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Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Perhaps I was a bit too ambitious...
You might have noticed, no further update on yesterday's post. I spent the evening (both hours of it) cuddled up
in bed with my first true love, Samuel Adams.
If history has taught us anything, Cupid is not a fat, flying baby, but instead a brewer and patriot named Sam.
Responsible for more successful (if temporary) pairings than anything or anyone else, Sam Adams is my personal Valentine's
emmissary. And this year, the last bottle of Summer Ale, still nestled in the fridge, rocked me gently to sleep (for
old time's sake).
This week be on the lookout for IVY LEAGRO does ATLANTA. We'll be planning the coolest stuff to do in A-Town for
a wknd and finish the month with a little field-testing. Please email contact@ivyleagro.com with any suggestions.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
In the air
And it's not that sticky-icky. It's love. Or something from the sewer. But it's definitely acrid (stings
the nostrils).
V-Day has traditionally been crappy for me. Whenever I have been in a relationship, that person is usually far,
far away--and pissed off. When I haven't been, I've been nursing my friends through their own love hangover.
It all sucks. Check back later in the day for my recs on what makes a good valentine's day. (although,
if you have that kind of time, lord knows you won't need any recs b/c you're as much of a loser as I am).
Okay lambs. until then.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Code Black
I must say that I hate Grey's Anatomy. Hate it.
And to add insult to injury, I have to hear about the bloody show all the damn time. Drives me crazy.
And this Code Black. Someone at work said, "what's that, when you walk into the OR and the surgeon's a black guy?
'oh my god, black man with a knife! run!'"
Yeah. sweet. hahaha. Bastards.
There's nothing else to really say except it was cool when that guy got blown up by the RPG. But, correct me if
I'm wrong military buffs, would you really be vaporized? Shrapnel, sure, but the "pink cloud" as they call it?
Whatever. I just wish it was that annoying simpy girl who blew up.
Hate the show.
Anyway. I feel better. Thanks for listening.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Falling Down
I'm watching the above-mentioned movie. It's good.
I feel like that sometimes. Just a sideways comment away from
going apeshit, bustin' up a store with a bat. I think these fools should consider that more often in the way they treat people.
I
mean, we should treat people well because it's the right thing to do. But clearly, that's not enough motivation for most
folks. But base self-interest should be.
If everyone kept in mind that beneath the surface of every tightly wound
professional lurked the animal soul of a tortured kodiak bear, people would be a lot more cordial. Or at least delicate.
Tact
is difficult for many, I know, but if they knew their ass was on the line, I think they might learn.
Okay. Just a
thought. Maybe I need to relax. Maybe I need (another) glass of wine.
Maybe I just need folks to "ack right."
Yeah.
the last one.
12:19 pm est
Saturday, February 4, 2006
New Stuff
Who doesn't like new stuff? I mean, there are the hipsters among us who favor a shabby, thrift-store aesthetic and the Ralph
Lauren-ers who buy new paint so they can "antique" their walls with tea stains and smoke stains, but all those people like
new gadgets, right? I'm toying with the notion of getting a new laptop. I had been searching J&R Computer/Music World and found some good things, but mostly realized that I was broke. Not that this is something new, but every once
in a while, we allow ourselves to forget that a $1.60 soda a day will actually break us. Sad, but true. And with Valentine's
around the corner, things are just getting more expensive. Check out what I saw here for a Valentine's gift. Let me know if any of you think it's a good idea.
Friday, February 3, 2006
wax on, wax off
I don't wax philosphical all that often. I wax political even less.
But I am struck by something in all the uproar over the new palestinian elections. I am far from an expert on the
subject, but really, how surprised can any of us be that Hamas was elected.
People respond to pandering. They respond to fervor and frenzy. Logic and calm don't get the job done.
Palestine is not exactly what one might call a "stable" area of the world. Nor is it one with a centuries-old legacy
of government, democracy, the rule of law. This is not a disparagement, but their tradition is not one of democratic
foundations.
In the US, we have all those things. We were formed (well, really we were formed b/c we didn't like paying taxes)
to create a place where such ideas can thrive. And we still elected a semi-retarded, war-mongering, fundamentalist.
Twice.
Is the Hamas victory really such a shock? Think about it.
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Because Poetry is cool...
Reading in Place
Imagine a poem that starts with a couple
Looking into a valley, seeing their house, the lawn
Out back with its wooden chairs, its shady patches of green,
Its wooden fence, and beyond the fence the rippled silver sheen
Of the local pond, its far side a tangle of sumac, crimson
In the fading light. Now imagine somebody reading the poem
And thinking, "I never guessed it would be like this,"
Then slipping it into the back of a book while the oblivious
Couple, feeling nothing is lost, not even the white
Streak of a flicker's tail that catches their eye, nor the slight
Toss of leaves in the wind, shift their gaze to the wooded dome
Of a nearby hill where the violet spread of dusk begins,
But the reader, out for a stroll in the autumn night, with all
The imprisoned sounds of nature dying around him, forgets
Not only the poem, but where he is, and thinks instead
Of a bleak Venetian mirror that hangs in a hall
By a curving stair, and how the stars in the sky's black glass
Sink down and the sea heaves them ashore like foam.
So much adrift in the ever-opening rooms of elsewhere,
He cannot remember whose house it was, or when he was there.
Now imagine he sits years later under a lamp
And pulls a book from the shelf; the poem drops
To his lap. The couple are crossing a field
On their way home, still feeling that nothing is lost,
That they will continue to live harm-free, sealed
In the twilight's amber weather. But how will the reader know,
Especially now that he puts the poem, without looking,
Back in the book, the book where a poet stares at the sky
And says to a blank page, "Where, where in Heaven am I?"
Mark Strand
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