Wherein the ephemera bits get dealt with.
O Ladies Night
Here's our friend Jill and C, on their way out the door to see Joyce Carol Oates at the writer's festival. Both of them three sheets to the wind: C well into the precious red nectar ("I like to kick back," she says), Jill in the blank middle of a three-day rum-and-diet-coke rampage. "Diet 'cause I like to look like a lady," she says. And then: "I'm so stoked about seeing Hall & Oates again!"
Tin Man
Following this little man over the causeway yesterday, when suddenly these crushed cans come spilling out of his pocket. Four or five of them at least. And I'd seen this little man before, around the downtown, and once or twice on the campus where I work, and he never seems to belong anywhere.
He gathered up his cans in a hurry, like a man picking up change.
Hats
*Someone* does not like hats. Hats have a habit of not staying on her head, of being donated to sidewalks.
Learning at the Library
Sitting there in the periodicals section, reading my New Yorker and feeling rather smart and rather rich, when someone walks by and gasses the place. You know: that creeping cloud fart that makes you hold your breath and pray that it passes. Only this one didn't. I had to flee to the art stacks.
Mentalism
A friend of mine is quite mad at me because she thinks she recognizes herself in one of my stories. Why would anyone make a claim like this? Why not say, Bah, that's not me, he's totally exaggerating. And why sound off at all? Personally, I expect less and less from people all the time. Personally, I *expect* people to have bad thoughts about me. Feel free to write them down!
So much minor, indignant mental illness going around these days. Or maybe I'm just watching too much Six Feet Under.
And Here Came the Unfamous
My five seconds of glory: a photo spread in SNAP. Do I always look like this, like some kind of just-awoken, shambling bear?
Shawn-o-Vision
My nephew Shawn, soon turning four, was in the garden with his mom one day, when he started banging two rocks together. "What are you doing, buddy?" his mom asked. "I'm going to start a fire!" he announced. "Well, good luck with that," his mom said, and continued with her flowers. A few minutes later she heard the door to the van in the driveway open. "What are you doing in there, buddy?" she asked. "Looking for matches," Shawn said.
* * * * *
O Ladies Night
Here's our friend Jill and C, on their way out the door to see Joyce Carol Oates at the writer's festival. Both of them three sheets to the wind: C well into the precious red nectar ("I like to kick back," she says), Jill in the blank middle of a three-day rum-and-diet-coke rampage. "Diet 'cause I like to look like a lady," she says. And then: "I'm so stoked about seeing Hall & Oates again!"
Tin Man
Following this little man over the causeway yesterday, when suddenly these crushed cans come spilling out of his pocket. Four or five of them at least. And I'd seen this little man before, around the downtown, and once or twice on the campus where I work, and he never seems to belong anywhere.
He gathered up his cans in a hurry, like a man picking up change.
Hats
*Someone* does not like hats. Hats have a habit of not staying on her head, of being donated to sidewalks.
Learning at the Library
Sitting there in the periodicals section, reading my New Yorker and feeling rather smart and rather rich, when someone walks by and gasses the place. You know: that creeping cloud fart that makes you hold your breath and pray that it passes. Only this one didn't. I had to flee to the art stacks.
MentalismA friend of mine is quite mad at me because she thinks she recognizes herself in one of my stories. Why would anyone make a claim like this? Why not say, Bah, that's not me, he's totally exaggerating. And why sound off at all? Personally, I expect less and less from people all the time. Personally, I *expect* people to have bad thoughts about me. Feel free to write them down!
So much minor, indignant mental illness going around these days. Or maybe I'm just watching too much Six Feet Under.
And Here Came the Unfamous
My five seconds of glory: a photo spread in SNAP. Do I always look like this, like some kind of just-awoken, shambling bear?
Shawn-o-Vision
My nephew Shawn, soon turning four, was in the garden with his mom one day, when he started banging two rocks together. "What are you doing, buddy?" his mom asked. "I'm going to start a fire!" he announced. "Well, good luck with that," his mom said, and continued with her flowers. A few minutes later she heard the door to the van in the driveway open. "What are you doing in there, buddy?" she asked. "Looking for matches," Shawn said.
Just finished the last episode of Six Feet Under last night. Hang in there. Your friend Brenda changes a bit.
ReplyDeleteI always assume everyone is writing about me. And drawing me. Is that wrong?
With that pose, Oona looks like she's just mixing some beats :)
ReplyDeleteBeing offended seems to be the new black.
ReplyDeleteOnce Oona realises how cool she looks in hats she'll embrace them.
congrats on your photo spread!
ReplyDelete"minor indignant mental illnesses" - like that :)