"Pickled sausage isn't on my Wake-Me-Up Stuff list."
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Glory be. I'm back. I imagine I've been put right on the cusp of being completely forgotten. I could hardly blame you. I almost forgot myself. First, my laptop (which oddly rarely found its way to my lap) was struck by lightning. This is not , I'm sure you'll agree, all that conducive to a blogger's life. I was still able to access my poetry, scripts, musings, etc. but was unable to connect to the Internet. The techies were no help either, over the phone, as on their end of things it registered as "connected." Heck, even on my end, the blame thing was...
Oh, I'm still around…
I'm currently experiencing technical difficulties, but rest assured, I've got blogs coming... The Lord, ever, do I have blogs coming: all about flying (yuck!), why I think the Electric Department cares what I do, and of course, the Impending Arrival of Siciliana... At the moment, though, I have to go sing at a funeral. And figure out what's wrong with my computer. The idea of writing on a borrowed one seems too...
I was able to order my fish sandwich without incident.
I can no longer ignore the inevitable because Wednesday, June 24, is fast approaching. And that is the day in which I must board a plane. And fly to Memphis, in which, I will get off one plane and onto another one...and head to Tacoma. A city in a state so far away from here that it might as well not even be a part of the United States. Few other things make me as defensive or difficult as flying. Because I'm so afraid of it. Not just because I'm mean. Flying is something that I can safely hate. I become neurotic, distraught, maybe even mean...I'm...
I buried probably, like, a million birds as a child.
I don't know of a southern household that doesn't own a pair of binoculars or have a jar of Blue Plate mayonnaise in the refrigerator. So, this is going to be a disappointing blog, in part, because my house has neither. Ok, well maybe a thimbleful is left of the mayonnaise. Ms. Frankie, the sweetest neighbor I had while growing up, God love her, thought it was because people really liked to look at the birds, that's why they all had binoculars...and that anything other than Blue Plate was sacrilege. She had a pair, herself, but they sat on the mantle after her husband died and...
I know how to get a blame Diet Coke, thank you.
I'm trying to steer myself clear of Diet Coke. I'm not sure when I began to drink it, actually. Now, I can't get through a day without several. I don't even particularly like the taste of it, to be honest. I guess it's just "what I do" before I teach class, to get in the "zone," with today's youth. I think that's what I tell myself: it's caffeine; you'll need that. These students have never lived without computer access. Email was "old-hat" by the time they were born. You've got to keep up with them. Caffeine is your friend. But, I rarely get the kick I need...
If you don't want to bleed for it, don't put it in your blood.
I had a terrifying thought, this morning, on the way to work: I'm afraid I might be a duplicitous man. Duplicitous. I used to think that described a man who had lots of love affairs. Would that it were true. But, driving out to campus, I really questioned what I, up until this morning, had believed was my emotional and physical elasticity when in the face of any crisis. Now, I wonder: what if all I've done is misunderstood what I thought was others' general defection of accountability because I'd mislabeled it in my own life? I hate this thought. I've hated it all...
That time I was in a Sartre play: part of a memoir, sort of.
I'm considering penning a memoir. I'm serious. I'm sure there's a finer art to it than what I'm putting to paper. No, I know there is as evidenced by PaperGirlMemoir's blog. I enjoy her blog, among several others, those detailing their writing journeys. I suppose she's serving as a "model," though she has a much better, cleaner handle on how to go about writing one than I do. I tend to ramble. (I'm pretending it's my style, so don't say anything). At first, I thought, why on earth would I think anyone wants to read a memoir by me. And then, I...
Lazarus and his "Transferring to the Banana."
To be quite honest about it, we'd forgotten about him entirely. We did our civic duty, after Max had attacked him, this poor little kitten, in our backyard. At first, we thought he was dead. But, Amanda, who was the brave one, stepping forward and retrieving him from Max's jaws, saw that he was breathing...barely. Breathing enough, however, that he was more than agile and able enought to bite Amanda solidly on her finger. Not long after, she found herself in the emergency room, receiving a Tetanus shot. You may recall that we were turned away from the Vet School at MSU, and abruptly sent to another Vet's...
How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…
![Link to How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…](http://cleverkris.com/wp-content/themes/psm/scripts/timthumb.php?src=http://cleverkris.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/mind-analysis.jpg?w=92&h=250&w=250&zc=1)
I have been intensely busy, lately. Not just by hand, either. My mind...it often goes into Mach 7 when I attempt to procrastinate (by the way, the word "procrastinate," itself, is ironic - I mean, by the time you write the word out, you could have done something already - it's not a word for the lazy), and the only thing I can physically do to make it stop is to sleep (even though my dreams are usually full of anger when I do that - last night, for instance...ouch!), but if I don't stop it, from time to time, it just runs all...
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade.
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade. I was already fully in the grips of a terrific identity crisis (mostly sexual) by the time I was rounding out my junior high years. At my school, sixth grade was the last grade on the junior high side. Seventh graders had to move around to the right side of the building, and that side was high school. They also had more than one teacher, and several different classrooms. That didn't shock me nearly as much as when I was told they also had periods. Even the boys. I was terrified of high school. ...
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