A Random Image

Archive for September, 2003

 
|| September 19, 2003 || 7:22 am || Comments (8) ||

A few days ago, during a chem lecture (how, oh how can I so loathe math yet still adore chemistry?), I dropped a bit of twisty pretzel into my cleavage. Well, of course I plucked it out and popped it into my mouth (waste not, want not).

Then two days later when the professor passed around the attendance sheet for us to sign, written in tiny print in the block next to my name was

I love u Elizabeth!

I’ve no idea if the two were related.

 
|| September 17, 2003 || 10:07 pm || Comments (1) ||

this reminds me of a story.

i don’t know why this brings to mind.

but i am reminded of my daddy telling stories.

money running the woods as children, flying off a carrier,

laying about him in a bar, in new orleans, and he’s laughing drunk.

but his favorite.

when he met my momma.

i can’t hardly do justice to it.

their first date was a fraternity dance, on top of the hills, and among columns so tall you couldn’t call it a porch.

people talk about elegance, but they don’t really understand it.

my momma was born with her chin up, and she has done nothing but get more beautiful since.

she has the manner of royalty, and the kind of tongue.

so sharp you been 4 blocks before you know you been cut.

my daddy, tho. he’s not only stronger and better looking than most, he’s funnier than everbody else.

he can not only use honor in a sentence, he can spell it 3 different ways.

they grew up with everbody watching.

my daddy cause they wanted to know what he would do next,

and my momma cause, well, what else was there worth looking at?

my daddy says he married late cause he was waiting for something more, and my momma was more than that.

Lord, there is more to this story, it takes longer to tell than ailments at the nursing home.

but the long and the short of it.

after 40 years, 6 births and some death, millions come and millions gone.

the girl at the grocery store was telling me about them, my momma and my daddy,

and how they hold hands in there.

 
|| September 16, 2003 || 11:14 pm || Comments (4) ||

I promised the Superior Jett 2000 that I’d slap something up here on a daily basis. I’ll have to be honest with you and say a few things:

1. It is entirely possible to meet someone online, talk on the phone for four months, and then upon meeting, be awesomely attracted to them in what they call the physical sense.

2. It is entirely probable that the following day, there will be less giggling, but far more comfort.

3. I really like when a man, this specific man, brings me perfume. Especially because he had it in his bag during an 18 hour Greyhound trip.

4. I really, really like it when the same man kisses me. And how I linger on that lower lip.

5. And running my palm over those little stubby hairs that grow on the top of his bald head.

6. I could keep listing, but the problem is that, he’s out there on my couch and right now magical things could be happening. Like when he explained to me the difference between “diplomatic” and “pragmatic” and I could watch his mouth move and see his brain churning.

That beautiful brain.

But instead, I’ll leave you Jett-style with some lyrics we heard today, in the car, driving around Tulsa. Lyrics he sang (great voice) and I hummed (horrible voice/didn’t know the words as well).

Baby I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you
Baby I’m amazed at the the way you pulled me out of time
Hung me on a line
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

Baby I’m a man and maybe I’m a lonely man
Who’s in the middle of something
That he dosen’t really understand
Babe I’m a man and maybe you’re the only woman
Who could ever help me
Baby won’t you help to me understand

Baby I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you
Baby I’m amazed at the way you help me sing my song
You right me when I’m wrong
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

It’s Mr. Paul folks.

Wherever I am, I’m fucking smiling.

 
|| September 14, 2003 || 5:23 pm || Comments (2) ||

My interweb’s broke (AmyBeth has been kind enough to loan me hers for half an hour or so). The cocksucking douche-eaters folks at the cable company say that it’ll be the end of the week before they’ll have someone out.

And that was after I yelled. It was something along the lines of two weeks before I raised my voice. I’ll be ‘adjusting’ my check to them this month. That, and I’ll hock a looger on it before I slip it into the envelope.

Since I’ve not the time nor the inclination to visit the humble abodes of others to make this whole weblog thing happen until next weekend, I’ve invited a couple hapless souls to come keep you company. Both are pretty good when you can keep them off the sauce; they are, however, even better if you can keep them on it. Therefore, I’m paying one of them in champagne and one in merlot. See if you can guess who requires what, dear Muffinasses.

I bid you a lovely week, and give the guestwriters some love in the comments. It shouldn’t be too hard; both are quite faboo.

Their are others (fucko? Dirk?) that still have posting priveleges from long ago; they may show up as well.

 
|| September 11, 2003 || 5:49 am || Comments (0) ||

one / two / three

 
|| September 10, 2003 || 9:09 pm || Comments (21) ||

There is something that I don’t think that many people outside of the U.S. really, truly ponder. When we (Americans) recall the events of September the eleventh, two-thousand-one, when we see things like this, when we read the accounts (and how could we not do so?) it hurts. There is a tightening of gut, an immediate surge of horror and grief to throat, tears magically and unexpectedly well up, threatening to spill over. It is the kind of grief that steals breath and buckles knees. It is the kind of mourning that years will not soften or salve….at least, not until those of us who experienced it, wide-eyed and wrecked, are buried in the same ground that houses the immediate victims of that attack.

Our innocent sense of collective peace was stolen that day. To say that we are self-absorbed because we reeled so greatly from this blow when more monstrous atrocities happen worldwide everydamnday and we still go to the gym or the mall or the local burgertopia unencumbered despite our knowledge….well, to say that would be an idiotic statement.

We are a young nation, and some would say foolish. We are proud and boastful.

But we shine, we absolutely shine so very much. If someone hurts your momma with evil intent, we will stretch out our hand in assistance or retribution. If your crops fail, we will feed you. We nurse the sick. We clothe the naked. We do the best we can with what we’ve got, and like any giver, we can’t be everywhere all the time despite constant requests. Despite definite needs in clearly-defined areas here on our own shores, we make room at the table. We are rowdy and ill-behaved at times, but we have manners and we know right from wrong and we make an effort. Sometimes we fuck up in the effort (This Grand Place is populated with humans, after all) but damnit, we make that effort. We do try and learn from our mistakes, to hold our breath in order to overcome the historical hiccups that have plagued us in the past.

I remember seeing photos two years ago of people in Ireland (how I wish I could locate them now) standing, hats in hand, crying with us. Crying with us from a place that has known war and poverty for time out of mind. They did not begrudge us our lack of past troubles. Instead, they mourned our introduction to a new state: One of fear and hurt and the knowledge that we had crossed a threshold whose door closes behind you. They did not begrudge us our foolishness, our pride, our boastful tendencies. They held hands, this land who has known civil unrest for years upon years, and mourned with us and for us. They got it.

Like last year’s over-the-top dog-and-pony hooha was grotesque to me, so is this year’s utter silence. Why do things happen this way: This all-or-nothing depravity? I know it’s not that we don’t care….but what is it??

Tomorrow I will light the two candles that I purchased some time ago in anticipation of this day. I’ve heard some people say that it seems so far-removed from them now, a short two years later. It will never, ever be far-removed from me. It will always make me sick with the choke of it, will always make me want to lie face-down, clutching earth and crying with the vastness of it.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

when we joined up you could see the northern lights / dancing our future in the sky / whoa…green, tangerine and colors no one’s ever seen / well I thought it would never die / someone once said every child begins the world / stumbles toward their crown / some will rise to the call / some will end up with it all / but the river it pulls them down / and we will not bow to a crowded generation / that we followed too long thinking we were so wrong

and i won’t be sleeping till the morning comes / kiss me and i’ll be safe / and they say we’ve made it to a golden place / but i think that we’ve lost our way

but i think that we’ve lost our way

so i took a photograph of my hometown / buried it with my name / oh, swore to the road a sort of beat redemption code / and stepped out the way i came / and we will not bow to a violent generation / that we followed too long thinking we were so wrong

and i won’t be sleeping till the morning comes / kiss me and i’ll be safe / and they say we’ve made it to a golden place / but i think that we’ve lost our way

but i think that we’ve lost our way

i will follow the water line / till i reach higher ground / i will swallow the crowd / of a million voices holding me down

and the water will follow the blood of Cain / we’ll claw our way through the driving rain / and i won’t look back on that mile of pain / we’ll carry the stone through the driving rain

and i won’t be sleeping till the morning comes / kiss me and i’ll be safe / and they say we’ve made it to a golden place / but i think that we’ve lost our way

and i won’t be sleeping till the morning comes / kiss me and i’ll be safe / and they say we’ve made it to a golden place / but i think that we’ve lost our way
but i think that we’ve lost our way
but i think that we’ve lost our way

but i think that we’ve lost our way

// Fighting Gravity, ‘Lost Our Way

 
|| September 10, 2003 || 11:59 am || Comments (28) ||

Deep down inside we all want to be _________. (One answer per person, please.)

…open-ended statement cribbed from Johnny T’s entry t’other day; might I add that I think it is a very good one?