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April 30, 2003
Work Is A Four Letter Word
I remember having a conversation with someone once after a job interview and I made mention of the fact that I had gotten every job I had ever interviewed for.
That was a very long time ago. I think I jinxed myself.
Posted by pogo at 05:00 PM | TrackBack
April 29, 2003
Sometimes I’m Happy
Lately, small things are meaning much, much more to me. Last night, Jacob and I sat on the porch, drinking beer, listening to Django Reinhardt and playing Go. It was one of the most blissful evenings I’ve known in a long time.
Posted by pogo at 11:50 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
April 24, 2003
You Drive Me Ape
Random thoughts on Wednesday night:
*D.I. are fucking awesome. I can’t believe I never saw this band before and I can’t believe those old guys were so damn good. A very nice surprise.
*The Dickies make me happy. Also, their drummer is a dead ringer for my old friend Mark, mentioned below, and that was weird to watch.
*Perhaps if I continue this lifestyle, it will be my key to untold weight loss. I will keep on going to shows in very hot, very humid, little punk clubs and dance, dance, dance like there’s no tomorrow. I can shed unwanted pounds in weeks.
*I like to laugh at street punk bands. In a pontificating fit, the lead singer of Total Chaos actually implored of the crowd, “You know, we’ve got to unite to fight, but we’ve got to fight to unite.” Or something like that. I couldn’t really tell what he was saying, with his accent fading in and out the way it was.
*When I am old, I will acquire a Country Squire RV.
*Punk rock in the summertime with ice cold beers is the very funnest thing there is, ever.
Posted by pogo at 01:09 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
April 21, 2003
My Soul Has Been Released
R.I.P.
Posted by pogo at 05:51 PM | TrackBack
April 17, 2003
No Language, Just Sound Is All We Need Know
I love listening to music very, very loud, but only when I’m by myself. When other people are around it’s too distracting; I can’t focus on them or the music enough, and it’s really about somehow trying to be enveloped, surrounded by, somehow inside the song.
Lately I’ve been driving around listening to music from my adolescence loudly. Joy Division and the Cure have been in heavy rotation. I’m not nostalgiac and I’m not sad about being older or anything like that. It’s just that these songs affected me so deeply that there’s still something there that I don’t get from a lot of newer stuff I play.
I remember one time when I was getting a ride home from my friend Mark. He had a powder blue Ford Futura two-door. He loved Joy Division more than anyone I’ve ever known in my life. He was from my side of town, across the river, so we had lots of adventures, driving through fields and through farms, looking for anything we could find. It was on a spring day much like today, the sort that are uncommon in Texas — gray and hot and humid. I love them and miss them. We were driving the long stretch out to my dad’s house through the flood plains with both of the windows down and playing “Transmission” as loud as the little speakers would permit. I remember being genuinely moved, almost shaking, levitating, something very real. I was overcome, filled up with the song. I felt the way you are supposed to feel after taking Communion, very full of something Pure and Whole and Real.
It’s funny that the line that really hit me was “And we could dance, dance, dance dance to the radio,” because when I ask people what sort of music they listen to and they reply, “Oh, whatever’s on the radio,” I am always stunned.
Posted by pogo at 01:22 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
April 16, 2003
Poem From A South Texas Cookbook
Ballad of the Vegetables
A Potato went out on a mash,
And sought an Onion bed.
“That’s Pie for me!” observed the Squash,
And all the Beets turned red.
“Go way!” the Onion weeping said,
Your love I cannot be.
The Pumpkin be your lawful bride
You Canteloupe with me.”
But onward still the Tuber came
And lay down at her feet.
You Cauliflower by any name
And it will smell as Wheat,
And I, too, as an early Rose.
And you, I’ve come to see
So don’t Turnip your lonely nose
But Spinachat with me.
I do not Carrot all to wed
So go sir, if you please
The modest Onion meekly said
And Lettuce pray, have Peas!
Go, think that you have never seen
Myself, or smelled my sign.
To long a maiden I have been
For favor in your Rye!
Ah, spare a cuss! the Tuber prayed
My Cherryshed bride to be
You are the only weeping maid
That’s Currant now with me.
And as the wily Tuber spoke,
He caught her by surprise.
And giving her an Artichoke
Devoured her with his eyes.
(From “Pleasanton’s American Bicentennial Cookbook 1776-1976”)
Posted by pogo at 12:41 PM | TrackBack
April 14, 2003
Pure Delusion
This past week, someone on the Bust boards mentioned that they had found a slew of pretty creepy, fundamentalist Christian sites that were aimed at young girls. I thought I’d go have a look around, though you’d think I’d know better. I found the usual “women against feminism” sort of hogwash I’ve seen before, but there were some extra creepy posts on one particular board, directed at the discerning Virtuous Young Woman. The subject was Young Christians A’Courtin’. One of the girls mentioned that she had been given something called a purity necklace from her father for her 14th birthday. “It’s a heart with a keyhole in it, and Daddy wears the key. When I get married, he’ll give the key to my husband.” Apparently there are purity rings, as well, and they’re common enough. One girl said, “I have had my purity ring for 8-1/2 years. The design of my ring is very special to me. There are two hearts (one set higher than the other) with a very small diamond in the middle of them. These hearts I think of as being me and my husband (I’m the heart just under my husband - signifying my being under his covering/leadership). ”
Um. What the fucking fuck?
Really, I have no words. I feel sick.
Posted by pogo at 12:14 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack
April 13, 2003
Dirty Old Man
Q: What’s gross?
A: A middle aged man driving a white Chevy Suburban cutting you off on your footpath to the corner store, as you’re sporting respectable duds in broad daylight, then hopping out and giving you the sex eye.
Q: What’s grosser than gross?
A: Noticing the Jesus fish on his tail end as you leave.
Posted by pogo at 12:15 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
April 08, 2003
from the Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce
PATRIOTISM, n. Combustible rubbish read to the torch of any one ambitious to illuminate his name.
In Dr. Johnson’s famous dictionary patriotism is defined as the last resort of a scoundrel. With all due respect to an enlightened but inferior lexicographer I beg to submit that it is the first.
Posted by pogo at 11:21 AM | TrackBack
April 07, 2003
My Sweet Potato
I grew up in a small town in Southwestern Kentucky that isn’t famous for anything. Today is Tater Day, and if Benton should have notoriety for anything at all, it should be for setting aside a day to pay homage to the sweet sweet potato (I should state here at the outset that this is somewhat disputable. I always thought that it was in commemoration of plain old potatoes until I started poking around the internet today to find some pictures. I’m going to have to call my mama and get back with you. Regardless….)
Tater Day is the first Monday in April. It began something like 150 years ago. Farmers would gather on the courthouse square and trade seedlings and livestock and whatnot.
Tater Day was the best when I was a kid. There is no school, and I’m pretty sure the banks close, too. There’s a parade, a queen competition (Miss Tater Day, or Miss Tater Face, in the grade school parlance), lots of yummy things to eat, lots of music, gospel singing and high school bands. One of the last distinct memories I have of my Grandmama, who was one of my favorite people ever, is running around with her on Tater Day, eating potato chips (natch) and giggling like there was no tomorrow.
Posted by pogo at 11:52 AM | Comments (11) | TrackBack
April 02, 2003
I Like Food; Food Tastes Good
It’s springtime, there’s a war on and all I want to do is eat. That doesn’t fit very nicely on a placard, does it? It’s not even exactly, precisely true. I want lots of things, really…
But mostly, all I can think about is food. Jacob brought me a Cadbury Milk Chocolate Bar (caps or no? Who can say? I think probably no, but I like them, so they stay.) when he came home from work yesterday and it made me so happy that I actually squealed.
Fennel, I can’t stop thinking about fennel. And artichokes. Even asparagus, which isn’t really my favorite. And green beans, Kentucky wonders, each one a yard long. Springtime garlic! God, and good bread. I’ve even applied for a job at a bakery. You’d think I’ve been in prison, or something.
So, to all of you who wonder why I keep talking about food, that’s why. I’m obsessed, and hungry, all the damn time. Now make me something good to eat and bring it on by. There’s only one slice of apple pie left, and I don’t know what to do for dinner.
Posted by pogo at 07:50 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack