23 Apr 2010

Wayback Friday.

Written by sally @ 9:25 am — Section: sally

I was trying to find the picture of Lulu wearing my holey cashmere sweater (adorbs) and ended up finding these two hilarious conversations I overhead at Target. While you’re looking at old stuff, look at this photo of two cats fighting.

22 Apr 2010

Arbitrary Destiny.

Written by sally @ 3:08 pm — Section: sally

In some poetry class in graduate school, we read some surrealist poems. One ends with the words “tasty tasty bosoms.” My friend and I take to murmuring “tasty tasty bosoms” in a creepy voice whenever the urge hits. Time passes. I want to read this poem again. All I know it was a surrealist and that there were tasty tasty bosoms involved. That’s not a lot to go on, Google-wise. Last week I was reading something and the name “Michael Benedikt” came up. He’s the tasty bosom translator! I think. I Google and Google and find that he translated the work of Desnos. I see the title “Arbitrary Destiny” and have a feeling that that’s it. I know that’s it, but this translation is unGoogleable and thus, I must rely on ILL. The book came in today, and lo! It’s the one, tasty tasty bosoms and all.

Arbitrary Destiny
–Robert Desnos, translated by Michael Benedikt

Once again the great days of the crusades return!
Through this sealed window the birds refuse to speak
Like fish in an aquarium.
In the display window
a pretty woman smiles.
Everyday happiness you are a lump of sealing-wax
while I go traveling on like some mist.
A great many ushers anxiously pursue
a perfectly inoffensive butterfly escaping down an aisle.
Beneath my cupped hands it becomes a pair of lace panties
and your eagle flesh
O my dreams while I hold you in my arms!
In the world of tomorrow they will bury you for free
nobody will catch cold anymore
people will speak in the language of flowers
and shine with a glow previously unexperienced.
But today is still today.
I feel my commencement ceremonies coming
the way wheatfields feel in June.
All right officers just slip those manacles on me.
The statues refuse to obey they turn their heads away.
Across their pedestals I’ll scribble insults then sign my worst enemy’s name.
Far off across the seas between two tides
a lovely woman’s body scares off sharks.
They rise to the surface to admire themselves there in the clear air
but dare not nibble at those forbidden bosoms
such tasty tasty bosoms, too.

(from The Poetry of Surrealism: An Anthology. Ed. Michael Benedikt. Little, Brown, 1974. p. 250.)

21 Apr 2010

LET’S WRITE IN ALL CAPS.

Written by sally @ 9:40 am — Section: sally

If you ask someone for something via email and hear nothing after a week, and then you nicely nudge them to ask if they received the first email and still hear nothing, and then someone gives you a new email address for them and you forward them the original email with a peppy “just making sure I have the right address!”, and then they respond to your request in all caps, are they yelling? What if the person is over 70? So many factors in this equation. I have successfully received non all-caps emails from this person before. And yet, the person is old and possibly did not notice. Sidenote: if you don’t follow Martha Stewart on Twitter, you should. She is hilarious. She types in all caps, and then gets defensive when people call her on it, and then sometimes she puts her phone in her pocket and tweets nonsense. It’s comedy gold, I tell you.

Last week I read my journal from mid-junior year through beginning of senior year of college, and besides the usual grumbling about my boyfriend/other boys/crushes/etc, I discovered something fairly interesting. I have written before about my weird friendship with the strange, yet lovable Vicki Nelson, and in my mind I have this perception of how things were: that we were friends that bickered, but who still loved each other. (Except that time I sat there while her new boyfriend got ambushed by her old boyfriend.) Because of that incident, I have felt for YEARS that I was the predominantly bad one in the friendship, that poor little Vicki just got dumped on and I am a mean and hateful person.

But thanks to the power of journaling, I have discovered that Vicki Nelson’s bitchiness is on par with mine! What a fucking relief. I read a passage in which a long-pined for crush randomly calls me up out of nowhere and then we meet for coffee (this is why you need a landline, haters! so people can find you!) and I call Vicki to tell her about it. I wrote it out in dialogue format, much like this:

Sally: GUESS WHO CALLED ME.
Vicki: Who?
Sally: Long-pined for crush!
Vicki: (silence)
Vicki: Really?
Sally: Yes!
Vicki: I…I can’t believe it.

For the rest of the conversation, Vicki tries to kill my enthusiasm by saying mean things, the best of which is this line: “If he ever calls you again and y’all go somewhere, you’ll have to tell me so I can come too ’cause I remember him being really ugly.” VICKI NELSON. ALL CAPS IS NECESSARY FOR ME TO SAY THAT YOU ARE TERRIBLE.

16 Apr 2010

Guilt. Perhaps Misplaced.

Written by sally @ 2:23 pm — Section: sally

I just changed the shipping options on a package from Amazon because I felt guilty thinking about the Amazon and UPS people running around crazily trying to get my package to me overnight. Overnight, to me, is for emergencies: Christmas is tomorrow! I need these shoes for my wedding! The test is on Tuesday and I have to read the book immediately! Somehow thinking about all the sweaty people involved in a getting Spike a 14″ plush Bert doll just made me feel terrible.

14 Apr 2010

Three Things.

Written by sally @ 1:02 pm — Section: sally

• CALQL8R

• Usually when spring hits, I say, “Oh, look at the azaleas!”, sneeze twice, and go make a sandwich or something. This time, the pollen has settled in my lungs and throat to the point that when I speak, yellow puffs of air emerge and settle on those unfortunate enough to be around me. That, and I have a wicked, wicked cough. So wicked that while coughing, I have done the following things in the last week:
1. pee on myself
2. barf

Happy spring!!!

American Idol sucks. That is all.

8 Apr 2010

Spend the Next Hundred Years Staring It Down.

Written by sally @ 7:39 am — Section: sally

Just because I’m not posting a poem a day doesn’t mean I’m not celebrating National Poetry Month. I read this last night and thought, Damn. (more…)

7 Apr 2010

Tags, Apps, Sweat Moustaches, Idol Songs.

Written by sally @ 1:50 pm — Section: sally

1. Today at lunch I spotted the tag IMSMYMA. I knew I’d seen it before, and lo, I reported it here FOUR YEARS AGO.

2. If you have an iPhone, you should try the Kindle app and thus be able to read The House of Mirth while shoving pizza in your mouth at lunch. For free! I mean, you could probably buy a book, too. If you wanted.

2a. Fun fact: I saw IMSMYMA in the pizza place parking lot, and for a moment entertained the thought of approaching him/her and asking what the tag meant, but then they drove off. I was a little sad, but a little relieved I would not have to approach a probably deranged stranger and ask a weird question.

3. Last Friday I went to Lemuria to get Brad Watson’s new book (Aliens in the Prime of Their Lives) signed. This is something people do, and yet somehow, it turned out to be an incredibly awkward experience. If there had been tons of people around, it would’ve been better, but it was basically me, Brad Watson, and my sweat moustache.

Scene:

Sally: (drips with sweat, creeps toward the table, and speaks way too loudly and unnaturally) HI CAN YOU SIGN THIS FOR ME.
Brad Watson: (looks puzzled, as if this was a totally insane request) Uh. Okay, I guess. (starts to sign book)
Sally: Oh. No. I mean, my name’s Sally. Put that in there.
Brad Watson: Oh. Okay. (seems confused)
Sally: That way we can pretend this was a much bigger experience for both of us.
Brad Watson: Okay.
Sally (continuing to speak loudly/unnaturally, despite sweat accumulation): Actually, I met you once at the Conference for the Book and we ate catfish at the same table.
Brad Watson: (perks up a little) Oh, really!
Sally: Yes!
Brad Watson: Was I there?
Sally: Um. Yes. (leaves table dejectedly)

He wrote in my book, “To Sally: It meant a lot. It was great. Brad Watson. Whateverrrrr.”

(Note: The “Whateverrrrr” was silent.)

4. I am a really good time manager. For example, last week I had a rapidly approaching deadline, and so naturally I made a list of what all the American Idol contestants should sing.

Michael Lynche: “I’m on Fire” by Bruce Springsteen
Siobhan Magnus: “Different Drum” by the Stone Ponys
Crystal Bowersox: “Pensacola” by Joan Osbourne
Aaron Kelly: “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” by Celine Dion (no seriously, wouldn’t he be great at this?)
Katie Stevens: “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna
Casey James: “Aubrey” by Bread
Lee Dewyze: “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel
Andrew Garcia: “Laid” by James
Tim Urban: a mashup of any Whitney Houston song/Mariah Carey song in the hopes that it will be all kinds of awful and he will be evicted

This was before Didi Benami was ousted, but I still think she should do Feist’s “1234.” Some of these are better than others. I have no love for Casey, Lee, or Tim, which is why their choices are lame. Although, come on: Casey singing “Aubrey”? That might change my mind.

6 Apr 2010

Tagz Found on a Piece of Paper in My Car.

Written by sally @ 5:31 am — Section: sally

PURR D
IMMUNO1 (Note: very small, very old man driving. Needed a phone book to sit on to be able to see over the wheel properly.)
WYTCHOC
KIZ8ELN (??)

I also saw SWTNESS again.

5 Apr 2010

Stuff.

Written by sally @ 9:00 am — Section: sally

1. I don’t think I’m doing National Poetry Month this year.
2. I gave up fries for Lent, which turned out to mean that I ate no hamburgers either, since you can’t eat one without the other, and then I couldn’t eat a po’boy because fries just go with po’boys, and I couldn’t eat at Keifer’s either because I will be damned if I go to Keifer’s and not get the cottage fries, and anyway, today at lunch I will be having a Big Mac (shut up, haters) and some fries, and it will be awesome and delicious and I CANNOT WAIT.
3. Although I recently expressed my devotion to the Real Housewives of New York City, I think it might be over. Before, at least some of them genuinely seemed to like each other, but now it’s obvious they all hate each other, and when they get together and are not screaming at each other, one will say “HEY REMEMBER WHEN YOU SAID THAT TERRIBLE THING” and then the screaming begins. It’s lame. And Ramona’s fake lunchtime father tears pushed me over the edge.
4. Did you know that Spike is almost TWO YEARS OLD?
5. That is all.

2 Apr 2010

A Brief Couplet.

Written by sally @ 7:22 pm — Section: sally

Please read the following poem with a lisp for maximum enjoyment.

Apparently I am a dunce;
I forgot National Poetry Month.

P.S. Poems will resume tomorrow!