In Other News

I have a job.

It’s not like the clouds parted and a beam of light shone from the heavens.
It was on Craigslist, and it was something that looked interesting.

So I applied.
And they called me.
And I interviewed.
And I can start soon.

Then I realize: the heavens did open.

As soon as everything’s official, I’ll feel I can write more.
And that’s the thing: I’m allowed to write more about work.
Because writing is my work.

Sorry folks, I know you’re sick of the vagueness and nauseating poetry.

Things are picking up.

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Tree Frog: I’m not stealing your thunder, right?

  we really don’t have similar readers

  except for [so-and-so and such-and-such]

 me: oh man, of course not

  what thunder, really

3:53 PM Tree Frog: your awesomeness

 me: well, it’s not possible to steal that


3:54 PM Tree Frog: unfortunately

 me: i do sell it, however

  for a reasonable price

 Tree Frog: yeah???

  how much?

3:55 PM me: 3-oz bottles

3:56 PM 49.95 each

  but if you call now

3:57 PM Tree Frog: yeah?

  tell me more..

 me: you can receive the 2nd bottle for free

  you can use it for ANYTHING

3:58 PM from hanging out with friends

  to motivational talks

  to baking and cooking

  to performing live

  to being social

3:59 PM but wait!

  there’s more!

 Tree Frog: yes, yes…

 me: if you act now

  not only will you receive your 2nd bottle of May’s awesomeness for free

4:00 PM Tree Frog: yes… yes…

 me: you’ll also get a lovely photo album of her

  both in digital and book form

  one for your coffee table

4:01 PM Tree Frog: hahaha



 me: and another for your wallpaper and screen saver!

 Tree Frog: awesome!!

 me: operators are standing by, or go to and order now!

I need money, people. Given my current situation (see previous annoyingly vague post), May’s Awesomeness might prove profitable.

What do you think?

(This chat was completely spontaneous, by the way. It would be … awesome to actually make a commercial from it. Lingos, anyone?)

Public Service Announcement

Every time someone commits fraud, somebody – everybody – dies a little inside.

I don’t have much to say right now, maybe except that life sure does take some funky turns.

Job interview tomorrow. Wish me luck.

What I need to do:
-finish my “What I’ll Miss” series
-write another letter to Barry (Australia)
-write a rambling essay about this past Sunday School lesson
-post some excerpts from interesting chats

That should keep me busy for a little while.

Rubbing It In

I just checked the weather. The highs are going to stay around 80 degrees for the next 10 days.

I listened to a thunderstorm around midnight last night.

When I stepped out for a short run this morning, fat, ploppy drops stuck to the surfaces of cars and leaves. The air smelled clean; my lungs rejoiced.

Sure, the humidity can be a bit stifling, but I’ll take that anyday over freezing rainstorms.

That is all.

Southern Cloak





As old as trees from which they grow
Ashy green hangs, drapes as dross
Curious if you didn’t know
About drooping Spanish Moss

A parasitic toga
Trees face the ultimate loss
And enigmatic, so
Gauntly, still haunting Spanish Moss

To touch is not that lethal
To let through one’s fingers floss
Cause a rash this mute wreath will
Quite deceptive, Spanish Moss

Respect we have no shared space
Shoulder brush, flippant hair toss
Turn my back, my steps apace
Until next time, Spanish Moss

Going Retro, A Week Ago

And they were off.
I prayed.
I’ll miss them.
They were going to be late.
“I don’t like this.”
“I’ll talk to you soon!”
I hugged one, then I hugged the other.
We pulled up to the terminal.
We listened to Ingrid Michaelson.
Nervous and hyper.
We seemed nervous and hyper in the car.
This took way too long. We might be late.
I pulled into a gas station to fill up.
We left right at 4:30am.
We got ready.
I warmed up the car. It was 43 degrees outside.
We got to bed late. I don’t know if we actually slept.
It’s not goodbye. I cried.
We ate our cake.
We wrestled. I didn’t win.
We headed back to the apartment.
My brother hugged me and transferred all his fidgeting to me.
My brother and I told childhood stories for my friends.
My brother fidgeted.
My brother told a story about necrophilic bacteria.
We ate at Biscotti’s. We ordered cake to go.
We watched Notting Hill.
I’ll miss them.
I told stories.
We drove to my old high school; my junior high; my old neighborhood.
We ate lunch at mom’s. Lumpia and pancit.
Instead of going to Sunday School.
We talked in the mothers’ lounge with one of my friends 
After the meeting, Mom found us. She apologized for … something.
We uncomfortably sat through most of sacrament meeting.
My heroes.
I made them attend 9:00am church with me.
We stayed up late.
We unloaded the car where I’d be staying.
We ate at Chili’s.
We visited Mom briefly. Mom explored social boundaries.
We arrived in Florida.
They wondered at Spanish moss.
It was cloudy and cold.
We walked around Savannah.
We almost missed seeing the Georgia state border sign.
I’ll miss them.
We ate at Sonic for a late lunch.
We skipped going to Myrtle Beach so we wouldn’t get to Florida too late.
We got stuck on the I-285 loop around Charlotte for an hour.
We ate a cute place called Le Peep for breakfast.
Waking up was fun. Being a morning person has its perks.
We got to bed late.
We tried making friends with a cat. Most of us.
We caught up with an old friend who let us stay the night.
We arrived in Charlotte after midnight.
(There were 12 of them, then 16? then 18?)
Then we picked up some medium-mini powdered donuts.
(some of us for the first time, and then just before it closed at 10pm)
Two hours north of Charlotte, we ate at Chick-Fil-A.
Traffic lightened up after 6pm.
And restrooms are  a part of covert ops.
We stopped at two Quantico 7-11s, where prices for drinks are classified, apparently.
Traffic barely moved for three hours.
No tax.
We then had Arby’s then Dairy Queen blizzards.
We got lost in a mall in Delaware before finding the food court.
We stayed on the turnpike way too long.
It rained.
My city.
I couldn’t look back.
I’ll miss them.
We prayed.
We were off.

Just for You

I attended my childhood ward today for church. A friendly, familiar face recalled one Sunday School class  she taught that I attended, and she opened the lesson by asking the class what the speed of sound is. She told me that I knew the answer, and that she asked the question knowing full well I’d confidently raise my hand with the correct response.

I don’t remember this. Go figure.

Why This Is A Pretty Great Oktoberfest Photo


1. Tent – these kinds of events are best held outdoors, especially when the leaves are turning and with inordinate amounts of drinking going on.

2. Polka band – the moment I took this photo two accordions and a tenor saxophone were jamming. The band made polka look very, very cool. They were incredible! See the clarinet next to the other saxophone off to the side?

3. Liederhosen – does anyone else find the attire pretty sexy? Shorts and suspenders? Buttons and clasps? No one? Think about it, people.

4. Western European girl with very rosy cheeks and perfect little highlights – she came to have a great time, and she looks successful.

5. Steins of bier as big as one’s head – can someone explain the size of that beer receptacle? Also, you can’t see how the woman is holding it, which makes me think the ‘fest is haunted. Wouldn’t that make sense? Up at Bear Mountain? Beginning of autumn? Secluded area with a lot of drunk people? Why wouldn’t the ghosts want to come out and play and hold people’s frothy mugs while they polka and puke?

I had a brat with sauerkraut and onions that day. The perfect nip chilled the air under overcast skies. I watched my friends Lisa and Jason waltz and polka; we went on a hike; we watched kids on the haunted carousel, round and round, round and round.  ROUND and ROUND … Then we took the Metro North home and I finished getting ready for my own going away party. I have pictures of that as well. Oktoberfest, indeed.

Saturday Morning

There’s quiet in the city, and then there’s quiet in suburbia.

The city seems to sleep out of necessity. It sets an alarm and bounds out the door with a coffee  (diet Coke) and a bagel.

Suburbia wakes up whenever. Not that some people don’t get an early start. I mean, I had the choice as my body sprang awake nearly an hour before my alarm went off. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t want to.

The air conditioning is on. The fan from my laptop whirs, and that is all I hear. White noise. I guess I’m supposed to go back to sleep.

Weekends are as sacred here as I held them to be in the city.  It seems people celebrate them a little differently. And I guess that has nothing to do with geography as one’s desire when to roll out of bed.

I had intended to be running right about now.  I like my mornings a little busy, and the exercise does help clear my head.

But it also seems I like my weekend mornings a little lazy. Quiet, contemplative. In pajamas until at least noon.

I won’t go running. My legs are sore, so maybe I’ll just stretch and be lazy some more until it’s time to get hopping.

I’m not sure when that time will be. I’m very much enjoying the quiet.