Bobcat in a Hole
9/9/10
Pine Ridge, SD
Slim Buttes – Whew! There for a minute I thought I’d lost my sense of humor.* Comes and goes, y’ know, returning in disguise in what these days seems to be a heightened cynicism.
Like, after waiting five years for the tribe to process my paperwork and install a water hydrant, thereby hooking up to the local pipeline, Mini Wiconi (‘Water of Life’) and relieving my need to haul water. The guys came out and planted two little blue flags indicating the existing water line and where the hydrant will be, and left.
But, besides me, who cares? No water or electric for five years, or indoor plumbing…an outhouse, candles, batteries, wood heat, internet access at the coffee shop a half hour away in Pine Ridge ‘Ville’ (Village), no fridge, keep it simple, gas and groceries.
Sweat lodge twice a week, kids hanging themselves in an across-the-rez epidemic, uranium-contaminated groundwater, death by auto accident, death by diabetes, death by freak accident with people hungry for the details, raccoon killing all 48 or however many of the ducks, massive grasshopper infestation, eating everything, pine needles, trees, anything green, everything.
“Last resort is to catch a bunch of ‘em and put ‘em in a blender and blend them up. Then strain off the juice and spray that on your trees (two-year old cottonwoods). Apparently, they don’t like the taste of their relatives,” said the lady at the greenhouse.
That method seemed extreme, and I considered it after the tobacco juice (Copenhagen. Brady swore by it, and said his granddad swore by it, too) failed. Picking them off individually, which I’ve done up until now, is terribly labor intensive and time-consuming, requiring constant monitoring and vigilance to the extreme.
Catch and release, what I do, except for the very unfortunate few I threw against the trailer’s metal siding, telling them, “KEEEEP…I SAID…STAY THE FUCK OFF MY TREES,” but that was only in frustration, and of course if you were there, I wouldn’t have used such language, but since it was just me and the grasshoppers, wtf, and that was after already trying the ‘talking to nature’ method for a couple weeks, seeing if the word would spread through their community and if it would take effect.
I reminded them, a few in particular, holding them right up to my face, that I hadn’t been killing them, and wouldn’t kill them, and they could have evvvverything else out here, but would they please stay off my trees and pass the word along.
They say you need ducks. Ducks can’t get enough grasshoppers, they say. But then, you’ve got to provide security for the ducks, as Tom has learned after Mr. Raccoon decimated his duck population this summer, outsmarting Brady and his traps, climbing the six-foot perimeter fence, and over the hot wire, which unfortunately isn’t hot, electrified; it was an idea. "A duck a night," Tom said. Still needed a few elements to be operational, Tom said.
___
On the entry and exit paperwork, they ask you what your profession is, and I usually put ‘writer’, or sometimes ‘writer/comic’, but I seriously doubt if anyone
in their right mind EVER reads that pile of cardboard that accompanies each and every flight into and out of the country, except you can’t just toss it, you’ve got to have it to leave, and if you don’t, then it’s a big hassle and fine at the departure gates, but anyway, if a person is going to claim to be a writer, then they should probably try to write, right? or not write, and either lie, or simply say ‘comic’. And that would be a lie, too, but perhaps at that moment, not.
However, I have some new material, some new sketches, sports related; ‘The Dad at the Little League Game.’ A silent production; he leaps to his feet, comes stomping down out of the bleachers, gets into it with the umpire through the chain link fence, waving heatedly, animated, pointing his finger, gets thrown out, barking over his shoulder on his way to the parking lot, blood hot in his cheeks, madder’n hell. Fun, huh? You’ve seen it?
‘The Third Base Coach’, going apeshit, mistakenly waving the runner around second, attempting to stretch a double into a triple, then frantically trying to wave him back to second, big eyes as the throw comes in from the outfield, telling him to slide…DOWN! DOWN!
The guys sitting around the table down at the base farm were sort of indifferent. Light chuckles, slight smirks. They liked the ‘Hometown Hero’ slo-mo touchdown run off a fake slant-in, deep route, catch, straight-arm the safety, tiptoe along the sidelines, high-stepping showboat strut the last five yards, wrapping it up with a little bit of a circus show in the end zone and high-fiving the fans on the way back to the bench. You’ve seen it a dozen times, slo-mo maybe, but not on stage.
Can I post some of this stuff for you on utube?
Then, there’s ‘The After-Game Interview’, and you can imagine how that goes; ‘and I mean, like, you know, the ball bounce my way, and like, preparation, and I mean, like, take advantage of our opportunities, and I’d like to give a you know like shout out you know to all our you know troops overseas…HEY…and I mean, like, you know, thankgodandallthefans an like, I mean…the coaches…the tutors, like, you know, like, I mean, it was a you know, team effort, you know.’
What was it? I haven’t been keeping notes for the last four months, just mental notes.
‘Physical, Dental, and Mental,’ I say when they ask me at the VA** if I have an appointment. One appointment turned into six follow-ups and an urge to choke the lab girl, and I meant to ask the new, well, she’s not so new now, but relatively new lady shrink from Purdue if they can discontinue treatment if you get nasty or say something really fucking rude to any of the medical or administrative staff.
Louie says they can. And he should know, but it seems like they’d take into consideration if a guy was on meds or not, you know, like, I wanted to ask her, the relatively new lady shrink, if she ever felt threatened in the context of a session, and if she had something like a gun or taser in her desk in the event of such a…uh, eventuality…scenario.***
As for the lab girl, after asking if I could proceed directly to my appointment without the blood work, and her replying snottily, “It’s up to you,” I simply got out of the chair and walked into the hallway, punching the down button on the elevator and saying loud enough for the other four awaiting veterans to hear, “Not today, lady,” with the elevator punctuating my words with a loud DING announcing its arrival.
Don’t need to go into it here, because it’s petty, and they say don’t go on and on about your medical shit, because people don’t care, but suffice it to say that considering her attitude, I didn’t want her sticking me with a needle just then and vamping my blood for her tests. It was a spontaneous act. You ever have a day when you didn’t want anybody blowing you any shit, not in the mood for it?
Usually the VA treatment is excellent, along with genuinely friendly attitudes, including the luncheon canteen, which generally effects a comfortable feeling of justification for having risked my life and taking a hit, and then maybe she was just having a one-star day.
Speaking of stars, I still haven’t gotten mine yet. What’s that…a Brigadier General? I’m still a colonel, full bird, eyeing that first star. But generals don’t fly, and I still want to fly. Slim Buttes 335th Aviation Squadron, 86 active duty personnel, pilots, some quite young.
Eight new planes went out the door, squadron strength is currently at eleven, number 102, sixth edition (all tri-planes), rolled off the production line two weeks ago, and a bunch of people got promoted to captain, full-blown pilots. You want to make major? Then you’ve got to do more than just clock in, clock out. Everybody knows that.
-end
*Everybody knows a sense of humor is something to be maintained, like a car, a relationship, or a checking account, or, gee, a lot of things require maintenance when you think about it, but lately, like the last year or so, yeah, give or take a few months, the thought crossed my mind just like it did Bo’s, when I astral projected over there and overheard him saying, needing a ride to work, ‘I ain’t got no fuckin’ friends’, and just to test the accuracy of the perception, I repeated the phrase as Bo would, when he and Misty were over here the other morning, and watched their lips turn into a curl.
Bo was needing a ride to work, and a friend to get him there, and after a month and six flat tires, my truck had grown tired of Slim Buttes road.
That gave me something to do, yanking me out of my surly mood, needing meds or pep pills, or maybe just a big dose of Jesus, waiting for water to arrive on the property, and thinking people really don’t care much about one another; you come in alone and you leave alone, unless you’re in a multiple-car accident or go along with a bunch of other people in an aircraft, but you know what I mean, you die alone, mostly, and in the meantime, from birth to death, people pretty much just tolerate one another’s shit. You’re lucky if you’re not wearing diapers again at the end.
“Just like a baby again,” laughed a friend. “Sleep a lot, wearing diapers, need someone to push you around.”
Well, that’s depressing enough, isn’t it? Well, take a look around. Want to talk about the environment or politics, the bobcat, or somebody’s notion of what somebody else should do? In the end, aren’t we simply acting in selfish interest with little regard to anybody else in the universe?
Like in ceremony, in that sweat lodge, in your church, the synagogue or mosque, everybody came in with something on their minds. After the ‘wipe off’, collection plate, begging forgiveness, bargaining, request for gift, we all return to our own worlds. It’s sometimes amazing, even within our own cultures, our communities and families, we can communicate in the same space, the same language, the same notions of what is real.
**You see a lot of guys over there wearing hats declaring which war they served in; very few WWII, some Korea, Vietnam Vet, Native Veteran, Iraqi War, Afghanistan, and so on. Walking wounded, what it says. It occurred to me in the rear view mirror, that the only place those hats mean anything other than there at the VA, is an Indian Reservation or airport security.
You don’t wear it, you’re just another old guy limping along. You wear it, you tell everyone you were one of those fools or patriots who served for whatever reason. To the other vets coming in for treatment, it usually gets you a nod.
***“No taser,” she said with a laugh, “but I’ve got a panic button, right here,” she said, reaching under the desk. Said she had to use it once.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Me in Space
Here I am pictured high above you. As you can see, I'm hanging on for dear life. Ha. Actually, I'm tethered off. It would require a major screw up for me to go floating off, never to be seen again, like that guy in 2001 Space Odyssey. That's the newly installed viewing cupola I'm hanging onto, with all you guys there in the background.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Is That You, Dr. Jeckyll?
Brovic - Blogging Since 1903
6.3.10
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - They asked at airport security why I had purchased a one-way ticket. I told them I expected this to be my last earthy incarnation.
That remark earned a 'Please step over here, Sir.'
"I see here you failed statistics twice as an undergraduate," snickered Never Mind My Name, glancing up from his computer screen.
Suppressing a startle at the surprising depth of data at his fingertips, I rallied, "Yes, but if it matters on this flight, I aced Anatomy & Physiology."
"What do you think you are, some kind of comic?" he asked with a sideways calculation, affecting with a slackjaw squint the power to screw with me immensely.
"Yessir," I said. "Says so on my all my paperwork."
"That's bullshit," he shot back. "You're a has been. You're a could've been, a chickenshit in the ring."
What kind of ring? I wondered. Drug? Car theft? Rollerblade? Frodo's gift? I toyed with asking, but I knew what he was referring to by the snicker coming out of the side of his mouth.
They knew I was with the circus? That was hitting below the belt, causing me to catch my breath. I eventually came to terms with that label (chickenshit) after a brief appearance with the Palaminos, subbing in for Tito (recently paralyzed) on the high wire, and later, in court after the fire.
Trying not to register shock, I asked softly, "Can I use that?"
"Use what?" he asked.
"Could've been. Who I could've been. Manny used to say that."
"Who's Manny?" he asked.
Had him by the nutsack, playing along, my game, ball in my court, home court advantage, ad in, my serve, free throw, penalty kick, buzzer beater, 2nd round TKO, end zone antics, high-five, Gatorade locker room dunk, show the trophy to the crowd, victory lap in a millisecond flash across my mind. They had all that other information, birth chart, shoe size, net browsing and don't like turnips, but nothing about Manny.
Stopped caring about the flight. There's lotsa flights, lotsa flights. I had time. Never Mind My Name was dishing up great material, a virtual motherload of raw ore, a comedic soup, a gift. Out of the thousands of non-detained passengers going on to their destinations and personal agendas, he chose me. He was going to make my day.
"Just wondering," I asked after a long pause. 'Can you find Batavia on a world map? If you are one of the first ten correct responders, you will automatically advance to the semi-finals round.'
___
The Docta's In Da House
Just as I was about to leave his office, just down the way, walking distance from my modest quarters, Dr. Freud said, "If those don't kick in by noon, double up on the dosage."
More is less. I had previously informed the good doctor that the pharmaceuticals he had prescribed yielded a compromising nature to normal, everyday, 3D World reality, and the many and bizarre side-effects, like...well, who do YOU trust, God or Pfizer? God or Eli Lilly?
But whereas the doctor had an 'in' with the drug companies, as in kickbacks and 'freebies', as he called them, in a doctor-hospital-pharmaceutical ring, he disclosed that he was on thin ice with God, mostly because of his atheism, his niece, and youthful indiscretions upon which he declined to elaborate when pressed for details.
He suddenly asked, "Which do you prefer?" as if looking up from a menu. "The beef or pork schnitzel?"
The lost thread of the conversation?...seemed like avoidance, nor could I grasp what could compel a man to plunge into Lake Geneva in February.
"Hey Freud, I asked. "How effective do you think your treatments are?"
"The ice dips or my practice?
"Your practice."
"Psychiatry is just like religion," he replied. "You've got to believe in it for it to work."
___
New Mosquito Out - Coming To A Cookout Near You
Bangkok - Entomologists at Chulalongkorn University related their recent discovery of a new, smarter, resistant mosquito that has been plaguing Southeast Asian countries in recent months.
The new mosquito, Stegomyia Aedes Ablopictus Noi (small tiger-stripe mosquito) appears to have developed a remarkable resistance to all known bio insecticides, capable of inhaling poison and withstanding a direct blast of aerosol flying insect killers.
"Right now, our only defense is mother nature," said leading researcher, Professor Amapornaharasat Bulalanamantatorasat (Ju) at a news conference yesterday at the university. "Geckos and granddaddy longlegs are the only things that can stop them."
In addition to the development of new defenses, the breed is smaller and smarter, attacking victims on the ankles, behind the knees, and on the back of the shoulder, all locations that permit easy getaway before being slapped.
"The easy kill is over," said Prof. Ju. "They don't land on the forearm or back of your hand, like prior larger species of the genus. These little (expletive deleted) will get you on the back of the neck, behind your shoulders, and places you can't slap."
In Europe and North America, the mosquito, Culiseta annulata, is common and can be mistaken for an Asian tiger mosquito because of its black and white ringed legs. However, this species is missing the distinctive white line that runs from the middle of its head and down the thorax. It is also considerably larger than Aedes albopictus.
Like other mosquito species, only the females require a blood meal to develop their eggs. The search for a host takes place in two phases. First, the mosquito exhibits a nonspecific searching behavior until the perception of host stimulants (humidity, people) followed by a targeted approach. For tiger mosquitoes, carbon dioxide and a combination of chemicals that naturally occur in human skin (fatty acids, ammonia, and lactic acid) are the most attractive.
"Stay indoors at feeding time," suggested Prof. Ju. "You could say they've stepped up their game to a whole new level."
___
It's probably socially unacceptable, or politically incorrect to make light of the way people look, but sometimes you have to keep from staring because of exceptional weirdness, remarkable beauty, number of piercings, tattoos, or in the case of the neighbor girl, who could be 'a natural' for Planet of the Apes.
It's not the nose or lips so much as it is her hairdo. I mean, she could be a 'walk-on', right past makeup, directly onto the set...not one of the really black apes...more like a reddish brown. She surprised me the other day, walking up on me from behind, and when I turned around, I was like, 'Waaaaa!'
I mentioned it to Damon, and he chuckled and said, "Yeah, she could."
___
Grotto Now Asphalt
There was a small condo I had near Tokyo, thinking that maybe some of you considering a trip to Japan could possibly enjoy it, free of charge of course...sauna, running water, sun deck, zen garden, grotto...but the property, small even by Japanese standards, got wiped out when Godzilla rolled through and tore everything up, back in...oh, I forget...before the Venus sisters. You probably saw some of the footage...it was horrible. Too much damage to restore that part of the city where he came through, so they razed the entire block and built a new hi tech office park set in a Formura 1 track for the Asian circuit.
uh.
uh.
___
Trouble Again On Korean Peninsura - China Staying Tight-lipped
"We will get mad if you punish us for sinking your ship!"
Maybe we're getting the straight story, maybe not, but doesn't that just seem straight out weird to you?
Hillary Clinton says, 'Nigga, Pleeease.'
___
You Say, 'Leak', We Say, 'Gush'
BP Petrol is saying, "It's only, like, 5,000 liters, er, gallons, er, barrels a day." Coast Guard, Tulane, Mississippi scientists, Interior Dept., NOAA, survivors of the rig, people scooping up the oil, crayfish, Ms. Boudreaux's third grade class are all saying, 'Nigga puhlease.'
___
World Outrage at Gaza Aid Raid - U.S. Staying Tight-lipped
-end
6.3.10
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - They asked at airport security why I had purchased a one-way ticket. I told them I expected this to be my last earthy incarnation.
That remark earned a 'Please step over here, Sir.'
"I see here you failed statistics twice as an undergraduate," snickered Never Mind My Name, glancing up from his computer screen.
Suppressing a startle at the surprising depth of data at his fingertips, I rallied, "Yes, but if it matters on this flight, I aced Anatomy & Physiology."
"What do you think you are, some kind of comic?" he asked with a sideways calculation, affecting with a slackjaw squint the power to screw with me immensely.
"Yessir," I said. "Says so on my all my paperwork."
"That's bullshit," he shot back. "You're a has been. You're a could've been, a chickenshit in the ring."
What kind of ring? I wondered. Drug? Car theft? Rollerblade? Frodo's gift? I toyed with asking, but I knew what he was referring to by the snicker coming out of the side of his mouth.
They knew I was with the circus? That was hitting below the belt, causing me to catch my breath. I eventually came to terms with that label (chickenshit) after a brief appearance with the Palaminos, subbing in for Tito (recently paralyzed) on the high wire, and later, in court after the fire.
Trying not to register shock, I asked softly, "Can I use that?"
"Use what?" he asked.
"Could've been. Who I could've been. Manny used to say that."
"Who's Manny?" he asked.
Had him by the nutsack, playing along, my game, ball in my court, home court advantage, ad in, my serve, free throw, penalty kick, buzzer beater, 2nd round TKO, end zone antics, high-five, Gatorade locker room dunk, show the trophy to the crowd, victory lap in a millisecond flash across my mind. They had all that other information, birth chart, shoe size, net browsing and don't like turnips, but nothing about Manny.
Stopped caring about the flight. There's lotsa flights, lotsa flights. I had time. Never Mind My Name was dishing up great material, a virtual motherload of raw ore, a comedic soup, a gift. Out of the thousands of non-detained passengers going on to their destinations and personal agendas, he chose me. He was going to make my day.
"Just wondering," I asked after a long pause. 'Can you find Batavia on a world map? If you are one of the first ten correct responders, you will automatically advance to the semi-finals round.'
___
The Docta's In Da House
Just as I was about to leave his office, just down the way, walking distance from my modest quarters, Dr. Freud said, "If those don't kick in by noon, double up on the dosage."
More is less. I had previously informed the good doctor that the pharmaceuticals he had prescribed yielded a compromising nature to normal, everyday, 3D World reality, and the many and bizarre side-effects, like...well, who do YOU trust, God or Pfizer? God or Eli Lilly?
But whereas the doctor had an 'in' with the drug companies, as in kickbacks and 'freebies', as he called them, in a doctor-hospital-pharmaceutical ring, he disclosed that he was on thin ice with God, mostly because of his atheism, his niece, and youthful indiscretions upon which he declined to elaborate when pressed for details.
He suddenly asked, "Which do you prefer?" as if looking up from a menu. "The beef or pork schnitzel?"
The lost thread of the conversation?...seemed like avoidance, nor could I grasp what could compel a man to plunge into Lake Geneva in February.
"Hey Freud, I asked. "How effective do you think your treatments are?"
"The ice dips or my practice?
"Your practice."
"Psychiatry is just like religion," he replied. "You've got to believe in it for it to work."
___
New Mosquito Out - Coming To A Cookout Near You
Bangkok - Entomologists at Chulalongkorn University related their recent discovery of a new, smarter, resistant mosquito that has been plaguing Southeast Asian countries in recent months.
The new mosquito, Stegomyia Aedes Ablopictus Noi (small tiger-stripe mosquito) appears to have developed a remarkable resistance to all known bio insecticides, capable of inhaling poison and withstanding a direct blast of aerosol flying insect killers.
"Right now, our only defense is mother nature," said leading researcher, Professor Amapornaharasat Bulalanamantatorasat (Ju) at a news conference yesterday at the university. "Geckos and granddaddy longlegs are the only things that can stop them."
In addition to the development of new defenses, the breed is smaller and smarter, attacking victims on the ankles, behind the knees, and on the back of the shoulder, all locations that permit easy getaway before being slapped.
"The easy kill is over," said Prof. Ju. "They don't land on the forearm or back of your hand, like prior larger species of the genus. These little (expletive deleted) will get you on the back of the neck, behind your shoulders, and places you can't slap."
In Europe and North America, the mosquito, Culiseta annulata, is common and can be mistaken for an Asian tiger mosquito because of its black and white ringed legs. However, this species is missing the distinctive white line that runs from the middle of its head and down the thorax. It is also considerably larger than Aedes albopictus.
Like other mosquito species, only the females require a blood meal to develop their eggs. The search for a host takes place in two phases. First, the mosquito exhibits a nonspecific searching behavior until the perception of host stimulants (humidity, people) followed by a targeted approach. For tiger mosquitoes, carbon dioxide and a combination of chemicals that naturally occur in human skin (fatty acids, ammonia, and lactic acid) are the most attractive.
"Stay indoors at feeding time," suggested Prof. Ju. "You could say they've stepped up their game to a whole new level."
___
It's probably socially unacceptable, or politically incorrect to make light of the way people look, but sometimes you have to keep from staring because of exceptional weirdness, remarkable beauty, number of piercings, tattoos, or in the case of the neighbor girl, who could be 'a natural' for Planet of the Apes.
It's not the nose or lips so much as it is her hairdo. I mean, she could be a 'walk-on', right past makeup, directly onto the set...not one of the really black apes...more like a reddish brown. She surprised me the other day, walking up on me from behind, and when I turned around, I was like, 'Waaaaa!'
I mentioned it to Damon, and he chuckled and said, "Yeah, she could."
___
Grotto Now Asphalt
There was a small condo I had near Tokyo, thinking that maybe some of you considering a trip to Japan could possibly enjoy it, free of charge of course...sauna, running water, sun deck, zen garden, grotto...but the property, small even by Japanese standards, got wiped out when Godzilla rolled through and tore everything up, back in...oh, I forget...before the Venus sisters. You probably saw some of the footage...it was horrible. Too much damage to restore that part of the city where he came through, so they razed the entire block and built a new hi tech office park set in a Formura 1 track for the Asian circuit.
uh.
uh.
___
Trouble Again On Korean Peninsura - China Staying Tight-lipped
"We will get mad if you punish us for sinking your ship!"
Maybe we're getting the straight story, maybe not, but doesn't that just seem straight out weird to you?
Hillary Clinton says, 'Nigga, Pleeease.'
___
You Say, 'Leak', We Say, 'Gush'
BP Petrol is saying, "It's only, like, 5,000 liters, er, gallons, er, barrels a day." Coast Guard, Tulane, Mississippi scientists, Interior Dept., NOAA, survivors of the rig, people scooping up the oil, crayfish, Ms. Boudreaux's third grade class are all saying, 'Nigga puhlease.'
___
World Outrage at Gaza Aid Raid - U.S. Staying Tight-lipped
-end
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
The Poor and the Weak, The Sick and the Lame
5/5/10
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Finally found the smaller venue I was seeking, but had to re-work all my out-dated material, constructing a whole new presentation designed primarily for an intoxicated audience, replacing old worn-out and dilapidated jokes with new, sanitized, top-shelf gags, laced heavily with helplessness and paranoia. It's been getting sold-out performances and scary laughs.
Mostly stuff about people losing it, going off the deep end.
You see it everywhere, so it's not just your neighborhood or hometown or house or Pakistan or Gaza; people flipping out, tripping out; too much of something.
Maybe too much of the 21st century. Just yesterday, relatively of course, all we had to worry about was fire in a cave.
Thematically speaking, it's great material for mass audiences, like the thousands of red shirts we waded through on Rachadamnoen Avenue in Bangkok, the perfect setting for testing new material, shaking a raised fist and screaming along with everyone else, "YEAH!", which we got on digital recording, along with a short comedy routine before being hustled off stage by Red Shirt Security. There to bring down the Thai government, the red shirt protesters weren't in the mood for funny business.
So, I've worked 'Rabid Protester' into my act, silent and slo-mo. Red headband. Takes up about three minutes on-stage. Got some other silent stuff too, like the 'Awards Banquet Guy' who suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands while the coach talks about him. Same guy who performs each Saturday before thousands in a stadium, is paralyzed by fear, frozen in an agonized eternity as the coach's muffled praise buzzes in his ears.
I guess you'd have to see it.
Chinese Monkey in Space. Really funny.
Had to drop the Farakhan skit ('Take a Look Arouuuuuund') because nobody knows who Farakhan is, or cares, and...same same Jesse Jackson. They had their day, everybody knows, trolling in the wake of Malcolm X, REVDRMLKJR, and real bruthas of influence, inasmuch as they (Minister Louis and JJ) were frightfully comedic in their own time.
Got some other silent stuff, like 'Cocky Criminal', smoking a cigarette with a smirk on his face that slowly fades to drained recognition of the looming prospect of incarceration, then cut-a-deal desperation, during the proceedings of a silent interview. Takes about a minute. It's been done dozens of time in film, but not in slo-mo, not on stage. About a minute's worth.
Stage time. It's kind of like court time. Basketball court; not civil, municipal, State or federal.
uh.
There are a lot of reasons for a writer not to write; no idea, no time, too lazy, too inept, scared, doing life, had company...HolyMarymotherofChrist...could go on forever...what's your excuse? Not for not writing, but for not doing the work you need to do.
"Awwwwww. That can wait."
So I decided to wait out this computer. Decides on its own when it wants to operate, so I set it aside and checked it every day or so, then suddenly, it works! I've found the solution, ha ha, thinking it just might be the moisture in the air, I set the computer in the sun for oh, about ten minutes, maybe fifteen.
Comes back in hotter than hell, scorching to the touch. But, VOILA! It works! It ain't the muthaboard, after all. Go figure, right? Except nobody says that anymore.
Which reminds me; I coined some new terms. Let me find my notes. Yeah, here. Check it out.
'Flat Earth'
Huhmmmmmm? Like it?
"No doubt." Watch this one. It's catching on, used as an affirmation, in any setting.
Also, you may not have known that I was the first person to come up with:
"Duuuuude." Caught on out west and went east, like everything else, first California, then New York, then Chicago and finally, Des Moines and Alabama. You want to know what's coming? Look west.
"BRICK!" I shouted this out during a quiet moment at a Celtic/Lakers game just as 'Wilt the Stilt' was shooting his famous girl scout underhand free throw.
'Letters to the Editor'. This one went big, now institutionalized across the board nowadays in all forms of media.
I didn't miss the Super Bowl (as in, who won?), but I did miss a backwards (back to the basket), blind, two-handed underhand shot from half court (you've seen or tried it), otherwise known as a 'heave', and although the shot was attempted in everybody's gym class, I was the first to use it in collegiate tournament play, a panic attack heave against a full-court press.* I got benched, despite hitting the rim and eliciting a gasp from the crowd.
'Effects Man'
- That's the guy who does anything from political events or a motion picture set design of NYC in the 1920s, to the lighting and pyrotechnic display at an AC/DC concert; different than 'special effects', the Pope's press people, psychiatry, or cosmetic surgery or anything like that.
___
It's so hot here on the Isthmus of Kra that on some days, those days when your shirt sticks to your back, those five-showers-a-day days, the only relief you can find mid-day is to stand stark naked, dripping wet in front of a fan, set on three. And even then, the relief is only temporary, lasting only until your skin dries. As soon as you step away from the fan, your skin is wet again, but now, from the dissipation of internal heat. Sweat.
Cat's lying stretched out and panting in a grimace, tongue hanging out of its mouth.
Timeless as the river, life on the upper Mekong hasn't changed much in a thousand years, give or take a few invasions by the Burmese and later, the Thai. In Luang Prabang, they were having the annual water festival, Songkran, the Laotian New Year, a three-day event; the first day of saying goodbye to the previous year, then a day of rest and contemplation and recovering from a hangover, then a final day of welcoming in the new year.
The city was bursting at its seams as hill tribe families of more than fifty ethnic groups from the northern provinces descended upon the ancient imperial capital to bring their children to the on-going carnival and participate in the crazed water tossing celebration to welcome the year of the dragon.
Color, color everywhere, a time for renewal and making merit, of washing, cleaning and sweeping out the past, taking a respite, then embracing the future. A heartbeat, a breath, exhaling and inhaling.
-end
*'79 NCIAC Championship. Against a full-court press with less than a minute in the game. The coach quickly achieved an advanced state of agitation (livid), and used up his last time out to yank my ass out of the game.
KHUK KHAK, Thailand - Finally found the smaller venue I was seeking, but had to re-work all my out-dated material, constructing a whole new presentation designed primarily for an intoxicated audience, replacing old worn-out and dilapidated jokes with new, sanitized, top-shelf gags, laced heavily with helplessness and paranoia. It's been getting sold-out performances and scary laughs.
Mostly stuff about people losing it, going off the deep end.
You see it everywhere, so it's not just your neighborhood or hometown or house or Pakistan or Gaza; people flipping out, tripping out; too much of something.
Maybe too much of the 21st century. Just yesterday, relatively of course, all we had to worry about was fire in a cave.
Thematically speaking, it's great material for mass audiences, like the thousands of red shirts we waded through on Rachadamnoen Avenue in Bangkok, the perfect setting for testing new material, shaking a raised fist and screaming along with everyone else, "YEAH!", which we got on digital recording, along with a short comedy routine before being hustled off stage by Red Shirt Security. There to bring down the Thai government, the red shirt protesters weren't in the mood for funny business.
So, I've worked 'Rabid Protester' into my act, silent and slo-mo. Red headband. Takes up about three minutes on-stage. Got some other silent stuff too, like the 'Awards Banquet Guy' who suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands while the coach talks about him. Same guy who performs each Saturday before thousands in a stadium, is paralyzed by fear, frozen in an agonized eternity as the coach's muffled praise buzzes in his ears.
I guess you'd have to see it.
Chinese Monkey in Space. Really funny.
Had to drop the Farakhan skit ('Take a Look Arouuuuuund') because nobody knows who Farakhan is, or cares, and...same same Jesse Jackson. They had their day, everybody knows, trolling in the wake of Malcolm X, REVDRMLKJR, and real bruthas of influence, inasmuch as they (Minister Louis and JJ) were frightfully comedic in their own time.
Got some other silent stuff, like 'Cocky Criminal', smoking a cigarette with a smirk on his face that slowly fades to drained recognition of the looming prospect of incarceration, then cut-a-deal desperation, during the proceedings of a silent interview. Takes about a minute. It's been done dozens of time in film, but not in slo-mo, not on stage. About a minute's worth.
Stage time. It's kind of like court time. Basketball court; not civil, municipal, State or federal.
uh.
There are a lot of reasons for a writer not to write; no idea, no time, too lazy, too inept, scared, doing life, had company...HolyMarymotherofChrist...could go on forever...what's your excuse? Not for not writing, but for not doing the work you need to do.
"Awwwwww. That can wait."
So I decided to wait out this computer. Decides on its own when it wants to operate, so I set it aside and checked it every day or so, then suddenly, it works! I've found the solution, ha ha, thinking it just might be the moisture in the air, I set the computer in the sun for oh, about ten minutes, maybe fifteen.
Comes back in hotter than hell, scorching to the touch. But, VOILA! It works! It ain't the muthaboard, after all. Go figure, right? Except nobody says that anymore.
Which reminds me; I coined some new terms. Let me find my notes. Yeah, here. Check it out.
'Flat Earth'
Huhmmmmmm? Like it?
"No doubt." Watch this one. It's catching on, used as an affirmation, in any setting.
Also, you may not have known that I was the first person to come up with:
"Duuuuude." Caught on out west and went east, like everything else, first California, then New York, then Chicago and finally, Des Moines and Alabama. You want to know what's coming? Look west.
"BRICK!" I shouted this out during a quiet moment at a Celtic/Lakers game just as 'Wilt the Stilt' was shooting his famous girl scout underhand free throw.
'Letters to the Editor'. This one went big, now institutionalized across the board nowadays in all forms of media.
I didn't miss the Super Bowl (as in, who won?), but I did miss a backwards (back to the basket), blind, two-handed underhand shot from half court (you've seen or tried it), otherwise known as a 'heave', and although the shot was attempted in everybody's gym class, I was the first to use it in collegiate tournament play, a panic attack heave against a full-court press.* I got benched, despite hitting the rim and eliciting a gasp from the crowd.
'Effects Man'
- That's the guy who does anything from political events or a motion picture set design of NYC in the 1920s, to the lighting and pyrotechnic display at an AC/DC concert; different than 'special effects', the Pope's press people, psychiatry, or cosmetic surgery or anything like that.
___
It's so hot here on the Isthmus of Kra that on some days, those days when your shirt sticks to your back, those five-showers-a-day days, the only relief you can find mid-day is to stand stark naked, dripping wet in front of a fan, set on three. And even then, the relief is only temporary, lasting only until your skin dries. As soon as you step away from the fan, your skin is wet again, but now, from the dissipation of internal heat. Sweat.
Cat's lying stretched out and panting in a grimace, tongue hanging out of its mouth.
Timeless as the river, life on the upper Mekong hasn't changed much in a thousand years, give or take a few invasions by the Burmese and later, the Thai. In Luang Prabang, they were having the annual water festival, Songkran, the Laotian New Year, a three-day event; the first day of saying goodbye to the previous year, then a day of rest and contemplation and recovering from a hangover, then a final day of welcoming in the new year.
The city was bursting at its seams as hill tribe families of more than fifty ethnic groups from the northern provinces descended upon the ancient imperial capital to bring their children to the on-going carnival and participate in the crazed water tossing celebration to welcome the year of the dragon.
Color, color everywhere, a time for renewal and making merit, of washing, cleaning and sweeping out the past, taking a respite, then embracing the future. A heartbeat, a breath, exhaling and inhaling.
-end
*'79 NCIAC Championship. Against a full-court press with less than a minute in the game. The coach quickly achieved an advanced state of agitation (livid), and used up his last time out to yank my ass out of the game.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Six Months Neglect
Six Months Neglect
02.22.10
Khuk Khak, Thailand - Out in the garden that never dies, how the plants would suffer through the hard season with no caretaker providing an attention to which they had grown accustomed.
What would withstand six months of neglect?
One’s health? That trip to Dr. So-and-So. The exercise, the diet, that tooth, the nagging injury, the engine repair, the dust in the corners. Couldn’t that job wait until spring?
And what of family and friends? A silent relationship, suspended animation, Cinderella’s illusion, the frog prince’s expectation, an unspoken repression, a state of denial, an atrophied claim, a forgot to tell you, an it can wait.
The unfinished work set aside, a potted plant, a crown or filling, a manuscript, a painting, a song.
Who would wait? The soldier’s mate, the fiancé, a promise, a vow, a tour of duty, off to college, a stretch in the joint, aboard the ISS, an appointment, a secret liaison, out of state relocation, no food, no water, no email.
The massage, the meditation, the walk to the Sea. The stretching, the designs, the renovation, the updates, the records, the competition, the time off, the contract renewal, the surgery, the root canal. Can it be put off for six months?
Hadn’t heard from them. Found another owner. Never watered it. People broke in. Slow leak. Needs a jumpstart. Pipes froze. Gonna need a new transmission. Better send flowers. Gonna have to replace the whole damned thing. Rust in the lines, residue in the filter. Gonna have to find her down in Texas somewhere. Gonna have to send an envoy. Gonna have to patch things up. Gonna minimally need duct tape, maybe a new identity. Gonna have to reconfigure, re-boot. Gonna have to shut the whole system down. Might mean war.
What in a life can go for six months without checking in? A definitive statement? To be continued? Pick it up where you left off? Let it go another six?
The garden that never dies will endure until the rainy season, but it may need occasional help, parched, wilting, crying for a drink.
-end
.
02.22.10
Khuk Khak, Thailand - Out in the garden that never dies, how the plants would suffer through the hard season with no caretaker providing an attention to which they had grown accustomed.
What would withstand six months of neglect?
One’s health? That trip to Dr. So-and-So. The exercise, the diet, that tooth, the nagging injury, the engine repair, the dust in the corners. Couldn’t that job wait until spring?
And what of family and friends? A silent relationship, suspended animation, Cinderella’s illusion, the frog prince’s expectation, an unspoken repression, a state of denial, an atrophied claim, a forgot to tell you, an it can wait.
The unfinished work set aside, a potted plant, a crown or filling, a manuscript, a painting, a song.
Who would wait? The soldier’s mate, the fiancé, a promise, a vow, a tour of duty, off to college, a stretch in the joint, aboard the ISS, an appointment, a secret liaison, out of state relocation, no food, no water, no email.
The massage, the meditation, the walk to the Sea. The stretching, the designs, the renovation, the updates, the records, the competition, the time off, the contract renewal, the surgery, the root canal. Can it be put off for six months?
Hadn’t heard from them. Found another owner. Never watered it. People broke in. Slow leak. Needs a jumpstart. Pipes froze. Gonna need a new transmission. Better send flowers. Gonna have to replace the whole damned thing. Rust in the lines, residue in the filter. Gonna have to find her down in Texas somewhere. Gonna have to send an envoy. Gonna have to patch things up. Gonna minimally need duct tape, maybe a new identity. Gonna have to reconfigure, re-boot. Gonna have to shut the whole system down. Might mean war.
What in a life can go for six months without checking in? A definitive statement? To be continued? Pick it up where you left off? Let it go another six?
The garden that never dies will endure until the rainy season, but it may need occasional help, parched, wilting, crying for a drink.
-end
.
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