Vancouver, thank you.

August 22, 2007

Chad, everybody, i had a blast.  Thanks for showing me around.

The next Elvis platter is on me.

my wii muscles hurt.

April 27, 2007

also, i didn’t make the L.A. trip this year.  sucks.

couldn’t resist.

April 16, 2007

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new favorite poet.

February 7, 2007

failing and flying
by jack gilbert

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It’s the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

Going There
by Jack Gilbert

Of course it was a disaster.
The unbearable, dearest secret
has always been a disaster.
The danger when we try to leave.
Going over and over afterward
what we should have done
instead of what we did.
But for those short times
we seemed to be alive. Misled,
misused, lied to and cheated,
certainly. Still, for that
little while, we visited
our possible life.

Tear It Down
by Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.

enjoy.

photo credit by rick christopher gunther (RCG).

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i intend on having this photo the rest of my life.

a picture and a poem.

January 23, 2007

things are pretty plain right now, and i’ve really got nothing to post about….

so here’s a pic from new years eve and poem from my form and theory class.

enjoy.

‘my mother’s funeral’

The rabbi doesn’t say she was sly and peevish,  
fragile and voracious, disheveled, voiceless and useless,
at the end of her very long rope. He never sat beside her
like a statue while radio voices called to her from God.
He doesn’t say how she mamboed with her broom,
staggered, swayed, and sighed afternoons,
till we came home from school to feed her. She never frightened him,
or bent to kiss him, sponged him with a fever, never held his hand,
bone-white, bolted doors, and shut the blinds. She never sent
roaches in a letter, he never saw her fall down stairs, dead sober.
He never watched her sweep and murmur, he never saw
spiderwebs she read as signs her life was over, long before
her frightened husband left, long before
they dropped her in a box, before her children turned
shyly from each other, since they never learned to pray.
If I must think of her, if I can spare her moment on the earth,
I’ll say she was one of God’s small sculptures,
polished to a glaze, one the wind blew off a shelf.

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well, i finally found her.

January 17, 2007

the future ex mrs. pennington

ladies and gentlemen (and ciavarro),

i introduce to you jennie saunderspennington.

she’s british and beautiful, her voice is powerful and dynamic, and i’m totally enamoured.

check out her song ‘my love.’

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man laws.

January 12, 2007

now, i’m not sure how much of my personal life leaks out into the blogworld, but for all of you who didn’t know, i do sit on a few committees.  with all the miller lite commericals dictating acceptable beer etiquette and thus deeming them man laws, there’s been pressure from the international community to publish a more general set of mannish rules,  claiming that miller’s man laws,Image Hosted by ImageShack.us while acturate, are a little too concise and don’t provide for enough situations outside of the “beer etiquette” parameters.

after much deliberation, myself and the committee present you these:

The International Rules of Manhood:

1: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.

2: It is OK for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
(a) When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
(b) The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her blouse.
(c) After wrecking your boss’s car.
(d) One hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds into “The Crying Game”.
(e) When she is using her teeth.

3: Any Man who brings a camera to a bachelor party may be legally killed and eaten by his buddies.

4: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.

5: If you’ve known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.

6: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy’s fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.

7: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your buddy’s birthday is strictly optional. At that point, you must celebrate at a strip bar of the birthday boy’s choice.

8: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.

9: When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who’s playing.

10: You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she’s officially your girlfriend.

11: It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you’re sunning on a tropical beach… and it’s delivered by a topless model and only when it’s free.

12: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.

13: Unless you’re in prison, never fight naked.

14: Friends don’t let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.

15: If a man’s fly is down, that’s his problem, you didn’t see anything.

16: Women who claim they “love to watch sports” must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers.

17: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.

18: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that’s just greedy.

19: If you compliment a guy on his six-pack, you’d better be talking about his choice of beer.

20: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of yours, except if she’s withholding sex pending your response.

21: Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights:
a) Yeah, Baby, Push it!
b) C’mon, give me one more! Harder!
c) Another set and we can hit the showers!

22: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e., both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.  [i actually take this one a step further — if i’ve got my hands on my junk and you’ve got hands on yours, at that moment, just short of unperceivable danger or the Swedish bikini team offering free blow jobs in that particular bathroom and i didn’t know it was my turn, we have nothing to talk to about.]

23: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.

24: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly “just a friend” have carnal, drunken monkey sex, the fact that you’re feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again before the discussion occurs about what a big mistake it was.

25: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.

26: Thou shalt not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue.

27: The girl who replies to the question “What do you want for Christmas?” with “If you loved me, you’d know what I want!” gets an Xbox. End of story.

28: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men’s Gymnastics. Ever. We’ve all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed, the definition of each is listed below:
“GUTS” is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to say, “are you still cleaning or are you flying somewhere?”
“BALLS” is coming home late after a night out with the guys smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the ass and having the balls to say, “You’re next!”

We hope this clears up any confusion,

The International Council of Manhood, Ltd.

somebody i used to know…

January 12, 2007

is having major surgery tomorrow. 

if you’re the praying type say a prayer for her.

thanks.

in other news, i’m starting to feel better. 

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sinuses. 

hate them.

strep throat in the winter, migranes in the spring and fall. 

sucks.

but, despite all that, i completely kicked ass in the staff meeting today.  i mean -ROCKED- ass.

i knew my entire presentation from memory, fielding all questions without referring to my notes, (and had an a competent answer for all questions), and –inbetween blowing my nose and coughing– had acurate counterpoints for the usual b.s. 

and yes, i do really have a beard.

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and for over-emphasis, i absolutely feel like rolled up dog shit.