Tag: personal

The Menorah

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“The sun’s almost down.”
“That’s nice. Where’s the cat?”
“He’s outside. It’s time to light the menorah.”
“Where’s the candles?”
“I’m using an oil menorah this year.”
“An oil menorah?”
“Yes. Uses olive oil. More authentic than candles.”
“What?”
“More authentic.”
“You’re gonna burn the fucking place down.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes you will.”
“We’ve got a smoke detector this year.”
“Test it recently?”
“Um… no… errr…”
“Well, isn’t that a hoot?”
“You put the battery in the TV remote.”
“I did not.”
“Yes you did.”
“No I didn’t. I put it in the Blu-Ray remote.”
“What?”
“You’re a moron.”

Art Museum

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Every day after work, I go to the art museum.
It is on my way home, next to a family grocery that always has the best apples.
You aren’t supposed to eat in a museum. But they let me bring an apple in.
Or an orange, if I am not in the mood for an apple.
Museums often display just a part of their collection to the public. The rest is in storage or being restored with touchups and cleaning.
They let me look at the many works sitting in storage, admiring the Junior Varsity squad of the art world.

The Ducks

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When I was little, we would go to the Volkswagen offices and feed the swans at the pond.
We’d take a lot of white bread to the pond and crumble it up and toss it in the water.
It would float until a swan would swim over to it and gobble it up.
Repeat that for a half an hour, with occasional swans swimming around each other trying to get the bread.
No fights, though. They all worked it out somehow in swan-talk.
My brother and I, though, we fought like hell for the last of the bread to throw.

The Blackberry Bard

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He writes his tales as he walks the streets, tapping the keys on a telephone.
Before the telephone, he would stop at corner coffeehouses with his notebook to write his stories. Now, he is on the move, the Blackberry Bard enjoys the cool evening.
He is slimmer, healthier. The exercise has served him well.
Not looking as he crosses the street hasn’t.
His latest tale will never be finished.
A cop stands over the Bard’s corpse and picks up the phone.
He looks like over, admires the buttons and the slightly-scratched screen.
“Nice phone,” he says, and pockets the battery.

Fry

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My old computer was slow. Painfully slow.
So, I tried to build my own computer. I’ve done it before. If you know what you’re doing, it’s not hard.
It’s hard when you’re sold malfunctioning components. It’s also hard when they want to make you wait a week to confirm they’re malfunctioning, then charge you for the labor to install faulty replacements.
Want to return software? Sorry. No can do. Against their policy.
So, I returned it all, told the credit card company to stiff them on the labor and software, and bought this nice laptop.
From somewhere else, of course.

The Movers

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When I was little, seven or eight, we moved from Chicago to Columbus.
Everything was packed into cardboard boxes. The boxes each got a numbered sticker. Then, they were put into trucks, and arrived at the new house a few days later.
My brother and I collected all of the stickers.
Red.
Blue.
A few yellow ones.
I can’t remember the highest numbers. They were in the hundreds.
But in the end, we never did find the sticker with the number one on it.
Meanwhile, our parents were trying to figure out just what the hell is in each box.

One Calorie

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I started off by ordering a Jack Daniels and Coke.
I like Jack, but it’s a bit to harsh on the rocks for me. Sweeten it up with Coke, and it’s perfect.
For my twenties, that was my drink.
Until, of course, every calorie counted. The body slows down.
Since I didn’t want to slow down at the bar, I went with diet Coke.
Tasted close to the same. But let’s face it – Jack trumps the Coke flavor.
Then out came Coke Zero. That worked a lot better.
The single calorie I saved, well, that didn’t matter for squat.
Cheers.

Nosebleed

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Ever have a nosebleed and then you sneeze?
It makes a really big mess. Especially if you sneeze on the carpet.
So, there I was, pinching my nose and holding my head back and aah aaah aaah choo!
Gigantic red splatters all over the bathroom mirror. Violent tendrils, splotches, and patterns I can see myself through.
Wicked awesome!
That’s when I got the idea to paint canvas with my blood.
Over and over, I’d pick my nose to get it nice and bloody. Then, I’d tickle a few nosehairs and… voila!
Yes, my friends, I truly bleed for my art.

One Block Away

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I work in the Theater District. There are events going on all the time in this area.
And yet, I’ve gone to so few of them
I pulled up each venue’s calendar and looked over the past few months of events.
I missed a touring Broadway show I wanted to see.
A popular comedian came and went without catching my attention in time.
There”s that ballet someone was raving about in a local forum.
From my desk, it takes me 95 steps to walk to the performance hall next door.
I really need to get out more to these things.

Beautiful Teeth

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I have the most beautiful teeth.
White, smooth, and perfectly even.
They are marvelous and precise, a wonder to behold.
My gums, however, are disgusting.
Bloody and ragged, like a horrendously ugly frame around an exquisite work of art.
“How can this be?” I ask my dentist. “What kind of cruel joke is it to have such beautiful teeth held prisoner within this putrid mouth?”
This dentist is no different than the others. He has no answers.
I wish I were the Cheshire Cat.
I’d vanish from the world, along with my gums, leaving this most wondrous, precious, beautiful smile.