Elective Procedures

I can't decide if this is a final clamping down
a desperate suture on the main artery
if there is no outrage
the tree bare
shake but nothing to show for
the still air.

Tunnel into the dirt
to locate the roots
but the act is now
distant archeology
your pockets of treasures
sown all together
crinkled and smudged
(but no less beloved).

An Intimacy is extinguished
when an anguish is razed
before and after,
initiate and haze,
these airy tumbleweeds
a taupe equanimity
another member
for this deadened sorority.

Between 6pm and 8:30pm

I had an unscheduled dinner with an uninvited man who is an acquaintance of an acquaintance who told me that he is writing a book on sports nutrition;
is a medical doctor completing his residency at a prestigious hospital;
is a Hare Krishna devotee;
is a mystic;
is getting into television and radio;
[At this point, the acquaintance who wanted nothing to do with the acquaintance we were seated with has deserted us for the night.]
is able to leave his body at will during meditation (he goes to the astral plane - I've heard it's nice there);
is starting a non profit where he will take in food, prepare it, and homeless and poor will come and eat
Me: "Oh, so, like a soup kitchen."
Him: "No, I definitely wouldn't call it that."
Me: "Right."
Him: "A fellow devotee claims that once the Krishnas take in food and prepare it, it becomes sanctified, blessed, and has a cleansing effect when you eat it."
Me: "So it's like an inadvertent spa treatment."
Him: "Sort of."
Me: "As a medical doctor, do you believe in the existence of sanctified food that cleanses you because it is sanctified?"
Him: "Yes, because I've been cleansed...I'm also in sales and marketing."
Me: "I'm not surprised."
Him: "I sell Amway. Have you ever heard of it?"
Me: "Um-hm."
Him: "Do you think sales is evil?"
Me: "Depends on what you sell. I don't care enough about what people buy, so I would be a horrible sales person."
Him: "Well, I used to not care either. But then I took some courses, 2 years worth, and now I'm completely brainwashed...."
Me: "....by the Krishna's."
Him: "No. By Amway."
And scene.

I was corralled into this person's universe outside of a contemporary performance show where a troupe of dancers in intricate masks and costumes portrayed a beating, a rape and the stages of recovery and survivorship.  All in blacklight.  Set to modern music.  After the show one of the dancers explained how this was actually her personal story.

The quality and magnificence of the art at the show far exceeded the fantastical nature of the conversation after it. 

A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Situation ~ No. 1

The premier of the 'WTF' series. To qualify, things must strike a hilarious or ludicrous chord.  For your amusement, edification, or as a cautionary tale.  Or all three. 

Iggy Pop and his dummy yuk it up selling car insurance in a commercial. *

From self-mutiliating rock-n-roll dervish to advocate of lower premiums and great coverage . 

I so want one of these.  Sitting magnificently in my office chair in my stead while I go see The Hurt Locker. 

*Thanks to stereogum.com which posted this freeze frame.

Don't Fix My Smile, Life Is Long Enough

Since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (is it sincere, or just desperate?), I'm hoping the Freelance Whales don't mind that I five-fingered this post's title from a lyric in their amazing song, Generator ^ Second Floor.  And they shouldn't, cuz I'm doing it to pimp them hard, right here, right now. 

If Death Cab for Cutie, Ra Ra Riot, M. Ward, Grey Eye Glances and the synthesizer guy from Depeche Mode circa 1983 (see album Construction Time Again) got together to bake a cake to welcome the new neighbor to the 'hood, and if that cake had been decorated with silly squiggles of Vampire Weekend and topped with a folk-inspired candle, that cake would be Freelance Whales.  And there would be impolite swipes in the frosting before you even cut it, cuz its charmingly good. 

The whole album is a lovely little meet and greet, and you want to wrap the band, their watering can, weird breathalyzer instrument I can't name, glockenspiel and all, in your pocket.  In their song, Hannah, singer Judah politely asks 'Do me this solid if you would pretty lady, grab a martini and meet me on the balcony. I prepared a light show, you could fake a melody, we argue over where and when the cymbal hits should be....and if you're partial to the night sky, if you're vaguely attracted to rooftops...'  

Why, I never thought you'd ask. Yes, yes, and yes.

Thus I pimp mightily the Whales' release, Weathervanes, but I also pound my chest to display a certain musical dominance.  Me and a friend discovered them long before they became "album of the week" on the vanguard alt radio station we rely on.  And when I heard the "album of the week" news wafting through my car speakers last Sunday, my rejoinder shot out, a cannonball of smugness: "I got to them first, fuckers!" 

And though the cover album art looks like a cross-stitch pattern your great aunt bought for you when you were 8 and still following the Mennonite faith, there is something sublime about a backstory whereby a band that just started playing in late 2008 on street corners and subway stops can now transport you from the comfort of your very own ipod.  Joyfully. Effortlessly. 

What makes you pound your musical chest? Give it up!

A Talisman for 2010, Philadelphia Style

There's something inherently redeemable about wild abandon.  And every year, the city of Philadelphia redeems - yes, redeems itself hosting the Mummer's parade on New Year's Day.

Officially in its 109th year, it offers the full spectrum:  breathtaking, intricate costumes, props and floats; skilled music, dance and acting performances; gleeful foolishness; warmhearted public ambassadorship; profuse public drunkeness and unbridled fuckery. 


In short, it offers the total package of art and entertainment. 
For no charge. 
On the street. 
I daresay, it's magnificent.


The Mummer's first divisions - the comics, the wenches - these folks solidly encompass the latter half of the things I listed above.  (Mostly) Men in garish theme dresses, painted beyond recognition, clutching Bud Lights and each other, dancing in hapazard circles down the street with parasols. 

When you see it, you forget if you've had an unremarkable year. You feel, despite yourself, that this is a good omen, a best possible start.  Woe as you are and jaded though you may be, who can possibly feel anything other than amusement when this guy's coming at you?

It is good not only because it's glee busking you in the face, or because a subset of the populace not especially trained to entertain you, is in fact, letting down their guard to entertain you....but because there's beauty in the tradition of it, in simply persisting. 

Mini-you's learning to walk the walk.

It's all the more delightful when the tradition is carried out not because of religious dogma, family dysfunction, social mores or self-importance, but instead is followed because it produces fellowship and joy (and gleeful foolishness, warmhearted public ambassadorship, public drunkeness and unbridled fuckery.)

So while I struggled this past week with prioritizing all the things I resolve not to do (take things too serious, arrive late, act like an asshat) and all the things I now resolve to start (being more brave, opening up emotionally, flossing regularly), I took a second to think about the unbroken things that I already do, the traditions, if you will ...the things that, net-net, are just fine already.  And for a shiny, cold, Broad Street moment, it was all right. 

Thanks, you's Mummers.