Before the birds

You bet I'm awake

Fruit and Fruitless

So: the bog of eternal stench.

At the moment, one of my desktops (thanks Mac OS X Spaces) displays no fewer than eight open Text Edit documents.  They have names like "Hummer Limo", and "Chabon Chalet".  But as May (Gray) sneaks into June (Gloom),  I haven't sent out the batch of submissions I promised myself I would.  Instead I just got older.  Twenty-five cent piece old.  Third-life crisis old.

I'd have preferred a more meaningful May.  Instead I seem to be blithely preparing for some apocalypse, jamming my freezer full of gallon bags of strawberries, peaches, blueberries, mangos.  It turns out you can freeze grapes, to no ill effect.

At the moment I am listening to people screaming on the roller coaster, and thinking that I have heard thousands of them being dragged to the summit and released onto the track, wooden planks shuddering a harmony to hold up the human voices, but none ever emerges as unique.

Three meals away from revolution

Everyone knows I love supermarkets.  Maybe my novel should be about... supermarkets.

When I was debating whether or not I would accept Notre Dame's offer of admission in April, I made a chart- a real one, using the chart feature in Text Edit- of the pros and cons of attending this large, Jesusy haven in South Bend, Indiana.  Among other cons, like abominable weather and crucifixes mounted over doorways in every classroom, was bad fruits.  BAD FRUITS.  I gave this drawback considerable weight.

Like sushi in Las Vegas, fruit in January, in Indiana, has a history.  If a mango was not a mango but was instead Jack Kerouac, its tale would be spirited and eclectic.  Long hours on the open road, a bottle of whiskey and legs dangling off the back of a flat bed truck.  It's romantic.  But mangos don't have legs or whiskey.  I imagine the suffering crates, striations of fruit and indigo cardboard rumbling over potholes in the cold.  By the time it reaches the shelves in Ralph's or whatever, it costs fourteen dollars.  Like a farm animal auctioned off at a high price, having proven its resilience.

I don't mean to sound like a produce elitist, but Southern California spoils a person.  I stood in front of the blueberry display agog this afternoon, checking and rechecking the alleged price, then the alleged blueberries.  Then I stacked three cartons into my basket, happy to part with fewer dollars in exchange.  I also ducked impulsively out of line on my way to the checkout, and scooped up eleven peaches for $2.41.  There is always a sense of great bounty.  I guess as long as I keep savoring that experience in supermarkets, I haven't become too spoiled.

P.S. Buy Organic.

Fractal Skills

I want to write a novel.

If my novel was a line AB midpoint C, and I folded it at the midpoint, then folded AC at midpoint D, then folded AD at midpoint E, and so on and so forth, then I could eventually corral an epic story into discreet and manageable units.

I am lacking in big picture skills, but I have fractal skills.

I love a (wo)man in uniform

Today, first day on the new job, I wore a uniform for about four hours.

As far as uniforms go, it's real beginners' stuff.  I'm not talking about a pizza slice body suit or anything even approaching a leotard.  In fact, it's just a black tee shirt with a passably cool gold logo and noncommittal V-neck.  But it was my first time navigating a hive mentality workplace, and I hadn't gotten my bee legs.  My outfit streamlined my torso into a concrete-pouring-tube shape.  I learned that the space behind the barista counter was a kind of central hub where no one was allowed to stand unless they wore the correct tee shirt, plus black or khaki pants. (Inference).

My coworkers were for the most part helpful and hungover.  They showed me how to make a PowerAde slushy and I wanted to tell them that I have nice boobs, they just need a little definition.

As for the general mechanics of serving breakfast, touch-screen computers transmitted food orders from the front of the house to the back, (crossing the language barrier in between), and mysteriously shunted beverage orders to a small printer near me on the barista counter.  This lack of human communication was eerie.  It created the effect that the whole operation was a test of reflexes, like that arcade game where you bop the groundhog.

Aside from that, it was all standard work.  Tamp, pull, steam, pour, repeat.  In that respect it was comfortingly familiar.  In the end as long as I got to spike the ticket, I was happy.  Happy enough.  Since I still had to wear the uniform.

The Blendtec

Scott and I have five pets: Buddy Cianci, Happy Ann Cianci, Oxen Boxen, Trumpet, and The Blendtec.  More on the whole gang later; this morning I want to shout out to our loudest, most prolific and cornucopial pet, The Blendtec.

It's not that I think I'm better than other people because I have a blender that can liquify hockey pucks. (Although maybe I'm luckier, to have a partner who would procure one for my birthday).  But it is the best blender in the world.  And I own it.

Since I know you're looking for something economically stimulating to do with your economic stimulus check- what, you were going to pay rent with that money??  Look: buy a sofa, or else give it back.  Or buy a Blendtec and drink your vegetables. Outpace the FDA and consume ten servings a day.  Pound it!  Uppercut!

Here's a recipe:

1 pear

1 apple

5 strawberries

1/3 pound raw kale, broccoli, spinach, and parsley

1 cup water

Blend it.  It's good.

"And I've been chewing my food like a chump for all these years." -S

On Introductions:

My experimental stint as a vegetarian has proven unremarkable.  Within the last two weeks, my greatest and most theatrical triumph over temptation has been declining a ladle full of Souplantation's "Yankee Clam Chowder".

Let's face it, I'm not much of a carnivore.  I'm more of an apatosaurus, a poet, a hairdo, a philosopher!  Like Nietzsche, with less syphilis.  And I am undaunted by the prospect of a meatless summer.  One small statistic to kick off the blog:

80% of America's farmland is used to grow crops that will feed the animals we eat.

Think Think Think.

This is important, however this blog will not just be about vegetarianism.  It will also address topics like the art of amassing compartmentalized knowledge.  And questions, like are naps good or bad?  Why is writing poetry in summertime like wading through the bog of eternal stench?  Plus creatures of the deep.  Thrift store fashion.  Oral sex.  Cats on diets.

Expect the future to be rife with excitement.