Already been a long day and I’ve already napped once. Oh, it’s 1230ish EST. Or it is when I’m starting this whatever the hell this will be. I’ve become so very prosaic I need to toss an anchor out before rambling. It’s not like my sails are in danger of billowing with wind and taking me far off course.
I was watching something the other day through the toes darkly, it was a comedy about a young woman virgin who wanted to be a poet and part of the joke was she was too fucking earnest and too frivolous. The other part of the joke was New York City as is so often in movies of a type. She works in this porn shop (ok, I didn’t finish watching, I might have fallen asleep, but she was working in this porn shop while I was still awake. For the viewer, tape, dvr and digital are cool because you turn them back on where you left off. In a sleepy I’ve spent my life watching trash depressing way it’s sad that you can make someone else’s fictional past repeat ad infimum for your amusement) and all the customers are not characters and her friend and colleague is a latino drag queen.
Although a gross caricature the protagonist is fleshed out, wants to write poetry because she feels too much and other such sad silly shit. For a bit I was thinking ‘oh, it’s a thin auto biography and the screenwriter is making fun of her own naivete (I didn’t look close enough to see if the screen writer was a female)’ It did, however, and I’m embarrassed to say it, make me think of the last time I wrote a poem. Ok, it’s made me try to think of the last time, I can’t remember, it’s been at least a decade.
Fuck. I just tried looking up a quote. The search proved half of what I was going to say about the quote. It’s always attributed to Mark Twain or Pascal and is some version of ‘ I didn’t have time to write a short letter (memo, brief …etc) …’ I know it’s actually a quote from a famous dead American attorney. The context is an apology to a judge. It’s not something so brilliant that several different people, living, dead, famous, banal, couldn’t have come up with it on their own. The most literal and mundane meaning of it is that you have to put some thought into a short note. Poetry too. I guess you don’t have to, you could either be so eloquent that your shit shines whether you try or not, or, more likely, no one expects your shit to read any better than a grocery list.
Yeah, except no one aspires to being beneath contempt, especially famous dead people. There is absolutely no point in writing bad poetry, there is barely a point to writing good poetry. Even more accessible art forms, painting, photography, dance, music, become famous through the masses, hordes, people who say shit like ‘I don’t know art, but I know what I like’ or ‘That band rocks’ or ‘that was really pretty’. Patrons are fools. A mass of patrons are massive fools. They want to buy their way into history. Huh. That nonsense I wrote about absolutes the other day? Holds true going forward and backwards and right now. I don’t mean all patrons are fools, I might mean masses are all fools, but it is sort of what defines a crowd, a mob, a mass, the loss of the individual for a single simple stupid message that takes a hangover cure to absolve the next day.
Popular art is low art. It panders. By definition it panders. There is no magicial point at which a piece is so great that it raises the bar of appreciation among the masses. The artist bent down to grace the bar, he or she did not lift the crowd up. Or, you know, the guy died, and the spectacle became famous for the back story.
See? Interlude. It’s now twoish, I have half a mug of still warm earl grey sweetened raw, and the glow of goofy texting with my text mate. I’m not even going to read whatever nonsense I interluded the hell out of and back into. It doesn’t even matter. I have bowling shirts coming.
She is so dang cute. Earl Grey is sometimes the perfect thing.
Bowling shirts. On the list of eight zillion things to do and nine zillion things not to do for allowing oral surgeon in ones mouth is to wear a loose fitting short sleeve shirt. It’s going to be below zero that day, but the surgery will probably be done inside where it should be warmer. Most of those lists are because of the anesthesia, GF explained why dentists do different anesthesia than doctors, I was busy looking at her … nope, at her is all I’m saying. The short sleeves are for an IV. Nobody has been able to answer why an IV and nitrous oxide, but, you know, it’s oral surgery, they can pile up on pain killing.
It’s hard to just google plain old bowling shirts. I was hoping there’d be a sale seeing how it’s winter. Fucking Charlie sheen made the whole retro bowling shirt thing a thing. Google wants you to be more specific than Mens Short Sleeve Shirt. I was shooting for Hawaiian, but my patience ran out before I got to Hawaiian shirts that weren’t either crap or silk. Like most grown ass human with glands and shit I can’t wear silk in the summer and I usually don’t wear Hawaiian in winter, hmmm, I’ll rephrase that, my Hawaiian short sleeve shirt for Michigan winter needs are already met. Heh, wearing one right now.
So, dawg, did the dentist say you can’t wear, for instance, the loose Hawaiian shirt you’re currently lounge typing in? No, goofy, he did not. Like a normal howlie with glands I like my flower print shirts in cotton. I don’t iron. Huh, that sounded elitest. I don’t iron well and ironing poorly is worse than being wrinkly and … I don’t need to explain myself to you unless you’ve got nitrous and an IV.
Anyhow, fucking Charlie sheen. There is now a wide range of bowling shirts, some of which include fucking Charlie sheen in their description. Also, you know, there are places that outfit bowling leagues, and whereas bowling clothing has always been hipper than golf clothing, it’s only a step or two up from golfing gear. Golf Shirts don’t have to be ugly, but they have to have maxium clash with seriously ugly golfing pants. A real bowling shirt looks like a bowling shirt on or off the lanes. A golf shirt could pass if you aren’t wearing pants. The oral surgeon didn’t specifically say I couldn’t go pantless, but ‘wear loose fitting pants’ sort of implies. One could argue it doesn’t get any looser than naked, but, at a certain age, which I am probably close approaching or past, one doesn’t like to think of ones skin as loose fitting. I kid, but the joke is an honest one, not as it pertains to me, my skin fits like … skin.
I assume, too, if pantless was an option there’d be a half zillion rules regarding flopping about, suggesting anything from duct tape to gold lame. Huh. There should be an accent mark over the e in lame, I meant lah-may, not lame. Rhymes with Tah-may not tame. Another joke that’s honest if not good and by good I mean funny. Or perhaps you, sir or madam, are too sober, or, sir or madam, are a lesbian. A cliché to be sure but one that in my experience works far to often, e.g. Q.How many lesbians does it take to screw in a light bulb? A. That’s not funny. I believe that’s should be cited Mark Twain, maybe Pascal. Blaise Pascal, you can call him blaze.
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