Author Archives: didofoot
Virtual tomfoolery for the Gamma Generation.
Michael Ondaatje has a poem — the sixth in a series of nine — which goes like this: Five poems without mentioning the river prawn. In the seventh poem, he mentions it. I could love a man who knows something about river prawns. I’m none too seafood savvy myself. Once at dinner with a friend … Continue reading
“Not unacquainted with distress,” she said, “I have learned to succor the unfortunate.”
“Not unacquainted with distress,” she said, “I have learned to succor the unfortunate.” I spent the day turning into toast. So much for my vow of absence, but a day spent lounging by the swimming pool, reading old sci-fi and drinking the gift of juice was not a day wasted. Last night I went to … Continue reading
When you can’t think of an interesting link for this box.
So — whoops. My whole family has a tendency to start sentences with “so.” For awhile we were calling each other on it and you’d get bread flung at you during dinner if you did it. Well anyway. So I’m reading Michael Ondaatje’s Handwriting poems now, which I’ve read before but you can’t read this … Continue reading
When you’ve totally exhausted Memepool.
Happy birthday, Vigils. When we were young we played in plum trees and swimming pools and spoke the irascible language of quarrelsome children in the suburban heat. Now we are old and two of us live extraordinary lives and then there’s me. This talk pisses Katie off I think. She says, I am living in … Continue reading
The war of the whippersnappers
I talked to The Lad last night. This makes me supremely happy. Yesterday I found myself using the phrase “But Mo-o-om! I’m TWENTY-TWO!” This is a time-honored argument in the ongoing conflict between parent and child and the (faulty) logic behind it is “now I’m THIS old. You should respect me.” It is not likely … Continue reading
And you — and you — and you were there!
Last night I dined with the Millers. I am now (not so) secretly in love with both of them. Tracy is 38, gorgeous, and acts like a twelve year old. She’s got this manic energy and, more importantly (for my ego), acts delighted about everything I say. Everything anyone says actually. Ian, her absurdly young … Continue reading
Forgoed?
I for — what? I want the past tense of “forgo.” I forwent? I forgone? I forleft? Anyway, I avoided reading the bio of Zelda Fitzgerald. Instead I started slogging my way through the astonishingly dense and detailed trilogy of Gormenghast. Some of you may remember the miniseries, which aired over a span of days … Continue reading
Backwards, this word is egahtraC.
So when I said I had given up my interior-osity, did anyone catch how I then wandered off into a full paragraph of fantasies about things I’ve never done? Yeah, I just got that. I am so mired in my own though process that it’s frightening. Yesterday I spent my shower thinking about how maybe … Continue reading
I’m in a box! I’m in a box!
It’s been awhile since I’ve chronicled anything and I’m kind of rusty. Even my journal has stopped…my interior world which used to be all I had has suddenly turned external, and now I find myself concerned only with things like asparagus covered in feta, or card games at night, or new sheets. It makes me … Continue reading
Just put down the snorkel mask…
I realize that the reason I wanted my friends to have formal pictures taken together is that I am trying to squeeze them into the vacuum left by the Sicilian. The boyfriend vacuum. I guess that’s a lot of people to squeeze into a space left by only one person–and not an enormously large person … Continue reading