Saturday, October 7, 2017

A Random List

  • Your boss was on Jeopardy! In the red after the first two rounds. Ineligible for Final Jeopardy! Her majesty disinvited! Standing before the world in utterly humiliating helplessness as the “Think!” theme plays and the two other contestants continue. Now her board won’t take her calls and the lowliest of subordinates maddog her. Staff meetings have been cancelled. There are no daily touchbases, no webinars, keynotes or culture shifts, no blue ribbon committees, task forces, or roundtables, no retreats, no breakout groups, no brainstorming sessions, no resets, rethinks, reinventions, no more strength-based capacity building.

  • Deep down I tied my skull to the hitching post. My pants cuffs bunched at my ankles like a Shar-Pei, embarrassing if where you need to be is back the other way. But I'm nothing if not gender sensitive.

  • Situational biology meets discontinuous time: you’re pinging off some donkey honking signal, the donkey extraordinarily and exponentially querulous and haranguing, while femme-presenting partners piously pull clothes from the dryer, and stakeholders consult road maps. Oh, did you get a hold of Leo?

  • Tell you what. History is a jolly time hip-hop fabrication that abuts acres of pin down, pinup, proactive, Skyactiv, need to get my nails did melodic ciphering. Rich rolling hills of actor network theories plowed and plaited in braided rows like schoolgirls’ hair, girls who couldn’t do their homework because their dad was drunk and violent and they had to sleep at their cousin’s, their dad, a singer/songwriter who often left audiences embittered,  the songs memorable only for their awfulness, his voice felonious. Other items that have become scarce in the past few weeks include beans and chicken thighs. Shops that stock these items sell them in rationed amounts. Hey so I go in for surgery tomorrow afternoon.

  • Terra cotta polka dot bowtie and blue bell bottom bacteria tumbled through the recesses and high platitudes of screaming nature, tunics torn hell bent to toll roads, the great gate protocol of a howling, spitting, shitting, shrieking outdoors to which so many are in thrall, heedless of sneezing ladybugs and asthmatic dragonflies, an atmosphere of Aqua-net, a herd of pixieish moose with a goose drover (which is actually kind of cool). In my case, leaving my shoes on was a sign of respect.

  • Waiting for the van in front of Wal-Mart, I’ven’t the luxury of detachment, nor the expectation of unclassified highlands. I am affixed to physical attraction, forward positions, lines and curves, lines and points on lines. There’s a prurient interest in mixers That so supersedes what we are doing, but you’re lucky it was only tonight to tell you the truth. Even the barking dogs gagged. When did the norm become the optimum?

  • Living in an intermediate world of the centipede drum and bugle corps, orange and pepper kitties, whereby the a/c is talking to me in a generic sort of way and every leaf-laden limb is hoping for the best for everyone In a generic sort of way. So we should plan a weekday in March.

  • In fustian and motorized blubbering of 20 million people including the family across the street, dispatchers, customer service representatives, financial planners, insurance sales people, people living in and around abandoned schools, bowling alleys, and showrooms, warehouses, salvage yards, distribution centers, where railroad track spurs go off to the weeds to return to dust, male and female created He/She them, there is the sacrament of penance and reconciliation. The confessional is an old movie theater box office. The priest, almost always a female, sits on bar stool inside. (I use her as often as possible and can’t recall ever being less than satisfied; in fact, I’m almost always massively delighted.) The confessor speaks through an opening in the glass panel, as though purchasing a ticket to a movie that has been critically savaged.

  • Bundle your way to happiness, and careful not to trip over bodies or slip on any slick cartridge casings. No sense getting your christening dress dirty over nothing.

  • If I liked to eat finches and towhees and pine siskins and roadrunners and doves and grosbeaks and mockingbirds and orioles and hummingbirds and sparrows and scrubjays and white crowned sparrows and black eye juncos and California quail, I’d been in heaven here, super heaven if you add in rats, gophers, cats, and possums.

  • Her comeback was the insecurity of childhood: conceived on the Metro, born in the bathroom of a donut shop. She was proud of her grandfather, the only doctor in the valley; he kept his artist’s temperament swaddled in a businessman’s soul.

  • We’re on the ride and wearing solar ice caps, living in a forever wide parked in the middle of the Cascades, beneath the iterating faunal sheets of sound, man they have the tracks. I fantasize normal relationships and laundry innovations. Get the rosary beads, in so many words. When did family get codified? Do we know who the mother is? The cool thing about this is the disillusioned can’t see you because you’re a victim. So drop what you’re doing and call right now.

  • Contemplation of the debris of a busted schedule, eyes puffy like a soufflĂ©, her last four digits impounding my imagination. Ah, the pungency of artless sallies! The air paint of birds!

  • My greatest fear—that I’ll be expected to believe the official absurdities while aging disgracefully, concluding with a relentless snarfulling, like a coffee maker concluding its brew. Although there’s pride in ownership of all the right devices, I thought waiting wise. But wise waiting may also be a toxic oxymoron.

  • He bought her a new set of tires for her car, showing paper as well as love. Word of mouth oozed from her fingertips.

  • Passwords and promo codes stuck in my head like the ax in Trotsky’s. Ax not if you got the trots! Ideas route and rumble through my brain like a Snap-On truck selling tools to mechanics at body shops and garages and service departments.

  • Director of audience development at the home of great TV, the absolute best, this guy knows just how to be hilarious; crazy for Botticelli, crazier for El Greco. No one has worked more tirelessly. Hailed by the garage sailing community, his reach is hyper, deep into starry nights, doubled then sealed with triple strength bubble busting pain relievers, and all we have to do is work through lunch. I wonder if that’s him there giving us the eye? And why does he walk as if the floor were wet?

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