Archive for February, 2009

To climb a castle wall
And wander ‘round a shopping mall
In someone else’s ugly sneakers
—Graham Kerr

On tour with a troupe of actors in a truck piled high with mattresses, I knocked on a door in a village, looking for a place to stay. A bespectacled intellectual gentleman offered up his home. Was he young or old and how did I know he was so smart? He was middle-aged and salt-and-pepper-grey and the house was full of scholarly books.

We’re sorry, we did not find any results for: theater
Did you mean: there

5. Take the ramp to I-75 N 0.4 mi
6. Keep left at the fork, follow signs for Dayton/I-75 N
and merge onto I-75 N 9.9 mi
7. Take exit 43 to merge onto I-675 N toward Columbus 26.2 mi

The man’s young son had coincidentally constructed a proscenium arch in a large studio room. Perfect for our play, except that I remembered I had never read it.

* 1 small potato, peeled and chopped
* 2 tablespoons butter
* 1 small leek, chopped (1 to 1 1/2 cups)
* 2 large carrots, finely chopped

Children waited and watched while I pored over a vintage hard-bound copy of the script, some flowery 19th century farce about a financial collapse that I could make neither head nor tail of.

We’re sorry, we did not find any results for: troupe
Did you mean: true

19. Slight right at RT-495 E (signs for Lincoln Tunnel)
Partial toll road Entering New York 4.4 mi
20. Slight left at Dyer Ave
(signs for 42 St/Hwy 9A/34 St/I-495 E) 0.3 mi

Boil the potato in 2 cups of water until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain, save the broth, and set the potato aside.

I apologized to our host that my enthusiasm for show business had exceeded my capabilities.

We’re sorry, we did not find any results for: drama
Did you mean: dream

In a blender or a bowl, blend or mash 2 cups of the soup with the milk until thick and silky smooth.
Return the blended soup to the soup pot, and stir.
Ladle into bowls and garnish.

21. Turn left at W 42nd St (signs for Hwy 9A) 486 ft
22. Turn right at 10th Ave 0.1 mi
23. Turn right at W 44th St Destination will be on the left

It was then I discovered that my face was caked with mud, and had been since we left the wedding party in Massachusetts, and nobody had bothered to mention it.

Can anyone connect to everyone?
These days Shakespeare and Jesus even
Might commiserate in Starbucks
Boxed out by chicken soup and soda pop
But still get on with it.

Camptown ladies sing this song
Doo dah, doo dah
Johnny’s so long at the fair

They lay upon a village green
He and his new love
With everybody else in town
Before the film began.
You’re very funny, she said with a smile.
He licked a corner of her lips.
She touched her tongue to his.
When he wondered if his girlfriend saw
He knew everything was wrong.

For an arts festival the place was pretty seedy. The food was crap, the kids were out of control and everybody else was drunk. The only space we could find to put our sleeping bags was between the snack stand and the portable toilets.

Mom was hanging out at the racetrack. I took her back to see the Shakespeare but we got lost and ended up in a dumpy bar where some old codger made a pass at her.

The crows perched on the cross don’t mind
Nor the setting sun behind them
And us old men certainly don’t presume
To envision only pathogens
In the dust motes shimmering
In a golden ray of sunlight.

Bears and mountain cats came down in the snow
And froze into statues at the edge of the park.
We sliced the drifts with great precision
Sifting crystals for their sweetness.

You tear a square from the sheet, put it on your tongue and ask if they work the same as in the old days. You don’t want to get too disoriented in the airport or you’ll miss your flight to the Italian renaissance. Andiamo!

Laurel and Hardy, wearing tunics, tights and Rubber Soul haircuts, turn up at a villa in a bloated art deco SUV. You chuckle at the anachronistic wheels as they come to rest in the golden dust of the Tuscan driveway.

Here’s what the hippies hope to sell: an oversize antique faience teapot, a dirigible-shaped vessel that resembles their car.

A portly balding fellow in loose livery with a decorative gold key around his neck greets them at the door. “Very rare porcelain from the Orient,” says Oliver, offering the pot for inspection. Stanley smiles and chimes in, “Or East Hempstead.” Oliver winces and elbows him in the ribs.

The butler isn’t buying. What else have they got? A Portuguese papier-mâché globe with the latest cartography. No dice.

When next we see them they are jumping ship, suitcases in hand. Stan hopes his radio and electric guitar will survive the wet. An angry pirate captain watches them swim away.

When they reach the comfortably sandy shore, Stan asks, “Is this the end of the story?” “No,” says Ollie, “it’s only the beginning.”

Turn the corner in your checkered nightshirt
And a cop whistles you off the street.
The marathon runners are blasting by
In early morning darkness.
Were you sleepwalking?
A worrisome loss of self-control,
Not to mention unsafe.
Walk along the low bridge
On your way back up the hill.
It’s deserted, yet you hear voices.
You begin to suspect you aren’t awake
Since you haven’t worn that pajama in years.

What chapters would be on the test? The snotty kids in the skateboard park were cagey. It’s on the requirements for graduation, they said. Okay, I said, what period of history is it? Not the history, they said, the requirements.

The test is on the requirements? I asked. That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Well, do you know what they are? they asked. No, I said, are they in the book? No, they said, because it’s the requirements, not the history.

I shrugged it off, or tried to. Maybe I had dropped the class anyway. Or did I? Not officially, so I’d have to go to summer school. I crossed the street on the pedestrian overpass and started to cry. Why was I such a fuckup?

Some teenage girls on their cellphones wouldn’t let me by. Their party clothes looked out of place under the grey sky on the rundown corner. It was the end of the world all over again.

I pulled back the drapes in the big hotel suite to see a bad sign: the letters were falling from the department store next door. The water would be turned off soon. Better shave while I can, I thought. Best to face the apocalypse well-groomed. Trees were down; so were the markets. Bob couldn’t pee in the bus station and his books wouldn’t fit in the overstuffed mailbox. The baby’s skin had the weirdest goosebumps I ever saw. I refused to get upset about it. She was probably just hungry.

I cleaned the crust from my perforated wingtips until I got down to the red brick underneath.