Batshit crazy Bill Shatner turned 75 yesterday! 75! He's the reason there's hope for us all; he's gone beyond making fun of himself, into parodying the parodys of the parodys! Isn't that how we all should live? Making fun of the wackier aspects of ourselves, and cashin' big checks for doing so? So, I, too, will lust after the Princess of The Green Computer and will hide behind paper mache rocks, for all the good it will do, which as it turns out, may not be so bad after all.
1. I won't dance -- Irving Berlin 2. Just like honey -- Jesus and Mary Chain 3. Cool Thing -- Sonic Youth 4. El Picador -- Calexico 5. The Strand -- Roxy Music 6. Bomb The Twist -- 5,6,7.8's 7. Around My Smile -- Hope Sandoval
The Porch Light's out. And my Engine Mount keeps me movin' into the future.
The Porch Light's out, And The Little Man has us all behind the 8 ball "That's Mine," says Cammie, "All Signs Say No, Mama." But Cammie forgets to add her lucky 7 so 15 she gets.
The Porch Light's out, And as Fluffy Lies in his Iraq of a loveseat, Sunni Triangle in one hand, remote in the other, he knows he Lies in wait, a Uboat of other people's careers. And he laughs.
The Porch Light's out, And the other guy wants to know if it's a treat to beat his feet in the Mississippi Mud.
The Porch Light's out, The ham's gone, and the Hash Browns are on their last legs, leaving just the bean, the holy bean, the sugar and the cream. On mornings like this we fly, all through the day, waiting for the night, the deep, deep country dark and the joy of knowing
It was amazingly dark last night, as the street lights went out, and there was no traffic, and only occasional lightning flashes to remind me I was still in the world. It was the kind of enveloping darkness that was so comforting, so deliciously a void, that sleep came easily and deeply. Well, as deeply as it could on a loveseat that's auditioning for the lead in Fluffy Stuffin' II: The Quickening, anyway...
It was the kind of dark that I wished I could have shared with Cammie, where we would hear each other but not see each other...almost a rhetorical coversation between two people, like the other person is just a voice in your head, and Cammie is good for giving me thoughts I don't normally think myself...
Tonight, they fixed the street lights and they cast their pinkish/orange in my living room, the girl in the back apartment has left her porch light on again, and so, sleep is just heat shimmer on the highway... I watched Bergmann's Smiles of a Summer Night, (delightful!) and now I'm here posting away...
See that jar of Cherry Preserves up there? Sure you do. There's a story attached to that jar, and now I'm gonna tell it.
I had a friend who lived in this town many, many moons ago in a very cool place, a sort of Eagles Nest of bachelorhood, (minus the Wehrmacht dinner plates) a cubbyhole tucked away in the dense urban underbrush of Ann's Arbor. It was above a bar, which gave it an unintentional animus in the evenings, and much quiet during the day. My friend filled it much music himself, two good keyboards worth. It was modern and came with a sunporch which gave the grandiosity of a nice downtown view of nearby buildings while keeping you grounded by the stench of the bar trash cans in the alley behind it. It came with strong Anti Evil Spousal Defense Shields, (and cable) which were necessary for my friend to recoup his energies. He was emerging from a Gallipoliesque marriage, and this fallow time was necessary for his later Churchillian marital triumphs, a good thing on many fronts.
But what it didn't have was parking. Oh, yeah, a block down (and down a hill!) and a block over, which was bad enough in good weather, but in rain? with groceries? Or how's about the Sunday when there's rain, groceries, and a friend (moi!) in tow? The triple whammy of anti-parking! So what does my friend do? He parks across the street from his place in the lot for the gardening/oddments store, the lot with a sign that says "Customer parking only, even on Sundays."
Does my friend do what most of the world would do, just park and unload? No, he has to buy something! Yep... that jar at the top of the page. He would not be struck by a thunderbolt from an angry Jehovah; he was a customer! Did he want Cherry Preserves? Hell no, he tossed the jar to me.
What I wonder is: Why did I keep it? I honestly don't know; I could do worse than to say that I somehow feel that the fates will tell me, that he and I and this jar are connected. Is it our Cask of Amontillado? If this were a Hitchcock film, is it a Macguffin of madness and murder? If this were a Kurosawa film, is it what gets found on a wind swept field after we both get killed defending the fortress of Lord HungaDunga? Is it the prize of an unspoken tontine, with the last one left opening it up to find a long lost ruby, ("Of course! A ruby in the Cherry Preserves!") placed there by the infamous pirates of....of...[reads label] Traverse City, Michigan? I'm not sure I want to open it; it looks like what comes out of the crankcase of an Indy car after a "pit" stop on lap 482! So in the fridge it sits, awaiting its unknown and unknowable future, like the rest of us