Wednesday, March 31, 2010
In chronicalling the drama that played out each night against the celestrial sphere, the Greeks had drawn upon their culture and the world around them: a world of nature, magical creatures, and gods.
Lacaille looked around his room and gave us . . . The Telescope, The Furnace, and The Clock.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
When I came on the scene,
With Charles Schulz’s comic strip
In every magazine.
But then Hogan and his heroes
Appeared on TV shortly
And brought with them a new namesake
Both incompetent and portly.
“I see nothing,” Schultz would say,
To my classmate’s jubilation.
He knew nothing, nothing heard . . .
Until their cancellation.
Then Robert Crane was murdered
And Sergeant Schultz had gone
And reruns of that prison camp
Were hardly ever shown.
So, I suppose the lesson is
To name kids carefully,
In spite of which we named our boy
After Mister Bean.
Monday, March 29, 2010
David would tell me to go to the doctor, but then he thrives on finding the definitive solution to these sorts of problems, while I actively avoid the time-consuming spiral of tests and referals and treatments where everyone eventually just gives up, and the problem goes away on its own.
Plus, in this case, there’s a certain level of embarrassment, since I’d have to tell my doctor that it really hurts when I reach around to . . . wipe my ass.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Of course, keeping yourself warm is important, too, but more often than not just follows from the quest for dryness. I certainly don’t remember hearing anyone on a camping trip complaining about how cold and dry they were.
The thought of camping fills me with dread. Lumpy ground, cold stinky tent. The washroom, if it exists, is filthy, with a wet, dirty floor covered in flip-flop marks, and an impressive collection of dead deer flies. Or it’s a spider-infested, shit-laden outhouse. But is this suburban camping? Maybe the real Tabasco can be found further afield away from loud-mouthed fellow campers and their ghetto blasters. Pitching a tent on a clear smooth rock overlooking a pristine spring-fed lake with only the chorus of loons and frogs lulling you to sleep could be both beautiful and soul-nurturing. For some people.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Pour a few generous measures of gin from a 1.14 L bottle of Bombay Sapphire.
Top it up from a 1 L bottle of Martini & Rossi Extra Dry vermouth, shake well, and stick it in the freezer while you drink the gin.
Once you have finished the martini mixture, start on the leftover vermouth . . . over ice, if you still have any.
And for God’s sake, eat something! Anything. Although an olive or two is traditional.
Friday, March 26, 2010
“Hey,” said Maker-of-Things. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’m sick,” said Trier. “It hurts when I piss.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Remember that cutter I made.”
“Yeah,” said Trier. “That hurt, too.”
“Well, I have a new idea that might help you.”
“Don’t worry,” said Maker. “Just give me your cock.”
Image: The Sciolist.
“Foreign.” One of them sniffed.
“So cruel!” Returned the other.
After casting a final disapproving look they returned to stuffing their little boys’ circumcised penises into their respective waterproof Kushies.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
But for some stupid reason I can no longer recall, I missed it . . . a party of nurses and firemen from the station next door.
I missed a party full of people who actually got to be what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Sock monkeys by Waxéla Sananda.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
“Well,” said Atalanta. “The party’s over, so they say. Someone ended up smashing through one of those big coffee tables—I don’t know how—and everyone just scattered.”
“A record body count,” said Atalanta. “. . . but it looks like you made it out okay.”
“Well, I can run pretty fast,” said Nick. “And I’m very good in the woods.”
“You know they’re still looking for you, right?” said Atalanta. “You might not want to go home for awhile.”
“’I’ll build myself a fire. Don’t worry.”
Monday, March 22, 2010
“Somebody told me you could play,” she said to Hermes.
“I used to,” he said.
But he knew it would suck out here in the sun, with the surf muffling the sound, like the lights from the pier that wash out the stars, the same old songs that can still draw us all to the fire, because they sound better there, protected there, within a tight circle of souls.
“We’d better take this back,” said Hermes. “Somebody’s probably looking for it.”
“Of course I’m tired,” said Nick. “They’ve got me sharing a berth with good ol’ hot-and-horny Hercules!”
“You do know the proper term is cabin?”
“I know what the word is,” said Nick, “but with you in your own cabin, there really aren’t enough berths to go around.”
“Don’t worry, Nick. Cute as you are, I know for a fact it’s girls he likes . . . but whatever, maybe this’ll teach you something about yourself.”
“Sure,” said Nick. “For instance, I’ve already learned that, given a small enough space, I can sleep standing up.”
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
“And at school?” asked Nick.
“Force of habit, I guess. It’s just easier to pretend I was staying faithful to my summer boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if a unicorn could fall asleep with his head in my lap . . . okay, technically, he could; but he’d probably wake up real grumpy.”
Friday, March 19, 2010
And yet here’s me in class, mooning over my new secret crush, when through a fortuitous fold in her top, I catch a glimpse of breast clear to the nipple!
Never have I had such luck . . . and wanted it so little, because it’s really her that I want, and this tawdry treat is already beginning to feel like the consolation prize.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
There wasn’t much down there to be particularly proud of. In fact, under any other circumstances, it should’ve been the subject of ridicule; but no one dared be the first to point it out, because we all knew the penalty for looking at that sort of thing, even though everyone was.
And so, in a way, I had to admire Doug’s courage. I’d have sooner run another ten or twelve laps than walk naked past my classmates with a stiffy.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
So, in that vein, how about “No Smoking within 50 ft . . . BOOM!”
Or “Slippery When Wet . . . CRASH!”
Believe it or not, what’s got me thinking about this is the guy who sells ice-cream in our neighbourhood; and who, apparently, has already adopted this approach with the warning painted on the back of his truck: “Caution Children . . . SLUSH!”
Image from a photo by Toronto Type.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
My first girlfriend was smart as a whip but cold in bed, hopelessly insecure, and shy.
The second was vivacious—at least that’s what she’d claimed in her ad—outgoing and overly confident, but with a laugh that could turn heads in a noisy room.
The third I’ll call Goldilocks, because she was just right, somehow combining the best of her predecessors while patching over the worst . . . the porridge, the chair, and the bed—everything in balance, and a welcome respite from the extremes I had come to expect.
“My parents actually told me they’re worried I won’t amount to anything,” she said. “But here I am, sitting in a nice apartment on a new leather couch, and I think I’m doing pretty well.”
But it was my apartment.
And although I’d never thought I’d ever make enough money to attract a gold digger, who could’ve imagined there’d ever be a gold digger who’d be satisfied with the money I make.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Click here to see the full image by Citatus on Flickr.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
For a few years I seemed to be having a run of sixes; I’d find a card, flip it over, and as if by magic another six would appear.
And because I can’t remember ever losing any cards myself, I wonder where these could possibly be coming from. Who removes a single card from a deck and takes it with them on a walk?
That same magician, perhaps.
Friday, March 12, 2010
We didn’t see Mike for awhile after that, but you know what? I still think it was a pretty funny joke.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
For instance, imagine you’re both still virgins, and that you’ve done everything you can to set things up so as to remedy that situation, and that you’ve even purchased two overpriced cherry truffles to consume sometime after the culmination of said remedy . . . well, you might just want to back away from the silly symbolism, because things don’t always work out as well as you plan, and that expensive chocolate might just leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
Photo by Akilah Nadia.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
It begins in September, probably Grade Seven, when gym class changed, and Mr. Mason had us running laps, whatever the season, practising for our timed run around the goal posts at opposite ends of the field.
Then back to the beach, where I saw my mom in the distance and decided to show her what I could do, and so ran all the way . . . the first time I actually enjoyed it, but the last time I did it.
Click here to read more entries in the popular Mr. Mason Suite.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Then, as if their readers had demanded proof he’d actually done it, the editors ran a follow-up in which they teased us with a link to the full set of photos of Scott’s short, cold trip. And although these did indeed deliver on the promised nudity, I found their notion of completeness suspect . . . because, unless Scottie really has no willy, Toronto didn’t really get The Full Monty.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Okay, I’ll grant you that I do change my underpants daily, and I do vary things a little the rare time I’m scheduled to see the same person two days in a row. But basically I’m a sucker for not having to bother, especially in the winter when I tend to layer things up a bit, and so can remove and install the entire top half of my ensemble in one graceful and time-saving motion.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The first was the result of his search for an economical alternative to FD&C Red No. 3—for use in food, drugs and cosmetics—and wasn’t so remarkable for the way it looked but for the effect it appeared to have on his normal inhibitions. The second occurred the moment he plopped a spoonful of the stuff into his mouth, and he knew it was going make them all rich.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The problem, I think, is that neither of us got to watch our fathers grow old, and so we haven’t a clue how work through our middle age.