I’m alllllmost done with my latest Dickens, “Our Mutual Friend”. It’s his last novel, and it’s purt’ good. Again, though, as ever: WHY, Dickens, must you pair your protagonists with lady-loves who are such TOTAL GOOBERS? Goobs, I tell you! Goobs!
Somebody with sweet potatoes for brains could see, for instance, that Bella Wilfer and John Rokesmith are the marital equivalent of a peanut butter and tar sandwich. And if you’ve ever tried to eat a peanut butter and tar sandwich, you know where I’m coming from. You are probably also missing your molars.
Do peanut butter and tar go together? Are these your brains?
Maybe it’s ’cause Dickens was a philanderer.
***
Those sweet potatoes look heavenly, though. Let’s not lie about it, or anything.
DICKENS: And there I have you!
ME: Damn you, Dickens!
DICKENS: I win! Me!
***
The space shuttle Atlantis is currently on a mission to repair the Hubble, otherwise known as My Heart. Last Friday, the astronauts worked on replacing the gyroscopes.
This is a gyroscope:
They help keep the telescope pointed a-right.
Anywho, two astronauts–Dr. Massimino and Colonel Good [note: these are their real names] went on a space walk, to fix the gyroscopes, and to replace some batteries, much as you or I might do!
YOU: The cordless phone is dying!
ME: Nuts!
YOU: Well, time for a space walk.
Colonel Good had some trouble replacing one of the batteries, but it finally clink-clanked itself into place.
The article I read goes on to state, quote:
“Congratulating his men, the shuttle’s commander, Scott D. Altman, jokingly quoted King Leonidas of Sparta, who held off the Persians at Thermopylae 2,500 years ago. ‘Remember this day, men,’ said Commander Altman, ‘for it will be yours for all time.’”
That Commander Altman sounds like a real firecracker.
***
Spacewalks are quite interesting, actually. You should go read about them.
How I Fell & How It Felt
At the movies, in my suede boots, like a fawn in the dark
startled by the lights, I fall; down the stairs vertiginous steep
I fall all week–and still fall, and still bark
and bloody my shin, and I am still asleep.
Or no, moving from Cheer, to Joy, to All,
I fall like a cumbersomely breaking sack
of groceries in the parking lot. Why call
for help, game hens, why hope for something back?
The “sorrys” go by me, like the jaunty sparrows
pecking the llama’s grain. From a mother’s sleep
I fell into such a state–the slings and eros
of outrageous fortune–I could weep
as Ash (our hero) now begins to weep
vast shining cartoon tears for the beloved
Pokemon who’s died. But tears are cheap
as movie tickets. Everyone is moved
uniformly. I just feel it more
in my right shin. I bet there’ll be a scar.
Jennifer Clarvoe
2 Comments
May 20, 2009 at 9:00 am
“Jaunty sparrows,” eh? That’s sorta old-timey!
May 21, 2009 at 12:27 am
I love this poem.