And we are the ping-pong balls.

We may think we are tall in the saddle

But we’re slammed into tables and walls.

We are tossed into air and then batted and spun

We’ll be scuff’d and well-English’d before we are done

And it’s always a player, not us, who has won,

With Life as a ping-pong paddle

And Us as the ping-pong balls.

So it pays to be super-resilient

And to bounce back intact and unscathed,

To detach from the navel’s imbiliment

Fly freely and be karma-bathed,

For we keep all our innocence and our good name

Being blamelessly used without fortune nor fame

And without us there would not be even a game

Let alone the excitement that’s rife

With Balls giving meaning to Life.

see what happens

when you give him

everything he wants?

everything, it seems,

has turned out

not to be enough.

pillaging, manipulation,

murdering civilians,

raking in and breaking faith,

putting guns in hands of psychos,

telling lies for gits and shiggles,

bloodying the Constitution,

Caligula’s coagulant

inciting Armageddon.

the bugs do battle in our bodies

in savage stark ferocity

and we wash pills down with hot toddies

to give them reciprocity

and other liquidss are ingested

like flaxseed tea and orange juice

until the bugly throng is bested

and illness-train shows its caboose.

i say a prayer of avid thanks

and write this verse quick and informal

rejoin the unafflicted ranks

and sound huzzahs for being normal.

pull!

to the “no kings” protestors marching today

a tug of war

poor rope

a yank of arm

and ligament

..

it’s such a chore

to cope

with hurt and harm

and liniment

..

the midwife pulls the newborn

the hustler pulls the strings

the wool is pulled and new-shorn

we pull the brassy rings

..

we watch in stricken horror as

our missiles pull some kids

into oblivion and see

our country’s hit the skids

..

pull back pull down pull well away

and do not let the king to bray

of greatness in his lust for power

in what’s become our darkest hour

..

we march we speak we hold up signs

we pull our big girl pants up for

the no kings protest which defines

our over

lapping

tugs

of

war

gazans are being brutalized starved and killed

the blasted land they are on coveted

their lives deemed discardable

..

in the sudan there is wasting

in iran new to y dug children’s graves

their lives ended by our department of war

but it’s not a war, the department says

and we are sending our youth there

after telling the nonenemy

no quarter

no mercy

..

our fleshlives are taken over by nonflesh agents

noticers who know what we like

and what our secret selves lust for

and how to lull us into addiction

..

the ocean is more watery

the heat is breaking records

the job market is a ticking time bomb

most of us being either too expensive or too many

..

there is plenty of good news though

minnesotans and canadians are heroes

the baseball season is under way

we’re going to the moon again

the hum of electric vehicles is ever more prevalent

and we are close to ousting one of the vilest humans

ever to attain power

..

and the best news of all: life persists and will persist

a mass extinction is in the works

but some will survive

and love and hope and gained wisdom will persist

however electronic

or quantum-mechanical

their forms may take

and you and i are here NOW, i sending

and you receiving

and that matters as much

as anything that has happened

or will happen

my fine, listening friend