It's a Mad, Mad World

"Mad Men." It's back and I couldn't be happier. I would urge anyone who hasn't gotten on this train to go out and get the first season on DVD. It's just that good, and it's not too far along that you can throw your hat in and say, "whatever, it's too late to get in on it now, and it's probably overrated anyway." It's not.

The costumes, sets, and music are spectacular. Over all, the characters are unique and complex (I'm not sure if anyone else has ever thought that the character of Pete Campbell can seem wooden at times...).

In all, watching the show is like drawing back and peeking inside a Norman Rockwell painting.

And now it's Monday

I drove 25 minutes to work and realized I forgot my laptop in the corner of my dining room. There is no backup, so I had to drive back home. And then back to work. Ah, Monday.

flash fiction

The baby cries. The baby cries and because I am in church, I cannot do what I want, which is reach out with my right hand and flick the back of the mother’s neck. Worse, she has let a one inch section of hair fall from her bun. I’d like to give that a yank, but it’s church so I kneel.

I look at the cracked wood in the pew in front of me and listen to the reading and singing, singing and chanting, chanting and talking. Now it’s quiet. I sneeze and the cotton-haired woman in front of me leans forward as if my sneeze had sent a gust of germs sweeping toward her. I had covered my mouth.

After the homily, I will have to show a Sign of Peace to the people around me. I will not want to, because the man next to me smells like cold cuts. I worry that the cotton-haired woman will think it is me.

Meant to post these awhile ago...

Published in The Hiss Quarterly (thanks, Cynthia):

Roadkill
When I saw the squirrel, it had not been dead a long time.
One arm squashed flat to the pavement, the other raised
in a posthumous salute, middle digit extended.


and...
Poppies

In the cemetery, a hill
dotted with red corn poppies.
Unknowing, I danced
under ochre leaves.

Mommy and daddy stayed for a long time.

Now I look at the stone,
weathered,
artificially ancient,
and shake the branches until
they rain fire.

He was only six.

It's just another manic Tuesday

Well, today is the second Tuesday in a row where I stopped to think to myself, “man, Tuesdays suck.”

Monday is what it is, you’re still rested from the weekend, and perhaps even energized to start the week. Wednesday is hump day. Thursday is almost Friday, and Friday is TGIF. What is Tuesday? Tuesday is the armpit of the week.

And here is what is dangerous about this day. I allow myself time to wallow. It’s time when I think, “what does it all mean?” And usually, I find that I need to discover my passion, that I want to quit my day job (which I actually don’t mind) and _______. The problem is, what I fill that blank in with varies from week to week. Sometimes it’s teaching at VCU again, sometimes it’s going back to school for my PhD, and sometimes it’s just writing freelance and tutoring.

What I have discovered, though, is that prior to tossing my substantial benefits and 401k to the wind, I’d better be sure that I’m running cross country, not just around a track.

Straw Hat And Old Dirty Hank

Say it ain’t so. BNL (that’s Barenaked Ladies Band) defined the late 90s (and maybe even the first year or so of the new millennium) for me. That was way back when I bought CDs instead of downloading to my iPod. That was back when I rocked out in my dad’s 89 Accord. That was back when my cell phone was the size of my foot and had to be positioned to the sun and moon in order to get service.

I can think of every one of their songs defining my drama-filled moments of angst that filled my late teenage years. You know, those moments that when you grow up, you realize don’t matter the slightest? Lame, maybe, but I loved them. The band and those moments.

This is why I was so sad to hear that the lead singer, Steven Page, is faced with cocaine charges. I loved them for their music, their quirkiness, and because they just seemed like those cool, yet geeky guys you would hang out with in college. Those guys aren’t supposed to use cocaine. That’s reserved for Aerosmith, Metallica, whoever. But BNL? Oh, woe.

Steve, good luck. I hope you don’t get the 15 years you’re facing. But if you do, it’s your own fault. And I wouldn’t bail you out. Not even if I had a million dollars.

On the Brinkley

Another one who is not a poster child for successful personal relationships is the original Uptown Girl, Christie Brinkley.

She and Peter Cook have reached a settlement agreement in their particularly sordid divorce battle. She gets the Hamptons properties, and he gets $2.1 mil. I guess it's secondary (eye roll), but they will both get to see their children.

The best quote I have heard regarding this was in People:

"Another source confirmed to PEOPLE that Brinkley and Cook did briefly speak to one another during the negotiations, but added 'they don't communicate well.'"

They don't communicate well? You mean they didn't sit down together and discuss how much of their budget would go to supporting his mistress? Weird.