-
Jesu, Joy of Jocelyn’s Retiring
On the surface, Johann Sebastian Bach was just another poncy wig-wearing composer. But beneath the wig lurked something more menacing: the ability to derail promising futures. And perhaps lice. If he’d been born even a year sooner or later, I might actually have a high school degree today, and a high school degree, as popular…
-
Wherein Jamie Lynn Spears Breaks My Bank
Every time they want an increase in their allowance, the kids pull this kind of emotional blackmail. Niblet’s all, “But I’m scawwed at night and need someone to sleep wif me.” Damn that Zoey 101 episode the kids watched, where the dorm was haunted by a malicious and creeping slimy green mist. Niblet knew…
-
The Chicken/Egg Conundrum, Mammarily Speaking
For me, the underlying question is this: Was it Bristol Palin’s massive Double Whammies that first attracted the Hockey Hunk who knocked her up? Or did her sideboard of melons develop later, as a result of said knock-upage? If so, and she was pancakeish in the chestal region pre-baby-baking, does this lack imply she…
-
A Childhood Well Lived
At the end of a summer vacation, these are knees I trust. They show evidence of tumbles from the monkey bars trips down the new brick path scrounging in the garden for ripe plum tomatoes falls off the scooter bang-ups on the soccer field and one, random poke with the evil end of a kids’…
-
Foreclosed Without Purchase
It was the yapping that yanked me to consciousness. Bad doggie woke me. Curse the bad doggie. But what doggie? All previous yappers had met their fate as Main Ingredient in Jocelyn’s Yippy Puppy Stew (oft-requested at local potlucks). So what was this odd barking noise that was killing my snooze? New doggie. Across the…
-
Lord of the Borax
Ever since the execrable Laundry Elf Massacre of 2006, my lot has gotten much harder. Effing Dishwasher Dwarves and Vaccum Chimeras and their insatiable need for random beheadings and household domination. Their bloodlust has resulted in constant heaps of wrinkled fabric splayed across the carpet, awaiting my attention. Effing, effing, effing. The creatures are mythical,…
-
Dear ObaMcCain: Good Luck Targeting This
I’m sitting on the ground next to an elementary school, the backs of my legs tickled by grass. I’m watching a crew of five-year-olds play soccer. One of them is mine. He’s kicking a red ball and scratching at his scalp, leading me to think some adult in his life should see that he…
-
The Day of Your Life
Patriotism tires me; xenophobia makes my eyes cross. Doping is poop on a Triscuit. So I should be able to bypass them Olympiciacites that are being broadcast on the talking box, right? Not so much. Every night of late, the fam has been gathering on our full-sized bed in the master bedroom and watching the…
-
My Mom’s Visiting from California, and I’m Busy Chauffeuring Her and the Kids Around Town to Clang in the the Trolley, Toot in the Train, Bob in the Lake, Strike (Out) in the Bowling Alley, and Gnosh on Sweet Treats, So I Haven’t a Breaf in My Body Left for the Blogging I Really Want to Do–All of Which, In Sum, Means I’m Quickly Tossing Out a Poem I Love, One That Captures My Current August Zing
Indeed, this poem has a summertime feeling for me–bright and cornucopial and ticking along. I’d like to fancy myself the woman in this poem, but the truth is I’m more the lucky fool. THE RED PORSCHE By Charles Bukowski it feels good to be driven about in a red porsche by a woman better- read…
-
Feeling All Oogie Inside, with Nary an Assist from Mr. Daniels, Mr. Jack Daniels
It’s a little sobering to realize that my advancing age means I get as excited about flowers and gardens as I used to get about a Long Island Iced Tea. The bliss formerly proffered by a glass containing shots of tequila, rum, gin, triple sec, vodka, and a widdle splash of Cocoa-Cola is now matched,…
