State of the Union - unemployment update

My efforts to get a freelance business going seem to be paying off. I am currently very active with three local agencies and among them I hear a lot of talk about securing regular hours (part time of course). That seems like quite a bit of work in quite a short time. (Back pat, back pat). The freedom at times is still too much. Much more accustomed to the old way, but I am coming around.

My pretty green and black business cards, and matching letterhead, just delivered so now I can do mailings and hopefully pick up even more business.

I am reading David Ray's Music of Time. Did you know he is fabulous?

One batch of poems out. Waiting, waiting, waiting ...

Have been fishing three times already with Whitman.

Coach pitch season is underway. (Note to self: don't ever wear work clothes to a game again).

Trying to decide what kind of fencing to install in the way back to keep Otty close to home.

Fence Noise. The Sound of Confusion

Just got back from overwhelming myself at Lowe's by looking at fencing options. Along the way spotted this bumper sticker in front of me.

Jet Noise. The Sound of Freedom.

I think that belongs on one of those, "You know you're in America" lists ...

CALLING ALL HOP HEADS

If you live in the area (and I know some of you do), you have to get yer ass to ACME and try Lucky 13, Hop Rod Rye Ale and Racer 5 IPA from Lagunitas Brewery. Hoppiness is a warm ale.

NOTE: Must have been drinking when I posted this. Actually Racer 5, and Hop Rod are from Bear Republic. Lucky 13 is Lagunitas. Hope this has not distressed any of this community's fine gentlefolk.

I Confess

As you can probably tell by now, I am a master of EROTICISM. The roughing it beard, the winsome eyes, the rock star lips, the unbuttoned Whitman-esque shirt collar. You risk being seduced by my cyber presence just by stopping by. My best line in college was "Hey, what's up, I have read almost all of Shakespeare's plays." Boy, this really got em.

To walk away.
To punch me.
To recoil more than the Bride of Frankenstein.
To change majors.

Are you a smooth operator?

When you open your mouth in the moment (or when you did) does poetry come out or just some dumb shit you wish you hadn't said? What was the coolest of cool, the smoothest of smooth you have ever been with a "line" -- in your humble opinion.
This is all so gossipy and personal I can barely stand it.

Why does the word education almost spell seduction? or visa versa?

Who is sexier Ellie May or Lilly Munster?

So many questions! I could tell you the answer (as a master of Eroticism) but it's more fun to watch you bump against your inhibitions and try to sort it all out.

Evil laugh. Hahh hahha hahh heh.

Tears, Tears, Idle Tears - A Survey

So spill the beans about your waterworks.

Which three movies BROKE YOU UP the most. Come on, don't be shy. Which three movies did a number on you and put you in seepy weepy teardom - if you have to go back to childhood that's cool.

For me I would say:

The Wizard of Oz (still!)

Shadowlands

Meet Joe Black (the remake)

Addendum: it was only after watching Baloo's death scene for the tenth time with Whit that I finally stopped crying over that movie as well. Free at last.

Unemployment Diary

So it has been over a month now that I am unemployed. My new routine has put me in places around our neighborhood during times of the day I am normally never here – like always. But anyway, I see a lot more of my neighborhood now and here are some notable images:

A man and woman jumping up and down and laughing while shaking out a blue blanket in their front yard.

A woman in a frilly black dress, barefoot, walking her black dog.

Red tulips at 8:40 a.m. lit up with the morning sun.

Mary Biddinger driving to work in her red car. Very serious. very serious.

Goldfinches.

Every goddamn tree and bush, block after block, in bloom with snowy little flowers.

If this is not the upside of downtime, I don't know what is.

Squirrel Horror Fest

RJ asked if there have ever been any squirrel horror movies. Besides the always shocking Night of the Ill-Tempered Squirrels, and Squirrantula, I know of none. If you know any, share the titles.

O The Bushy Tailed Irony!

Over the weekend, two neighbors told me they have seen a family of squirrels coming and going under the roof of the dormer on our house. A few little ones and a few big ones.

Fishing with Shakespeare

I was digging through my copywriter portfolio CDs and found this old self promotion piece I used to send out when I was calling on outdoor and recreational product companies. Below Shakespeare is the Fishing with Stooges companion piece.

A Poem for Fishing Season

Hooks

I loved the slick alphabet of bait. Catalpa worms,
yellow with black spurs, clinging
to broad leaves

until I knocked them down with cane poles.

Sometimes,
I'd flood the yard at dusk, trick crawlers
up through the dirt.

And the leopard frogs--lime-green & brown-spotted
that squirted through wet grass.

I kept those I caught in a coffee can on the porch; it beat
like a drum at night

as they shot against the lid.

I fished in beautiful places, but it's the baiting
I remember--
piercing a hook through the white petal
of each frog's throat, working it up
& out the beak-nose
quick, with a stitching motion; croaks rising
to chirps, & the pressure
of small fingers pushing against the freight of my grip.

I want to say a frog's just a frog.
But that sound,
the cruel pop of barb through skin ...

Squirrels on the Outskirts

Amok? Is that too strong a word for what’s going on with the area squirrels. Breslin Mack, a normally quiet off-the-grid type, is taking no chances. For him, and others like him terror has a new name, and it is Tamiasciurus hudsonicus or brown squirrel.

Following reports of yet another attackcident, I made my way to his domain on the outskirts of Highland Square. Upon climbing the fence and dropping over I was greeted by Breslin Mack. He had a way about him. I don’t know what it is.


I was not able to understand much of what he said. He pointed to a self-fashioned suit of armor he fashioned from lids and melted pans for W, his dog. Apparently, the dog had already run into the business end of a squirrel and it left his right eye in chaotic blindness.

The interview did not go well. He was not very forthcoming with details. Not the printable kind. Suffice it to say, I am running out of gas on this gag. The Highland Square Tattler will have to do without me for a while. I have other pursues to endeavor.

Wisdom Born of Pain? Love? Other?

Have you learned more, been shaped more, by pain or love? Is your wisdom born of pain? Born more of love and kindness? I am mulling this over after reading Lafcadio Hearn’s poetry lectures. Writing on Browning’s Rabbi Ben Ezra, Hearn suggests:

“The first part of the poem, then, may be summarized this: old age is the flower and crown of life, because it is the age of wisdom, and all other years of life are but a preparation for it. The faults of youth are not to be despised nor unreasonably regretted; we learn only through making mistakes.”

And further …

“It is man’s duty, the poet says, to consider pain not as a misfortune but as a blessing. He has told us that we learn by mistakes, and that is only another way of saying that we learn wisdom through pain. It is pain that makes us wise, that makes us unselfish, that makes us good men.”

To tell the truth, I first thought of Helen Reddy singing ... “Yes, I am wise, but it’s wisdom born of pain. Yes, I’ll pay the price , but look how much I’ve gained, something something I am woman.” I was probably in 4th grade or 5th when that song came out and it was the first time I had heard of this “wisdom born of pain” idea. Today, at 45, I would say without a doubt that any wisdom I have is shaped more by love and kindness than pain. Sure, pain forged its share of kinks in my psyche, but on the whole I think I have been one lucky SOB.

What about you? Wisdom born of pain? Taxes? Bush administration? American Idol. Crazy parents? Brutal youth?