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2021 1019 niceness

A few days ago I went to a multi-year high school reunion of my fellow Glendale High School alumni. We were almost all in our late 60s and early 70s. Compared to our high school selves, we were almost to a person saggy and baggy and crepey and creaky and greyish and bulky, but not sulky, rather cheerful, glad to be vertical, glad to see friends. I came away with a good feeling, a nice feeling, and somehow the lens of that evening obscurely guided my pencil and my wordstacker.

niceness

now we hoist a cup or stein
in a toast to life divine
cherishing our kin and friends
effervescence never ends

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My forays into self-publishing began in the Spring of 2008. I created a Word document and stuck scans of my acrostic pages into it, and then inserted some conversational text that transcribed and annotated the illustrations/poems. That little chapbook was called The Tutti-Frutti Bird of Benign Insanity. I think I sold about 7 copies.

In 2010 I gathered the portraits I had done of outstanding local poets and put them into a chapbook which I called LIVES of the Eminent Poets of Greater Phoenix, AZ, Vol I. I did a print run of 50 copies, and some time later I was the MC of a special event celebrating my new publication, and many of the poets in my book came and performed. My objective was to showcase them because I felt they were underappreciated, and I think I fulfilled my intention.

My next intention was to produce a Volume II, and I thought a year would be plenty of time to do a second volume’s worth of more poets. I wanted to publish Vol. II on August 30, 2011, the anniversary of Vol. I. Alas, 2011 was a disastrously disruptive year, including the finalization of my divorce on December 19. I was knocked off my routine and my trajectory. I continued to do poet portraits but I didn’t organize them.

Doesn’t matter. I’m back on track again, with some help from my friends Susan Vespoli and Russ Kazmierczak. Susan helped me get Vol. II out of Limboland, and Russ at my request wrote an Introduction second to none. Russ also gave me a variable-length stapler that took my bindery efforts from the Stone Age to Cool Jazz.

Today I decided to run ten copies of Vol II and keep track of my printer’s ink levels to see how long I’d be likely to go before I needed another $120 cartridges pack for my new printer. Here are the levels before and after the 10-copy print run.

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Looks like I’ll be running low on Magenta about 40 copies from now. Black and Cyan got hit, too, but Yellow wasn’t much affected. Intuition/guesswork tells me that printer ink is costing me about a dollar a copy.

I’m asking $9 US for an unsigned copy, $10 for a signed copy, with free shipping/handling anywhere in the US. (I’ll send a copy internationally on request, but I will have to change extra for shipping/handling in that case.) My mailing envelopes cost about $8.75 for a 12-pack–figure 80 cents per. Postage right now is $1.56. The light card stock I use for the cover is about $25 per ream, or a nickel per Vol II copy. The copy paper cost is about 6 cents per Vol. II copy. And it was almost exactly one hour from when I started printing to when I tucked the collated, folded, and stapled tenth copy into its mailing envelope. So we have $1.00 plus $0.80 plus $1.56 plus $0.11 cents for a total of $3.47 materials cost, yielding a gross profit of $5.53 for unsigned, or $6.53 for signed.

In a perfect world, then, my hour’s work would return to me somewhere between 55 and 65 US dollars.

Ah, but it is not a perfect world. I haven’t addressed a single envelope, nor signed a single copy, nor taken them to a mailbox. And what about tax? Tax in Arizona is pretty near 10 percent, so if this enterprise goes beyond about $400 gross sales, more or less (informal opinion from a CPA friend of mine who will go unnamed), there goes a dollar a copy. And if sales go into the ozone, which, based on experience, has about the same chance as a snowball in Hell, why then I’d need to set up a sole proprietorship or an LLC. A good problem to have, to be sure, but, Friends, you know something? I’m not in it to get rich. The IMMENSE, HUGE value I get from doing stuff like this is in the thrill of Creation and the ambrosia of Approbation. I have already gotten 90% of that sort of Profit and I am content. 🙂

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20210929_151019For the entire month of September I had display space at Bookmans Entertainment Exchange, a charming emporium just north of the Northern Ave Light Rail exit, and on the 29th I was the “Meet the Artist” artist, doing free sketches and demonstrating Acrostic Poetry construction.

The 29th also coincided with my publication of Volume II of my Lives of the Eminent Poets of Greater Phoenix, AZ series.

I also drew free sketches for customers. This lady wanted the “S” Superhero symbol. I was glad to try. When I asked her name she said “Superwoman.”

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I also offered for sale merchandise that included postcards and refrigerator magnets of my artwork.

I didn’t make much money with this venture, but I think I made a ton of FUTURE money if I act on what I learned. Next time an arts or crafts fair nearby has a call for vendors, and there are no scheduling conflicts, I may just take another flying leap. 🙂

2021 0926 paul michael dlouhy
Paul Dlouhy, whose last name is a near-rhyme for “allow me,” allowed me permission to do this page with this texted proviso: “Yeah, sure. Just as long as you’re not profiting on my name, or fame. Because you know people our lining up to get in on that. haha!” Though he might not have the fame a fair world ought to grant him, he has the chops. He’s a terrific performer, whether he reads from his journal or puts on a mask with a weird mouthhole and uses a voice that partakes of the macabre DNA of both Peter Lorre and Vincent Price. (The audience was blown away by that one. There may have been some nightmares that night.)

He also plays harmonica, and the “Have Harp, Will Improvise” on this page refers especially to his spot-on, unrehearsed accompaniment to one of my own performances, when he didn’t know a word of the poem I was doing and only had the threadbare instruction “Start with a sort of walking-blues vibe and then just react to what I say…” He helped alchemize my rather leaden, monotonous-voiced recitation into entertainment gold (judging by the enthusiastic crowd response).  Paul not only saved my bacon, he put a fluffy omelet next to it. He is a man of gentle Greatness.

Paul Michael Dlouhy

Protest with Music and well-spoken word
Add a disguise and let Oddness unfurl
Upgrade a shtick with a voice from a zoo
Undermine Hatred with Humor très fou
Loosing a harp with æthereal reach
Leaps into Kindliness teaching Unpreachy

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One of the blessings of being poets in the Valley of the Sun is that we have in our midst a talented, hard-working, generous Superstar.  How talented? Read her poetry and gasp. How hard-working? Try teaching for twenty years while caring for a child on the autistic spectrum. How generous? She is lavish with her time, having hosted and/or participated many events, both live and on Zoom; lavish with her praise, as I found out when I did an illustration for her publication The Revolution; and lavish with sharing her wisdom, as exemplified by her series of spot lectures under the umbrella “Ars Poetica.” (Latin for “Art of Poetry” and the title of an awe-inspiringly contradictory poem by Archibald MacLeish. Its first line is “A poem should be palpable and mute” and yet the poem is not Mute at all.) (I long ago abandoned my ambition to be any sort of Poet Laureate, but I think I’m an excellent candidate for Arse Poetica. 🙂 )

Rosemarie believes that writing poetry is therapeutic, and frequently she hosts a Therapeutic Poetry workshop. I’ve written a few poems exactly because she says so.  Under that aegis the poems become intensely personal.

In a wonderful demonstration by the Universe that sometimes miraculously fine and good things can and DO happen, some time ago Rosemarie became the first Poet Laureate of Phoenix, Arizona. She was the perfect choice.

Rosemarie Dombrowski

Resilience will meet a special need
Occluding Tragedy, though, offs the feed./O
SEcrets are anathema for whom
Maternity goes far beyond the womb
And so Non-Silence reigns, with child in tow/For
Righteous storytelling makes it so
It makes a fine and free-flow
Ecstasy/To TEACH to Touch to Thrive and with verse Ski

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This is not my first portrait attempt with Sara. I did one for her birthday, but it wasn’t very good, though she accepted it graciously. I think I did a little better this time, but getting her just right still eludes me.

Sara, once known to me as Hydroxia Gryphon, can perform without a net, metaphorically speaking. She will without a cheat sheet face a crowd and begin singing a capella, and it sounds both spontaneous and pre-ordained.  Her voice is pure and elemental, remindful of a prairie wind.

Sara Will Sing

Scent of sage wafts in the chorus
As the prairie girl sings for us./I
Really love to feel that keen
As deseert zephyrs wail and cling

2021 0923 patrick hareThis is my approximation of Patrick Hare, a mordant and acerbic Valley poet who uses his poetry to skewer cultural wrongdoers who interfere with his enjoyment of daily life. His harangue on the grocery-counter ambusher-cashiers who hit you up for a worthy-cause donation when you just want to pay for your stuff and get out is howlingly hilarious, but dark as can be and not for the squeamish. He says out loud what many of us dare not even think. But he’s a real sweetheart offstage, so I tried to say so in my acrostic:

Wild Hare

Wisteria hides a Pariah
Indignant but sweet as Papaya
Lord Snarky gives dummies What For
Delivering Takedowns galore

2021 0922 trish justrish

The superlative poet who calls herself Trish Justrish has been involved in the Valley poetry scene forever, both solo and as a member of The New Subterraneans. The last time I saw her perform, pre-pandemic, I was moved to caption a photo of her “This is Trish Justrish, whose cerebral and yet heartfelt poetry reveals a more-than-passing knowledge of certain of the sciences. You have to love a person who can wield the word Omicron effectively. You have to love her more for the layered expression on her face when she delivers the line “I KNOW you want to kiss me.” She brings a quality to the New Subterraneans that helps them be more NewTrishous.”

Doing her page got me thinking about the “Just” part of the name Trish Justrish. It does not have to mean “merely” or “ordinary.” Another definition of the adjective Just is “righteous” or “fitting” or “demonstrative of appropriate karma.” She IS righteous. Her poetry is honest, as I attempt to convey in the convolutions of my acrostic.

Trish Notjustany Trish

The words so coherent dispelling the mist
Tell thoughts that would wow a devout scientist
Rewoven reality makes to career
Reverse/hearsals juxtapose woes far and near
If heartache’s subsumed in a vain search for Pi
In fact it will wrestle on deck or lanai
Submerse in the New Subterranean blues
Set poems to paper and pay up more dues
Her work is True Blue it is not Bait & Switch
Her clear voice will stymie the false then enrich

That “Thanks, Trish!!!” I put to the left of my signature is for more than Trish’s gracious permission to do this page. I sent her an early draft of the acrostic, and it was much more ambiguous than this final version. She wrote back expressing confusion over my reference to Abercrombie & Fitch, makers of fine suits and other clothing and accessories. And she was right as rain; the obscure reference in the second-to-last line knocked the acrostic’s integrity way off plumb. Trish Justrish knows poetry, whether she is writing it or reading it. She is a cerebral wonder.

Five years, nine months, and twenty-nine days ago I began my employ with SSP America, one of two firms that manage the restaurants of Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. Today at 2:46 PM I ended that employment by clocking out at Matt’s Big Breakfast, next to Gate B5 at Terminal 4. I left on good terms, with the Big Boss, Tommy R, managers Maria, Denny and Eduardo, bartender Sadie, servers Jenna, Netty, and (especially) Melinda, utilities man Juan, and my cashier replacement Esperanza all wishing me well. It is a good ending.

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Here I am with Ninette, whom we call Netty. That’s my mask between us, hanging from my left ear.

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This is bar lady Mercedes. She prefers to be called Sadie. She posts wonderful pictures of her family on Instagram. She also has cracked me up with jokes that are unsuitable for children. And I’ve tried to crack her up as well. Many of the jokes I’ve told her are older than she is.

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Here is utility man Juan, who showed me pics of the coastal city in Argentina where he was born and raised. I told him today that he looks a bit like the “handsome British actor” Anthony Hopkins. 

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And here is Melinda, whose skills as a server are so pristine that my own mother, the Diner from Hell, the Original Karen (OK), the late, great Jane Bowers Stoneman, would ask for Melinda by name when she was working at Lone Star Steakhouse. Melinda is known as the Finder of Stuff and is heavily relied on for that, among many other things. When I told her I’d post her pic she said, “Tell everyone that I’m the one who gave you Covid.” (Possible, but unlikely,) I may miss her most of all.

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The lady pointing at the “Usual Suspect” is Maria W, who has managed our restaurants all over the place. I have the utmost respect for her. She runs everything from 10Ks to ultramarathons and has for many years. She is hard to keep up with. 🙂

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And here I am with the Big Boss, Tommy R, who manages the managers. He is like Heimdall, Bridgekeeper of Asgard, in that his eyes see everything, everywhere. The buck stops with him. And it was to Tommy himself that I surrendered my airport badge and the Micros card with which I clocked out for the very last time.

I’m proud to have put in more than five years with SSP, and so happy to have made so many restaurant friends. I will stop by and say hello as a traveler when I plane-trip my way out of Phoenix. I wish all my colleagues the utmost success, and will miss them profoundly.

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Today, against odds, I DIDN’T clock in at the airport’s Matt’s Big Breakfast, and DID enjoy Steak and Eggs at the Camelback/32nd St. location…of Matt’s Big Breakfast.

I showed up to work, punctual as always, but when I tried to clock in the screen said “You are not on the schedule.” It had been saying that all week, because new manager Penny was still learning the ins and outs of scheduling using our Micros POS. (POS allegedly stands for Point Of Sale, but it can stand for other things too.) Today, though, by my clockin time we already had both a host and a cashier. Both were new but capable.

Penny offered to send me to Four Peaks, another SSP restaurant, to work my shift, but I told her I’d just as soon go home. And on the bus ride home it occurred to me that if I stayed on past my stop, the Camelback/32nd Street stop was a quick walk to the Camelback Matt’s. And today is Sunday, and the Sunday special is Steak and Eggs! Which I never get to have because I work Sundays! Matt’s, here I come!

And the meal was glorious. Though I don’t think it’s right being a carnivore, and fully intend to vegetarianize in the not too distant future, before he went to the Great Beyond Warren Zevon left the human race instruction to “enjoy every sandwich.” That goes double for Steak and Eggs, and home fries, and sourdough toast with strawberry preserves so good that what didn’t go on the toast got ingested the same way John Belushi inhaled the Jell-O in ANIMAL HOUSE. Best meal I’ve had in months.

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Here’s a sketch I just did of Matt and Erinia “Ernie” Pool, the originators of Matt’s Big Breakfast. They look much better in real life, but I got nervous when I sketched them. They were super nice to me the times they visited the airport location when I was working, but I learned that when Ernie says “Could you do me a favor?” it is diplomatic code for “You guys screwed up.” 🙂