Opens Tomorrow

Harrison Ford plays Branch Rickey.

Nico in Indianapolis

There is something grotesque to me about there being this wonderful steakhouse St Elmó, and then just up the street the linguistically repellant chain steakhouse “Ruth’s Chris,” whatever that means, opens up shop. I feel like the people should take to the streets with pitchforks to protest that shit. Similarly, we need to shut down the TGI Fridays in Union Square; let’s take a tactic from the anti-abortion protestors and make people need an escort to get a mudslide fifteen paces from the greenmarket.

Catching up with Nico.

From the Archives

I don’t know how long this will stay up.

It is put here with love.

Happy Easter!

From the Archives

And I mean the way-back days. Sheila Ryan Coiffed like a Pinhead. One of the first things I remember seeing in my early days here. For the record, I believe the chick in the photo is now a regular on American Horror Story Asylum. I am addicted.

Snowed-In Sunday

We have dug out the drive. We now have martinis. Dan’s in the bath. I’m watching this on Netflix:

I’m reminded once Daryl said something about digging when he gets mad. So I’m thinking of Daryl. And Cindy. And y’all.

My Bowie: Jean Paul Gaultier

bowieGaultier

Who was your Bowie?

OUT.

Quick Report from the Seventh Circle.

I reported a few weeks back I had taken a new position with a rather large gubment employer. I’m happy to report I have completed training and have been assigned a shared cubicle next to the windows over-looking the southern courtyard. I share this space with a “perm” employee who works days. I have an overhead shelf and a rolling file cabinet to call my own. The only personal piece I’ve brought to set out is a photo of Danny in a frame hinged with a clock. I put it in the overhead when I leave. I clean up after myself. I have yet to “make production” of 4.9 document adjustments per hour–still have to consult too many manuals to handle the myriad possibilities. Still, I see a light at the end of the miles of hallways here. If another week or two I’ll be fine. I walk on my breaks. Many corridors are 200 yards long. On a good strut, I can eat my orange and make two laps on a break (about 800 yards). Time passes quickly when work is abundant.

I think I like it.

Also, you should see the wealth of diversity and humanity here. It’s astonishing!

Magnolia Swoon

magnolia swoon

After today’s snow, the Brackensbrown (evergreen) Beauties in the backyard bend under leaf caught snow. The tallest is eighteen feet, bent to  a third of its height as viewed here. Branches seem double-bent, but not broken. I hope it can straighten up when the weight is off.

From the Archives…

…I’ve been meandering back. I loved this question and thread.

From the Archives: Good Threads

Naming protocols.

My Hair is Layed Like an Ethereal Piece of Chinese Connie Chung

Thanks Nico

Activity

It is 9.56 am and I have been awake for 56 minutes now. Willing participant in a life shift that has me seasonally working second-shift at the large gubment agency here in town. I won’t mention its name, but its initials are…wait, I won’t mention them either. Let’s just say I won’t be checking in on personal email or clusterflock from a computer on its premisis. I won’t be checking from my phone either since it gets NO SIGNAL inside the enormous campus. Let’s just say my opinion of it is so far so good.

Just wanted to say how good it is to see activity here. Sheila, MGS, Derek stalwarts all. Congrats Brandon! (You know the leg-bone or thigh-bone I carry in my bag for tornadoes and dreams of tornadoes.) Once I get really settled into my schedule, I hope to sit down and spend some time with y’all.

Carry on.

Christmas Wishes

Santa

If you can see your way clear, and if I’ve been good enough, I’d like:

1) to have the stamina to help Danny complete the Christmas mailings by tomorrow morning. (Snack mix; Pfeffernous (sp?) w/m&m’s and cashews;  3-chocolate-chip cookies; various soups–frozen for locals–and arabiatta (sp?) sauce and pasta.)

2) to see Daryl Scrogginses’ (sorry Cindy) annual family Christmas letter.

3) Santa, I’ll hold the third for something unexpressable. Something about world peace, love, people getting back together. Love. Something about something. You know what I mean.

Love

Ricky Cameron

Greetings from Rockton

c’flock in the foreground, disney in the mid-ground, qwirkle in the farground.

Last night I dreamed

Kansas City. Or more rightly Leawood, Kansas. 119th St. A street fair of sorts. Jazz and barbecue. White tents. A billion people swarmed it seemed. Overwhelming. Overwhelmed. I was in the deepest basement of a store storing display props. A mannequin on a stand. A woman horizontal. Shaped like a dolphin. The leg came off. I had to wrestle to carry it with the rest. Awkward, wobbley, moving through dim-lit aisles. Found a good spot, threw the extension cord over. The added weight started it leaning forward. It wasn’t going to stand. Fukkit I thought. Picked up my phone. Went upstairs. Outside. Street was crazy. Growing bright. Noisy in the dusk. My phone rang. It wasn’t my ring. It wasn’t my phone. Had a coiled expansion cord with three loose wires. I tried to call its number to find the owner, realized I had the owner’s phone. I think I remembered where I left my phone. It was on a shelf in the society department of the store where I worked. I went into a store-front. There were refreshments. Gordon Lish followed me in. White hair wisping like his white hair does. I said Gordon! What are you doing here? Getting my boat fixed was his reply. He head-gestured toward the drive out front where sat a long, long cigarette boat. Black. Shiny. I said what’s that on the back? Jet engine he said. He was gone. Sheila walked up wearing layers of clothes. She said the outer layer was her on-the-lam-bswool vest. She asked if I wanted to go out for a smoke. I said oh, hon, I stopped smoking….Back in March she finished. I nodded. She looked disappointed. I said you want to sit a minute? We sat. I couldn’t stay seated. I needed my phone. I said you want to walk with me? She nodded. We started up the street.

Scary Stories:

You know some people talk about being abducted by aliens. I won’t say I have been, but I’ll tell you this much. When I was little, I dreamed I was falling asleep and just as I was nodding off, I felt a weight settle on the bed at my feet. I looked down to see a cat-eyed, long-limbed creature crawling up my legs toward my face. I screamed out, Daddy came. We didn’t have a cat at the time.

In a motel in a northern suburb of Denver, working retail for a couple of weeks a few years ago, I was awakened by something yanking me completely out of the bed by the big toe. I awoke drenched in sweat and in the same position I fell asleep.

Lately when napping, I’ve felt the bed settle, as if a weight lands near my feet, as if a cat has jumped on the bed. I look to find nothing there.

testes

testes. one. two. Is this thing on?

What do we think about the new look and feel?

Who’s Watchin’ the Debate?

Jus’ askin’. And riskin’ my life with apostrophes. (Cindy?) Chime in, y’all.

If a Comment Falls on C’Flock…

Will it make a sound?

Wedding Moment…

I’ll leave you to complete the story.

RIP Andy Griffith

Whether the home-spun small town sheriff or the maniacal Lonesome Rhoades, he was a force to reckon with.

Where I’m Calling From

Here for a long weekend. Celebration of Life for a friend’s mom who passed a few weeks ago. Tonight an early celebration of same friend’s 50th birthday coming in a week or so. We’re north. Some ten to fifteen degrees cooler than at home. ‘Course, when it hits 90 degrees, does it really matter? We’re staying in the pyramid-topped skyscraper just right of center, dwarfed by the buildings around it. Once the tallest building in the midwest. Now the W hotel.

Last Night I Dreamed

I was in a company of players. Or dancers. Amateur dancers. We were given an new piece to dance, I don’t recall the music. It was 17 minutes long. We gave it a read. A run through. After, it was decided the piece would be a solo piece. I was asked to dance it. After many rehearsals the night of the performance came. I was dressed in a nude leotard. I didn’t feel as pudgy as I usually do. There was about a half-full house. I danced. I don’t recall many of the moves, but near the end, there were several gently rolling, but intensely felt back somersaults, then I stretched out on my side three-quarter-facing the audience. My legs were extended, toes pointed and lifted off the floor. I was not holding them up. It was like they were floating. Levitating. Then slowly, as the music faded, they lowered to the floor. I closed my eyes as my hand slipped off my shoulder and relaxed to the floor. The lights faded. The music stopped.

There was a smattering of applause as the lights came up. About seven of my relatives were still there. The rest of the house was empty. A couple of them were clapping politely, the rest were shuffling their programs looking embarrassed. I took my bows.

L’Amour Fou

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