"THERE GOES OUR COUNTRY!"

So this isn’t even a fully developed thought and it’s a little unfair, but help me out here…when something happens that American liberals don’t like, they threaten to move to any number of places (Canada, Scandinavian countries, New Zealand, etc.) They rarely do move, though. The charitable way of looking at this is that perhaps they don’t realize how difficult it is to emigrate across international borders, or even that while there are a number of countries that are on the whole more closely aligned with what these liberals want in a national government, they would still prefer to live in the good ole U.S. of A. The uncharitable way of looking at this is that liberals are quitters (rather than stay and fight for what they believe in, they threaten to leave, which is quitting, and then they don’t even leave, which is like quitting at quitting.)

American conservatives rarely react to something they dislike with threats of moving to another country (except for the few dumb ones yesterday who fail to realize that moving anywhere other than the US probably means trading a system of financing health care delivery that is fundamentally consistent with conservative values for a single-payer socialized system.) So anyway, they don’t threaten to leave the country, and I suppose the charitable way of looking at this is that their belief in American exceptionalism is so strong (and they are so not-quitty individualists) that leaving isn’t even an option. The uncharitable way of looking at this? I’d posit that it’s because they realize that countries where things American conservatives claim to want are actually in place (small or ineffectual government that does little more than fund an army, a system of taxation that is nominally “fairer” but which disproportionately benefits the already wealthy, nonexistent regulations or consumer protections, strict fealty to ancient and/or religious texts as a system of government, widespread availability of guns) are actually terrible places to live, and that no one in their right mind would ever consider moving there.

 

There, There

The poem begins in a place –

A lake, a bed, a meteorological condition –

And then a person emerges.

 

Sometimes the person isn’t an “I,”

But is just a person observing nature.

I can’t write the nature poems

Because I have not spent enough time

Learning the names of living things.

Who needs a list of flora anyway,

Or the image of fauna doing something portentous?

 

Confession, though: I love the moment

In that Robert Hass poem where

The some-bird (gull? Swallow?)

Flies down close to the surface of the water

And marries its own image for an instant.

 

There’s often more to say about not being a poet

Than there is to say about not being anything else.

For example, why am I writing a poem

If just a few moments ago

I looked up the words “indolent”

And “indigent” just to make sure

That I’ve been using them correctly?

It must be true: I’ve used up

All the nouns and adjectives

I will ever know.

 

After the “I” becomes manifest, we get

Treated to a clue as to the motive force,

Which is usually forlornness masked

As the imparting of wisdom. If the writer

Is not an “issues” poet, we will be spared

Talk of genocide, mass graves, physical misery

On a scale unimaginable to the New Englander

Or Midwesterner whose book collection

Contains duplicates of every major title housed therein.

 

How many people will admit to skipping

Down the page, or skimming a number of

Same-same lines, just to get to the ending?

The meat, the wrap, the stuffed crust:

A couplet that could be boiled down to a platitude,

Burgeoning with heft – valu-packed

“Now with rhyme!”

Songwriters and sloganeers alike breathe a sigh of relief.

 

Have I captured anything? Has there been a risk?

Probably not. If you skipped to the end,

This is it.

 

Making the world safe for people with challenging tastes who occasionally like non-challenging fare

Here’s a theory: a lot of people watch “How I Met Your Mother.” However, no one talks about watching “How I Met Your Mother” (which is a surprisingly satisfying as a sitcom, in a very conventional way), so no one knows if it’s ok to like “How I Met Your Mother.” Sure, I’m eager to discuss “Community” and “Game of Thrones” with people, but “How I Met Your Mother”? Not so much. And I’d love to talk about some aspects of the show – like how everyone on it is fairly likable, except for the main character – but I can’t, because no one talks about it.  This is a strange conspiracy of silence. We were all confused when, in the hubbub about Charlie Sheen, several media outlets claimed that “Two and a Half Men” was somehow a widely watched show – come on, the only way that’s true is if you count international markets (seriously, everyone in Brazil watches it) and airplane passengers who are technically asleep but whose screens are still on.

 

But “How I Met Your Mother”? When I take the trouble of asking, it turns out that a lot of people watch it. So, I’m here to tell you, it’s ok to talk about “How I Met Your Mother.” But if someone walks by, and you suddenly switch to “Community,” I won’t judge you.  

http://flic.kr/p/bR7JDx

http://flic.kr/p/bCd2bw

Planning a trip in June.

http://flic.kr/p/bAaGLS

Adrienne and Earl

The almost-twin deaths of Adrienne Rich and Earl Scruggs have me wondering about the kinds of gigs you could see in heaven. (Note: I’m an atheist and probably don’t believe in heaven, but I do like the idea of some world after this one where time is irrelevant and you get to coexist with things/people that came before and after you. Who wouldn’t be comforted by that idea?)

So far, I’m starting with the idea that Miles Davis found Can and they did some jamming.

I like the image of Kurt Cobain asking Jerry Garcia for a performance of “Brokedown Palace” every night.

Hayden Carruth is off pestering Ben Webster.

See why this is great? It’s like fantasy sports, but with culture.

The Trumpeter Chronicles, cont'd

If you’ar an assiduous reader of this blog (and, come on, you’re not – I’m not even an assiduous reader of this blog), you may remember a character by the name of the Trumpeter, so nicknamed on account of her prolific farting. (Which, by the way, has not abated. Why should it?) This morning, I get to work and walk into the staff kitchen to put lunch in the fridge. The Trumpeter is futzing with something, so I keep my head down and try to avoid making too much noise. Alas, she heard the scuffle of my shoes...

Me:…

Trumpeter: Good morning!

Me: …morning…

Trumpeter: How are you?

Me:…fine…you?

Trumpeter: Well, I’m not sure if it was physical therapy last night or not, but I seem to have a strain in my kidney area!

Me:…

Trumpeter: Since it could be a kidney infection, I’m doubling up on the cranberry juice.

Me:…good, uh, luck. With that.

As my parents prepare to pack up and temporarily move house...

…I recently had the opportunity to sit down with my little sis and my mom and watch some old family tapes. A series of startling observations ensued, including:

 

*a bit of a sad feeling realizing that something fun was going on while I was away at college

*kids are so rude – I mean, we just sat there and ate. No “thank you’s,” no “this is great.”

*I probably wasn’t crazy about the “let’s film this stuff.” I mean, I know I wasn’t. I didn’t want a videographer at the wedding. I’m of the “just be awake, and conscious, and you can remember all the important stuff. Your brain is the best camera there is.” Well, no. The brain is a terrible terrible camera. Don’t trust it to record anything. Video is amazing. The amount of stuff you forget is amazing. Video is awesome.

*every time my mom got tired of filming one of her children, she’d say, “Ok, we need to hurry up. The, uh, battery is dying.” My mom is a genius.

*I really wish someone had told me as a kid to just embrace clichés – to be young, to be a kid, to be happy, to be open. Youth is wasted on surly teenagers.

 

And then it was time to go home, because where my parents live isn’t my home anymore. Which is mostly a good thing, except for when you’re feeling a little melancholy, a little old, and a little worn.

 

Why has this never happened?

 

The light turns green. Theoretically, if the 6 cars in front of me and I all accelerate at the same time and at the same rate, we should be able to to start moving as a block as soon as the light turns green, thus eliminating the need to wait for the ripple of forward motion to reach all the way back to me. Now, I know that there are a number of things that would have to align for this to happen – strictly speaking, there are a lot of variables here, and it’s fairly likely that you could repeat this a million times and not get it to work.

 

But I’ve stopped at way more than a million stoplights, I assume, or I will have stopped at way more than a million before I die. On some probabilistic level, like the 10,000 monkeys typing away, this should happen simply due to a random confluence of events. And yet, every time the light turns green, I inch forward only to see that 3 of the 5 cars ahead of me are waiting for the ripple to reach them. And I’m pretty sure it will somehow never happen, which seems wrong.