Corn on the Cobb Salad, and other burgeonings

I lightly boiled three eggs,
mashed them up in a bowl
with a healthy dose of olive oil,
pepper and salt, and some chopped greens, mostly spinach.

I enjoyed it very much.
Does this remotely resemble any traditional dish, that I could look to for guidance and refinement?

I think the addition of raw corn, or perhaps lightly cooked mushrooms, would be a worthwhile endeavor.

Meanwhile my erstwhile partner jokingly asks if I’m having an affair.

This on account of twice cooking dinner without premeditation, including enough for leftovers, and once waking up early enough to walk the lake before work, and I think there was a massage in there somewhere.

All behavior in keeping with my ever-present intentions, but not so much my regularly demonstrated behaviors.

Surviving Consumption

You can’t be suffocated by anything you’ve learned to breathe.

You can’t be drowned by anything you’ve learned to drink.

You can’t be buried by anything you’ve learned to eat.

How much of your life do you want to spend learning how

to eat & drink & breathe

things that would otherwise fill you dead?

Intentions for the year of productivity

Things I want to pay attention to long enough to begin doing, continue doing, get done, and get out there:

1. Abstract Chess (tabling at Art Murmur, playing regularly, updating the site, distributing sets)

2. A new song mix for each month (January was a new mix for Rachel, February was the Beatles Tragic Romance, March..?)

3. Posting to this blog at least twice a month

4. Regular (Weekly?) Dinner and Movie nights at the Fantastic Jackson Flat which Rachel and I know live in

5. Write letters, make phonecalls, take long walks with old and new friends

Where the falling wind may go

1. A balancing board

2. A new time piece

3. The last card down

4. The sticker for the car

5. Overalls

2010: We’re not as thought as we doomed we were?

2010:  A REASON FOR ALL CAPS (AT LEAST UNTIL THE JUMP)

1. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

2. FOOL ME ONCE YOU CAN’T GET FOOLED AGAIN

3. THE YEAR OF LEARNING TO UNBREAK THINGS

4. THE YEAR WE PUT THE BRAKES ON

5. HOW WE LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE CLIMATE CHANGE

Signs of a Weekend Well Spent

1. All but one overcoat down off the hangers

2. Two pans of bacon grease left on the stove

3. A new clown costume folded up in the closet

4. Thighs, calves, knees and feet that keep threatening to cramp up

5. Twenty Three fewer superballs in this apartment

Anger she sours, glowering in whiny misspelled horror

There’s no priest in this dream

All the leaves are brown

Think I’ll go out to Alberta

I don’t care how many letters they send

Lie to me; I promise to believe

Digital Killed the Mixtape Star

We’re all quite old, aren’t we?

That “we,” of course, means those of you who, along with me, experienced the mixtape as something other than a piece of dialog in a Tarantino film, and remember when $200 got you a thing you could hold in your hand that played music, as opposed to a thing that plays music and makes phonecalls and writes short or long letters to your friends and colleagues and is also a rolodex and a compass and a chronograph and a camera and a candle.

Today, we can buy any app we need to feel young (at heart, in mind, of body…)

But the artifacts of our youth are barely recognizable to the people
Who today comprise the ranks of the actually young

They don’t love the weight and the warble
They resent the heft and the hiss
And they don’t understand how the choices work.

The Food Kitchens are all booked up, so instead we’ll

1. Ride BART out to the end and back
2. Call all of our friends
3. Invent new facebook/myspace awesomeness and distribute to same
4. Respond to all the craigslist CE ads with encouragement
5. Dress up like Clowns and make balloon animals at the airport

Expected Surprises

I get it now–she’s wearing a red hoodie because she’s little red riding hood.  Except she’s the wolf.  Which is to say that Hard Candy  is every bit the taught psychological fable of abusers and victims and tables that turn which I expected when I first thought it was a movie by Andrew Vachss, who wrote a book by the same name but with a different set of victims and wolves and tables.  There’s no relation, in fact, but I think Vachss must love this movie anyhow.  It is ugly and brutal and filmed in a lingering and loving way that ratchets up the viscerally disturbing plot to the point where I was quite glad in the end that I wasn’t watching it alone at my apartment.  And watching movies at my apartment but not alone…