Posts

Dragonfly, Cindi, and Performance Art

-
If I want to ruin the day, I’ll squander the morning stuffing donuts and donuts and donuts down my gullet; then I’ll wash all those donuts and donuts and donuts down with coffee and coffee and coffee. It being Dragonfly’s birthday, makes sense to ruin it, if only for myself. Just don’t tell Cindi. Poor Cindi. She digs me way more than I deserve. Every time we part she says, “I really like you.” More recently, she’s taken to doubling her “ really ”s. The first time I saw her I wanted to kiss her. And so we kissed (albeit not the first time I saw her), and then, shortly thereafter, we did everything else. But I’m still ruined over Dragonfly. (Whom I never worked up the courage to kiss.) Let that be a lesson to you: Don’t let feelings fester. Express them as soon as they spring up. The trick is not to freak out the other party. Be casual with your words. Keep it simple. Exempli gratia, say, “Hey, you’re cute.” Or comment on what their wearing, like their shoes. Or smile and maybe use psy...
Read more

S t R e AM # 6 0

-
I’m rather tired. I’ve got a buddy in town from London and he likes to burn the midnight oil. Come to think of it, all of my friends like to burn the midnight oil. I am not friendly with anybody who likes to go to bed early. I tend to hit the hay early because, most days, I wake up at five ante meridiem. That’s the best time to write – early in the morning. Mind, I do not ENJOY waking up that early, but early is when the muse is freshest. Since Saturday, I’ve been keeping late hours and I haven’t been writing and I haven’t really been sleeping and I have been drinking too much caffeinated crap. I get this “organic” crap from Walgreeds. It’s supposed to have as much caffeine as a cup of coffee and it’s supposed to keep you going for five hours and it’s not supposed to knock you out when it wears off. It works for me – perhaps TOO well. The stuff turns me into a wild and cantankerous flub-meister. I try not to drink the stuff more than once a month. But last Saturday night, I blew up at ...
Read more

Zipper

-
Two weeks ago I bought a brand-spanking new backpack for ten bucks. One week ago one of its zippers broke off. Today, I took it to a luggage repair shop. The guy said he could fix it for fifteen bucks. A year ago, another guy, at a different luggage repair shop, said he’d fix the broken zipper on my old backpack for six bucks. A week later that six-dollar zipper broke off. So I went ahead and paid fifteen dollars for a zipper. (Actually, he insisted on replacing two zippers. So I got two new zippers for the price of one. Maybe.) At first, he said he could have it done by six o’clock. I said I’d come back .* But he said, no, when did I want it by? I said three o’clock. (At the time, it was one o’clock.) He said ok. I checked around, and other tailors said the job would cost over twenty bucks, so I didn’t feel so ripped off.  12 August 2002  * Presumably, the FireVaney meant that he’d come back some other time to have the zippers replaced. 
Read more

This Little Piggie...

-
Pop’s big toe on his right foot is still swollen from gout—which he often refers to as, “the gout”—but it doesn’t hurt him as much as it did yesterday. “Thank God for that,” he said, lying in bed this morning. Then he added, “Or thank somebody.” I smirked and said, “You can thank me.” I pointed at myself, in case he hadn’t heard. Pop said, “Thank you and thank the nurse.” The nurse practitioner we saw yesterday was a large, jolly woman who everybody called, “Margie.” She told Pop he’d gotten gout from bumping his toe into something. The infection was verified with a blood test, and Margie told Pop to lay off any exercises that involve his feet. She wrote a prescription and told me that she wanted to see Pop again next week. She didn’t bother with the calf Pop had also managed to bang up somehow. She didn’t think the two injuries were related. Seems like nobody wants to give a straight answer about gout. When Pop asked Doctor Sliverberg how “the gout” might’ve come about, the answer was...
Read more

Caitlin

-
The place didn’t serve Guinness, so I ask Caitlin what she could recommend. And Caitlin—she’s our server—she tells me the name of a beer they have that she likes. I tell her that I’ll go with that. By this point, she’d already introduced herself, and I’d already introduced myself and my “wingman,” Spiffy. And this place, it just opened up like a week ago. It’s airplane-hangar massive—like you could fit two or three jumbo jets under its roof. Outside, the hand-painted sign smeared across the road-facing wall calls the place, Sips 'n' Pins. You come here to bowl and/or to play bocce and/or for the pub and/or for the pub grub. Not sure about Spiffy, but before tonight, the word “bocce” meant nothing to me. Caitlin takes to us so well that she tries teaching us the rules. This was a first for her, too. What I mean is, before Spiffy and me, she hadn’t tried to teach anybody else how to play bocce. The beer Caitlin brought me was called a “Fat Tire.” I kept needing her to remind me o...
Read more

StreEA m # 5 9

-
I lost the first stream [of the day]. That makes this the second stream [of the day]. The godham COMPUTER lost the first stream. I do not understand WHY it lost the first stream. I did not want to write about my frustration over having lost the first stream. But I cannot help it. I am really, really, QUITE pissed off. This godham machine. Of course, you’re going to blame me. Naturally, you’ll think I’m the one who made the mistake. But no. I went through the same routine I’ve gone through for the last fifty-eight streams and I’ve never had this sort of problem occur. God, I am SO pissed off. I’ll get over it. [Upon further reflection, I kinda-sorta figured out what I did wrong: Instead of duplicating the “blank” stream template document, I created a shortcut. So, fine: My bad.] Fortunately, the streams are schlock. But this stream is certainly not as colorful as the one I inexplicably [and now explicably] lost. I hope this doesn’t ruin my entire day. I’ve a buddy coming in from England...
Read more

The TV

-
A year ago, I pulled my TV out of the closet. I’d put it in there because I couldn’t resist switching it on. The point was to watch less and to write more. Prior to 9/11/01, my TV sat in the closet for six months. A smarter man would shove it back in there today. But then that new DVD player would’ve been a wasted purchase. So I’ll compromise. Nightly, I’ll watch Peter Jennings report the world news, and then, from time to time, I’ll rent a DVD. But nothing else, nothing more. Somewhere, Mr. Mamet mentioned that TV was the ultimate medicine show. From Webster’s: “Medicine Show: A show given by entertainers who traveled from town to town in order to sell cure-alls and nostrums.”  11 September 2002
Read more

Feeding Tube

-
The feeding tube that’s poked through Great Aunt Hattie’s * nose clogged up last night. The staff at the nursing home tried various ways of flushing the tube, but it was useless without some device that’s only available at the hospital. Poor, half-paralyzed Hattie kept moaning while the nurses futzed with her tube. During this, her son, Shell, switched on the TV. He kept flipping the channels between race car racing and human track racing. Later, one of the caregivers told me that Hattie wouldn’t have to deal with a feeding tube through the nose anymore. Instead, the doctors will plug a feeding tube directly into her tummy. Since last night, she’s only been “fed” intravenously.  Betty rediscovers the “Screw the Golden Years” sign every time Pop and I pay her a visit and wheel her around the assisted living building. She’ll either agree with the sign, or defend “The Golden Years,” depending on how her day is going.  21 May 2007  * Please note that Great Aunt “Hattie” and ...
Read more

Progenitrix Day 2007

-
I walked right past Ma and handed the gift to StepDude. “Happy Father’s Day,” I said. He almost opened it. No one else in the room found it funny, save for me. Ma corrected my error, of course, and I said, “Oops.” I snatched the wrapped box from StepDude and delivered it to Ma. “Thank you for bringing me into the world,” I lied. After that, I drove them, along with Pop and Betty, out to La Grange for lunch with everybody else in the semi-immediate fam. That whole day anybody who didn’t know Betty wished her a Happy Mother’s Day. She certainly looks like somebody’s mother. It didn’t affect her, not outwardly, but nothing ever does. Everything is always A-okay with Betty; she doesn’t question and she doesn’t correct. It wouldn’t be in her nature to reply to “Happy Mother’s Day,” with, “Thank you, but I’m barren.” I spent much of the meal teasing little Keira. I would, for example, say that some random thing on the table was mine—a fork, a salt shaker, a bread stick—and she would promptly...
Read more

S TREA M # 5 8

-
Ah. Low blood sugar. Or what feels like low blood sugar might feel like. Where were we? Ah: Contraction. Detachment. People fear such notions. But this was how the Chuckster got down to business. He fled the city, fled the noise, the distractions. That’s when he really got down to business. How he focused. That is, if memory serves. I should have it somewhere, that story. But I don’t feel like giving it up – rather, I don’t feel like DIGGING it up. The trick is to count my blessings. That’s one trick. To continue to count my blessings whenever the pangs of error strike. Exempli gratia, I have a roof over my head. I am healthy. I’ve sufficient funding and savings. And my credit? Pristine. Plus, I have one – perhaps two – good friends. I have peace and quiet – relatively speaking. No addictions – save for caffeine. And sugar. And TV. My stresses and worries, for the moment, the precious moment, the precarious moment, are few and far between. But I’ve covered all of this, previously, have...
Read more