Full (Lipped) Moon

Hi We're the Bad Make-Up Moons. We rock every full moon. The moon is our rock. We rock our rock when the rock is full. The rock is full, and so we rock. It's a moon day. NO Ashtanga yoga today. On the full moon. Yogis rest. Well. They don't REALLY rest. They rock.

email as poetry

How are you? We are fine. Where did the summer go? I cooked Sunday dinner. One of those short notice ideas which turned out well. Billy took home your bass guitar. He seemed thrilled with the idea. He is taking drum and trumpet lessons already. Dad and I have been faithful customers of the Takoma farmers market. We tend to go to the same places. I never talk to any of the farmers. They seem so busy.

LA Sunset?

Is this a sunset that's so pink? Or am I just channeling my shrink? and skating on my own ice rink? What? An egg-on-bagel in my hand? A gurgling morning bowel demand? and a "you're-late-this-AM" text-rimand? So, this might be morning afterall. Wow. the days get really short in fall. It's like living in the mall. You never really know the time. Heavy air, industrial lime. Teens shopping for their physical prime. But if that's a sunrise, I'm headed south. With an eggy bagle in my mouth. But work is west and north from here. I don't need no camping gear. To know just what is north, my dear. Walking south. Sun is rising? Strip mall parking lot. Surprising The more I think, the more surmizing... Is the sun setting? or is it rising?

Lotus Seat

It pays to check out the free magazines by the door of the Japanese noodle restaurant in the Gardena section of LA. Kotohira is the name of the restaurant, according to ivano. I totally don't remember the name. So, what's up with this ad anyway?

E-D-N-A

2-4-6-8 who do I appreciate? 3-5-7-9 who do I think is mighty fine? Up the pool. Down the pool. Who do I think is might cool. Potato chips. Potato chips. Munch. Munch. Munch. Who do I think is a mighty fine bunch???? everyone who can phone-type EDNA. E-D-N-A who taught u to spell anyway? It's EDNA! EDNA! All the way. 3-3-6-2 It's really not that hard to do. 3-3-6-2 Is it something you can do? Can you turn letters into numbers? It's easy, like shopping for cucumbers. E-D-N-A type it the cell-phone number way 3-3-6-2 do it. do it. yes yes you! Go...EDNA!!!!!!!! *********************** what the HELL am I talking about? My office phone number is one digit different from the campus help line, which is 534-EDNA. I am 534-EBNA. I know it's easy to switch B's and D's. I spent all of first and second grade writing thing like: My bog spot. But this is Not. A my bog spot. It's much easier because phones have capital letters. Let's just say that I get my fair share of breathless 18 year olds with questions. Ok. time to go drive to LA. BTW, that cheer is an end-of-meet Daleview swim team cheer. ** this post is brought to you by the letters E,D,N and A and the letters 3,3,6 and 2

Office Drama

After rifling though a bunch of emails, I finally found one from Esther that had a cell phone listed. I grabbed my office phone and call the number. Ring. Ring. No answer. Ring. Ring. Ring. Now, a buzzing in my pocket. "Shit, who is calling me now? Maybe it's my mom. Let me see." I pull my cell from my pocket and see a local number I don't recognize. "I better an answer," I think. Maybe my sunglasses are ready. I flip up the reciever and pull it to my ear as I put down my office phone before I get to Esther's voice mail. Hello?" I ask. On the other end, I hear someone hanging up on me. "That's annoying!" I think. Then I look closer at who called my cell phone. My office phone called my cell phone. I hung up on myself in an effort to answer my own phone call to myself. Yikes. It's only Thursday.

Banana remembers his friends. To all of them, love he sends. How long since we were all green? And dreamed of the yellowing gas, xylene. "Oh, when we get yellow, life will be sweet. Free from the field, free from the heat. In a Vegas fruit buffet, we will ALL meet!" Ha! We believed Chiquita's lies. With why's in our I's, But no wise in our eyes. "We know the lies!" buzzed the flies. "We find you in Brasilian cow pies. In discarded, rotten banana cream pies. In tropical shakes next to McDonald's gold fries." There is no fruit salad meet up with all your plantation friends. No chilled glass bowl far from hungry gambling mens. There is no everlasting fruit salad buffet. That's what the flying flies were buzzing to say. Keep reclining, or choose to sit up, Either way, from the inside, do green up.

Pogo-stick chickens

Chickens hop on Pogo Sticks.

Farmer watches feathered tricks.

Outside. November. Wintry Mix.

Chicken soup. Will farm wife fix?

Zinnia garden. Dried and froze.

Put away last month. The garden hose.

Stalks and thorns. Floribunda rose.

Halloween. It comes and goes.

Will farm wife kill the hopping hens?

Can pogo sticks disrupt her frugal lens?

Upon what force chicken life depends?

Farm wife cooks pancakes. Friday supper.

Maple sugar. Butter. Autumnal upper.

Heater pulled from quonset North.

Chickens overwinter. The hops. Well worth.

mug shot for blogger profile

ciao world.

lower-rez ciao.

photo op: Mall on the Moon

The mall on the moon has it all. But it was what Sara saw that did so appaul (mostly her Maw) It had nothing to do with that flower stall, over which this man did see all. The appaul was the Paul Mall the man did suck on, in that flowerstall in the mall, out in front of all. All the babies, the mommies, the little fat Tommies. The workers, the shoppers, the pancake I-Hoppers. The birds and the bees and the wedding-gift shoppers. alternate last line: the birds, the bees and the baccalaureate-mass* shoppers. the baccalaureate mass is the mass that takes place the night before high school graduation at Gonzaga College High School in NW Washington, DC. Note: F**k You Gonzaga development office for not posting the note I sent in, WITH MY CHECK, about my move to San Diego with my partner. Is it becasue I am gay that you did not post my alumni note? Or was it just an administrative oversite. Your prompt reply would be most appriciated. Daniel

Mantra in my Head

I woke up this morning and there was a yoga mantra in my head. It ruled. I very much enjoyed the feeling of waking up to a yoga mantra. It's like candy for the brain. I don't remember which phrase it was, but I might recognize it if I heard it.

the old guy next to me in savasana

I went up to Tim Miller's yoga studio this morning for the 10 AM Ashtanga yoga first series class. It was a great class. About 1 second into the deep relaxtion at the end, the old dude next to me (mid 60s at least, tight biker shorts, yellow "live strong" bracelet) started snoring. He must have fallen asleep immediately, which is funny b/c 10 seconds earlier, we were all in lotus or some other cross legged variation and trying to lift our butts and feet off the ground at the same time. Not exactly sleep inducing. It's like finishing a run and taking a nap while you untie your first shoe lace. There was at least one other person snoring as well. At the end, Tim was like "that was a really good savasana!" I think he was making light of the snoring, but I'm not sure.

the problem with blogging

It's day two, and I already ran into the problem that I used as my primary excuse for not maintaining a consistent blog. There are two different things that happend today that are blog-worthy. The first one would be fun to write about, but if my family read it, they wouldn't find it nearly as funny as I do (and it would be a little unfair to someone who is not in the family, but is an integral part of the story.) the other thing I wanted to say relates to something that is disucssed in Pulp Fiction, and no, it has nothing to do with the gimp...at least that's my story and I'm stickin' to it... so what do i do? It's kinda boring to write about the "sludge busters" truck that was hungrily slurping sludge from the innards of the carwash place I went to in Clairmont this afternoon since I didn't have my camera with me and hence have no photo. If I had a photo of the big yellow truck whose cargo may or may not be headed for a biofuels plant in the central valley (ick...I hope that's not the definition of market-driven recycling) then I could post about that. And the fact that my left hip is sore in a "you did a third series Ashtanga arm balance and now you feel it" sort of way, is less than thrilling. So that leaves me with the fact that my grandmother forgot that her husband's birthday is Monday.

Lard in Kansas City WalMart

This is Gregory enjoying the local flavor at the Kansas City WalMart we visited, in search of food to stock Sara's house, our crash pad for the wedding-party weekend in late July. mmm. fun. And tasty. And expensive (the organic milk at WalMart costs more than it does at Trader Joes or Henry's. What up wit dat? Gregory's explanation was that only SOME stuff at WalMart is cheap. And what were we doing at WalMart anyway? It was a convenience thing. It's right next to Home Depot, and we were at Home Depot buying potted tropical plants in order to cut them up for use in the floral displays for each of the tables at the wedding reception. Mental note: greens are much cheaper at Home Depot than at a florist. And besides, the huge tropical leafy plants were a perfect accent for the birds of paradise Sara ordered on the Internet. I love the Internet. You can even order your wedding reception flowers. And speaking of wedding related paraphenalis: did you know that WalMart stocks "playful" cake toppers: variations on the traditional hetero couple cake toppers in which the wife is dragging the husband by the collar aound the dance floor. Now why didn't I take a picture of that???

First Post, Worst Post

First post, worst post. I'm back. In an ad hoque way (that's the gay way to say ad hoc, ok?) Ad hoque. It's an attitude. It's a lifestyle. It's a condo in Chelsea. Want to be on the "interest list"? I do. example: "OMG, I LOVE your place. It's so ad hoque!!!!" "Oh, stop it. You're just saying that b/c you want the box of replacement tiles they left in my ad hoque-ishly large walk in closet's walk in closet." Really? That's what you think? I only want you for your tiles? Oh no. It's much deeper than that. I want to sublet your walk in closet's walk in closet's walk in closet. It's bigger than most one bedrooms in this city. I'm not subletting your shit. That would violate a central tenant of my ad hoque tenant agreement. get it? I get it. I got it. I'm over it. I'm on it. Who know you're such a bee in a bonnet. I'd keep going but I've got a date with a sonnet named Lonnet who knows better than to call a Monet a mon-et. so go walk into your walk in's walk in's walk in walk in. And then keep walking cuz we're done talkin. Drop dead. I'm ready to start chalkin.