To My Daughter, With Whom I Am Well Pleased

April 7, 2016
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Today is Kate’s birthday. We did early birthday stuff two days ago because I’m working today. “I come bearing gifts,” I said as I came through her door, “CHEAP gifts.” She said cheap gifts were fine. (She knows I am of necessity practicing Shoestring Economics.) I gave her two solid-milk-chocolate bunnies, remaindered by the Family Dollar after Easter, and I gave her a wishbone I’d salvaged from a whole-chicken purchase at Safeway. Solemnly I advised her not to impulse-wish, but to think about her wish till her birthday, and then to grasp the wishbone in both of her hands and pull it apart. But before we left for Tokyo Express, I rested the wishbone on my forehead and willed all the wish-power I possess into the wishbone. (That’s a lot of hooey, right? But are you SURE? If you’re saying things like “that’s not the way it works” or “you’re not allowed to grab both ends of the wishbone,” then YOU must think there is some power to this thing. As do I.)

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So we went to Tokyo Express, and it hit the spot for both of us–we felt like Harold and Kumar at White Castle. And we went to Samurai Comics, where Kate purchased the magnificent graphic novel KINGDOM COME–and then gave it to me on indefinite loan, because she knew how badly I wanted to read it and savor the magnificent Alex Ross paintings it contains.

And then we went to the Movies. We saw WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT with Tina Fey as Kim Baker, embedded reporter in Kabul, Afghanistan. “Well,” said Kate when I asked her what she thought of the movie afterward, “I didn’t dislike it.”

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To My Daughter, With Whom I Am Well Pleased

Happy Birthday, Sweetums.

Your great-grandfather once said, “This is my Grandson, in whom I am well pleased.”

Glad to extend the tradition, because it’s so true
In the case of You.

THIS OLD MAN, part 2: The Nozzle

April 6, 2016
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Though Nozzles, even in the senescent, are capable of dispensing two kinds of fluids, Gasoline and Diesel Fuel, our remarks will be confined to the dispensation of Gasoline.

Over decades, the hydraulic force involved in the dispensation of Gasoline tends to diminish. Where once there was fire-hose pressure allowing the flow of Gasoline to fill a tank quickly, there is now a variable somewhat dependent on the Gasoline supply but never of the power of yore. At its worst performance the  Nozzle yields its fill with great reluctance, sometimes requiring up to a minute or so even to begin. At the same time, the configuration of the nozzle tip has been altered through extended use and misuse to preclude an even, laminar flow. Indeed, the turbidity of the escaping Gasoline often results in what can only be described as semi-spray. This often results in the dispensing area, if not the Owner himself, smelling faintly, or not so faintly, of Gasoline.

Prevention of this nonhygienic outcome may be achieved in several ways. A funnel may be employed; the Nozzle may be brought closer to the tank via leaning or squatting; or the Owner may dispense his Gasoline in the back yard, if he has one.

The topic of Leakage, while of paramount importance, is beyond the scope of this discussion.

wisheroo

April 5, 2016
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Idle chatter in these parts often begins with “When I win the lottery, I will . . .” It is fun but people don’t really think it through. People who win the lottery quickly find that their winnings have a down side, for instance the rise in probability that bad people will want to get their hands on part or all of their money.

“Be careful what you wish for” seems so obvious, but requires first to know what we really, really, really, REALLY want. Today one of my wishes is likely to come true: I will be having a meal at Tokyo Express with my daughter Katharine. I love her with all my father’s heart, and I have the acute realization that life is finite, and special moments are numbered. I won’t be making a big deal about it, but today is more valuable than winning any lottery.

THIS OLD MAN, part 1: The Noodle

April 4, 2016
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While not yet afflicted with dementia

I do have my episodes

I have left home for work with mismatched shoes

One black semigloss anti slip work shoe

The other New Balance white pseudo leather trainers

And today I’ve left for work beltless for the 2nd day in a row

That’s Out of Uniform for a restaurant host and could get me written up

Though yesterday the manager regarded it as no big deal

 

At my work as a host at an airport restaurant I sometimes

(As when wiping down a table and knocking down a salt shaker with a BONK!)

Get embarrassed

And that may trigger full-body Tourette’s syndrome

And that, my friends, ain’t pretty

I may say “Thank you, sir” to a departing guest in the same manner Kevin Bacon said “Thank you, sir, may I have another?” in the classic college comedy ANIMAL HOUSE

And then I may mutter “Makin’ Bacon” under my breath

And realizing I’m muttering out loud I may get more embarrassed

And may inexplicably clap my hands to the sides of my buttocks

While my head jerks around like a velociraptor’s

Throw in a little eye-twitch and you’ve got Son of Quasimodo manning the restaurant podium at America’s Friendliest Airport

 

My niece Lisa, learning I’d become a restaurant host, and knowing I am an introvert, said, “Wow, I’ll bet that takes you out of your comfort zone . . .”

 

Indeed it does

I go out of my comfort zone and into a psychodrama

Title: “The Noodle”

Written by Franz Kafka

Directed by Mel Brooks

 

CHAOS/order

April 3, 2016
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I was talking about this just-written acrostic poem to my poet friend Victoria this morning. The word unmoor, I said, might not just mean take the rope or ropes off. It might also refer to making a swamp into an oasis.

Vic liked that but thought my readers could use a footnote or annotation or they might not get it. I said Nah, my readers are very smart–many smarter than I. They’ll get it.

Cacophony diminuendo

Heuristic’ly-arranged decor

A sport, e.g. a foot that’s se’en-toed

Oasis crisis heretofore

Solved elegantly. Swamped? Unmoor

 

 

Blog Post #900: Salvation

April 1, 2016
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A few months ago a woman asked me, “Are you churched?” I answered, with the unwelcome shame that my culture has imposed, “No, Ma’am, I am not.”

Nor am I mosqued, nor synagogued, nor tabernacled, nor shrined. But today I am Saved. I acknowledge that the best word that described Life-Now and Me-Here is Miracle.

Sal: salt. Vat: big container. Ion: superfluous electron. That’s Life.

Live long and happily, Friends!

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Desperate Character

March 31, 2016
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Desperation has many flavors. A child of 13 learns she has new, unwished-for life inside her. A band of brothers and sisters shuffles for the last time out of a factory that is closing. An energetic person with a head full of ideas and plans is told there will be at most six months to do something about them. A man is lonely for a woman who no longer exists.

There is another desperation, one that is needed. When with clear eyes we see the severity and the complexity of the world’s troubles the desperate truth cooperate or die comes to light. Co-operate: operate together in the common cause of survival.

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Do not weep in public
Even if your stomach
Screams agoraphobia
Plastic bags and cancer
Entered the arena
Racing with malefic
Alacrity of intent
The ownership of conscience
Eliminates the easy answer

Friends, the next post will be #900. I hope to make it extra special . . .

BITE that sandwich

March 30, 2016
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Beef is silent. No more moos interfering with our sensoria. Tear it, grind it–no objection. Eat it in bread and the makings of salad.

That’s how we roll today and will tomorrow. Hearty appetites of the hoi polloi and their satisfaction alter the ethic to accept slaughter as nothing much.

Occupation: Artist (thanks, John)

March 29, 2016
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Long ago, Certified Public Accountant John A. Eck asked me if I knew what CPAs used for birth control. I didn’t. “Their personalities,” he said, grinning his leprechaun grin.

This year John did my taxes for what will be the last time, unless I get way above poverty-line income. He also put Artist in the OCCUPATION box on my returns, and included at my instruction $220.00 in income for which I gave no receipt–money I had earned in 2015 for my artwork. This bolsters my artist-identity a great deal, and I’m happy to thank John publicly for that.