Wednesday, February 20, 2008

EEK! a spice


So I see the headline about Martha buying Emeril, and I think, "Hey! That's so cool that's downright sexy!" And I click on the CNN link and they have this picture with the story. Looks like Emeril's heard about Martha's management style. Or perhaps he's a vampire and reacting to all that garlic they put in the pot.

Don't bother me, I'm shopping

and dancing and eating and cocktailing and possibly even looking down from the Empire State Building. After a long week at work to clear my desk of all projects and loose ends (36 hours in as of Wednesday night, even,) I am now set to pack and hop a jet plane to Manhattan for the weekend. Fares between JFK and LHR are scandalously low if you keep an eye out, and the women from my MBA and I got lucky and found one. We're all heading to NYC to celebrate finishing the degree. VERY exciting.

We're staying at the Ameritania, which is right next door to The Late Show with David Letterman. We've gotten directions to a secret fake purse shop and lots of restaurant recommendations and plans for cocktails with other alumni who live in New York and dancing at the Pyramid Club on Friday with CP and PG and I even get to have dinner and watch the Oscars and stay the night with my boys, as well.

It's been a shitty week, and I can hardly wait.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Listen up, punters: vol 4

Loafers are grand-dad shoes. I know you're not that bright, but surely you can tie a shoelace.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

I don't know my own strength

I think I've entered a new phase in life.

50-something guys seem to be drawn to me. It's been a joke for some time at work that we're sure to get the sale if they take me to present to a middle aged male client, but lately they've been pursuing me at social occasions, as well. I actually had one stroking my cheek and trying to get me drunk at a work function earlier this week. (He failed. I quickly found a handsome male friend and made him stick with me until the other guy got tired and went away.)

This is very odd.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Clap jazz hands say yeah!

I don't know if this is real or imaginary. Perhaps it is a subversive video created by GOP operatives attempting to usurp the democratic process by making Democrats look foolish. Perhaps someone has decided that synchronized nodding and Deadhead spinny dancers and buck-toothed girls in baseball caps will bring out the soccer moms. Or perhaps someone is trying to demonstrate that the only black man in the US still in the Clinton camp is the one who can't dance. But this is pretty funny.


Happy Valentine's Day

Those of you who are new to this blog might not know that on Valentine's Day I post poems and lyrics that make me think of love. Here is the first post, and here is the second.

And here's this year's.

[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

ee cummings

They who are near me

They who are near to me do not know that

you are nearer to me than they are.

They who speak to me do not know that

my heart is full with your unspoken words.

They who crowd in my path do now know that I am walking alone with you.

They who love me do not know that

their love brings you to me.

Rabindranath Tagore

"Ugly Love"

Dear cousin,
I got your letter
It was more than i thought i deserved
Well she sounds perfect, all i dream of
And i dream about so much it is absurd
But when i get there and she sees me
I'll be impressed if she does not run screaming

My kind of love is an ugly love
But it's real and it lasts a long, long time

I had a thought while i was sleeping
And i dreamed about a place for us to rest
Eternity under the old oak tree
But i go too far i guess
Maybe i'll think about tomorrow
And maybe i can get her to stay that long

'cause my kind of love is an ugly love
But it's real and it lasts a long, long time

And if she finds me so repulsive
She wouldn't be the first to wretch
Well i decided one day long ago
I was never gonna be the greatest catch
And if she cares about the car i drive
Then she can get in hers
The moment i arrive

'cause my kind of love is an ugly love
But it's real and it lasts a long, long time

EELS

Variations on the word sleep
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
 and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
 I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
 I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Margaret Atwood

i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

ee cummings

"First Day Of My Life"

This is the first day of my life
I swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach

Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Now I don’t know where I am
I don’t know where I’ve been
But I know where I want to go

And so I thought I’d let you know
That these things take forever
I especially am slow
But I realize that I need you
And I wondered if I could come home

Remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning
And I thought it was strange you said everything changed
You felt as if you'd just woke up
And you said “this is the first day of my life
I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you
But now I don’t care I could go anywhere with you
And I’d probably be happy”

So if you want to be with me
With these things there’s no telling
We just have to wait and see
But I’d rather be working for a paycheck
Than waiting to win the lottery
Besides maybe this time is different
I mean I really think you like me

Bright Eyes


Quarantine

In the worst hour of the worst season
of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking-they were both walking-north.

She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and north.
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.

In the morning they were both found dead.
Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.
But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:

Their death together in the winter of 1847.
Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and a woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.

Eavan Boland 2001

Sunday, February 10, 2008

My favourite story ever

I talk to my mom on the phone every Sunday night. We just hung up, and she told me my favourite story ever.

First the backstory....My folks went on a driving honeymoon - they took my dad's old pontiac or chevy or whatever it was and drove to the Grand Canyon and the southwest US for a few weeks. They started a little ritual of kissing on each state line, and this stayed with me and my family to this day. My whole life, every time I drive across a state line I blow kisses to the other people in the car, to my family, or anyone else that I fancy kissing. Tom and I have even adapted our own bit that involves kissing and tapping the roof of the car. It's tradition.

So now the story...my mom had to run to LaCrosse last week, a trip she'd been putting off. Partly because of all the snow and bone-chilling cold, and partly because she doesn't like driving alone on the open road, and partly because my dad got all of his cancer treatment in LaCrosse and they'd driven that way together hundreds of times in the past few years and she just didn't want to deal with all the memories. But she needed to return some Christmas gifts and had to make the trip, even if she knew it might make her cry.

The first state line is about 15 minutes from her house, on a road that my dad redesigned right before he retired. It was one of his proudest achievements as a county engineer, and every time they drove it he would beam at how well it turned out. So by the time she got to Minnesota she was surrounded by his memory, and she was tearing up.

As she crossed the state line, she blew him a kiss.

And the radio immediately started playing Johnny Mathis' Misty, which was my folks' song.

Is that a perfect Valentine's story or what?

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Listen up, punters: vol 3

You're a 27 year old drunk with no ambition and the IQ of a sandwich. It's not surprising that you don't find me sexy. And frankly, a blessing.

Celebrity, vol 5

She's a spastic freakazoid. Seriously, she's not funny, she's insane. That girl ain't right, I tell you.

Molly Shannon it is! FYI, that Mary Catherine Gallagher character? She's not acting.

Ah, freedom

I love Saturdays now. For two years, Saturdays involved either a) getting up way too early after way to little sleep (and occasionally way too much drink) to sit through 6-8 hours of lectures, or b) getting up slightly less early and spending the day at my dining room table reading, writing and trying desperately to absorb as much info as possible so that I wasn't burdened by deadlines all week. Saturday was seldom my favourite day of the week.

But now, boy howdy, what a difference! Saturdays ROCK! I know the novelty should be wearing off, but it's still a thrill to wake up at 10 - no alarm clock necessary - and have a whole day ahead of me to do whatever I please. Today I watched Saturday Kitchen. I checked email and responded to Facebook and LinkedIn invitations that had been sitting there for weeks. I'm spending some idle internet time, and then heading to the gym. I have a few job hunt tasks to do. But that's it. I think I might go to the asian market to pick up a few things. I think I might go on a walk because it's sunny outside. I might read a novel. The possibilities are endless.

How exciting!

I've had a really busy week. Last weekend was extremely fun - I spent it in London, at a black tie event on Friday, recovering from a black tie event on Saturday, out with friends on Saturday night, and hanging on South Bank on Sunday. Exhilarating, but not restful. And work has been a bit manic this week, hence the lack of blogging. But now I can relax and renew and prepare for a better week ahead. I have less than a week to hunt down the love poems for my annual Valentine's post. And lots of time to do it this year. I have a trip to New York coming up in less than two weeks and need to start thinking about what I want to do, other than see CP. I have a new mobile phone, and I need to transfer my contacts from my old phone and then send my new number to my friends.

And most importantly, there are naps to be taken. Which I'd best get on right now.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Celebrity, vol 4

He's short and stubby and he gets his penis out in every movie ever.

Of course this is Harvey Keitel. Though I like the wishful thinking with Ewan MG, ML.

And a big shout out to Bramley Apple Pies, with his equally correct guess of Ron Jeremy.

Dead heat

I can't help it. I like Hillary fine and all, but I prefer Barack Obama. He makes me hope. He makes me see possibility. I like feeling happy about my country again.

And I think there are a lot more like me out there, and I think he's gonna hold on, and I think it's a long, long way to that convention. In fact, I think this might end up being the first year ever that Puerto Rico's primary matters.

They may not be a state, but they have 63 delegates.

Go Puerto Rico!