Saturday, November 29, 2008

To Tampa and Back (or Lines Written a Few Minutes Before and After Flying a Few Miles Above the Earth)

As I set about to recontextualize my travel experience and drink coffee at the airport as I think "hey, I can drink beer at the airport" if I'd like
and I'd like except its 6:45 in the morning
I watched a man grope the fountain and felt a poem-like diarrhea coming out of me.

Recontextualizing the Airport in the Wake of My New-found Adulthood

1. Airport travel is no longer besmirched with carrying bags that belong to my mother.
2. Travel is no longer confusing. Either I'm less panicky, or we always had complicated flights, or my dad was teeming with questions.
3. Travel is lonelier-like.
4. I can stop and look at the damn fountain as long as I like!
5. TSA guy who I gave my receipt to instead of my boarding pass, who scoffed at me - what a hottie.
6. The Detroit airport doesn't have smoking rooms. But if it did I could smoke. Except I quit smoking.
7. Only go to the bathroom when I need to go - which isn't nearly as often as the female conglomerate and male stronghold of my family.
8. No loud almond-crunching while we wait for our flight. The airport doesn't play loud enough music to mask that sound.
9. The Atlanta airport had smoking rooms. They were sick!
10. The boy standing in line to the desk is adorable. He is also five. He can't see over the counter as daddy talks to the lady behind the huge silver wall. What do they talk about? Boring stuff.
11. The lady across from me is drinking Big Joe's coffee. I'm drinking Starbucks. I'd rather drink anything else besides Starbucks. Maybe she'll switch with me.
12. I just ate delicious buttered bread. There's more in my bag - I'll eat it soon.
13. If THEY ever made a movie of my life, I would want them to have a 3 minute static shot of me eating bread because that is so much more of life than the time I saved a tribe of babies from imminent peril in the Ozarks. In that moment, one would know just how much I like bread, how I hate crumbs on me, and how I have a bent against airport food because my parents never ate it.
14. Start eating airport food.
15. Big Joe's lady looks like a depressed sleepy bird. Poor lady.
16. Sad Bird left me. Now I feel a little sad. Fly away little birdie; find better poaching ground.
17. Big News! I just got paged! Over the intercom! No, and this time it's not terrorism. I got moved to a window seat so that a baby can sit by their parent. No kidnapping for me. Or parent napping, for that matter, under the watchful eye of the baby. I might be able to do some windownapping!
18. Sad Bird came back to find her seat filled by a besuited man with big, jocular eyes and too little hair for his age. He stares bravely forward. Sad Bird drifted to a new seat, and sunk into despondency.
19. Now the lady behind the huge silver wall is reassigning the shit out of this plane! How big is this baby?
20. If the plane was hijacked by a tribe of Ozarkian militant babies, do you think people would be less likely to defend themselves? Hell I wouldn't want to beat up a baby.
21. I'm not sure this is a poem anymore.
22. The airport is a roaring poem.
23. Standing on the moving walkway is really stupid.
24. That lady had red hair! I didn't care for her boots. The man with her probably cares for her boobs. They have to be cared for like waxing a car.
25. A bigger boy just tackled his smaller cousin, and they both fell. A lady screamed Cousins!
26. I think we're boarding now onto our drastically shifted plane. Here's to infant militantism.
27. I never want to forget what a big deal this is. I'm staring at the top of clouds, watching the sunlight dance through their stringy membranes. Dare I turn a cold shoulder?
28. Recontextualization may be complete: I'm drinking at the airport. The magical threshold has been crossed and it tastes like Sam Adams.
29. On my way home now. I was reading Frank, but decided writing could be better. Oddly enough I'm the only one reading poetry at the Jose Cuervo bar in Tampa. Does that make me awesome or an asshole?
30. It's funny to stereotype people at an airport.
"Damn Tampanian hicks."
"But I'm from FRAHNCE."
31. Bartender keeps staring at my Frank book. Closeted poesyphile?
32. When I walked in here, she said:
"Hello there, welcome to Jose Cuervos. Know what you want or do you need a minute?
What I wanted to say:
"Wow, what a creative name for a tequila bar. How'd you think of that?"
What I said:
"Ooh! I'll need a minute. I've always wanted to drink at the airport!"
I'm fuckin' adorable.
33. Have to fly in 15 minutes. Gee, so much beer to drink. Hope I don't miss it!
34. Well, I guess I'm boarding in 15 minutes. Quite different than flying.
35. Only near attractive man in this joint (enjoyed use of word joint) is wearing a nice scarf and has squinty eyes. Maybe he's tired? Lonely?
Lonely, lonely, my life is boney.
36. I think he's drunk.
37. Lady next to me is one of those hot 41 year old types. She's drinking Michelob Light. Bottled.
38. Yeah, I think I'm an airport asshole. Is this what I grew up to be?
39. Or maybe everyone is cynical at airports - sitting around judging all the nincompoops.
40. How odd that we would be that way. It's a perfect place to make friends! A playground of weapon-free waiters who are BORED.
41. Smile! I'm bomb-free!
42. My favorite is that the government strips us down to our stockings as we walk through the metal detectors. How cozy is that?
43. Well, need both hands now. Is this the end? This part really was just the epilogue.

Saturday, November 15, 2008


I am a sort of cloudy day sadist
unmoved by the shining sun

I nod my violent approval to the frigid breeze
that renders impotent none but the cloudless sky

The quivering alleys fill their potholes with rain
for my triumphant yellow boots to disembowel
I slosh through Cross Street
and cast a perverted gaze to the gray
I ignore the sagging blue pectorals of sky!

How I beg the clouds to drape their curtainous bodies
over the sun and darken
the golden veneer that crops on the brick
Let this puddle be the sky

and my yellow rain boots be the sun
I am the screaming demon of this day
and will beat the joy out of its bleak hips

the Earth will sigh today
Gloomy Thursday shines for no one.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Hung-over from Halloween #1
I will show you fear with my hand full of pencil.
I would like you to remember this
The gloaming sneaks on the thrashing boardwalk to usurp my happenstance
and it would be really nice
if you could remember that

My hair will float upward in the breeze
see my tender flying locks as a sign of hope
a flag floating
That all boingling bongaling boinkle brings safety

and harmonious memory
to all skywalking midget farmers
float float float little hairs!
hope is left in your capable follicles

As you wrap me in your romance
I'll ask "hey - rowomance?"

Hung-over from Halloween #2
I am filled to the brim with impermanence
and by I I mean I I mean I mean I mean I mean I
like your legs but not those tiny shorts on them
I either like the performance or the thing itself
not some awkward peep show of all your extracurricular yet equally exciting parts
I saw a reflection of a biker up a hill
I saw that
I saw that reflection
I saw a reflection of that
He biked that hill good.

Hung-over from Halloween #3
I will show you fear with my hands full
of many miscellaneous objects
that they never said were frightening(theytheythey)
but I will show you fear in them
with my hands full
of them

Now now now now wait a minute there mister
Their gaze the gaze they gaze and they just watch
me trot myself past them in my little shorts
they're just so tiny

I'm not sure they care much for them
Perhaps I'll go change into something bigger

October is the cruelest month.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Ugly Mug Breakfast Poem - Tuesday Morning

The world was all a bluster and
the wind was painted with smiles
Frankie called it an Eeyore morning

But we were happy!
A happy Eeyore morning!

And I was happy amidst
the swirling yellow pillars

the umbrellas lifting their skirts
to the wet aesthetic Ypsi was wearing

Eeyore held us under his dark donkey paw
We liked it and grinned on the way to class
'til the wind whisked our smiles away

Note: On a far more important note...
After a year of working at The Common Cup, I've finally seen the Men's Bathroom. This whole time there has been a green pillar, and I had no idea! We don't get a green pillar!

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Aubree's Dinner Poem - Wednesday Night

If this is your bag, then this is your wallet.
If this is your table, then this is your waitress.
If this is your coat rack, then this is your fleece.
If this is your picture, then this is your face.
If this is your daughter, then this is your family.
If this is your hair, then this is your hijab.
If this is your urine, then this is your problem.
If this is your cubicle, then this is your work.
If this is your house, then this is your party.
If this is your sock, then this is your smell.
If this is your empty beer glass, then this is your drunken walk home.
If this is your spider, then this is your pet.
If this is your hand, then these are my cold fingers.
If this is your butt, then these are your pants.
If this is your friend's, then this is all just a big mistake.
If this is your oyster, then this is your world.
If this is your education, then this is your career.
If this is your garbled speech, then this really doesn't make a lot of sense.
If this is your dictionary, then this is your language.
If this is your long, pensive glance, then here is my coy, heartless dismissal.
If this is your jaw dropping, then these are his secrets.
If this is your floor, then this is my ceiling.
If this is your roadkill, then this is your car.
If this is your death, then this is it.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Worms and Other Such Fantastical Creatures

Life never keeps you just sitting there - in a figurative way. Literally, well, yes, sometimes. But at least my experience with this "Life" guy is that he generally pushes you out of your Lazy Boy and onto the carpet, off the carpet and onto the rug, off the rug and onto the ottoman, and from there the sky is the limit.

Sometimes, you're checking your bank account, to see how much you overdrew your account this pay period (because you're a huge moron, and that orange shirt was just so damn cute), and your friend that mysteriously left the area a few months ago to become a rock star, calls you from Chicago to tell you that he is becoming a rock star. You then sit, wondering why TCF Bank's Online Banking system makes no sense whatsoever, and how Mr. Life managed to sneak this one up on you. I mean, this time you were paying attention.

We're growing up guys, and our lives are becoming excited. In the next year, I'm going to be graduating, trying to open a tea shop, and having to figure what exactly it means to be a "real adult" (as opposed to a mythical one) and how much I need to "give up in order to make that happen." Friends are going to be moving away and coming back. Relationships are going to start and end. People are growing and changing, for better for worse, and the world is this big undulating wave pool where everyone is floating around trying not to sink in their cute little orange elbow floaties that they still wear because they're too scared to take them off ever since they almost drowned when they were nine years old because they "Abandoned Kayak!" when their sister told them to because she forgot how to steer back to shore and they figured they were heading to China.
But really, undulating wave pool was what I was going for there. Nothing ever stays the same.
Sometimes, it's very exciting. Your friend calls you to tell you that his life has become a fairy tale, but he's still your friend, and his life is still real, though all evidence is pointing toward otherwise. He's finally getting to live the life he's always wanted to, and everything he's been working for is seemingly falling in his deserving lap.
Who ever expected that to happen to anyone? Are my dreams going to come true? What about yours? What are they?

Well, I'm over the top excited, baffled, and well, excited. I probably overdrew my bank account, but we'll figure that out later.
I'm 21 now, by the by. Buy me beer.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

That's what you said?

completely overwhelmed.
hospital food blows. I want chicken.
so happy the US took back the lead in medal count! 21 US, 20 China! We love you Michael Phelps!!!
"The one thing that is consistent in life is betrayal."

i wish, i wish, upon a star.

too in love with humorous turns of phrase.
looking at a masters in forensic psychology.
amazingly happy.
the greatest.
contemplating the power of memory.

up north singing in the woods : ) Gotta love being a choir dork.
a great guy. Let's get together.
almost done working.
fucking living up what he earned.

in cali and unsure of what to do with her self.
misses Ray Bay.... as a sidenote Mary Sarah is also astonished that her child is in kindergarten and thus she feels old.
updating his MICHIP website!
letting everyone whos been in contact know that i havent and wont have time to reply until i get back to ohio in the 16th...:)

a frisky dingo.

counting down the days to head up north.
in Davis and loving the Paul Taylor dance intensive!!! =) and realizing she moves in two weeks! crazy!!
playin' the numbers game to find a way to say that life has just begun.
glad Nicole is home.

soooooooo Lalala teehee!
I Love the Olympics!!!
everything happens for a reason!!

just learned that birds can explode from gas build up...
pondering love.
wondering about her life's purpose. Is it to nap?

fucking excited about the new studio!
officially a student at Eastern!!!!!!!!!!!!
back swimming ^_^.

feeling sick ! ut ohhh.
overwhelmed by how present God was at Pine HIills. Praise the Lord!

needing a change!
saying goodbye Black Moses :(.

counts down to her move: 9 days!

going to band camp!
remembering why she will never live in Monroe.

wants Chelsey to upload pictures!

painting her toes aqua.
livin' the dream.
back in Michigan and missing Tennessee!
live through this.
hanging out with Brandon today.
gone into food coma.
knows who wins.


happy Nikki's Kidney is working :)
"me, i'm a scene. I'm a dramaqueen...i'm the best damn thing your eyes have ever seen!"
going to Cedar Point - along with her whole family on the Donnelly side.

playing a show at West Park in Ann Arbor on Wednesday. There's a potluck at 4, and the show starts at 6; with the Versificators.
watchin Menace II Society - THE ORIGINAL!
tryin to do gymnastics off the couch & jumpin off of Ricky..its fun!

boxing the stars.

leaving on a jet plane...or in a car? You will find out someday :)
sitting with kelsey and jeremy.
très très malade.. =(.

(not really) wondering what he's to do with 10 pounds of leftover burgers and brats .
now the one doing the continuous smiling.

going to play the game and get it cheaper!!
fuckin WORK.
home and had best be seeing you before you leave forever. Yeah, you, that Babe that's moving to St. Louis. Or any one of you Babes moving to Seattle.

waiting patiently for the Cruise.
calming down to some early Cabaret Voltaire.
having an amazing summer! WOAHHH!!!!
still in awe.

making lattes and happiness.
soo excited for cones...the vehicle for ice cream!!!!
officially unpacked. now to start packing...

sore and has no voice but got to stare at and work with Drew B, Ellen Paige, Juliette Lewis, Jimmy Fallon and Eve all day. Plus very cute roller derby girls.
ready to rock and roll.
in Maine- it smells funny.
down and out....
going to the Willow Run Air Show. Anyone want to come? Grillin on the side of the road while drinking beer as we watch kick ass planes all day. Sat. & Sun.

so glad it's friday!
enjoying life.
workin' on dat der power drill. hm hm. Yes sir.

stressed out...
gonna scrapbook all weekend!!

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

The Boy Who Cried Communism

He gave a little cough
Is this what I sound like?
Look I'm not entirely sure what nature ever did for me but I've been told a lot of stuff
that we're supposed to do for each other and for others and pretty much the whole world
is suppose to
first base each other willingly of course into oblivion of course otherwise
the world isn't flattening
and that's the global economy you see - makeouts, and sneaking hands down each other's shirts
just so damn curious.

Dammit, McCarthy! You got us again!
And how are we supposed to believe when you are we supposed
how are we supposed to and how are we supposed...

That's truly amazing.
I was just watching the movie, and then I was first-base freedomed
rocket-shipped to somebody's lunar basement. god the stars are no closer out here.

if you're THAT bored
we can just make out
the red, white and blue
that cuts my teresticle landscape against the universe.

He winked.
Let's save my planet, baby.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Blowhard (or The Ventriculatory MassWhale)

I thought something felt a little funny yesterday. It was hard to pin it down due to my recent acquirement of full-throttle absent-mindedteenism (not a word), or my decision that cigarettes were last years news. Turns out it wasn't anything to do with me - things were just a little funny.

After finding out that one of my best friends from high school now lives down the street from me, I had a stigmata over my kitchen sink. Whether or not this was due to my finding out he lives down the street from me remains unclear. The particular stigmata I had was the one where Jesus readjusts his crown of thorns on his head, and consequently pricks six out of ten of his fingers. Six out of ten of my fingers (about 6/10 of them, or 3/5 if you use the metric system) started gushing blood, for no reason in particular - besides the stigmata of course. Only one of them was really split open, so I wiped up the other cuts, and put band aid over the seriously stigamatad one. The Little Finger That Could bled through that band aid, another one, and yet another one, before I was able to leave the house to go to work. Oh, the valiant bleeding. Keep on bleeding little buddy! You're so brave!

As I exited my house stage right, and approached my four-wheeled steel horse of valor and consequence, I noticed a strange pile of garbage abutting the entrance to my carriage of guilt and glory. "Bizarro." I thought, "though this is Ypsi. Naymind, not bizarro." But I as I neared the pile of garbage, I started getting the eerie feeling that the garbage was familiar. In fact, it kind of looked, not..."could it MY garbage? But of course it is! I can recognize my garbage from anywhere! Heavens, this garbage is the garbage that used to live inside my car!"

-1 bottle of mostly empty Victoria Secret lotion, left-over from my sister's habitation of said automobile.
-10 batteries, their life-death status unknown.
-2 bags half-eaten snacks from recent road trip to Tennessee.
-5,000 receipts, memorializing the purchase of cigarette packages (lo, the days of yore!)

Now, why would anyone ever want to go into my sapphire-encrusted transportation mechanism of serendipity and shyness, pull out handfuls of garbage, and leave them there?
At this point, I started to use my head, instead of my heart. I came to this conclusion:
Someone had gone treasure-diving in my car!

But really, the joke is on them. The mostly empty bottle of Victoria's Secret lotion and 2 bags of half-eaten snacks were really the best things in there. For no reason in particular, I had taken my iPod out of my car the night before, leaving the only other valuable, but pretty much useless, item in there, which is my cd-to-tape adapter. They took the adapter. Good for them. I would hate for them to leave empty handed - what kind of hospitality is that?

I mean, really. I hope they don't go smearing my reputation around Ypsi by telling everyone what a gross, useless quadped roar-box I have, or how I truly own nothing that costs more than $10.47.

The tale ends with me cleaning up the garbage with my blood-stained fingers, and quietly exiting the city. A weird spell, a tepid air, and a morose ghost fell upon Ypsi yesterday. Let us exercise the demon and let the city sleep at last.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Finally, a movie that accurately represents an entire species.

I had an idea for a short story yesterday, but as I worked it out in my head, I realized it wouldn't be anything more than a romantic comedy. Heavens! We don't need more of those! So I decided to do what everyone in Hollywood does when they are entirely out of good ideas: Make it about Penguins!
Here's the voice-over from the trailer:

She's a girl, who's making her way in the Big City.
He's a down-home boy from the South Pole.
Her writing career has finally taken off.
He's finally met her.
The only problem is...

"See, I can't write unless my heart is broken."
"So that's why you're always waddling around dejectedly!"
"It's not emotional - it's just my work."
"Damn girl! You need to find a line between work and play!" (Hearty laughter)

She's addicted to having her heart broken.
He's addicted to her.

"I've never seen flippers move that way before."

Will this salt water lover risk her job for the one guy who could make her happy for the rest of her life?

"I mean, he's no Emperor Penguin." (Hearty Laughter) "But there's something in his plumage."

Or will she trick him into breaking her heart for the sake of a story...just like all the other guys?

The critics are saying
"Finally, a movie about real penguins."
"A hilarious, toboggoning romp!"

The only mature comedy with full-frontal penguin nudity, and all the laughs that will get you Puffin!
This summer, see the movie that dares to ask the ultimate question - What Will a Penguin Do For Love?

This summer, don't miss out on the writer's block:

The Pen is Mightier Than the Guin

Sooooo...what do you guys think? Besides, of course how retarded the critics who previewed the movie are. A tobogonning romp? What were they thinking?

But I think it's a winner, and I'm pitching it to Aaron Harburg in the morning.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Be Inspired by Life's Tender Succulence

I've always hated the adorable posters people have hanging up, shamefully, in weird parts of their house, that are titled "Life's Little Instructions" or "Lessons I've Learned" or "Things I Know Now Because I'm So Damn Old but You're Still a Teenager, So Listen Up, Screwhead." These, sadly, usually permeate society and become cutesy adages, and, consequently, infallible wisdom.
So, to be proactive about my loathing, I decided to make my own.

Life's Little Instructions

Go into the priesthood. Wear socks. Become a man. Don't be overly frightened of bats. Stop to creepily stare at the roses. Wash your dishes immediately after use, otherwise they get crusty and a lot harder to wash. Don't hold it in - just go to the bathroom, and always take into consideration the germs you're encountering by giving them names. Wink at old men, then call them creepy behind their backs. If you don't have a coping mechanism, make one up! The internet is all around us, so be careful where you fart. Remember the ducks, for when you get older, they will haunt you in the night. Dance like no one knows you're a quadriplegic. Wash behind your ears out of duty, never out of desire. Children are inherently creepy, and that's why they always put them in horror movies.

But above all else - wear clothes that are memorable, otherwise you might forget and think you're naked.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Jack and Coke, and feeling Bloggy!

I've started viewing my life in haikus. Haikus in the good way - not in the way that annoying, prescriptivist weirdos who find enjoyment in useless restriction like them. (Given that description, I'm not sure anyone fits that build.) (Hooray for talking in parentheses!) ((Double parentheses denote a secret))

So yeah, haikus. Viewing my life in captured moments. They generally turn out to be paragraphical moments, instead of silly 5-7-5 lines that don't make sense in any particular way.

I realized that most rap songs nowsadays are haikus. Take, for example, "Get Low" by Flo-rida. The song, or at least the chorus ,which is all that my ineptitude is able to decipher, deals entirely with him seeing a girl in a club, and what that's like. He sees a girl, apple-bottom jeans, furry boats, and she's smacking her butt. He describes what he's wearing, and that's about it. Lame? I think not. He's describing a poignant moment in his life. It's easy to doubt the sincerity (since we generally connect sincerity with morality) in the song (though maybe he REALLY likes furry boots!),...but the point is the capturing of the moment, got it?

When I look back at my life, I generally see it in Polaroid snapshots, and moments that I treasure in my life. I work in moments. Anything longer than that indefinable space of time I can't handle for meaning. Ten minutes in time holds no meaning. All I can seem to capture is the beauty in that moment, and what the insertion of myself into that moment creates.

At this point, I would normally make a silly Top 10 list of my favorite moments, which would be an entirely farcical, and a potentially clever exploration....but I don't feel like it. Moments are too sacred, and I wouldn't dream of sharing the ones that actually mattered to me on the internet - The Whore of Information. Moments are sacred pieces of fleshy-life, encapsulated in a block of ice, that we're trying to find a freezer big enough to keep it in. Once the ice melts off, all you have left is quickly perishable flesh that holds no beauty.

Metaphors aside, I'm tired and going to bed. Tell me your thoughts on the matter, haikus, and how nice my butt is. I think your's is pretty awesome.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

I Love Me

I just ate the most friggin delicious coffeecake in the whole world. How does a cake that good even exist?
Well I guess it doesn't anymore. All gone. So sad.

I didn't get much sleep last night, at least not enough to work an 8-hour shift today. But before you go sob for my sorry-little-tired-hiney (Yellow Polka Dot Bikini!), let's look at the facts:

HAND-SLAMMING FACT: I had four hours of sleep last night.

TRUTH: My job at the coffee shop currently consists of sitting around, and stalking people on Facebook for 8 hours, ooh and drinking lots of tea.

HAM-SLAMMING TRUTHFACT: This isn't so bad!

Except I'm not sure I know what's real anymore. These two people are here right now, and I think I accidentally forced the guy to pay for both of them, though I'm pretty certain that they meant to pay separate. Ha, now they're on a date. And keep looking at me awkwardly, like I'm some creepy, dilapidated vulture...not so far from the truth!


I'm so depressed that coffeecake is gone!

Alright, I'll just make a Top 10 list and get out of here.

10. Left-Hand pinky
9. Left-hand pointer
8. Right-hand ring-finger
7. Right-hand pinky
6. Left-hand middle finger
5. Right-hand thumb
4. Left-hand thumb
3. Left-hand ring finger
2. Right-hand middle finger
1. Right-hand pointer

CONGRATULATIONS RIGHT-HAND POINTER! You've done your accusatory work so well over the past 20 years, that you came in at Number One! Keep up the good work, Pointer!

For all my fingers that didn't make the Top Ten List this year, keep trying! If you can dream it, you can do it!

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

The Joy of Humans

I've always had an easier time expressing cynicism towards humans, and telling them that they're generally pretty stupid. This is the main reason why I believed for awhile that I was Mark Twain in a past life, but obviously this was thrown out since he's not British. Obviously, I was a British subject in a past life, and quite possibly, a rock star.

Recently, I was told I look like Keith Richards. British Rock Star. Ugly git. I told the two men that told me that they were assholes and should go away. They giggled to themselves, and tried to further explain their reasoning (something about my hair-piece), but I got away too quickly to be healed from their slanderous remarks.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I'm not Mark Twain. I know this since deep down I've always had such an incredible affection for humans and their quirks, mannerisms, and plights. It just hurts a bit too much to show love sometimes. I am a rock, I am an island.
My Grandma died this past Saturday. I loved her dearly. She was one of my favorite people, and a great friend of mine. She was the kind of human that I just really, really liked. I get so sad when I think about how she won't be around anymore, won't invite me over to dinner, won't be around to make us Pineapple Coffeecake and her Jello salad. She won't be poking things with her cane, or making snarky comments about circumcision. I won't be able to do crossword puzzles with her anymore, or watch Jeopardy with her.
This makes me very sad.
And it's all the little stuff like this that makes me sad. All the little, silly things that she has done for me and my family that I love and treasure about her.
In a frenzied search for meaning, I find myself trying to only look at self-designated profundities, none of which hold any more meaning than the memory of my Grandma making mint tea.

That's what makes me think Humans are just so neat. We scurry around at break-neck speeds, panic at our follies, and despair at our lack of progress. We get so worried about things. But then we're able to slow down enough to notice that we're really, really stinkin' cute. The ways that we entertain ourselves, joking around together, and trying so hard to stamp the universe with our precious authenticities, are so much more important than the over-arching meaning we seem to be on a constant quest for.

I think God has been trying to show me how he sees people. And if it is God showing me these glimpses of His Heart, then it's pretty unexpected.
First, I was driving to work. I was almost to Golfside, thinking about nothing particularly important. Then my mind wandered to gesticulation, and thinking about how people speak with their hands. Sometimes their hands just get so wild, traveling around their bodies, slicing air with the blades of their fingers, in such a desperate attempt to communicate. My heart filled with love for humans. How cool is that. Gesticulation. Golly.

The second was just today. I was Stumbling through the Great Internet, and watched a music video the Navy made for the song "Hey Ya." I started crying halfway through it. It was just so beautiful to see all these people happily goofing around together, and enjoying themselves. How magical is it that they cared enough about doing something funny, so that bored people like me can have a good laugh? To me, it was just so tender that people care enough about each other to make each other laugh.

I guess it never occurred to me the altruism in humor. We've all seen someone fillet themselves to get a laugh out of someone else, simply because they want them to be happy, and people are just so beautiful when they're smiling. I love to make people laugh, and sometimes succeed. I never knew why I liked doing it so much, and why I love laughing so much. Sometimes I get the overwhelming desire to be selfish with my jokes so that people will appreciate them more when I pull them out. More so, maybe people will finally put out with their jokes, because I sure as hell get lonely when I'm the only one horsing around. But I don't like that. I don't like when humor dovetails into bitterness. We're meant to be bringers of joy to the people around us, and humor isn't a bad way to start.

Well, those are my thoughts for the day. Here's the video of the Navy for you guys. I understand that it may not be as profound as I made it out to be, or maybe it is. You'll have to let me know:

Friday, April 18, 2008

Food Perverts

I'm at work right now, and it dawned on me that I should probably milk the cow of benefits. Unfortunately, the only milk this cow produces is Free Wifi (goes great with cereal!) and day-old bakery items (which are generally of the food variety). I was already using the internet, and it's hard to use the internet twice at the same time (Done it!), so I decided to go for a cupcake.

The cupcakes we serve at the Common Cup, however, have a tenuous grasp on cupcake status. A better way of describing them is Frosting Holder. The "Holder" bit exists for the sole purpose of keeping the consumer's hands clean -- and health code reasons. However, thanks to the latest developments by Gluttonologists, the days of "Holder" will be gone, and we'll be able to eat just Frosting without the burden of messy, sticky hands which bare the proof of indulgence (Though let's be honest - what a fun mess to lick up!).

I actually think our bakery is fantastic, and admire their judicious, yet generous, portion choices.

Eat the cupcakes. You'll probably get diabetes anyway.

But anyways, that went on longer than I wanted it to. What I REALLY wanted to talk about was the idea of Pornographic Food. Hooray! Food having sex! What a great idea for a blog!

Or, less of that, and more of the idea of food being objectified. Let's quit joking around guys, we have serious issues, and it's time to address them (blog-style, meaning posting pictures, watching videos, and commenting about how fat everyone is). Food Pornography is taking so much of what is wanted from food, and what people like about food, and putting so much of it in there, that it comes out perverse on the other end. People do this! Bah - cupcakes!

It's disgusting. Do we not respect food anymore? When we objectify food, we make it so that it doesn't even seem human, and treat it with the same respect as a piece of meat.
Here are a few samples for, for your scoffing enjoyment:

CHICKEN FRIED BACON: Deep fried bacon, served with ranch! Mmm!
Watch a whole video about this CRAP!

DOUBLE DEEP FRIED DONUT: These exist more often than you'd think. Yeah, ok, I had one once. But it was just once in high school, and I didn't even like it.

DEEP FRIED COCA-COLA: I don't even know. It's really weird.
Click to try and understand.

Last deep fried one:

DEEP FRIED BACON WRAPPED BANANA: Dear God! What are people doing to that poor banana?!

THE FOOL'S GOLD LEAF: Some kind of hocus pocus created by some guy named Elvis Presley. Nastiest thing possible. To construct one, mix one jar of peanut butter, one jar of grape jelly, and a pound of bacon. Scoop the mixture inside a hollowed-out loaf of fresh-baked bread, smother the outside in butter and bake.

That's it. That Elvis guy -- what a creep.

TURDUCKEN - This one has become more popular, though it's an abomination. I've had one before, and the 20 pounds I put on after a single bite lives with me to this day.

Chicken meet Duck. Duck this is Turkey. Turkey, this is Chicken.
Chicken this is Turkey. Duck this is Chicken. Ok, everybody good? Let's all pile into each other and be creepy!

THE BEER BARREL BELLY BUSTER: I know you want to like this one because it has an alliterative name, but stop yourself. This is the omega of Objectified Food. Food Perverts flock to it at night. This is it guys.

No, this isn't just a normal-sized burger photographed with a small camera to make it look enormous! (that's how photography works, right?) This burger is 15 pounds of fury, ready to electrify your intestines, and throttle your arteries with its hefty glory.
Along with your 15 pounds of flesh, you'll receive 25 slices of cheese, a head of lettuce, three tomatoes, and one onion! See, vegetables! Maybe this burger is just a friendly giant.

(P.S. The restaurant responsible for this unspeakable tub of guts also boasts of a 123-pound monstrosity called the "Main Event." I couldn't find a picture of that one though, probably because Danny's Beer Barrel Pub is too damn ashamed of themselves to post a picture of their sluttish sandwich.)

After all that, I don't think our cupcakes are all that bad. Our cupcakes just wear a mini-skirt and dance around on stage.

Monday, April 14, 2008

The crowd hangs heavy with garbage disposal reverence

Facebook exists simply to remind everyone that our lives are really boring. It makes you personally feel better when you think about how your life is boring because you spent an hour going through someone's pictures, thinking about how boring their life is.

So if our lives are all equally boring, couldn't we say that they're all equally interesting? Optimism is a really adorable trait to have.

Top Ten Colors

10. Blue
9. Maroon
8. Pink
7. Brown
6. Tangerine
5. Cyan
4. Green
3. Bright Yellow
2. Purple
Coming in at number one! The color of this year's season is
1. Red! Holding steady at the top.

This year's BIGGEST LOSER is, once again:
No one likes it, again!

Top Ten Favorite Double-digit Numbers

10. 67
9. 13
8. 88
7. 35
6. 36
5. 24
4. 10
3. 79
2. 16
1. 93

CHART FACTS: Once a fan favorite, 10 has been bumped down from number two to number four this year. 93 rose to stardom this year, climbing all the way from the number five position to steal the first place slot! Thanks to everyone who voted, and a hearty congratulations to 93's victory as the NEW FAVORITE DOUBLE-DIGIT NUMBER!

Thursday, April 10, 2008

I refuse to cite my sources.

This was an overabundantly fun experiment. There may be more of these in the future, but let me know what you think of this one. And no, I'm not telling all the poems I buried in here, but honestly, it's not THAT hard to figure out.
Hugs and Kisses,

OOPS! The world...

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood's dark abyss,
I first surmised the horses' heads were toward eternity -- but there is a terrible breath in all this.

Keats, a handsome feller, says
"If I lay here? If I JUST LAY HERE?
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
The birds push apples through
grass the moon turns blue,
these apples roll beneath
our buttocks like a heath - I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas."

I celebrate myself as she turns around and gives that big booty a smack.
Next thing you know (next thing you know) next thing you know
shorty's gettin'

A serious moment for the water is when it boils like a grapefruit. It's orange and squishy, and has a few pips in it, and some folks have half a one for breakfast.
Did you stash the bod? You know, that's what we call it in the byz
Antine Empire.

WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! That is not it at all
That is not what I meant, at all.
It's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22 beside the white chickens

CORRECTION! I know your father!

Please, sir. I don't like this trick, sir.
Come, you spirits quick sir
I get all those ticks and clocks sir
That tend on mortal thoughts sir,
mixed up with the chicks and tocks, sir.
Unsex and fill me from the crown to the toe sir
I can't do it, Mr. Fox, sir


but if for once i gazed into the softness of your face without any thought of otherwise
maybe you would shudder
maybe i would leave
maybe you would reveal yourself
or else maybe i would forget to know that this will all be over way too quick

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Here it is - In all of it's Official Glory

THIS is my official statement about hippies:

I LIKE hippies. They're good people. They loaf around, get high to music, and love on each other ALL DAY. What's not to like?
But the problem is--
People who hate hippies are so much funnier.

See the dilemma? That's why there was so much confusion!!

Everyone, be calmed. Now you have the truth in your hands.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

This One's For the Humans -- Cheers!


I often like to remind my parents that it's not my fault that I'm alive, therefore the mistakes I make aren't, at their core, my fault. I'm not sure when this will start being bogus, and they'll tell me to shut up. They're nice parents -- they may never tell me to shut up.

But think about this big circular doohickey that we call life. Psychologists and other liars tell us that we don't have any memories before we're three. Maybe this is the case so that we don't have to go through so much shock from entering the world from the womb and from somewhere else before that. It's bizarre that all I've ever known is being alive, but there was never a start to it. I slowly faded into the knowledge of my existence, and always accepted it as fact from the dawn of my memory. I've only ever known being trapped inside this shell that everyone was calling "Theresa" and accepted it. There was no switch over, no change, no sudden adoption of an identity. I've only ever grown into myself and been mystified by this fact.


So we're all these babies stumbling around the earth, begging our legs to hold us up, for no reason we're sure of, just knowing that this is what we do. We start talking, never knowing that we're doing it, until after we've acquired a remarkably sophisticated knowledge of our language. We start interacting with the world around us, without realizing we are, and with all these huge giants staring down at us, poking our cheeks, yelling at us to stop crying, and telling us that the giant glob on the spoon is, in fact, an airplane that is trying to land in our mouths. (Later in life, we realize that this was all a huge lie, and that airplanes are something far different and far more confusing. Shock from this realization leads millions of adults to be terrified of flying for the rest of their lives.) We wear whatever clothes are pasted onto our bodies, and don't worry about them. All we think about is food, pain, mommy, and why these scary and friendly giants are insisting that we make our stomach aches go away in a large porcelain circle -- it just makes them so happy.

This all goes well for awhile. Then we start looking at ourselves in the mirror. The world has gotten a lot smaller, and the giants aren't as big as they used to be. They aren't as wise as they used to be, and we learned that just because they told us to do something, we don't need to do it. The clothes we are wearing start being awkward, and we wonder what we're supposed to wear now that we have choices. We realize that what we wear says something about who we are, which is most confusing since we really have no idea what we are. The other stumbling babies the same size as us start telling us that we're doing things wrong and that they're better than us, and usually the only way to feel better is start telling other stumbling babies that they really, really suck.

We see all these other stumbling babies, and giants of all sizes start kissing each other and talking incessantly about love, and some other kind of three letter word that we're really confused about because everyone seems so sheepish about it. Some people insist that it is equivalent to love, and other people argue it is the antithesis of love. But apparently, this awkward secret which no one is particularly open about is responsible for our existence, and therefore, years and years ago, our parents did something they don't want to talk about, and because of that, here we are, confused about life and wondering what's going to happen next.

We trudge and trudge and trudge through life, making one mistake after another, thinking that maybe our mistakes will slip under the radar, until our parents, friends, school, bank and government start telling us that they know we messed up big time, and it's time for us to pay the penalty. It's good for us to pay this penalty, apparently. If we want to be alive and sharing our experiences of the world with people, we need to be responsible. We can't be stumbling babies anymore. We have to be giants, we have to make money, we have to start having this three-letter word responsibly so that maybe, someday, we can have stumbling babies of our own. This will make our life satisfactory, and maybe someday, if we do as we're told, we can start telling people what to do, and be happy. (But the secret of the secret, the biggest secret of all, that no one is saying, is that no one ever stops being a stumbling baby. Giants don't ACTUALLY exist!)

We start telling people what to do, and how to behave, though we really have no idea what we're talking about. No one can be mad at us about this though, because we all do it -- it simply has to be done. It has to be done because nothing else seems to work, and we're not sure why it doesn't just...doesn't. Like so many other things about the lives of us, we just do it because it's done, and it's too complicated to do otherwise.

Eventually, our bodies that have been our cage and constant companion all these years stop working as well. Walking up stairs becomes harder, we can no longer create more babies, and all the people we've been friends with stop existing. Their bodies die, and whatever it was that makes them "them" is gone. A lot of people have ideas about what happens to "them", but no one generally agrees on anything. It leaves us feeling scared and worried about what will happen, since we depend on our cage for our existence, and sometimes we don't care about it all that much.

And then we die. Those who have gone before us don't tell us exactly what happens, probably because it's a huge surprise in the sky, and they don't want to ruin it for us.

We start never knowing we're alive, and usually not realizing it until it's too late, and then die. And we're supposed to be entirely okay with this.


I get scared sometimes.
But since no one is really looking, or paying that much attention very often, I may as well choose to be excited about it. I'll let you know what else I find out.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008


I found your words
They're laying in the mud on the side of the road
Sad and discarded
I'm sorry they got lost there, or you dropped them, or maybe they expired and were thrown out.
I would have pulled them out and given them back,
but it was raining
and I was very, very cold.

I found your thoughts
in the alley that people cut through
to bypass the one-way streets
They're potholed and full of parked cars
You lost your thoughts there
I found them but I was rushing,
splashing in the puddles.

A man hit me with good intentions
as I sneezed past him on the street
soaked through to my damp, fleshy skin
Bless you he said
I took as much as I could and
am happy to share them with you
As long as you stop being
so damn careless.

Friday, March 21, 2008

More like Great Friday

So it's Good Friday, and I'm at a loss for how to (celebrate)(remember)(honor)(high five) about it. Things get a lot more confusing when the Christianity of your parents becomes different than your own. It's supposed to be. If this was an easy task for me, then it probably means that I haven't progressed or changed at all, and am a really, really, thoughtless creature.

I'm not really into the whole "let's sit around and weep for the loss of Jesus Christ, and then get really excited on Sunday" dogma. It's actually never made sense to me that Good Friday has been a gloomy day. Wasn't he supposed to die the whole time? Wasn't that the whole plan? Isn't this the best and most exciting thing that ever happened to us?

Good Friday is actually my favorite (holiday)? Holiday? Hm. Yes. Holiday. I always have gotten really excited about it, then really depressed when I realized that all the services were these gloom ridden dirges about how shitty we and everyone else is for killing Jesus. He didn't do it for any other reason except for love -- can't we at least be a bit chipper about that?

I know, I know. Solemnity doesn't necessarily imply sadness. Being quiet and reflecting is one thing, but drearily trudging through the day, picturing that at THIS EXACT MOMENT 2,008 years ago Jesus was hanging on the cross, pissed off and angry at all the evil Jewish and Roman fellers that nailed him an entirely different thing.

We're all loved more than we can comprehend. We're all loved more than makes sense. Science is baffled, and magic is transcended. This time of year is proof to us that our God is a loving God, and isn't out there just to mess with us.

If you think my theology is whack, go ahead and tell me. I've spent my entire life learning how wrong I am and saying I'm sorry about it.
And just so you know, so far how I've celebrated Good Friday was this:
"Hey Ian, Happy Good Friday."
"Oh, yeah! Happy Good Friday!"
And we clinked coffee mugs.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Use Your God-given Imagidamnation

I think I'm going to take a brain dump on you. Here goes!

Dear Theresa,

Maybe if you did your homework, your life would stop being so STUPID!

Love, Me.

Dear Me,

In the long run, will I look back and say: "Oh good. I'm so glad I got that paper done in time!" ?

Love, Theresa

Dear Theresa,


Love, Me

P.S. Cool punctuation overload at the end of your letter.

Dear Me,

I see your point.

But screw you, anyway.

Love, Theresa

P.S. Thanks! I was hoping you'd like that.

I think the above explains my situation better than I ever could, and besides IT'S SO DULL, so I don't want to extrapolate anymore. Instead, I will make a top ten list.

Top Ten Things (Which Remind Me of Better Days)

10. Large, awkward, stuffed bears.
9. Candle light on top of a cliff, looking down into your soul.
8. Pie!!
7. Agoraphobia.
6. Rainy nights, tangy bites.
5. Twice the burger, for half the price!
4. Piranhas...just piranhas.
3. Pirates - making their way in a world that's turned against them.
2. Owning five pairs of the same socks (chuckle chuckle).
1. The fact that you read this list. Haha! You're crazier than I am!

Now I'm cackling to myself.

Top Ten Good Things That Have Happened So Far Today (Though I've Only Been Awake Two Hours!)

10. Woke up alive.
9. Woke up in a warm bed. Snice.
8. Free latte.
7. One and a HALF bagels.
6. England will happen. Probably.
5. I wrote two more paragraphs for my paper.
4. Realizing how well I can count backwards.
3. I cackled.
2. Woke up in America - wear bald eagles are bald, and we like it.
1. Writing this blog entry.
0. Wait! What's going on??!!
-1. This is alarming.
-2. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to end at 1.
-3. The day has taken an alarming turn in a bad direction.
-4. Seconds of my life being torn from me!
-5. Paper!
-6. Bagel is gone!
-7. Out of coffee!
-8. It's raining!
-9. I count backwards too much!!
-10. America!

That is all. Back to my paper, which is titled: Shakespeare and Why He Sucks (Oh, If You Only Knew).

Monday, March 17, 2008

This One is For You ...Ypsi.

Wrote this last night, as I imagined some guy shooting down my window. But really, it was just a cat.

You scare me Ypsilanti.
Daytime you are a lover, but at night you show your fangs.
I wake up and ask what kind of dumbass steals trash cans --
while you sheath your knife, and smile like a house wife.