Well I'm supposed to be writing three one page papers right now. But I just feel like reading dispatches about fictional english professors who are moonlighting as extras in a Met. Opera version of War and Peace.
The Movie Quoter has come back to the grill and everyone's antics have reached new levels. The Onion Cutter locked the Movie Quoter out of the kitchen (The Onion Cutter was very gleeful over his new favorite prank) and so he had to walk around to a different entrance. Then they argued for a few minutes with the Onion Cutter trying to talk MQ into going outside again.
The Onion Cutter is terribly mischievous and likes to keep everyone on their toes. Last week he blew up a plastic bag, held it in one fist and popped it. Then still holding the remnants of the bag in his hand he blamed it on someone else. Even without the evidence of the bag we would all still know it was him. He can never hide the delight he gets out of his tricks.
But to continue with today, at one point I felt it appropriate to encourage the Onion Cutter to attack one of my coworkers (they were teasing each other anyway. Attack is the wrong word but English is so limiting). Hilarity ensued. The Onion Cutter decided to start tickling my coworker and have you ever seen a 19 year old boy dance around and giggle? The Onion Cutter then managed to convince my coworker to go outside and what happened next? Why of course, the Onion Cutter locked the door.
Technically with two managers working this never should have happened. But I'm really only a pseudo manager (my boss gave me the raise but then forgot he gave me that promotion which is just fine with me) and sometimes we all need a little friendly frivolity.
28 March 2008
more chewing down clouds
I've just done something I've never done before. I finished I packet of floss. I've semi-kept a New Years resolution. 
I was taken back to my grandmother's fruit cellar tonight for the first time in years.
Have you ever smelled a fruit cellar?
It was a strange room that was a continuation of other odd assortments: the laundry room with two fridges, the large dresser with a million nooks and trinkets that gave me the notion of sewing and was topped with large phone books. Beside it on the wall a phone with the turn dial (a peach colored phone), off to one side came the little bathroom with the unused shower and the toilet with the note taped to it: Please hold down handle for a few seconds. One wall was lined with those upper-wall windows characteristic of many basements.
And then there was the fruit cellar like a layer of closets.
First was the furnace/water closet that had badminton rackets and rubber kickballs stuffed in all the corners. Then it was the first room of the fruit cellar that was more of a pantry with boxes of cereal (Raisin Nut Bran!) and other things. And there to your left another closet with another naked light bulb to be turned on by the cream colored, cotton string: click--or that sound that is not entirely a click but more utterly indescribable. There were the jars of peaches, of jams, of homemade salsa, of pickled green beans, of applesauce on shelves of unfinished, worn-down planks--brown and splintery.
Have you ever smelled a fruit cellar?
Then I wasn't even five feet tall and I would peer into the kitchen cabinets to see if Grandma had left any Fruit Stripe gum with the zebra on the pack.
Then I was older and Grandma was leaving Halloween candy in all of her pockets--fun size snickers for us to find in various stages of age for years to come like some kind of comic relief.
I loved having her at my kitchen table that summer. I would like to always have someone to lounge around with after a meal who would tell me stories and laugh as I tried to balance a spoon on my nose.
She had a vanity in her bedroom which was another fixation of dreams for me. Imagine a table and chair and large mirror-covered wall all to the delight of my dreams of self-gilding. People who have vanities have places to go and stories to tell and nice clothes to wear and department store make-up. I could stare at her necklaces and high heals forever and dream of my own gold tube of red lipstick. And all of this primevally linked to a memory of a small black and white TV set playing a 1940's Sinbad production and the green carpeted study that branched off the master bedroom. A room lined with bookshelves and burgundy chairs for reading. Now there's another room of dreams.
I was taken back to my grandmother's fruit cellar tonight for the first time in years.
Have you ever smelled a fruit cellar?
It was a strange room that was a continuation of other odd assortments: the laundry room with two fridges, the large dresser with a million nooks and trinkets that gave me the notion of sewing and was topped with large phone books. Beside it on the wall a phone with the turn dial (a peach colored phone), off to one side came the little bathroom with the unused shower and the toilet with the note taped to it: Please hold down handle for a few seconds. One wall was lined with those upper-wall windows characteristic of many basements.
And then there was the fruit cellar like a layer of closets.
First was the furnace/water closet that had badminton rackets and rubber kickballs stuffed in all the corners. Then it was the first room of the fruit cellar that was more of a pantry with boxes of cereal (Raisin Nut Bran!) and other things. And there to your left another closet with another naked light bulb to be turned on by the cream colored, cotton string: click--or that sound that is not entirely a click but more utterly indescribable. There were the jars of peaches, of jams, of homemade salsa, of pickled green beans, of applesauce on shelves of unfinished, worn-down planks--brown and splintery.
Have you ever smelled a fruit cellar?
Then I wasn't even five feet tall and I would peer into the kitchen cabinets to see if Grandma had left any Fruit Stripe gum with the zebra on the pack.
Then I was older and Grandma was leaving Halloween candy in all of her pockets--fun size snickers for us to find in various stages of age for years to come like some kind of comic relief.
I loved having her at my kitchen table that summer. I would like to always have someone to lounge around with after a meal who would tell me stories and laugh as I tried to balance a spoon on my nose.
She had a vanity in her bedroom which was another fixation of dreams for me. Imagine a table and chair and large mirror-covered wall all to the delight of my dreams of self-gilding. People who have vanities have places to go and stories to tell and nice clothes to wear and department store make-up. I could stare at her necklaces and high heals forever and dream of my own gold tube of red lipstick. And all of this primevally linked to a memory of a small black and white TV set playing a 1940's Sinbad production and the green carpeted study that branched off the master bedroom. A room lined with bookshelves and burgundy chairs for reading. Now there's another room of dreams.
27 March 2008
a moonlit catalyst for #44 in mosaic form with Richard Scary
If I draw a million astronauts
& send them out to sea
Do you think that I would realize
I was worth a breathing lexicon
Or will I send them out
& then just lie here tiredly?
But just in case,
will you keep the astronaut I send you?
Oi, so of all the old treasures, the Onion Cutter was back at work yesterday. We joyfully reunited and in one sentence he told me that his mother's mother had died and that he had been born in 1983. I at first interpreted this story to understand that his mother had died in 1983 and so I asked him if he had grown up with just his dad and he said yes. Which just goes to show that there are many ways to have fun with semantics.
Does anyone else think there is something kind of sweetly magical about those little paper cocktail umbrellas? Maybe the rest of you are smarter and don't have hearts so weak and dreamingful and maybe you have minds that are more useful. But I find I could rest my eyes on an umbrella and dream just as I do at the thought of my Aunt's designer shoe boxes and white chocolate dipped pretzels.
I seem to sometimes be an agent of frippery. The verboseness seems to roll 'round a bit but it never seems to shake from my rug. I've built so many mosaic structures, the works of clay and bristle, not gristle, and I hang them about the old door posts...
& send them out to sea
Do you think that I would realize
I was worth a breathing lexicon
Or will I send them out
& then just lie here tiredly?
But just in case,
will you keep the astronaut I send you?
Oi, so of all the old treasures, the Onion Cutter was back at work yesterday. We joyfully reunited and in one sentence he told me that his mother's mother had died and that he had been born in 1983. I at first interpreted this story to understand that his mother had died in 1983 and so I asked him if he had grown up with just his dad and he said yes. Which just goes to show that there are many ways to have fun with semantics.
Does anyone else think there is something kind of sweetly magical about those little paper cocktail umbrellas? Maybe the rest of you are smarter and don't have hearts so weak and dreamingful and maybe you have minds that are more useful. But I find I could rest my eyes on an umbrella and dream just as I do at the thought of my Aunt's designer shoe boxes and white chocolate dipped pretzels.
I seem to sometimes be an agent of frippery. The verboseness seems to roll 'round a bit but it never seems to shake from my rug. I've built so many mosaic structures, the works of clay and bristle, not gristle, and I hang them about the old door posts...
24 March 2008
someone wishes they could b Richard Cory*
I feel sick to my stomach.
I'm sure you want to hear about my cleaning checks, so I'll appease you and tell you this: I didn't feel that gross about any of the ghetto-ish kind of old and cheap things about this apartment-ioso, I even thought our little bathroom, I mean, water closet was kind of funny. Until I cleaned it.
Je suis mal au ventre.
Dust bunnies live in my water closet. Every once in a a while when I go in there, I would have this vague thought that it was kind of funny that there was always little dust balls accumulating in the corners.
Tonight I cleaned the floor.
I commenced on the toilet and shower (I won't describe the shower experience for you, that's what is really making me sick) and I looked down at my feet and found that they were already being kept company by a million new dust bunny babies.
стоп! ARRêTE ! ARRESTO! στάση! Anschlag! 停止!
виток!
* Richard Cory (the answer is Simon and Garfunkel)
I'm sure you want to hear about my cleaning checks, so I'll appease you and tell you this: I didn't feel that gross about any of the ghetto-ish kind of old and cheap things about this apartment-ioso, I even thought our little bathroom, I mean, water closet was kind of funny. Until I cleaned it.
Je suis mal au ventre.
Dust bunnies live in my water closet. Every once in a a while when I go in there, I would have this vague thought that it was kind of funny that there was always little dust balls accumulating in the corners.
Tonight I cleaned the floor.
I commenced on the toilet and shower (I won't describe the shower experience for you, that's what is really making me sick) and I looked down at my feet and found that they were already being kept company by a million new dust bunny babies.
стоп! ARRêTE ! ARRESTO! στάση! Anschlag! 停止!
виток!
* Richard Cory (the answer is Simon and Garfunkel)
23 March 2008
hot oil splashes deep into my heart and I live on perplexed
There are a lot of things that a person could spill from the silent echoing of their mind. minds (how many do you have? I have three. HO!*). Every once in a while I feel like my brain is in a persistence of memory. Persisting and persisting, insisting I think my own thoughts, the same thoughts. I wish I had windows that I could open up to the world and let my brain fall out. I wish I could ride my bicycle all the way to the familial cabin and stick my head in the ice cold water rushing past, just dunk my head for a few seconds and hope some of the water goes in one ear and out the other channeling through all of the tunnels and nerve networks in my brain for a few seconds in between entrance and exit.
That would be refreshing.
It's one of the highlights of working at the grill (example here), sometimes I am refreshed because something forces me out of my perennial (sycophantic?) reveries. I think it's the sticking force (plus a lack of ambition?) between the grill and I. Uno giorno my boss asked me if I would ever name my first child Moses. Is there a time for a pause in conversations such as these?
-Yes. And I would name the second one Apple, like a reverse Gwyneth Paltrow.
(it was the first thing that came to mind.)
-Who's she?
(oh different worlds we habitate ourselves in)
-She's an actress.
-Don't you want to make movies?
-Yeah...documentaries.
-You see that one about that girl from TLC, the one she made about herself, which one was it?
-I think it was Left Eye.
-Did you ever listen to them?
-Yeah, I always did growing up.
-That song, Waterfall, that was a good one.
(oui, I commenced singing here)-Don't go chasin' waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to...
You've got to treasure moments like that.
You might also notice I'm a self-defeatist. I cannot hold to one opinion (which is what saves me from tattooing my body). There was a night once I went to a Vegetarian and Vegan potluck. It was a right chummy group with lots of good food and conversation, you know I could have gagged over the amount of support there was for analog over digital (give the two a break and love them both). The next day I was terribly happy to be transfixed as I ripped apart three little chickens for the chicken noodle soup at the grill (although I'm getting tired of test-tasting the chicken broth). Absolutely transfixed, but kindly I will spare you the details. For that mess, I also thank the grill.
oh gee, what an ode.
*Has anyone yet seen On Approval?
That would be refreshing.
It's one of the highlights of working at the grill (example here), sometimes I am refreshed because something forces me out of my perennial (sycophantic?) reveries. I think it's the sticking force (plus a lack of ambition?) between the grill and I. Uno giorno my boss asked me if I would ever name my first child Moses. Is there a time for a pause in conversations such as these?
-Yes. And I would name the second one Apple, like a reverse Gwyneth Paltrow.
(it was the first thing that came to mind.)
-Who's she?
(oh different worlds we habitate ourselves in)
-She's an actress.
-Don't you want to make movies?
-Yeah...documentaries.
-You see that one about that girl from TLC, the one she made about herself, which one was it?
-I think it was Left Eye.
-Did you ever listen to them?
-Yeah, I always did growing up.
-That song, Waterfall, that was a good one.
(oui, I commenced singing here)-Don't go chasin' waterfalls, please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to...
You've got to treasure moments like that.
You might also notice I'm a self-defeatist. I cannot hold to one opinion (which is what saves me from tattooing my body). There was a night once I went to a Vegetarian and Vegan potluck. It was a right chummy group with lots of good food and conversation, you know I could have gagged over the amount of support there was for analog over digital (give the two a break and love them both). The next day I was terribly happy to be transfixed as I ripped apart three little chickens for the chicken noodle soup at the grill (although I'm getting tired of test-tasting the chicken broth). Absolutely transfixed, but kindly I will spare you the details. For that mess, I also thank the grill.
oh gee, what an ode.
*Has anyone yet seen On Approval?
22 March 2008
do you believe in magic?
I wish I had a camera right now (I especially wish I had the correct film for my polaroid camera) because someone spray painted green over this stop sign near chez moi. That person has to be the most inspired person in this city right now.
I love it.
I love it.
20 March 2008
oh be warned stranger from distant lands that landing here might be like eating a cloud
Sometimes I feel I could die from wishing I could be back in that little country I grew up in. I don't wish for that innocence or naivety of growing up because I am still naive and I still have the innocence of wishing and it's only better now because I understand the wishing a bit more.
Sometimes when it gets windy here I'm overwhelmed by wishing I was standing on that gravel road at dusk with the purple fields edged by scraggly ditches stretching off away from my feet out to the end of the world. A world where I am not in the playground captivity of a university. A world that will only exist at certain times under certain moons for certain people with certain moods.
And then we stand up and move on.
Bleh, there are my prosy thoughts again.
Sometimes when it gets windy here I'm overwhelmed by wishing I was standing on that gravel road at dusk with the purple fields edged by scraggly ditches stretching off away from my feet out to the end of the world. A world where I am not in the playground captivity of a university. A world that will only exist at certain times under certain moons for certain people with certain moods.
And then we stand up and move on.
Bleh, there are my prosy thoughts again.
14 March 2008
I delved and delved but still stood exposed to something archaic
I walked home under the explosion of Mt. St. Helen's today. Large flakes of ash floated down and melted into sidewalks and on poor people's cheeks. It was all such ash. I could see the burnt-out grey shading into white flakes.
My roommate and I both agreed it was not any snow we had ever seen before. Have you ever seen a snow that's dirty before it even touches the ground?
I walked home under the explosion of Mt. St. Helen's.
A history so rich.
It was an afternoon that marked how long it had been since I played Master Boggle.
A history so rich? Can one say that about a volcano?
picture courtesy of Charlie Anderson Jr. of Glacier Caves
My roommate and I both agreed it was not any snow we had ever seen before. Have you ever seen a snow that's dirty before it even touches the ground?
I walked home under the explosion of Mt. St. Helen's.
A history so rich.
It was an afternoon that marked how long it had been since I played Master Boggle.
A history so rich? Can one say that about a volcano?
picture courtesy of Charlie Anderson Jr. of Glacier Caves
13 March 2008
consuelo strummed a bit. it was like a round river
I saw the birthplace of helvetica today*.
It has also been a very spring-like day and under the spring-like sky I pulled an 11 month old in a Radio Flyer red wagon. We were following in the footsteps of a Filthy Padawan. Someday I'll draw you a picture.
I was looking at The Sartorialist and I found Mrs. Slocombe meets Woodstock and David Bowie. Or like I've been on carnival rides too long after eating carnival food and I start hallucinating that I see Mrs. Slocombe.
One last thing:
Little Dragon - Twice
*A documentary
It has also been a very spring-like day and under the spring-like sky I pulled an 11 month old in a Radio Flyer red wagon. We were following in the footsteps of a Filthy Padawan. Someday I'll draw you a picture.
I was looking at The Sartorialist and I found Mrs. Slocombe meets Woodstock and David Bowie. Or like I've been on carnival rides too long after eating carnival food and I start hallucinating that I see Mrs. Slocombe.
One last thing:
Little Dragon - Twice
*A documentary
11 March 2008
10 March 2008
dust? dust i love------
They brushed aside their marshmallow cares
each one carefully placed on the sidewalk
now gone
or maybe one remains just--
there.
It's a funny thing, in english, our verbs to care and to have cares. There exists a primordial connection between the two ideas. And we forget their connection by walking underneath the stars into the daylight where polaroid pictures can capture the framework that was intrinsic as it stretched out into some expanse or another last night but in daylight is absurdist. It is the blandness that renders things eternal. Now which between day and night embodies caring and which is to have cares?
Eh bien, il n'existe pas une différence.
each one carefully placed on the sidewalk
now gone
or maybe one remains just--
there.
It's a funny thing, in english, our verbs to care and to have cares. There exists a primordial connection between the two ideas. And we forget their connection by walking underneath the stars into the daylight where polaroid pictures can capture the framework that was intrinsic as it stretched out into some expanse or another last night but in daylight is absurdist. It is the blandness that renders things eternal. Now which between day and night embodies caring and which is to have cares?
Eh bien, il n'existe pas une différence.
09 March 2008
10E
There still exist those who still question why I still work at the grill.
Let me explain.
Today I was doing my usual rounds checking to see what I needed to prep. I found a soup bucket, I subsequently dropped said soup bucket causing the soup to fly everywhere including into MY FACE. I had to run blindly to the nearest sink to wash chicken noodle soup out of my EYES.
Later I was taking this phone order and as I was saying the goodbyes and thankyous (we must be very clear as we do this because "nothing is worse than hanging up on a customer." Nothing.) I'm pretty sure the guy at the other end of the line said, "I love you."
Wait, what?
Still,
Let me explain.
Today I was doing my usual rounds checking to see what I needed to prep. I found a soup bucket, I subsequently dropped said soup bucket causing the soup to fly everywhere including into MY FACE. I had to run blindly to the nearest sink to wash chicken noodle soup out of my EYES.
Later I was taking this phone order and as I was saying the goodbyes and thankyous (we must be very clear as we do this because "nothing is worse than hanging up on a customer." Nothing.) I'm pretty sure the guy at the other end of the line said, "I love you."
Wait, what?
Still,
05 March 2008
Month of Five Years
I'm taking a timeout to say, I've been trying to open up the airwaves to artists other than Led Zeppelin, everyone deserves their time, n'est-ce pas? I've been trying great people: Janis Joplin, Neil Young, The Kinks, The Shins, The Smiths, Wolfmother, Whitestripes, David Bowie, The Sex Pistols, The Velvet Underground, I even sang about umbrellas with Rihanna. Oh and in honor of Emo Week I tried to listen to Taking Back Sunday, Secondhand Serenade etc etc...
Everyone is falling flat.
I'd think, that's a great soulful, scratchy voice, Janis, I wish I could sound like you. Dear Kinks, I will drink with you in honor of this dead clown. And God save the Queen, Sex Pistols!
No no nothing, nothing is reaching out to me in this year of Led Zeppelin. Nothing has come to reclaim me, not even Pink Floyd (well ok, I did fall into a trance in Pink Floyd. It's just difficult to study to PF). No words of wisdom from Neil, no pieces of Michael Nesmith, none of my metaphysical experiences with The Smiths. HOW MANY MORE NAMES CAN I DROP BEFORE I FALL OUT OF OBSESSION WITH LZ?
an infinite amount.
Drop all your matrices, all your equations, all your atomic numbers, double covalent bonds, drop every tile from your roof and fly away.
Pourquoi?
Ahhhhh...for words to write in parkinsons hand to dear children and audiences in hollywood and manitoba...
there is a large amount of je ne sais quoi.
but there is also the large factor that Led Zeppelin is a complete, entire, and whole band. Robert Plant, the lead singer, is only one small part, they're all playing off each other in glorious communion.
I will have to remember to remind my progeny to not forget if they ever start listening to Led Zeppelin they will never be able to stop.
Everyone is falling flat.
I'd think, that's a great soulful, scratchy voice, Janis, I wish I could sound like you. Dear Kinks, I will drink with you in honor of this dead clown. And God save the Queen, Sex Pistols!
No no nothing, nothing is reaching out to me in this year of Led Zeppelin. Nothing has come to reclaim me, not even Pink Floyd (well ok, I did fall into a trance in Pink Floyd. It's just difficult to study to PF). No words of wisdom from Neil, no pieces of Michael Nesmith, none of my metaphysical experiences with The Smiths. HOW MANY MORE NAMES CAN I DROP BEFORE I FALL OUT OF OBSESSION WITH LZ?
an infinite amount.
Drop all your matrices, all your equations, all your atomic numbers, double covalent bonds, drop every tile from your roof and fly away.
Pourquoi?
Ahhhhh...for words to write in parkinsons hand to dear children and audiences in hollywood and manitoba...
there is a large amount of je ne sais quoi.
but there is also the large factor that Led Zeppelin is a complete, entire, and whole band. Robert Plant, the lead singer, is only one small part, they're all playing off each other in glorious communion.
I will have to remember to remind my progeny to not forget if they ever start listening to Led Zeppelin they will never be able to stop.
04 March 2008
this earth is such a cold and unfeeling world that doesn't understand me
EMO POETRY
Haiku:
Springtime beckons me
But my blood runs cold and dry
I've run out of time
Haiku:
Springtime beckons me
But my blood runs cold and dry
I've run out of time
Educational Emo moment:
"The important thing about Emo poetry is that it is serving a purpose for the writer. The art that is produced from Emo poetry is only a byproduct of the process of creating it: through this process, the writer is able to exorcise the feelings that torment him or her and produce the poem. The purpose is only to provide the writer with catharsis and relief. If the poem is good, then that is just an added benefit for readers, but the purpose of the poem is served in the process of creating it. Some quotes from Emo poetry are listed below." -emo-cornerBeing emo is taxing.
03 March 2008
let this be emo week
a wiki of emo
urban dictionary of emo
Must read post below to understand emo week. Stay tuned for poetry.
urban dictionary of emo
Must read post below to understand emo week. Stay tuned for poetry.
and you could have married molly ringwald.
Guys, I have a confession to make.
I'm emo.
Last week at work my coworker decided to start calling me Emo. Here is a conversation that ensued after I left work.
L: Why are you calling her Emo?
Coworker: (jokingly) Because she is emo.
H: Yeah (not joking) she is kind of emo.
L: What? How can you tell?
H: Oh you know, she kind of dresses emo.
Have any of you seen the way I dress?
Oh gosh this is good.
I'm emo.
Last week at work my coworker decided to start calling me Emo. Here is a conversation that ensued after I left work.
L: Why are you calling her Emo?
Coworker: (jokingly) Because she is emo.
H: Yeah (not joking) she is kind of emo.
L: What? How can you tell?
H: Oh you know, she kind of dresses emo.
Have any of you seen the way I dress?
Oh gosh this is good.
01 March 2008
I brought joy to Kuwait spelled Quait
The other day I had to buy a tape for class.
A cassette tape.
It looked so strange in my hands. It hasn't even been that long since I've handled a tape. Maybe a year. But I kept turning the tape over in my hands wondering if this was really a cassette tape. The size and shape seemed a little off.
I was looking at the odd thing again tonight and I remembered how this summer on one of my travels I would drive around with une cousine and a friend in his little truck and he only listened to tapes.
One Sunday after sword fighting in the park we were driving and out of nowhere he pulled over the car and made us all get out to smell these roses that were growing at the edge of an alley way.
A cassette tape?
A cassette tape.
It looked so strange in my hands. It hasn't even been that long since I've handled a tape. Maybe a year. But I kept turning the tape over in my hands wondering if this was really a cassette tape. The size and shape seemed a little off.
I was looking at the odd thing again tonight and I remembered how this summer on one of my travels I would drive around with une cousine and a friend in his little truck and he only listened to tapes.
One Sunday after sword fighting in the park we were driving and out of nowhere he pulled over the car and made us all get out to smell these roses that were growing at the edge of an alley way.
A cassette tape?
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