Showing posts from October, 2023

Great Starts - Take One

There are times when, even after I apply every conceivable precaution, the microwave will make the cheese on my Great Starts breakfast beyond edibili IT DRIVES ME NUTS  WHEN I LEAVE WORDS,  NECESSARY WORDS,  OUT OF SENTENCE!  20 January 2001

Rather Prosaic

I want to believe that Canadian bacon is authentically Canadian, just like I want to believe that French toast is authentically French. I want to believe this because I want to believe that Canadians and French folks are gastronomically superior to Americans. As a matter of fact, at this very moment, I am chewing on a scrap of “Canadian” bacon. (And, no, I am not being euphemistic.) Specifically, I’m enjoying a Swanson Great Starts English Muffin with Low Fat Egg Patty, Canadian Style Bacon, and Cheese Light Breakfast Sandwich. Quite filling, I must say. The Dominick’s down the street never stocks enough of them. Come to think of it, that store rarely stocks enough of anything I like. Could it be that I prefer too many popular things? Hm. And all this time I’ve assumed my palate was rather eccentric.  9 January 2001

In Three Words...

 All is folly.

Closing Night Shenanigans

The playwright spent the entirety of our final performance with his head in his hands. We all knew that Alfie would instigate shenanigans of some such (and I state that warmly), but no one could say exactly what. Probably, he didn’t know himself. I warned him not to pull anything during the funeral scene—as he had several weeks ago. The show consists of loosely connected vignettes; the first is set in a courtroom. Before the proverbial curtain rises (“proverbial” because there isn’t one), Lisha and I take the two seats reserved for us in the front row of the audience. The place seats maybe seventy patrons, if you really pack them in. I couldn’t tell you why Lisha and I were seated in the audience. I wasn’t there to question directorial choices. I was there to work the rust out of my acting chops. The show actually begins just prior to the courtroom scene, when the rest of the cast enters and crisscrosses the stage as if they’re all single, love-starved (or at least horny) adults on the

S T R E A M # 2 3

Start: He whispers the word, “Calm,” and he takes a slow, deep breath. Next, he whispers the word, “Happy,” and the ends of his lips curl upward into a smile. He’ll do this even if he isn’t legitimately happy, just as he’ll recite the word “Calm,” and draw and exhale a deep, slow breath, even if he’s officially agitated. After that, he’ll whisper the word, “Here,” and he’ll focus on something in the room, or on something wherever he happens to be; he’ll note the shape, the color, the size, perhaps even the feel of whatever it is. The order of these three words—Calm, Happy, and Here—is not important. He shuffles them around. What matters is that he remembers to say the words and complete their related tasks whenever he finds himself dwelling, or whenever the bottom of his belly fills with the feeling of lead. He doesn’t know how many times a day he recites the words, but perhaps he should start keeping track. If he keeps track, he’ll be able to track his progress—assuming progress is be

"Oh, That's Rich!"

So this fellow barista of mine, let’s call him Rich, he comes off as a real clean-cut type, a real stand-out citizen. Rich could’ve been the dude who gave Little Goody Two-Shoes her first pair of pumps. He’s a part-timer at the coffee shop. This baffles * me given that he’s also a full-time chemist/biologist at Redacted Labs, teaches kids how to play chess on Sundays, serves as a “big brother” to at-risk youth, volunteers to feed the homeless, patronizes the opera, easily qualifies as one who is “well-read,” and continues to take physics college courses “ just for fun. ” I learned earlier this evening that Rich has a dark side, too. When he’s not brewing coffee or being an altruist or an overachiever, he’s going to raves, he’s getting smashed, he’s experimenting with very dangerous illicit drugs. He goes through men and women like Denis Leary goes through packs of cigarettes. But to look at him, you would never know it. This Rich guy, he’s the poster boy for the young affluent yuppie