The Laughorist

killing me unsoftly

2012-01-19T22:58:00.003-05:00

This is not an insensitive rant. It offers no disrespect to victims of violence. It's a semantic commentary, a diatribe on diction. A reflection on language. In the last few days on TV or radio news reports I've been hearing the phrases "brutally murdered" or "brutally beaten." Really? Would it be "kindly murdered"? Or "gently beaten"? I don't think so. I don't think the phrase "killing with kindness" is meant to summon those meanings. And I don't think those who utter such phrases do so with Shakespearean irony, as when Hamlet has some wordplay over the murder of his father (if I recall rightly): "a little more than kin, and less than kind."

risk-free questions! now! join the millions who...

2012-01-11T23:17:00.004-05:00

"Try Smarmy absolutely risk-free."

"And now FOR A LIMITED TIME ONLY you too can try Smarmy at no risk."

Risk, to whom? You? Or me?
What kind of risk? Medical? Financial? Moral?
What is "risk"?
Why should I believe your "risk-free" claim?
Doesn't everything have some risk potential, including reading THIS?
Isn't all time "limited"?
What is the limit of your time?
What is the limit of your space?
Is poetry risk-free?
Would you mind if I dehyphenate risk free?
If you concede risk is not "absolutely free," then what is its cost?
What is the best currency to use when paying for the cost of risk?
Do you get irritated and sore with me when I drivel on like this?
Do my interrogatives put you at the risk of losing your composure?
Are you one of the millions, or one of the few, the proud?
Am I the only one whose ears prick upward, like a dog's, at the sound of "risk-free"?
Are any of our politicians risk-free?
Is that what got us into this pickle, expecting our so-called leaders to guide through so-called risk-free times?
Who is doing the calling when something is "so-called"?
Who is doing the answering to these twenty questions?

insourcing

2012-01-11T16:21:00.005-05:00

You are hearing it here first: "insourcing" will be the word of the year for 2012. If that prediction turns out to be correct, the dotted red line I am seeing under the word insourcing as I compose this blog post, indicating a strange word or a misspelling, will disappear into the cyber-ether because the word will have entered the realm of Common Parlance. I'm hearing insourcing a lot. (For me, "a lot" totals one or two times, on an NPR report.) (Notice, my self-appointed style guide calls for initial quotes, and then no more quotes after the word's first instance. Also note that I've zoomed through the lexicographical journey of two words to hyphen to one word solid.) Insourcing sounds suspiciously like one of those words used by corporate managers or HR people to assuage their guilt for sending American jobs to India, Bhutan, or Burkina Faso. Insourcing says, "Out with outsourcing and in with insourcing, comrades! You have nothing to lose but your prefix! [Or your prix fixe!]) Insourcing is the bright and shiny bauble intimating the bubbling and simmering of a new economic stew, that will come to a tasty and nutritious boil just before Election Day, sending Barack Obama to a second term and totally grouchifying wealthy, white-shirt, starched Republicans, who have always wanted Obama's doom more than America's boom. Doesn't insourcing sound vaguely derived from the porn industry? "Hey, Mason, let's shoot that scene over! We need way more insourcing, babe!" barks the morose director, somewhere near LA, wearing shades and baring a hairy chest adorned with tacky bling. Insourcing is your brand-new resourcing for 2012. Welcome to the year of insourcing. Insourcing for one and all. Insourcing for you and me and the commonwealth. (Incidentally, "commonwealth" is a great word. But so 1780s. It won't even be in the top ten of the #word_ of_the_year list for 2012. Pity.)

downtown vibe

2012-01-09T21:03:00.001-05:00

space

not just a container

but an atmosphere

tone

fabric

pulse

happening

at Jefferson & Salina Streets

#downtown

Syracuse

may it flourish

nurture

grow

seed

bloom

cooking

2012-01-09T15:52:00.002-05:00

bought a recipe magazine

then purchased the required ingredients

"special section! 30 entrees in 30 minutes or less" did it for me.

would be 2nd straight day of actually cooking

this could end up being revolutionary

but let's not get carried away

yet

Barnes & Ignoble

2012-01-08T14:04:00.004-05:00

At store #2908 I approach the customer service kiosk seeking what its name promises. The person manning the booth -- hold it -- the woman womanning it looks me in the eye and greets me with stone-cold silence. I wait for the customary customer service query "May I help you?" Zilch. I grant that this is subjective, but I interpret this as aloof aggression, as condescension, as gameswomanship. Her look says, "Well?" But I silently insist that the protocol calls for her to speak first. I consider silently walking away. Minutes after the event, at this moment I am distrusting my own memory. Who spoke first? Did I break the perceived iciness by saying, "Are you going to ask to help me?" Or did she relent and ask me something -- anything? I wish I could remember more clearly this "event" at Barnes & Ignoble.

"I was wondering what happened to a book I ordered."

"What's your phone number?"

I gave her my phone number.

"Your cell?"

"That's it."

"We don't have anything."

Long pause as she pretends to be an airline ticket representative and looks at a computer screen. The computer screen can veil all problems and save her.

"When I ordered, they asked for my email. I can give you that."

Which is what I do.

To continue, and underscore her aggression, she repeats "M-A-C" as if instead I might have said M-A-C-K. This gives her a chance to appear efficient and official and smart. On top of things.

"Yes."

"I see it might have expired on December 28."

"Expired? I ordered it just before Christmas. Why would it expire?"

"It was returned to the publisher or did not arrive here or it might mean it was put on the shelf."

"Why wouldn't you -- I mean Barnes & Noble -- have called me? Excuse me -- why wouldn't someone have emailed me?"

"That's why we ask for your phone number, as a backup."

"I was asked for my email, and that's what I gave."

I resist saying more, lots more. I am silent. But not stoic. I follow her as she walks to a shelf in the Religion section.

She finds a single copy of "Holy Holidays" by Greg Tobin. "My" copy.

I am determined not to buy it from this store at this time. (I already have a copy anyway, from -- wait for it -- Amazon.)

I take the single copy of "my" book and put it prominently in a display area, promoting it, hoping a stranger buys it.

A stranger not in need of a holiday from the balmy warmth of customer service.

wastewater, or wastetime, or wastespace

2012-01-03T17:13:00.002-05:00

I worked many years in the environmental field.

I still do some consulting work via @kocakwords in that area.

Questions:

If we have wastewater, can we also have wastetime? May we? Where does time go when it is wasted? Or is it metaphysically and physically impossible to waste time? Are their emissions related to wastetime? Are they harmful or beneficial? How are they measured? Do we even want to measure them?

What about space? If there is wastewater, is there wastespace? Is that what people mean when they angrily assert, "You're fired! You're just wasting space around here!"

Or is it, again, impossible to "waste space"? And if you can waste space, what are the impacts? Can they be mitigated? May they?

Just wondering.

my eagerly awaited annual list of books read

2012-01-01T13:53:00.002-05:00

Books I Read in 2011 *

The Convict and Other Stories by James Lee Burke
The Turnaround by George Pelecanos
The Interrogative Mood by Padgett Powell
The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker
Spring's Third Day by Laura Gross
Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It by Maile Meloy
Grendel by John Gardner
Jesus Freak: feeding/healing/raising the dead by Sara Miles
Zombie Haiku by Ryan Mecum
House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III
The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman
The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
A Band of Misfits: tales of the 2010 San Francisco Giants by Andrew Baggarly
Music Through the Floor: stories by Eric Puchner

* give or take some hours to allow for Mayan-Gregorian-Julian-Hallmark calendar adjustments

snow white but is it really?

2011-12-28T22:14:00.001-05:00

welcome, sister snow
welcome, brother crystalline
hello, fury wind
be here, December
swirl here, colorless dance

techless techNOcrat techie tetchy touchy

2011-12-27T17:31:00.003-05:00

This quasi-Luddite, pro-tech, ante-vellum note of paradoxical interest comes from the San Francisco Chronicle's website, back on November 30, 2011:

Imagine your workplace without email. That fantasy (or nightmare) will soon be reality for thousands of people who work for information technology firm Atos.

The company, which has offices in the Houston area and in Norwalk, Conn., manages IT for the Olympics. Its clients include oil field services firms Schlumberger and Baker Hughes.

ABC news says Atos found that most email messages turn out to be a waste of time:

CEO Thierry Breton of the French information technology company said only 10 percent of the 200 messages employees receive per day are useful and 18 percent is spam. That’s why he hopes the company can eradicate internal emails in 18 months.

The rule would apply to 74,000 employees in 42 countries and will hit close to home for some Houstonians. In April, Atos unveiled plans to locate one of its U.S. headquarters in Sugar Land.

Breton, who served as French finance minister before heading up the IT company, told the Wall Street Journal he hasn’t sent a work email in the three years he’s led the firm; he expects employees to focus instead on communicating via instant message or through an internal social network akin to Facebook.

In a statement about the policy, Breton compared spam to smog:

“We are producing data on a massive scale that is fast polluting our working environments and also encroaching into our personal lives. At Atos we are taking action now to reverse this trend, just as organizations took measures to reduce environmental pollution after the industrial revolution.”

winter solstice

2011-12-22T23:38:00.001-05:00

now that that has passed we can say with confidence that summer is on the way not almost here no none of that but lightening the journey lighting the way leaving a crack tilting the door open and what is the origin of the word solstice anyway I'd venture a tipping toward or away from the sun sonny boy

just for the heck of it

2011-12-20T21:51:00.001-05:00

click

right

here

it won't harm or hurt

or threaten

browse

2011-12-20T21:49:00.001-05:00

and scroll
and click
here
all you want
stay if you like
or wander away
no stay
wait
laugh
or cry
or pause
here
or
here
even
here

20 verbs

2011-12-20T21:46:00.001-05:00

run ruin absent end finish mend maul primp prime curl

wend zoom doom brush gargle climb swallow syncopate twirl coax

readers

2011-12-20T21:42:00.001-05:00

I use to have them
blogreaders
in the days of ephemera
passing dew like
morning burnt off
the backyard
or in the evening moistening my soles

I used to have readers
here
and there

but that was in the days of
salad and conversation
flirtation and flotation
wording and warding
off and on
remember those ways?

another year

2011-12-20T21:40:00.002-05:00

has passed
amassing volume and lightness
we call them birthdays
fair enough
or anniversaries thereof
one day at a
timeless march to the cemetery
inexorable
no no not depressing
inevitable for you
and me
and him
and her
and them
and us
pause

white

2011-12-20T21:38:00.001-05:00

speaking of which
where is the snow
whose absence is present
white space
white noise
blank
faded grass
brought the mower to the basement
let it snow
let it snow
let us know
lettuce no

drawing nigh

2011-12-20T21:36:00.001-05:00

the end of the year approaches
which means my list of Books Read
white and blue
coming soon to
a theater near you
coo-coo-ca-choo

December haiku

2011-12-03T22:58:00.001-05:00

tawny dried milkweed
skeletal branches bleached bare
riot of green pines

imag-engine

2011-12-03T21:42:00.004-05:00

o Tannenbaum

2011-12-03T21:39:00.001-05:00

we cut down our Christmas tree today
from Romagnolis' farm
Canaan or Balsam
full
lush
scented
no snow yet
tree unadorned
does that mean trimmed or untrimmed?

WTF

2011-11-30T20:23:00.002-05:00

some stranger from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, or from Bratislava, Slovakia, is going to land here and say

W

T

F

exclamation points, many

eleven

2011-11-30T20:21:00.001-05:00

This might be my eleventh post today.

Give or take.

Take or give.

What do I think this is, Twitter?

why 12 Steps?

2011-11-30T20:17:00.002-05:00

I wonder
why 12 Steps
no, I don't refer to denial and all its discontents, its dis-
contents
I mean why 12? not 11? or 13? or 9?
Why any number in certain civilizations?
and all I can figure are
12 months
12 inches
12 apostles
any other 12s come to mind?

it's about time

2011-11-30T20:15:00.001-05:00

some snow mixed with rain this evening
not surprising
with the J.M. W. Turner watercolor lake-effect clouds this afternoon

this very day

2011-11-30T19:23:00.002-05:00

this very day
Kierkegaard used that phrase
six years ago he died
my brother, not Kierkegaard
St. Andrew's Day
patron saint of Scotland
Thomas Richard Hayes
half brother
but nothing half about it
I wasn't there that moment
but weeks before
his patient lessons of golf to me
a non-golfer
the Florida sun
the pillowed dark dawn farewell
we knew
we loved
today
this very day
celebrating branch
vein
leaf
cloud
sun
raindrop
pulse

more imagery

2011-11-30T12:31:00.002-05:00

crank it up
turn turn turn
to everything there is a season
celebrate

what's in store?

2011-11-30T12:30:00.000-05:00

have you checked out

laughorism.com

?

12 steps, pondered anew

2011-11-30T12:26:00.002-05:00

This time con brio, with adjectives:

1. powerless

2. pliable

3. decisive

4. searching

5. voluble

6. imperfect

7. trying

8. mending

9. connected

10. daily

11. silent

12. awake

Tech firm bans email

2011-11-30T12:25:00.000-05:00

Tech firm bans email

image redux

2011-11-30T01:52:00.002-05:00

Franklin Square

image

2011-11-30T01:50:00.002-05:00

not always words

insomnia collage

2011-11-30T01:46:00.002-05:00

type click light dark traffic brain pulse caffeinated curled pillow walk-ing pinging pulse pulsing breathe breath breathy breather snore awoke awake wish snore more some more droopy eyelids wish list sheep fence count sound silence sleep dream

12 steps, plus or minus

2011-11-30T01:39:00.003-05:00

12 Steps as one-word verbs

1. admit
2. believe
3. surrender
4. search
5. tell
6. prepare
7. ask
8. list
9. mend
10. readmit
11. pray
12. live

or your own version, below

parts of speech or silence +/-

2011-11-30T01:30:00.002-05:00

verb article preposition meditation conjugation gerundive participle dangling infinitive adjective adverb pronoun subjunctive passive voice active white noise predicate possessive syntax diction imperative cognate serial comma conjunction semicolon full don't stop yet poetry concrete gerund tense mood pluperfect interjection exclamation synecdoche troche iambic couplet sonnet ellipsis apostrophe nominative nomenclature om omen amen

22 adjectives

2011-11-30T01:27:00.002-05:00

burnt churlish girlish icky tacky tricky blocky manly poised taciturn ornate solemn liturgical quizzical scarlet alphabetical numerical qualitative dative cerulean

20 verbs

2011-11-30T01:21:00.002-05:00

ace baste cast dash enervate face grouse hike ice jazz kill cull lull mull annul sulk poke puke razz zing

retail (h)arms race

2011-11-25T22:45:00.002-05:00

where's it end? where's it begin? surely, next year (or maybe this year on Christmas Day) some retailer will try to get the jump on everyone else by opening, say, at 7 p.m. on Thanksgiving night. forget about black Friday; it'll start to be Black Thursday. shortly thereafter a retailer will jettison the whole pretense and take advantage of the whole pretext and stay open 24/7 on the holiday and every day any day. you watch.

occupy Sell Street.

who's counting?

2011-11-23T21:35:00.001-05:00

I am.

The trend is that I will have posted the least amount of times this annum, on a full year's basis, since the blog's inception in 2006.

You got a problem wit dat?

tie update

2011-11-23T21:32:00.002-05:00

Have worn a tie, at least for some portion of the day, for 11 consecutive days.

Not sure what, if anything, to conclude.

It may make me more brazen, perhaps more chipper, or pretentious, or assured.

Perhaps.

all in a name

2011-11-23T21:25:00.002-05:00

Jubilant Takingthanks Diurnal Feast

Joyous Gratitudinous Day

Pleasant Dankegiving Quotidian

Harpy Tanksgiving Dray

Hapless Thanksgoing Gray

Joyful Thanksgetting Daze

Happy Thanksgrieving Deign

Thanksgiven du Jour de Joy

Happy Thanksginning Day

Hoping Thanksgiving May

Grateful Day Happy

instant one-minute zen meditation quotation

2011-11-15T20:38:00.002-05:00

"The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, indescribably magnificent world in itself." -- Henry Miller

torrents

2011-11-14T21:42:00.001-05:00

When it was pouring so torrentially (forgive the redundancies), I had to stop and think: is it March? September? It's mid November. #globalwarming

form and function

2011-11-13T23:24:00.003-05:00

A couple years ago a friend wore a dress for thirty consecutive days, and blogged about it. Around that time, as an experiment in I-don't know-what, I wore a tie for thirty straight days. Or tried to. I think I succeeded. I might try it again. I enjoyed wearing a purple tie, by Pink, today. People have written books about lots of weird streaks: 30 successive days, or more, of going on a date, a year without sex, you name it.

Um, I'd rather you didn't.

"grounded" -- a none-act play

2011-11-13T22:09:00.002-05:00

He said I was grounded.

Grounded?

Yeah.

What does that mean? If you're not actually a pilot, what's it mean?

I can't use my phone and stuff.

I've got three kids and I've never "grounded" any of them, even once.

I'm grounded.

But you've punished them.

Sure. Are you locked in your room?

Sort of.

Do you have a TV in there?

Yes. But I mostly listen to music.

For how long are you grounded?

Until he says I'm not.

Gee, even courts sentence you to a specific term. Can you go on Facebook?

That's not really a big deal to me. Neither is my phone or texting. Music is.

So, if they took your music away, they'd really get to you.

Oh yeah.

[holding palm out] How much is that worth to you?

I'm grounded.

Tower Scheiße

2011-11-12T22:07:00.002-05:00

Saw Tower Heist. My first choice, J. Edgar, was sold out. Twice. That's encouraging, in its own way.

At least I expected Tower Heist to be funny.

It was not.

I liked Alan Alda as an affable, evil, charming swindler, a la Madoff.

The movie at times skated along a serious edge that touched on all the disparities of wealth the Occupy Wall Street folks are targeting. But it only skated along the edge of that and was afraid to confront the serious stuff. If it did do that, it might've been an interesting movie. And it still might've managed to be funny, just as The Sopranos managed to be at times. Ben Stiller could've pulled it off; Eddie Murphy, too. And Matthew Broderick. Tea Leoni also.

Too bad it wimped out into silliness.

tiny Destiny

2011-11-12T17:00:00.002-05:00

The sneak peak of Destiny in Syracuse was a tiny glimpse of I'm-not-sure-what. With more than 800,000 square feet to fill, Pyramid has its hands full. Or empty. So far, the early returns are:

-- open spaces, lots

-- some pleasant textures of imitation, or real, pavers

-- inline kiosks

-- two stores in one, Lenox china / Hartmann luggage

-- lots of billboards of What Is To Come

-- some curvilinear frontage to the new store(s), which is more interesting than the prison-like blandness on the outside

My review: looks like Philadelphia airport at best. A mix of would-be highbrow and flea market.

What is so "green" about it?

We shall see.

eleven eleven eleven

2011-11-11T23:29:00.001-05:00

We have survived the 11:11 a.m. and the 11:11 p.m. of 11/11/11, disappointing 11,1111 conspiracy theorists.

Hallmark Mystery Theater

2011-11-11T22:54:00.002-05:00

I traversed the aisles looking for blank cards. Blankly, I searched the shelves for blank cards that are not really blank, but only blank on the inside. I search the blankety-blank Hallmark store for some hallmark of aesthetic. Were any cards devoid of false sentiment? Did any cards, blank or unblank, express reality, my reality? I was coming up blank. My pistol of desire was shooting blanks. Sympathy. Birthday. For her. For him. Anniversary. New Job. Death of pet. Encouragement. Retirement. Troubled Relationship. I was drawing a black, with no pen in my hand. As I roamed the carpeted aisles, a man said to me, "Can I help you? Have you found everything?" I hesitated. I almost replied to those great one-liners, those generous prompts. He wore a cap, like a truck driver would. Sloppy jeans. A work t-shirt. (I could be making all this up; the memory is less sharp these days.) He looked my age. He looked like a shopper. Why was he blithely asking me this customer service query? "Where are the blank cards?" He answered confidently and quickly, "The next aisle over." Slim pickings. mostly dreadful. The outer faces. The inside blanks, though, were very similar, but surely not identical in shape, scale, symmetry, weight. I bought a blank card. Two identical fish silhouettes, in a pond, ripples outward. Asian, to me. Blank, inside. At the counter, when I paid for this Hallmark blank card, there he was. A customer, signing his credit card payment slip. Just like me. Pissed me off. And why?

what is that new-car smell?

2011-11-02T00:42:00.002-04:00

is it from plastic? or from the paint still drying? maybe the new floor mats? the upholstery? why is the smell of a new car so appealing? where does the new-car smell migrate to after it's gone? can you pick it up on your clothing? do car makers know the secrets of the smell of newness? why doesn't a house have a new-house fragrance? or does it? and why did I switch from smell to fragrance to describe this phenomenon? for how many miles does the smell of a brand-new car retain its new-car smell or fragrance? when they came out with a spray to replicate the new-car smell, what did they put in it? do I really want to know? do car sales reps (for new cars, not pre-owned car, which used to be called used cars) wear cologne or perfume of new-car-ness? does the new-car fragrance excite buying pheromones? can churches, temples, mosques, or synagogues entice more believers, or would-be believers,to enter their portals by importing new-car fragrance within the house of worship? are my hyphens pedantic? is there such a thing as a new-marriage smell or fragrance? don't you like the smell of a new baby, especially its skin? do republicans and democrats and independents differ in smell? if the new-car smell were bottled, could it be exported? is the new-car smell different depending on what country the car was made in? does it bother you that car has been used up above even though you might be thinking of a truck or SUV or something in between? does the new-car smell excite you, even a little? does it summon deep childhood memories? or does it evoke deep sadness or resentment because your family was never able to afford a brand-new car with a new-car smell? why do we say "brand-new"? has this pelting of questions regarding the new-car smell or fragrance started to weary you? will you lament the absence of the new-car smell the way you lament a loss? what color would you use to describe that good ol' new-car smell? what sound is it?

Ad Newseam

2011-09-22T23:13:00.004-04:00

"I read the news today, oh boy . . . "

I've been a news junkie ever since grade school, or grammar school, as we called it, loving what was then termed Current Events as my favorite subject. The afternoon Stamford Advocate would be delivered the same precise time every day, it seemed. 4:26. My father came home from the shop at precisely the same time every day, 4:14. My brother and I would listen for the soft thwinnnk of the Advocate being placed between the screen door and the front door of our apartment in the William C. Ward Homes. The Projects. Jack and I would race to the door, open it, and fight to surrender the paper to my father, to place it, as if it were an offering, on our dad's footstool. An unspoken protocol prohibited grabbing and reading the paper before Dad had had first dibs. Then Jack and I would wait like cats to pounce on the paper when Dad would casually finish each section and place it on the footstool. As much as I was a news junkie, let's be honest: Jack and I both were vying for the fiercely coveted second section: Sports.

I went on to work as a copy editor at a daily, from September 1976 to February or March 1979. Great atmosphere: surly, hard-boiled, intense, witty, competitive. Filled with characters. Smart folks. Hard-working. Competent. Whiskey bottles kept in drawers. The ring of Teletype machines. Headlines written by hand. Something strange on desks: VDTs, or video display terminals. We did not think of them as computers or PCs. I even obnoxiously smoked a cigar on the rim sometimes and for fun wore one of those vinyl newspaperman visors seen in movies.

News junkie.

Now, I wonder. News? Hard to take. I don't mean just the string of endless tragedies. That's always been part of the news game. No, I mean something like this: 1984. LIES ARE TRUTH. WAR IS PEACE. That sort of Orwellian nightmare. Maybe, in my mind it started with the Swift Boat campaign of 2004 [was it 2004] that discredited John Kerry's reputation as a hero through lies and distortion. Forget about whether you supported him or the Vietnam War. It was the fact that "the media," "the press," now saw fit to give lies the same footing as truth. Rumor got the same attention as news. We'd been Drudged. Tabloided. McPapered. Under some sort of perversion of the Fairness Doctrine, every crackpot theory got equal play with reason and sobriety. And it only got wackier. Want a war? Enter: the media passing along unsubstantiated hysteria perpetrated by the government about alleged "weapons of mass destruction" and "terrorism." The so-called august New York Times, a year later, 2004, apologized to its readers for abdicating its role of healthy skeptic. The tease was on A1. The rest of the story was buried on A17 or wherever. You can look it up. And so it goes, as Kurt Vonnegut [met him, with my son, Ethan; another story, another time] would put it. Vaccines. Creationism. Global warming. Birthers. Bailout. Stimulus. You name it. LIES ARE TRUTH. News? What's that? Whatever works to grab attention. This is not whining or whingeing that "my take," my perspective, is getting short shrift. No, it is lamenting that utter quackery and poppycock share the front pages with sober renderings and analyses of complex issues.

Hard to take.

It's enough to shut off the news, whether online or in print or on TV -- as I do when I'm at camp.

Ad newseam.

Of course, that raises the solipsistic question about care, concern, and commitment about the State of Affairs, as if "knowing the facts" itself is a power, is a tool of democracy. (It should be.) As if carrying the burden of knowledge was a redemptive gesture.

It should be.

Is it?

Is that day gone, as gone as the idyllic image of the 1950s described above?

Lyrical dissonance

2011-09-20T21:52:00.008-04:00

You've heard of the term "cognitive dissonance," right? I guess it means something like "discomfort or tension caused by holding simultaneous conflicting views or ideas." Um, maybe like Bill Clinton having a Monica Lewinsky flashback while having dinner with Hillary. Another example of cognitive dissonance could be rich Republican members of Congress (are there poor members of Congress?) boo-hooing that they have to pay taxes -- any taxes, really -- while they suckle at the federal teat for their paycheck.

How about "harmonic dissonance" or "lyrical dissonance"? That's how I describe a melody at odds with its lyrics -- surprisingly so. My first embarrassing discovery of this occurred while driving around in my car chirpily listening to and singing along with "Maxwell's Silver Hammer," on Abbey Road, by The Beatles. It's very catchy. Whimsical. Almost nursery schoolish, in its sound and rhythm. My younger daughter, maybe 9 or 10 at the time, or even younger, was sitting in the back seat. She dutifully called my attention to the outright violence of the lyrics. I mean, really, at least three people are hammered to death in the song, but, heck, it sounds like a jingle for chewing gum! I had no explanation for her. I, a wordsmith, had never really paid it much mind. And she never lets me forget it.

There's a current hit, by Foster the People, that summons the same lyrical dissonance. "Pumped Up Kicks" is an exuberant, danceable song with lyrics about a six gun and trying to outrun bullets, and other terribly disturbing references. It is positively finger-snapping catchy.

I guess the moral -- if there is one -- is either "don't take things too seriously" or "take them more seriously" or both or neither.

I will admit it is hard for me to get sanctimonious, given my own lyrical dissonance history.

I'm sure you have your own examples. John Lennon's "Imagine" comes to mind. A haunting, gorgeous melody, but not everyone would be quick to accept its secular, casually atheistic, anti-nationalist message -- if they even hear it.

Speaking of imagining, what if "Yesterday" by The Beatles were a heavy metal anthem? Or a cha-cha or salsa?

This reminds me of a game my older brother and I used to play, back in The Sixties. We'd conjure up mismatches, stuff like Kate Smith doing "Purple Haze" or Perry Como doing "Satisfaction."

Get it?

Got others?

then and now

2011-09-11T20:24:00.002-04:00

we were made low
ashes in the mouth
dust to earth to dust to fire
finding brothers we didn't know we had
lost sisters paled by the empty noon

we were made low
and saw what was missing
the pain of a hollow
fullness seared
a rich vacancy

we were made low
for a moment
seized with common
pulse and possibility

we were
then
and
now?

reflextns on txtng2

2011-09-09T11:45:00.002-04:00

It happens. After all, who wants to use more thumbstrokes? Who wants to slow down the effluvial ephemera of quotidian trivia? The "it" I refer to above -- an "it" typed without its antecedent -- is the shortening, the abbreviating, the consequent depunctuation of texting.

I do it.

I've done it.

Both with and without guilt.

I'll not do "it" when I want to be pedantic, when I want to prove a point to the recipient that I'm either not uneducated or that I was an English major or that I do not subscribe to the vulgar laziness of texting, the habits of stark simplicity.

But other times I do subscribe to minimalist fervor, an icon of the age.

And linguistically we know that language inexorably grows, organically, toward simplicity, as a sign of its sophistication!

So, when I text I sometimes will say to myself, hey, the question mark was obvious just by the phrasing, it couldn't be anything but a question. or I mutter to self that periods commas or semicolons are just getting in the way course they no wot i mean who needs caps either its all undrstd txtng is fun after all japanse grls hv wrttn txt novels etc no end pt

Texting.

Txtng

Just some thoughts.

Labor Day Eve

2011-09-04T20:35:00.002-04:00

Fruit of their labors labors forgotten. Union wages waging peace and social justice. Private property demanding social obligation and more mores (either one syllable or two syllables). Rerum Novarum. Mater et Magistra. The eight-hour day. Paid vacations. Holidays. OSHA. Union strong. Fought and died for. Strike and struck. Robber barons. "No more taxes!" No more services. Social security. Social security. Laborite. Laborious. Laboring. Labor. Day. Labor Day. And labor night. Blood sweat and tears. And human dignity. And eternal thanks.

double-dare

2011-08-15T22:30:00.003-04:00

The Laughorist, admittedly in not so laughable a mood, dares you to read this:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/15/opinion/stop-coddling-the-super-rich.html

Come on.

Furthermore, I dare every Member of Congress to read this, and I challenge any zealot to refute its FACTS:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/15/opinion/stop-coddling-the-super-rich.html

Come on.

Refute this data, supplied by billionaire Warren Buffett.

I'm waiting.

Yes, stop coddling -- that's the right word, coddling -- the super-rich.

chicory correction

2011-07-25T16:24:00.001-04:00

Correction.

It is chicory I see whose blue dazzles me.

Chicory, common by roadsides; uncommonly colorful; distinct.

coneflowers

2011-07-24T00:45:00.001-04:00

I've been seeing coneflowers and still love their distinct blue, which isn't really blue.

comments

2011-07-24T00:43:00.001-04:00

I wonder if anyone will ever comment here again?

Sometimes I pine for the days when we had a regular vrew, a community, as it were.

It's my own solipsistic fault.

One needs to converse to cultivate conversation.

hum, baby

2011-07-24T00:40:00.001-04:00

sometimes the hum of a fan on a summer night reminds me of a long plane flight, such as I've taken to or from Berlin

can't much sleep on planes or jets, either

once, coming back to the States, the movie was "Lost in Translation"

perfect for my semi-awake, jet-lagged haze

the arc of the air

2011-07-24T00:25:00.002-04:00

thanks, arctic air

for ever so slightly squinting southerly

hinting at cooler climes

less sweltering soddenness

the promise of comity

sorely lacking in the mingy mien

of budget hawks

their hot talons

tearing at the populace

as the oligarchy caviar crowd

whine about why

not more for me

it's mine

mine mine

how taxing

and tiresome

the tip of the iceberg

the country club cabal

plots its permanence

art+poetry

2011-07-24T00:18:00.003-04:00

participated in art + poetry workshop

now it is yesterday

young and old

in the city

urban and not

but more art than poetry

or is it merely redefining?

or am I too confining?

in a kindle age,

visuals rule

as a matter of fact

and fiction

am I merely ancient

anchoring the word?

or chained

to the sea's sybaritic syllables?

cheeseburger cheeseburger cheeseburger

2011-07-23T23:34:00.002-04:00

At Quaker State and Lube, QSL, I ordered a cheeseburger, hold the cheese. Otherwise, there was no way to get a plain ol' hamburger w/ lettuce, tomato, and mayo.

The cheeseburger sans cheese, a.k.a. hamburger arrived.

Atop the underside of the top (i.e., the puffy, rounded portion) of the roll sat the patty, the meat.

The bottom portion of the roll held some shreds of lettuce and a flimsy tomato.

This is increasingly typical, the new normal.

Upside-down burgers in an upside-down world. The burger should be on the bottom, the other stuff on top. Period, no questions asked.

Tully's does this, too, I believe.

Many places do it.

Why?

When did this silliness start?

Why?

Serves me right for failing to practice my more typical locavore principles.

heated reflections

2011-07-21T23:58:00.002-04:00

Mr. Lucas standing against the brick wall of their apartment, cigarette ash visible. Heat lightning. His talk of going fishing the next day. Dad fooling around with the antenna in the attic to improve TV reception, grumbling about "sun spots." Headlines of tanks rolling through Berlin as a wall is built. Tension as electric as the static from storms. Hitting 'em out. Shagging flies. Guzzling ice tea so cold it burns. A hot bath to feel the contrast. No shower head. Talcum powder. Nervous about September and school. Seal off rooms with fans on exhaust during the day, on intake at night. no such thing as AC. The drone of a ballgame. Haircuts cut so short. Delivering the Shopper. Asking the Italian lady for some water. Ice water. Take it in like a boy in the desert. The beach, Dad and Mom never once ever going into the Sound. Fear of atomic war. Rabbit ears. Potato salad. The little metal box for the milkman to place the bottles. Caddying. The straps digging in, the thirst. The spidered night flashes but no thunder.

voice

2011-07-19T11:13:00.003-04:00

I confess to a fear. I confess to the fear that I've lost my voice. Not the voice loss associated with laryngitis. Not that sort of -itis. I fear blogitis, the loss of my blogging voice. Having been Tweeting (or tweeting) away like a madman (MadMen? BTW, I await the return of that stellar AMC TV series), I wonder if I've gone to the word-well so often and so distinctly differently that I lost my Kokonuts voice, diminished my Laughorist persona, lessened my serial-comma loving stature, skewed my Kierkegaard-name-dropping identity. Of course, some would argue for marked boundaries of these voices, clear boundaries on the verges of Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and Blogger. Those "some" may be wise to counsel such; or not. Nevertheless, having glanced at the aforementioned words and having heard their cadence and rhythm and substance, or lack therof, I can rest restlessly assured that this voice is still full-throated. Warbling. Wandering.

Carry on.

As you were.

Laugh. Or...

Else.

Oxford Comma Scare

2011-07-02T22:27:00.003-04:00

Phew.

There were some alarums [olde spelling] that the Oxford University Press was axing the Oxford comma.

Not so, apparently, as noted in this excellent piece in the Los Angeles Times, which also discusses the Shatner comma, comically.

No serial comma killing this time, though all offices of said staid educational institution should be consistent on such matters.

Serial Comma Commandos of the world, unite. You have nothing to lose but your [something something; failed to make Marxist pun here].

This Really Happened

2011-06-21T23:49:00.002-04:00

Today, while walking within the urban confines of the city of Syracuse:

I was startled by a jackrabbit right in front of me near the Franklin Square P.O.
then another one by Onondaga Creek
stood on a bridge over the creek, a bridge not trespassed by 90% of said city's residents
while walking, picked up litter: Newport 100s box [they are ubiquitous], a meant-to-be funny, naughty greeting card, a pizza box
was rewarded warmly by 8th graders exuberantly "graduating" from a city school
saw a three-legged dog and was spared heartbreak after listening to the owner tell the dog's story
saw my cat almost kill a sparrow
I rescued the sparrow
but the cat had the final say
ultimately
what -- save sparrows and kill ants?
I would've shot the woodchuck digging up the backyard but have no weapon
would I have?
saw a man with red glasses; he said he has many others, many other colors

antie-septic

2011-06-17T00:22:00.002-04:00

Weird, isn't it, how -- now that I'm not as avidly hunting them -- I hardly ever see ants on the counter or cabinets. Is it me? Or is it Memorants?

Adios, Bloomsday

2011-06-17T00:18:00.002-04:00

Ave atque, farewell goodbye, draw to a cathedral close, this halcyon Joycean protean day nominated in the wordwomb of Bloom, passing by his Ulysses-sired sirens, bleating sheepishly.

Harpyhappy bloomin' Bloomsday!

2011-06-16T11:25:00.002-04:00

Harvests of harpy happy blooms of bloomer bombast as we walk the Dublin streets with Leopold Bloom again in our mind in our eyes in our words, avoiding stumbling on the curb the cobblestone of too many consonants, mate.

Today appropriately enough is also the anniversary of the start of this august (no, it's June) and sometimes jejune blog.

Happy 5th Blogger Anniversary to The Laughorist and my nom de web, Pawlie Kokonuts.

out on bail

2011-06-14T12:19:00.002-04:00

Were you stopped in your tracks by my last post, titled "arrested"?

Alas, no criminality is implied, inferred, intuited, imagined, initiated, conjured, conjectured, or ANTicipated.

I am out on bail, id est, carried free, unburdened, bucketed, transported away from the heart-stopping goldfinch vision of reality to the quotidian tasks of "this very day," a phrase of Soren Kierkegaard.

arrested

2011-06-13T20:40:00.002-04:00

a flicker

a flash

blurred

goldfinch

stopped my breath

forced me to stare

a shining living bauble

of yellow

delight

more saffron than

sunflower

than lemon

pulsing

radiance

caught

Antagonist Update

2011-06-10T22:06:00.001-04:00

Did not see or maim or kill any ants today, although reports indicate other family members cannot make such innocuous statements.

Antie Maim

2011-06-09T18:46:00.002-04:00

I did not knowingly or deliberately kill or maim any ants today, to the best of my antcollection, I mean, recollection.

I saw one or two ants on the cabinets in my background or peripheral vision today and chose to ignore them. So then, the Battle of Antitthem was put on hold.

lobster? or crab?

2011-06-08T20:35:00.003-04:00

"I should been a pair of ragged claws / Scuttling across the floors of silent seas." -- T.S. Eliot in "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

And would such scuttling claws pinch their pincers to pick up any scurrying underwater ants?

(Just aiming for the high-brow, even if it's a stretch scientifically.)

antics, again

2011-06-08T14:31:00.003-04:00

Getting either more spiritual or lazier (not necessarily opposites, right?): killed only two ants today.

But I think I only saw two ants. And how many did the ant traps silently and slowly execute?

Maybe, just maybe, the next ant I see, I'll say, "Hi, as you were, keep walking; plenty of room here on the planet for both of us. Leave our cereal alone, though."

ants in my pants -- not yet

2011-06-07T15:59:00.004-04:00

This morning my daughter goes to eat her Honey Bunches of Oats breakfast cereal and decides to throw out the whole package, upon finding bunches of ants, honey, in the cereal. Cereal killer, those ants. Or us. I thought it was an extreme, um, antic, to discard the whole contents ["contants"??], but, hey, the dog had just thrown up on the kitchen floor. We were under *ant*icipatory duress; she had a bus to catch.

Maybe we should surrender in the sense of simply regarding the ants as food, sans chocolate.

Or live in "peaceable kingdom" harmony with the ants. Let it / them be.

It is futile to crush the happenstance ant crawling into or out of the cabinet and to fight off the low hum of guilt as I rub my fingers together to expunge the dusty insect remains. As with most wars, strategies need to be reconsidered.

Are the ant traps working but more slowly than anticipated?

What about the Ortho Home Defense Indoor Insect Killer ("use with confidence around food, children & pets")? ("Made with pure orange peel extract.") Is the "confidence" noted on the label for the welfare of the food, children, and pets? Or confidence in the death of the ants? I sprayed some on paper towels and rubbed the walls and cabinet doors and edges. Hey, maybe it chased the ants into the cereal boxes and other boxes! By the way, the plastic container with tight lid? -- the one I told spouse and daughter to buy to protect against ants? -- it sits in the cabinet. Empty. Bare. Naked. No cereal or anything else in it.

Stay tuned to see if this blog is crawling with more antie-bellum words next time.

antsy

2011-06-01T13:49:00.003-04:00

Why do they so annoy me?

Will they swarm my bread?

What are their numbers?

I've killed perhaps 28 ants today, or maybe 17. I think two have gotten away. "Gotten away" means gleefully slipped into the cabinet, running under and around glasses, cups, mugs. Smirking?

How have I allowed this to become a real-life video game?

What is the source of my murderous pleasure as I squash them, rubbing the dust of the ants off on my clothes? (Awkward question; lots of prepositions.)

The ant traps are so much less direct, so much more passive. They require a certain degree of patience -- and faith that they will work.

They are ants.

They say I am human.

Can I write this off as some macabre and quotidian fiction?

May I?

Who would expose my lies?

financial fragility

2011-05-23T22:36:00.004-04:00

According to research cited in a WSJ blog, nearly half of us (Americans) are "financially fragile." Curious that eggheads have to undertake a study to verify this. The respondents were asked if they'd have trouble ponying up $2,000 in 30 days -- the amount representing a major car repair, such as transmission replacement, or some other unforeseen emergency: medical, legal, home repair, or addiction. (OK, so I threw in the last one; it's not crazily unrealistic, though, is it?)

A few qualifiers:

-- 2009 data were used
-- US respondents were not nearly as financially fragile as those in other countries

The results certainly don't shock me. While I have only consulted the article, and not the study itself, I'd have to muse:

-- Can I borrow to come up with the $2,000?
-- Can I tap into 401k or other money set aside for retirement?
-- Must I resort to legal means?
-- Does reckless gambling count as an option?
-- 30 days? ARE YOU KIDDING? Like the transmission guy or the dentist or the lawyer or the mortgage company is going to just spot you 30 days, just like that? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. (I'm making sure I can come up with $60 cold cash for lawnmower repair tomorrow.)

Folks, it's 2011. Let's hope the "financial fragility" ratios have improved, rapturously.

Talk about AlbatrossDreams.

wordstream rapture

2011-05-21T12:00:00.004-04:00

Dear Blog,
I have betrayed you, been an infidel, been unfaithful to your ephemeral flutterings by being faithful to ever-briefer postings, in the Twitterverse (@kocakwords). What a cad I've been to abandon you, this playground of expansive observations and gymnasium of gerundives, this venue of verbs and pabulum, words and wisdom wattage -- just for 140 characters on Twitter! How cruel of me, to leave your for nearly a month, my longest absence, just for a stream of pithy one-liners or vacuous throwaways. But such is our age. Less is more. Or less is less. It doesn't matter, as long as it's less and quicker. And more and Tweetier.

Anyway? How have you been? I see you, the blogosphere, that is, are still here, shrugging of the microblogiverse, not at all averse to aver that lots of words have their place in the universe. Their place is here, home to more-than-140-character discursive ramblings and rumblings, meanderings and wanderings, pings and pongs, throngs of thoughts, tallied in tons of typing and tappings.

Yours,
The Laughorist

apocalyptic torrents

2011-04-26T18:22:00.002-04:00

rain with pea-sized hail with nearly horizontal wind with virtually no visibility with flooding with sheets of driving rain with rain upon rain upon rain upon rain did I say rain? raining down upon us in downtown Syracuse eddying whirlpools of urban riverine flow lacustrine lustre water you know watery wending of drops upon buckets of rain

hanging by a thread

2011-04-25T23:05:00.002-04:00

Last evening, as I sat at my desk, not eating any curds or whey, I spied a spider easing itself down on its string of tensile strength, before my very eyes, shocking and, well, scaring me -- big baby.

I was dazzled and amused. And threatened. Or perceived myself as threatened.

I waited until the spider landed on my desk and then smushed it, with the bottom of a box of tissues.

There have been times I've carried a spider outdoors, rescuing it from my primal fears, my unfounded savageness.

Not this time.

And I don't have a good explanation.

So, forgive me, Universe.

Forgive me, Spiderdom.

Have mercy on me and my foolish fears, O Threadbare Web of Existence.

Confessions of a Twitterati

2011-04-14T22:42:00.002-04:00

I admit it.

I've been Tweeting.

It's pretty addictive, or can be.

But I've managed to control it.

Right.

@kocakwords

Seeya.

off the rack

2011-04-08T15:10:00.001-04:00

tying one on; these are the ties that try men's souls

2011-04-08T15:07:00.002-04:00

ties, redneck, and neckless

2011-04-08T14:53:00.006-04:00

tiething

2011-04-07T12:40:00.003-04:00

About a year ago, I wore ties on consecutive days.

I almost started another streak today.

But I wore no tie.

Can't say why.

Too springlike?

An iota of rebellion simmering in the blood?

No reason?

One love.

Will using the title "tiething" for today's post bring flocks of evangelists proposing that you tithe?

going postal-less

2011-04-05T20:24:00.002-04:00

The sign at the Carousel Center post office glass door says [figuratively speaking, because a sign can't talk]:

THE POST OFFICE
IS PERMANENTALY CLOSED.

Maybe email did 'em in.

Or spellchecking.

You didn't even warn us.

I'll miss you, and the convenience [another word that spellcheckers love] you gave me, and the occasional blogger fodder [remember the Aussie who put me down royally? What did she call me, "ya mongrel"?].

Why close that branch, with its weekend and evening and holiday hours and social intercourse?

At the nearby Division Street branch I later heard talk of high rents and mandated repairs.

Close THE POST OFFICE entirely everywhere everyday. After all, it's the federal government. Give the tea partiers a run for their money-less. No taxes! No services! Anarchy! Solipsism!

laughorisms

2011-03-28T14:42:00.002-04:00

My brand is slipping, which is not the same as my slip is showing, or maybe my ahem! is hawing -- or thrice versa. For someone asserting identity as The Laughorist, I've been remiss (missing and then missing again, Miss) in supplying and crafting laughorisms, i.e., humorous aphorisms. (Well, that is slightly unfair to myself, because faithful visitors here know I'm tirelessly quipping and whipping up whirls of words in witty ways.)

To wit, here is my take today at some laughorisms.

Happy Meals are all alike; every Unhappy Meal is unhappy in its own "Have It Your Way."
In the long run, we are all stockings.
It was the breast of times; it was the wurst of times.
Not every good screed goes unpublished.
Life is short, Monopoly long.
The mass of men leave lines of quiet perspiration.

drip drop

2011-03-22T23:14:00.000-04:00

where did that pendulous drop of moisture go, the one blogged about yesterday?

fear the beard?

2011-03-22T23:01:00.003-04:00

Is there a difference between growing a beard and simply not shaving?

A look in the mirror presents the unkempt appearance of an unshaven social misfit, though that sounds unduly harsh. (Can you be harsh, but not unduly harsh?)

Unkempt. The second syllable sounds so German, and it is by way of Old English, we are told by etymologists (not entomologists; stop bugging me!).

Uncombed.

Can you comb a beard, when you come right down to it?

So, you can be kept kempt, Kokonuts.

Carry on.

Laugh, or else.

focus

2011-03-21T23:01:00.002-04:00

It has been said the whole universe is found in a drop of water.

I saw it today.

Extending my arm out the car window to send out some cards (hand-written communication? how quaint!), under the lower-right lip of the mailbox's mouth, one plump drop of rain held itself suspended (or was held suspended), waiting, frozen but melted, pausing, seemingly still.

unlocking the doors

2011-03-20T22:31:00.003-04:00

After I parked at the Wegmans [yeah, I miss that apostrophe too], I decided not to press the lock activator on the key fob for the 2006 Honda Civic. Why lock it? It is an insidious habit. What is there to take? Why is it so important? What is so scary in suburban DeWitt, aside from its suburbanness? My act of civic bravery, or common sense, was not based on the fact that it is not my car (my wife's). It was a statement, a statement not clearly articulated. What was in there, besides some CDs? (Oh, what about that nifty portable battery charger? Hunh? Hunh?) Sure, "they" could steal maps and insurance cards. Good luck with that. We never seem to have the right maps, so welcome to 'em. Who are "they" anyway? And why would "they" single out this car? Are they on a crime spree? Were they waiting just for me? How many of them are "they"? What are their eating and sleeping habits?

I looked at the headlines of The Post-Standard and The New York Times. Too ominous. I decided not to buy a Sunday paper, though I was grateful that my browsing informed me of an interfaith event tomorrow at the Zen Center for the people in Japan. I'd like to go. Will "they" be there?

I bought five-seed four-grain bread, or is it four-seed five-grain, sliced. I used self service. I inserted a five-dollar bill and got seventy-five cents of change. The prompts on the computer screen assume plastic or something else. I used neither paper nor plastic. I decided not to wear the sunglasses I had worn over my regular glasses on the way in. Way too dorky.

Miraculously, I found the car fairly easily and was pleased to find the door unlocked. Still. Thinking this might be worth a blog post, I had written "unlocked" on the church bulletin shortly after exiting the unlocked car. You can move this paragraph closer to the top if you prefer. I had thought "unlocked" might be a nice metaphorical theme to follow, to muse about. Now I'm either not so sure or too lazy or both.

Maybe it's just the rusty taste of fraudulence in my mouth, maybe that's what's putting me off from pondering on and on, like they sing in The Journey song. Fraudulence about what? C'mon. Locking your car door in DeWitt, New York? Give me a break. Puhleez. What's the big deal?

Ever hear this one: fear knocked on the door, faith answered. Do I have that right? Maybe it's fear locked the door. I opened it. Faith was there. No. I'm not sure it is either one. On Cayman Brac most, maybe nearly everyone, keeps the doors unlocked: house, car, truck. Doors unlocked. The Doors were a good band, but they were more unhinged than unlocked.

arrested

2011-03-19T22:38:00.001-04:00

My eye caught this billboard ad:

Caption:

"We know where you're coming from."

Profile of a person, with a shadow of a soldier in the background.

Arresting and provocative.

Kokonuts vs. Kokonuts

2011-03-18T21:16:00.004-04:00

I have just read about Daniel Bejar and Daniel Bejar in The New Yorker. One is a musician, another an artist. The artist has made himself look like the musician and as an "art" project in real time in real life is playing on the same-name identity. His project is called Googleganger, with those two dots over the a.

All of which got me thinking.

Who, after all, is Pawlie Kokonuts?

And if I used my real name, would it really be me?

Who is me?

This is what employers and education officials don't seem to get. They warn people to be careful about their online identity and online representations, but who is who? And what is what? What is real? Why can't anything online be considered the mere fictional fabrications of a virtual persona?

This is nothing new in literature, going back to Truman Capote's non-fiction novel "In Cold Blood," and the same with many works by Norman Mailer. Frederick Exley wrote "fictional memoirs," featuring a character named Frederick Exley. But he wasn't Frederick Exley the author, was he?

So, who is who? And what's what?

Deep questions.

Less Than An Hour

2011-03-17T23:36:00.004-04:00

More than the blink of an eye but less than an hour. The bagel with cinnamon and raisin. $1, for one day old, toasted. Two pats of Land O' Lakes butter. I can't open the packet of butter. A half-inch or so square, the kind of butter a diner or coffee shop gives you, the kind often, but not always, sitting in a container with some ice. I cannot finesse my fingertips to bend the corner of the square to roll back the foil covering. Is it age? Is this a sign of a budding neurological impairment that is simmering within me? Is it butter-packet-opening faulty design? I try using my teeth. I want to rip, smash, destroy the butter package, a la Tony Soprano, because of the horror of those earlier questions. It opens. Magic. The bagel has cooled to the point of losing that magic moment; the butter sits there, unmelted. I refuse to open the second package of butter. Calories? Revenge? I force-spread the butter onto two sides of the bagel. I Skype with my brother for more than 19 minutes. I eat the bagel, now cold, crunchy, a day old, with ice tea.

staggering

2011-03-13T20:32:00.001-04:00

According to Reuters,

"Analysts believe the powerful earthquake moved Japan's main island eight feet, shifted the Earth on its axis four inches and unleashed a devastating tsunami."

Staggering beyond imagination.

Lord, have mercy on Japan, all its people, and all their loved ones around the world.

Humbling, to say the least.

snowMarch

2011-03-07T20:19:00.002-05:00

blindwhite particulate crystalline settling aftermath do the numbers
paths buried cars hidden ground missing depth guessing wonders
chunk block rock tock tick smack snow snew sown strown
alabaster albino vanilla creamy lumen beachtide flake wake

no question about it, or is there?

2011-03-06T00:47:00.003-05:00

The Planet* gave me some space for words and musings, mostly questions.

Thanks, period.

* as in Planet Valenti

My Winter Vacation

2011-03-02T00:01:00.005-05:00

jet engines tropical breezes cirrus clouds Cayman Brac jerk chicken Stella Maris curly-tailed lizards lapping waves engines of the sea kingfish cumulus emerald turquoise snorkeling sea eggs fine sand starlit Milky Way Cayman Brac sandals Pollard Bay caymanite ironshore booby babies rolling Caribbean Sea purposeless glad sea Sister Islands blue tang irrational fear floating brain coral conch Mexican Train toast tea Cross Road United Baptist soldiers hermit crabs almond trees coconuts Caymanian Compass Peter's Cave Skull Cave Spot Bay Stake Bay West End Spotland Plantation Tibbetts destroyer wreck coral reef Brac Reef bluff road Christopher Columbus Park seamen's shrine Cat Head Bay blow holes aloe groves loaves of fish what a dish Buccaneer's Inn reef cove thatch palms hammocks sway the Bight the light Temple Beth Shalom Bamboo Bay Cotton Tree Bay what the hay Cayman Brac coral reef dildo cactus dung lighthouse dap me up give me dap jerk chicken mockingbird Cayman Brac parrot tambourine prayers hymns One Love flat sea conch shells algae Grand Cayman SPF30 football soccer cricket Gaelic bluff balmy breeze almond trees gruntfish synagogue surprise Miami mon one love Cuban Coral Isle projects Philadelphia Cayman Brac rhymes with back not with Bach one love where the pix why not this words instead