...Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart/Oh, Thursday doesn't even start....
"You have the cutest little mole right there."
"I guess it's not a spot you can see easily. Trust me on this."
Overly friendly guy at the auto dealership, checking me out in my Nothing dress and sandals. Ms. Diva did NOT tart herself up to get a test drive of a Firebird (only automatics on the lot, pity.) Sans makeup and earrings, hair unbrushed for the third day in a row, I went out to pick up a book from my favorite used book retailer, stopped, inquired, revved out and opened up- all on impulse.
"Where are you headed next?"
Home, thanks. Alone. Asshole.
I wasn't up early enough to catch Venus crossing, but if I'd known, I'd have dragged the kids at 5 am to the Science Center. They're probably grateful their mother lives in media whiteout. I hope this doesn't mean that Venus will now be absent from the night sky. I've grown fond of her.
From McSweeney's: allusions to horses, thematically tracking to the recent Triple Crown.
Baltimore City Paper comes out every Wednesday, in case anyone hadn't figured that out yet. If you want the whole paper, have at. But you'll get last week's issue, at least as of midnight, and as of 8 AM. Which means only the syndicated stuff is fresh.
(Okay, it's one thirty PM, and the fresh meat is up, so here are the usual links, plus the ones I stuck in when I was frustrated and angry.)
The Political Animal, not syndicated, exhumes Reagan. Figuratively. Since he has yet to actually be buried. Can you imagine? The body's doing a five-day tour of the US. Stupidest thing I ever heard. Thousands, tens, hundreds of thousands of folk lined up to view the body of ex-president, ex-actor, ex-live human being: could they have better spent these wasted hours visiting someone they actually know, who is alive to appreciate the attention? Fuck, humans are too goddamn stupid to continue to exist at all.
I link with the obvious Dan Savage, of Savage Love, whom I do not know, and whom I find passe and irritating. Someone's incompetence has forced me to downgrade the standards of my post. But hey, everyone's doing the best they can, right?
I SERIOUSLY think I'm dropping Brezsny, but can't decide what to replace him with. Excuse the grammar. Suggestions welcome. But for those who need their horoscope fix, fine. Browse all twelve oracles, then pick the one you like, regardless of birth date. "Mine" isn't at all helpful, but I like Taurus' very much this week.
No Ps or Ks, but Lulu Eightball is always funny anyway. If I could get it.
Oh, here it is, finally.
And your weekly dose of Pain. Haven't you bought the book YET? What IS your problem?
A recently acquired young friend writes lovely poetry. Find her here, and pay attention to one titled knife sense, and another, untitled, with an opening line of My sister works among ghosts.
In the midst of an onslaught of assignments, I'm abruptly assaulted by poems, inconvenient in their insistence. I've gurgitated four new ones in three days, not including this "challenge."
Trying hard for a Stop-N-Shop pickup
He was suddenly spread in a stickup
Tried to stifle a cough
But the rifle went off:
He got himself killed with a hiccup.
And while we're on topic, does the woman exist who will not melt when a man (Thank you, Beautiful) writes poetry for her? Regardless of tone or topic? Or am I just a pathetic sucker?
Don't answer that.