While watching a film about an abandoned ranch in southern California, it occurred to me that the house I live in now is different from every other house I have ever occupied in one regard: I no longer own a telephone. In every house I have ever lived in, I had to make an accommodation for an object that was about nine inches wide by ten long, and about inches five deep, weighing three or so pounds. As I look at this house I have to speculate as to where I would put an object like that now. Most likely on my desk in the living room, to my left, so that I would not get tangled up in wire when I answered it. In that space today is a wind-up bull (origin unknown), a small wire wind-up figure (origin unknown), and immediately in front, Dr. Johnson’s Potpourri of some 4000 of the most Entertaining and Historically Stimulating English Words (a gift, but I am uncertain from whom.)
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Friday, December 30, 2016
Saturday, December 03, 2016
When Oliver Hardy kicked a football, it went down five flights of stairs and hit a man right in the head and his hair fell forward and he looked just like one of the Beatles! Although his hair was somewhat sandy, which reminded me more of the Beach Boys’ Dennis Wilson, and he was angry, because of the football, which reminds me of my great grandmother, Ignatia, who detested football in all its forms, mostly because, she hated everything, which makes me laugh now. Oh thank you Grandmommy, for making me laugh this rainy day in December! Although it isn’t raining yet. It probably really won’t. But sometimes you just get this feeling in your bones. I remember the Beach Boys said this in one of their songs. I forget who sang it – I think the dead one.
There was a swirly stripe on the tri-colored lollipop that I used to buy at the zoo that was the exact same color as the letter border on my bank portfolio from Delaware that arrived in the mail today even though I threw it in the trash compactor after I thought about it, once I looked at it, right before I got home and checked my bank balance.
Thursday, December 01, 2016
There’s a small barber shop in a small town in New York where it is almost impossible to get a shave. Men line up for hours in advance and stay there throughout the day waiting for a shave. When there are hurricanes, they hold onto street signs and cover themselves with sheets of plastic or canvas. When it snows, they wear warm mufflers and drink thermoses filled with hot cocoa. In the springtime, they enjoy the May blossoms but they are often sneezing and wheezing to beat the band. The summers, however, are perfectly fine. In this town, it never gets terribly hot in the summer, and so waiting for a shave can be a pleasant experience in July, or even August, particularly if there is someone next to you in line who is a good conversationalist and the thermos that you usually use for hot cocoa is filled with lemonade. Not brandy. But brandy can be nice when you are talking about the weather. Still –
Getting a shave when you are drunk is a terrible thing.
You should do it once in your life.
But not twice.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
It rained tonight. But first the moon rose in the sky. Between those two things, a dog barked. After those two things it rained, and someone played the guitar. Later, someone ate an old-fashioned donut. Someone else was screaming in another country. For no reason. Someone learned German.
Tuesday, November 08, 2016
When I meet someone whose name doesn’t rhyme with anything
I feel elated as one might traveling first class on a cruise ship
Not a modern one, which I understand are both gross and awful
but an old one, the Cunard line, with Barbara Stanwyck on it
how nice and mysterious it is to be aboard
in such grand company and all the ocean and stuff
even though it’s just a movie
it is a wonderful idea no matter
one of those wonderful ideas
that don’t rhyme with anything
and you can’t recall very well
once you come home
and feed the beagle
and eat a schnitzel
Monday, October 10, 2016
is sort of confusing. They all look pretty handsome to me.
Perhaps it is their mustaches and their glaring eyes
because they all have that. One, I think his name is
Clint, has a well-trimmed beard and a cigarillo.
One has a pistola. No one smiles, but that is nice, too.
I think this movie should be called
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE HANDSOME.
They are all so good looking.
This movie was realized by Sergio Leone.
And isn’t it interesting that bad, in French.
has a feminine article. Here it is simple the.
I don’t think that’s right. But it doesn’t make
cowboys less appealing. Or the movie less enticing.
Or less mouth-watering.
Maybe it’s just the background on the poster.
It’s burnished and yellow.
It almost looks like a chicken pot pie.
Saturday, October 01, 2016
If down goes the airplane
would I clutch the arm of a stranger
and say “I love you”?
I would! And if I did she would say:
“I love you too!” and then she would
“I love you too!” and then she would
say: “I have loved you all my life!”
And I would say “But we just met!”
And she would say “True, but...”
–and then we would die.
People are strange.