It's a weird time.

It's a weird time, and of all the things I might post, what I feel like telling you about, here on the Friday afternoon before the snuck-up-on-me long holiday weekend, is how I'm carrying my tire pressure gauge with me.

A few days ago I saw that I had a slightly flattened tire on my automobile.  I took said automobile to the gas station at Main and Wm and put air in it.  The air thingie didn't have one of those built-in pressure gauges (which are no doubt terribly inaccurate but Good Enough For Me call me a bad car steward fine that's fair) so I dug into my glove compartment and found that I did indeed have a tire gauge.


tire gauge.jpg             
my tire gauge              


So I had the gauge in my pocket that night and took it out again the next day in case I needed it to re-check the tire, but the tire looked fine.  It continues to look fine, but I continue putting it back into my pocket rather than back into the glove compartment.  (Yes "glovebox" is shorter but I don't like "glovebox" or "glove box" as much.)

Having the tire pressure gauge in my pocket is good.  Not quite a worry stone, but maybe sorta like that.  A talisman more than a relic.  A symbol (anything could be) and a comfort object.  And a tire pressure gauge above all those.

practice, practice, practice

So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

Answer for question 4354.

What's your favorite saying or quote? Why does it mean something special to you? How did you come across it?
My not-business card features a quotation from Gilda Radner. I found it in an apple juice lid years ago. Yeah, the thing she said about delicious ambiguity, with all its tragic associations, is right up there for me spiritually, but this is my answer to this question:

"I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn't itch."
 
I'm not presenting any here, but I just saw one on my screensaver. I have several of those I was grabbed by that I scanned and see sometimes, on a monitor. Clues to who they were before I existed, and in general.

Sometimes, like just now, I realize it's odd I never saw any of many snapshots while they were still alive, while we were a family.

after spikesgirl58


Your Glow is Pink

You exude love and compassion. You have a glow about you that is welcoming and uplifting.
You are a natural nurturer and have an affection for people, animals, and even plants.

You have a lot of sweetness and hope. Even when things look bleak, you see how they could still turn around.
You get along well with others, but you do have an unconventional streak. You pursue your values over the world's values.





Tracy was glad I could be in the work picture today, especially cuz I am wearing pink.

My old friend Steve could really rock a pink shirt.

I'm sure you know April is poetry month.

I don't know who decided that, or when.  I don't think it was Hallmark.

Among other daily poem feeds in April, I get one from Knopf, who provided this one today, from Mark Strand.



The Rose

The sorrows of the rose were mounting up.
Twisted in a field of weeds, the helpless rose
felt the breeze of paradise just once, then died.
The children cried, “Oh rose, come back.
We love you, rose.” Then someone said that soon
they'd have another rose. “Come, my darlings,
down to the pond, lean over the edge and look
at yourselves looking up. Now do you see it,
its petals open, rising to the surface, turning into you?”
“Oh no,” they said. "We are what we are — nothing else."


How perfect. How ancient. How past repair.
 

a snail crossed my path

The snail picture in this entry's user pic, in fact.

It was on a concrete step, of all places.  As I came back into the office.

Did it fall there?
Did it crawl there?

Snails say what?  "Slow is okay"?  "Good thing I have this shell"?  Both?

There was a serial killer in my dreams.

We had to whisper and write notes in case he was listening, and then when he arrived in a big black Cadillac supposedly to take at least one of us to Paris and I saw him through the window walking toward the house in gloves with the hypodermic (he was probably in the Henley too) (he was always in the Henley when he was going to kill someone) I said "Why didn't I get a weapon?" and led the escape through the side door, the screen squeaking and banging a little too much, but "Run like hell!" and we did, and in a bit I knew he'd been captured, and when it sunk in I looked around and saw the trees like I hadn't in years and the freedom washed over and through me like I couldn't believe, and I wanted to tell neighbors, which neighbors, Linda and David's door was open but they didn't know about him, well whatever, I'm free, but wait, now there are flashes to other scenes; now there is someone who looks a lot like him in a bar; now there's a flashback to him cleaning out his place before he came over, and I know of a sudden the evidence won't necessarily hold up; now there's Kathy B, the detective and the witness, who didn't know the whole story, of course she's going to misinterpret what she saw and heard; now --- he's not going to be staying safely put away.

Awaken.  Get up.  Go in.

I'll lay odds.

FestiFools and FoolMoon are coming up this weekend.  The usual close-to-April-Fool's date was bumped this year by the timing of Jesus Christ Being Ris'n And The Dominant Cultural Partying Around That.  I just got another email from the organizers (of the FestiFoolery, not the Christly Ris'nry), and there was a photo of a buncha colorfully dressed parade viewers, grinning, lotsa kids, detail, happy, good-lookin'.  Sure enough, it was by the local photographer who shoots the events every year, leaving a gorgeous trail depicting the street stuff via almost entirely conventionally beautiful faces, cleanly framed and beaming, great to look at in their way but kinda disgusting in their whitewashy advertising-slick sheen and exclusion.

The shiny happy nonutilitarian childlike goofy fun, of course hoorah, look what we do, but it's just all too cleaned up and nonugly in those pictures.  There's beauty in the craggy ugly old ugly fat ugly misshapen ugly unkempt ugly possibly-insane colorful ugly, in the regularly attired people selling the newsletter of the homeless, in the curled up piece of food wrapper lodged in the corner of the pothole.  She's just too fucking particular and tidy about her celebration.  Some of her pictures shit yeah I love, but I also totally hate her.

There are 17 wallpaper groups.

17.

I believe I have found my favorite-ever Wikipedia page.
a warmth spread all over me when i realized

that leaves 2 in each nest, doing well, sitting on the lip of the bowl with mamma

My feet are ready for sandals.

Or barefootin'.

But it's not time yet.

Okay this isn't about no-socks outside in Springtime, but it is about barefootin':






I'm not old enough to remember the song from when it was a hit, but it stuck with me when I did hear it.

Last night I was talking to a 30-year-old who was born after I got a BA. And the math checks out.

It's window washing day at the office.

They're not in here yet.

It's raining on the eagle cam.

This is the eagle cam in WVa I'm talkin' about.  Earlier this evening it looked like only one baby was still alive---it'd been two furry tinies and a still-unhatched egg still this morning.  But apparently mama eagle was just feeding the bigger one, and maybe all the fluff stuff she'd sorta buried the bunch in was in anticipation of the rain.  She's sure hunkered down now.

The other cam nest, in Codorus State Park (I could tell you a funny story about warring lesbians on a pontoon boat there), has a more from-the-side angle.  It has two babies too.  There's still some eggshell off at the side.

I'm more emotionally attached to the Shepherdstown one, though.  I went there to visit it.

There's sure plenty of fish to feed the little ones.  Outta the Potomac.  In big hunks awaiting distribution.

I didn't get to that screening.

The people will just go on descending on the 1969 escalator of my imagination.


         

 

just posting to post

Getting ready to leave the office.  Worked late to make up some time from a mental health day that turned out to be unneeded/gravy---spent most of that outside with the dog (who got so tuckered out it lasted through the next day), and we found a new favorite portal where black squirrels hang out.  (I was there the next day too, and so were the black squirrels.)  I feel like I've gotten a break, in a few ways, and I like it.  Not having the queertet song (hanging over my head) to practice is some gravy that way too.  And the weather helps too.

The film festival's next week.  I might make a few screenings.  Before that there's a documentary about women's lib, 1966–1971.  I wanna get to that.  On opening night of the fest, the last film, from 1969, is one long B&W shot of the people coming down the escalator out of the Pam Am building one day at 5:00 p.m.  It's called Necrology, and I feel mesmerized already just thinking about it, though a little scared of the deadness reportedly in those faces, and how it will feel to take it in for 12 minutes.  Quoth the critics:

"The film is one of the strongest and grimmest comments upon the contemporary society that cinema has produced."  -- Jonas Mekas, The Village Voice

"Without doubt, the sickest joke I've ever seen on film." -- Hollis Frampton

But now, figuring out something for supper.
Plus they may offer relief from existential dread.

I'm an emergency Daily Box substitute today.  That means doubling down on distractibility.

But look, here I am telling you about what I saw on Google news.

Deep breath, big sigh, back to it.
It won't last, but I've been in first place for a few days.  CRAZY.  I'm not that good at trivia--- just been getting lucky, and my opponents have missed a lot of questions and given me lots of points for the ones I've gotten right; I've gotten *5* 3-pointers so far in 11 days of competition, more than any of the other 33 people in the division.  The 3-pointer is the question your opponent thinks you're least likely to get right.

Below are today's questions, of which I got a whoppin' 4 right.  How many do you know?

#3 I remembered because of a childhood geegaw (a little aluminum coin-type thingie with the player's picture on it, and his name just came to me today) (I spelled it wrong, but they don't count that against ya).  #4 I just guessed right on, only sorta knowing who it might be from West Wing, and thinking he does seem to play politicians.  And take lots of roles.  Not Michael-Caine-lots, but lots.

The description of the character in #1 cracked me up.

1. Tomorrow, I'll think of some way to get him back. After all, tomorrow is another day. Thus ends what novel, in lines spoken by the story's vain, spoiled, shrewd, strong-willed, thrice-married heroine?

2. What term from music, derived from a Greek word for "song" or "tune", refers to a group of notes sung to a single syllable of text, normally including a primary note and ornamentation? Gregorian chants are an old example; more recent examples are basically anything by Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey.

3. Name the hurler, the winner of the National League Cy Young Award after the 1969, 1973, and 1975 seasons, who is the only member of the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, whose plaque sports a New York Mets cap.

4. Name the actor who plays Senator Gil John Biggs in the TV series Alpha House, Congressman Scott Talley in the film The Campaign, Congressman Chuck Long in the film Evan Almighty, and Speaker of the House Glenallen Walken in the TV series The West Wing.

5. "I do not believe that the president loves America. He doesn't love you. And he doesn't love me. He wasn't brought up the way you were brought up and I was brought up, through love of this country." Who reportedly spoke these words, in reference to President Barack Obama, at a private group dinner featuring Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker on February 18, 2015?

6. What name was shared by three English monarchs before the Norman Conquest (the Elder, the Martyr, and the Confessor) and by another eight English monarchs after the conquest?

I'm experimenting with transitioning.

I've considered it fleetingly in the past, but I didn't actually flirt with the idea for real until a fortnight ago.  It feels a little like jumping ship from the team I was playing with, and have identifed with, and it's awkward and weird and makes my head feel funny, but it also is quite natural, and comfortable, and fits with what seems to come out of me naturally.

So I'm gonna play with it a little more this week and see what I think.  It's fluid.  I can always transition back, and then switch again, and then switch again, if I want.  But if I get on a roll in the new role, I'll stick with it for a few months, at least, cuz that's how long we'll be working on these next songs.  And yeah, if I had to bet right now, I'd say I think I'm gonna try being a tenor.  Cuz I can, and it'll be a mind fuck, and I won't have to sing any of those notes up there above C above middle C, or even that C, or even the B or the A.