Thursday, August 25, 2011
Uhmmm, did anybody see where the sculptor went? Is he on lunch break? Vacation?
I have a dream ... that someone is going to finish this sculpture.
Government cutbacks, maybe?
Fort Myers Mystery #5966YB3
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Uhm....okay, guys ... where did the Outback Steakhouse go? Who took my Outback Steakhouse? It was here just a few days ago!
I realize things are more uncertain these days, but geez ...
You know your kid is well rounded when ...
Sunday, August 21, 2011
... you ask her to pick out a movie and she whittles it down to two: Jane Eyre and Deliverance.
Weird Dream #4991W2
Thursday, August 18, 2011
I've had some doosies lately. Here's another that probably won't make the final cut for the memoir in progress:
A strange redneck family takes over my house while I'm gone. I return to find a party raging inside, the revelers smoking and dumping their ashes on the floor, the men peeing on the carpet in the corners of the room. I storm in, screaming: "Get the hell out or I'm calling the cops!" They scatter but return the next day with guns in military trucks to hunt me down. First, they start throwing wet, white cheese curds at me, and just as I think they're going to switch from cheese to guns, I start running. I run and run and run. Suddenly, inexplicably, they transform from foe to friend, and I stop running and return with them to the house for another party. I'm married to some woman who is not Carol, and upon my return ask her to leave. I open the front door. There is a mariachi band playing in the street. Suddenly, the door falls to the ground. I look up and see that it has no hinges – it never had hinges. How could I have missed this? How could I have lived here all those years and missed this? I then notice that all the windows are mere sheets of clear plastic. Everything within, my family's history and identity, is vulnerable. I start panicking, and the men who came to shoot me tell me to drink a beer and relax. I refuse. They insist. I pretend to drink the beer but swallow nothing, as Bill Clinton did with the marijuana.
Making the cashier blush
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Ad at the supermarket yesterday, buying one jar of tahini, one six-pack of diet 7-Up and one lemon:
"I don't need a bag, miss, thank you," I say.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Really, I don't need one. I'm like an octopus. I've got multiple appendages."
She looks at me, perplexed.
"They're tucked in all over the place down here," I say, motioning to my shorts.
She blushes and looks downward, smiling.
I instantly realize how this child-like talk has instantly blown up into something naughty-adult.
"I think I'd better stop talking now," I say.
My Year of Crazy Nightmares: Dream #14
Thursday, August 11, 2011
As I'm now writing about in my memoir-in-progress, the past two years have brought much change to our family. During that time, our only child graduated from high school and left for college. Two months later, my wife was transferred from Fort Myers to Nashville. I went a little crazy -- that's what the book's all about -- and living in two places and commuting and all that change invoked a series of horrible but comical dreams ... dreams so odd I felt compelled to write them down. (Thanks, dear wife, for suggesting I do so.)
Here's one of them:
Dream #14: I'm unmarried with no child, and am living with my parents. We all three attend a mandated government press conference in which they explain that the United States has surreptitiously set up a colony on another planet, and if anyone wants to live there they have to leave right at that moment, never being allowed to return to Earth. My uber-curious parents, both of them journalists, are the first to raise their hands, then they turn to hug me goodbye. I panic. "What about all of your possessions?" I ask. "How can you leave them behind?" They smile and blow me kisses as they walk toward the flying saucer. "What about me!" I scream. "You can't leave me! I'll be all alone here on this planet! Mom! Dad! Please!" Someone pushes me backwards. I fall into a child's red wagon, and someone pulls me away.
My trip to Alabama: Chapter 1
Saturday, August 6, 2011
My wife needed to visit several of her properties in the South but also needed to get lots of writing done. Because I can't do anything with my memoir-in-progress right now (waiting on my agent to read revision ... waiting ... waiting ... hello, dear agent?), I suggested I drive Carol from A to B to C; she could work in the car while I drove, and I'd get the chance to see some places I'd never seen.
My first post is about the Renaissance Hotel in Montgomery. Nice place ... but the art? ... Well, let's just call it disturbing. This is what greeted us at the reception desk:
"What are they?" I asked.
"They're supposed to be Southern Belles," he answered.
"Dead ones?" I asked.
Scenes from the airport: #8485R4
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Like a flock of birds exhausted from a migratory flight, the gaggle of high-schoolers, weary from their long overseas haul, yearning to succumb to gravity, descended on my isolated spot in the Atlanta airport, settling all around me: on the floor, slouched in chairs, leaning against the wall. Jet-lagged, and quiet, and empty. And I thought: Should I feed them something?
It takes a village ... to write poetry
Monday, August 1, 2011
There once was a boy from Poughkeepsie ...