Showing posts from February, 2005

“This Is A Red Line Train To Howard”

The sleeping bag that turns out to be a little boy sleeping against his father. A: Consider his situation. B: I can’t. A: Exactly . A very little girl watches me watch a young co-ed rise from her seat and end up at a set of sliding doors. This very little girl reads my mind and spits out the words I no-way would ever say: “You’re very pretty.” The co-ed giggles but doesn’t thank the little girl for the complement. The cell phone that rings like a rotary phone. Swearing at her children for swearing. (Giggle, giggle, giggle) A: Are you flirting with me? B: Just that .

Japanese Zen Poem

- - - The barn burned down, now I can see the moon. - - -

Let's lighten things up, shall we?

What's the difference between love, true love, and showing off? Spitting, swallowing, and gargling. Or have you heard this one?

Poor Judge Of Character

The “man” you knew, I’m not him. And the woman I knew, you’re not her. What’s clear, I think, is that you were never the woman I wanted to know. Because the woman I wanted to know, who looked and acted just like you, would right now be my wife. But you always only wanted a platonic relationship. And this is the way it is with pretty girls and me. If only… So. Many. Things. Reading my blog, you must think I am insane. You’d be partially correct. That party, you sat down next to me, on my left, on that sofa. I said to myself, “This other girl, on my right , she’s HOT — and she’s just been introduced to me… but this girl seated to my left , she’s perfect .” My mistake. That doesn’t mean I won’t go on making it. Some people (okay, more than some) believe in God. I don’t. But I do believe in you.


The problem is, I end up having a good time. Thus, the activity is “reinforcing.” Because nothing compares — at least, not in my life. Because, in my life, nothing else is going on. At the same time, however, there’s always much anxiety. Because you want to get it right. Because you’ll be in Tech Week next week. Because you know you can always do better. And, although you run your lines everyday, there’s shame and guilt over the fact that you never spend enough time committing them to memory. What’s great about performing in a comedy — or, one thing that’s great — is that you’re not just doing it for yourself. It’s for the audience just as much as it’s for you. And, when it works (because “dying’s easy, comedy’s hard”) it’s the best kind of group therapy.

Backpedalling (Yet Again)

“…don’t give in to hate — that leads to the dark side.” Yeah, but don’t I already resemble a Sith lord?

All you lovebirds:

KISS MY HAIRY IRISH ASS !!! “Love is a disease — an infection that passes from host to host. It's like the common cold — only, with love, you don't sneeze and get sore throats. Even so, the body either builds up an immunity, or it dies.” — From Stab Worthy

Mr. M.

Leaving the bank, I’m half-heartedly holding the door open for my past. This (now) salt and pepper haired English teacher from twenty years ago, his last name beginning with the letter M, thanks me. Neither his voice nor his expression betrays the merest trace of recognition. But then, neither does my brief nod nor modest smile at his thanks. From his class, I recall only two things: that my lousiness as a student could not’ve been in dispute, and that he once lectured never to write down a sentence without first thinking through to its end. Oh, also, my at-the-time best friend, Mike, believed Mr. M. to be the funniest teacher alive. I recall a dry, mild wit—but nothing exceptional. That instruction, of writing out a sentence in one’s head first, often comes to mind. But is rarely ever followed. My father frequently opined to my face, “You require supervision.” And also said, “Think before you speak.” Because I rarely ever did. And I rarely ever do. He also liked, “Still waters run de

Arthur Miller: 1915 – 2005

From The Nature Of Tragedy… “When I show you why a man does what he does, I may do so melodramatically; but when I show you why he almost did not do it, I am making drama.” “Tragedy arises when we are in the presence of a man who has missed accomplishing his joy. But the joy must be there, the promise of the right way of life must be there.” “…to take up a sad story and discover the hope that may lie buried in it…” “…[tragedy] is the most perfect means we have of showing us who and what we are, and what we must be—or should strive to become.”


I’m in the habit of saying and writing things I don’t even mean. Or, I find, immediately upon saying or writing it— whatever it was— it isn’t nearly as true as I initially believed. I mean, I’ll be firmly convinced in my head. Totally. Completely. Utterly. But then, seeing it on the page— especially seeing it on the page—I’ll change my mind. Swear to God, nearly every third sentence scribbled down or keyboarded in, I’ll say, out loud, “You’re so full of shit.” Though, I’ll leave it be if the potential is there to dramatically affect. And, either that dramatic affecting is indeed occurring , or, as you’ve read everything below, you’ve spat right back at the monitor, “You’re so full of shit.” And calling me out is, perhaps, indeed, all the joy there is in the reading of The FireVaney.