Odds and Ends

No new poems from me until the New Year. We're back from Florida. It's always crazy when the whole family gets together. I'll get it together and write a post for the boy's blog about Christmas in the tropics.

Couple of quick hits:

R.I.P. James Brown. Embarrassingly, I think my first exposure to the Godfather of Soul was in Rocky IV, when Apollo fought Drago and J.B. was cranking out "Livin' in America" It was awesome. I had no idea that James was ripping himself off. C'mon, check out "Night Train" Hey, it worked with Apollo's patriotic theme, right? I'll blame that on Stallone.



We flew JetBlue back from Florida and the J-Dawg was good enough to nap most of the flight away. Every seat has satellite television for your viewing pleasure. I caught a bit of an recent U2 concert. It was weird to see that Larry Mullen Jr. actually appears to be aging! The Edge is still in denial over his baldness (as he has been since 1992). Let the skull cap thing go, Edgy-baby. Bono's voice has really dropped over the years and he's got the moves down to a science. He simply stylizes everything like kabuki theater or something. Anyhow as New Year's gift, I give you an old version of "New Year's Day" as I remember it in my head: Check out the Edge jumping between piano and guitar, and best of all the Bono mullet.

December already? How about "Decembre"

I've been neglectful of writing actual prose on this blog lately. It must seem odd to regular visitors to just see tiny little slivers of poetry on a daily basis.

It's the year end, and I'd like to write about a few of the things about this last year that I found funny/interesting/weird/fascinating.

Is Dunkin Donuts running their new ads in every part of the country? If not, you may be missing out on some of the best ad jingles of all time. Somebody at the ad agency had the brilliant idea to hire They Might Be Giants to write a bunch of weird little songs for the campaign. I'm surprised it took this long. Anyone who knows TMBG knows that much of their output sounds like crazy jingles anyway. Find "Fingertips" on Apollo 18 for proof. The cherry on top? I think it's John Goodman providing the voiceovers!



I love the confused looks of the customers. Personally, I don't remember if the venti is bigger than the grande either. Stupid Fritalian! This ad is one that is most likely to make me buy coffee at Dunkin Donuts. Then again, I already do.



Disco! Yay! That and the guy who gets his arm stuck in the bus door. Yay, stuck in bus door guy!



This one is my favorite. This summer we drove through a lot of small towns in Maine and every town has it's own karate school, thus prompting the choruses of "And just one more time... Karate!" from Jen and I.

Poetry 365: S-kimo

The jaguar pants in the shade
of purple I've been looking for.

Poetry 365: Waning Phase

and you find an army of men,
crawling on your skin,
building a city under glass domes.

The cranes moving all the dirt
from pile to pile keep you up
all night. But then again,
it's always night.

Glory, glory moonmen.

Poetry 365: What You Come Away With

It's too early in the winter yet
to know where his gloves are
Bryant walks to the corner,
hands in jeans pockets
and shoulders hunched.
He rubs his fingers
on the singles that will soon
become a pack of Spirits.

Poetry 365: Interior Monologue

In speaking with the puppet in my head,
I find that he's been eating chili in the bed,
in my head.

In writing to the black bear in my leg,
I read that he's hatching a yellow duck's egg,
in my leg.

In calling up the ticket agent in my arm,
I hear that he's living on the Rome apple farm,
in my arm.

Poetry 365: Past Future Tense

Coming home to a squeaky hinge
and broken Xmas lights
hanging behind the woodgrained TV,
so happy to be out of the rain
and out of the city,
we collapse on the couch
and dream about what 1989 will be like:
clean air, scented like pine,
flying cars as quiet as hand dryers
and a world full of compassion.

Poetry 365: The Winter Me

A cold morning greets me;
the sky itself seems frozen.
The sun climbs out of the east sea.

Poetry 365: After

Deep water hides the rocks
that once were Miami.

Poetry 365: Instant

blue morning demands
a spoonful of nickels
and a sock full of wedding bands

Poetry 365: Straight

The king has carried
all the invitations.
The jack brings the water
down the mountain in handfuls.
The queen moves slowly,
like meditation.
The ace is born on a Thursday,
in a barn by the sweet potatoes.
The ten march into Soweto,
defiant, moving like cats.

Poetry 365: Last Known Position

Six ships, sailing to Seattle
carrying forty thousand tons
of Christmas globes and silver tinsel
never arrive.

Poetry 365: Tight

When we climb the stairs
to the sixty first floor,
we will walk to the windows,
where the wire is stretched
across Broadway. And we will walk.

Poetry 365: Roll Call at the Black Tiger Kung Fu Academy

Thunderous Cudgel Wing Fook Lim
Heavy Iron Monkey Hai Nam
Praying Mantis Dave
Tiger Claw Sheldon Johnson
Knife Hands Shining Mountain Kevin
Moonlight Sharpening Sword Ward
Tattoo Mike

Poetry 365: Northbound

Fenton rides the #1 bus,
up Mass Ave, across the river
and up to Central Square.
There is just enough time,
to do all the across clues
in the crossword in ball pen.
Eight letters for a brutish love.

Poetry 365: Chatter

When all the shouts stop
and their hearts will finally
come back to rest,
will all the shrills
and daggers they used for words
seem less sharp than when in motion?

Poetry Progress Report

Let's stop and look at what I've been writing, shall we? I've been churning it out on a regular basis. Too many poems about cars, I think. I guess an hour each way to work will do that to you. It's like when I was in college, I once wrote 11 poems in a semester and 9 of them were about walking around at night. I wonder how many poems about trains I wrote when I used to ride the Green Line to the office.

Also, too many haikus. It's too easy to fall back on that when I'm in a rush.

I am making a pledge to not write any poems about cars, or any haikus for the next 30 poems. A tough challenge, but I think it'll make me really stretch more. I'll start... tomorrow. Seriously.

It's easy to set a negative goal, so to make things more interesting, I'll set some positive goals too: more characters, more dialogue, more rhyme and more robots in disguise. Well, maybe not the robot part.

Poetry 365: Shifting Upwards

The room where you were born
is lit by a single candle
that was found out in the flood,
a bit of dirt thrown
into the antiseptic world.
The water is rising,
filling the emergency ward.

Poetry 365: Paco The Wedding Horse

They lease him out once a week,
on Saturday afternoons, when grooms
must ride in on a white steed,
through the Sheraton parking lots
and into a ballroom with an ugly carpet
that made the bride weep.

Poetry 365: Lost City

El Dorado waits undiscovered,
burned to the ground and everything
died in the flames, or drown
in the attempt to save it.
The one who will find the doomed city
will be the one who has the patience
to listen in the darkness
for the ghosts of the raccoons.

Poetry 365: Volvo

The radio station fades.
Stevie Wonder's Superstition
breaks up into nothing
and then becomes a talk show
begging for callers
to yell about religion.
I flick on the highbeams,
lighting up the green sign
that tells me that I am now
entering the town Sebastian:
home of 5481 friendly people
and 5 ole grouches. Honestly,
that's what it says.
Change the station again,
maybe we'll find an old Dylan tune,
where he is channeling a prophet
of the Old Testament, of damnation
of power, of howling winds
and if we're lucky, forgiveness.

Poetry 365: Beckon

The abstinence patrols speak
through bullhorns to the janitors
going back to Alabama for Christmas week.
Elevation sickness strikes the marmoset
gang smoking in the corner,
climbing up the mossy stone parapet.

One last swing before we drive back home.

Poetry 365: Falling Down In Public

The lights float above 14th Street
buzzing very quietly.
This is the first time
I can hear this over the taxis,
over the people on cell phones
talking to someone over on 9th Street.

Poetry 365: Transit Time

The leaves are nothing but veins now,
scant evidence of a summer
spent tracing the lines between the stars.

Poetry 365: Untitled

Some nights, I get the sense
that there are tunnels
under the basement,
and in those tunnels,
people are meeting,
whispering about plans
that only the earth can know.
Are they lovers?
Conspirators? Ghosts?
The words are never clear,
it's just a feeling I have
some nights.

Poetry 365: Somewhere in Maine

The fields yield a strange crop:
gray boulders left by long forgotten
ice floes. Huge rocks and green grass.

Poetry 365: Guard Rail

When the car finally comes to a stop,
I am facing the wrong way
and somehow able to walk away,
looking back at a million tiny mirrors.

Poetry 365: Morning in Beacon Hill

The fog fills the street
level windows and lobbies
of the brownstone homes.

Poetry 365: Crisp

A single leaf floats,
yellow down to the blacktop:
a diver in air.

Poetry 365: Last Hour Before the Shift

An extra hour to contemplate
the reflectors and mile markers.
An extra hour to find the station
with the DJ who sounds just like
first love and restlessness.
An extra hour to lose in spring.

Poetry 365: No Hay Titulo

Strutting around with an emerald hooded pigeon,
locking the hands of biology and religion.
Capital letters standing tall on the blackboard
wearing a leather quiver and a silver scabbard.
Who knew just how much black sand we should carry?
This heart is the one to lift, the old one: the one to bury.

Poetry 365: Halloween

The pigtailed girls from town
have woven mermaid tails
from dried palm fronds,
the color of old dollars.

The boys from the country
paint their faces black with mud
and decide that they will be night
or smoke from a brush fire.

Poetry 365: Stery

One of these cold nights
will find you with a handful
of lavender hearts.

Poetry 365: Floating Floating

If you look closely at my hands
at rest, you will always see
the are slightly cupped, as if
to carry imaginary water
to quench a very real thirst.

If you look quickly out the window
and over the guard rails, you will
see in the distance horses, at rest
amid the patchy grass and palmettos
wishing they were running, like you.

If you look now, there is nothing here.

Poetry 365: The Girl With Short Knives

waits for the signal,
fastening the black ribbon
that encircles our waists,
only to cut us loose,
falling to the muddy ground.

Goodbye, Roxy

Roxy Lee Riley
1985-2006
Died Tragically Rescuing His Family From The Remains Of A Destroyed Sinking Battleship

You spent 21 years with Jen and four with me. It's remarkable that I even got to know you. On the bags for senior cat food, it says 7 and up. You were like three of those senior cats put together. I know you thought of me as the new guy, the guy who took your spot on the bed. But you loved me anyway. Thanks for that.

You were my first real pet. I'll never forget you moving in with me a week ahead of Jen moving to Boston. I was so nervous that I'd screw you up and Jen would never forgive me. So you got overfed and spoiled that week. We really bonded then, watched TV and played with strips of newspaper on the floor. It felt like freshman year in the dorms. Somehow, you even cured me of my allergy to cats that week.

I will remember you best in that apartment on Beacon Street, napping in the sun patches by the dining table and climbing into the bathtub and meowing for us to turn on the water for you to drink. I know that you're out there somewhere in a bathtub in the sun. I miss you. I love you.

Poetry 365: Tame

There is stillness
while you are floating/napping.
This is what Zen is.

Poetry 365: First Car

Mortality never occurs to you,
until that first hard stop,
that first slow motion perception
of the silver LeSabre
and the old woman driving it,
who is looking for her station
on the AM dial instead of the road.
This is when the shadows.
This is when the shadows.

Poetry 365: Untitled

It isn't the wind
that crawls to the door, breathing
the last of the air.

Poetry 365: Merchant Marine

Christ, it is not a day to be working the beach.
The ocean might just vanish into steam by suppertime.
The days are as wide across as Ohio,
and the palms provide only thin, sparse shade.

I sell drinks to the tourists and redeem the empties
when they finish for recycling. I wonder if
they become cans again, or if they dream
of being resurrected as nails in a country manor.

Sometimes, I rest on the cooler and watch
my customers hammer down King's Lager
forgetting about the roses and the thorns
in their yards that don't miss them.

The sun is the engine that drives the day
and we are nearly back at home.

Poetry 365: Recognition in Night

Splash! The stillness now
shattered by a lone green frog,
who knows who you are.

Poetry 365: The Water's Running at 6AM

This mirror shows me
what my grandfather
must have looked like
in 1939, shaving
5200 miles away
from my infant father.

Poetry 365: Falling Falling

All the windows, closed.
All the curtains are drawn shut.
Night comes earlier.

Boston Half Marathon 2006

Boston Half Marathon 2006, originally uploaded by nervda.

2:05:53. Much faster than I had expected. I ran a faster back half than front. I did meet my usual goal of beating the winner's time multiplied by two.

Poetry 365: October

Autumn is blazing back
from old memories.
The shadow of a buck
runs under the rail bridge,
and we are still sleeping.

Race Day Approaches

This Sunday, I will be running the Boston Half Marathon for the fourth consecutive time. It's one of my favorite races. The distance is challenging, but not terrifying. Training for a marathon really takes a mental, emotional and physical toll on you. Training for a half marathon, paradoxically, is way less than half as torturous.

I have absolutely no idea how I will do. All of my long runs (except for one) have been while pushing the J-Dawg and his 35 pound jogging stroller. My weekday runs have come at the office, where I've just been running out 15 minutes and then back. I don't know how much ground I am covering, as I'm running in the woods between an office park and a highway.

It's a spur of the Bay Circuit Trail. You feel like wildlife when you can't see pavement, cars or buildings when you're on a run. You have to take short zig zag steps when coming down the trail on hills to keep from falling. You take a hard right after the downhill and you feel like the General Lee accelerating out of a turn on a dusty Georgia road.

OK. Gotta go run now.

Poetry 365: Untitled

checkpoints
conveyor belts
and x-rays
snow blowing up
past the jetways
at this rate
i'll be sleeping
at terminal gates
until tuesday
i can see
my luggage
sitting on the runway
shivering shivering
not much left
on the batt

Poetry 365: The Second Article

That's how we chose him:
because he cut a more regal air,
asleep in his boots.

Poetry 365: I-90

The guard rail seems to sing
from the vibrations of the Mavericks,
Mustangs, Malibus, Metros and Matrices.

Poetry 365: 30 Seconds Worth of Dirt

We hide in the palmetto,
like we did when we were children
careful not to move,
as the clatter always gives us away.

Poetry 365: Theodore Says

Make a cup of Lipton
and let it steep on the counter
for 3 minutes and 42 seconds,
no more, no less.

When stirring the milk
and sugar in, go clockwise
only 5 turns, but make sure
to get that nice clink noise each time.

Does it smell of blackberries?
Or maybe cut grass, without
all that 2 stroke gasoline?
Stand at the window

and wonder how long it took
for the kudzu to swallow up the oaks.

Poetry 365: Nassau

Bluegrass jimmy crack rhythms,
but none of them rhyme.
Don't roast a turkey
if you ain't got the time.
It's a fundamental,
it's a ball of tacks,
it's a banjo chord,
so just relax.

Poetry 365: Late September

The morning glories
are opening later and later
each day, as dark as a bruise.

The Poetry 365 Manifesto v.2

As you may have noticed, I've brought back the Poetry 365 project. I like the challenge poems on a daily basis, sort of like doing the crossword, or sudoku. I'll probably just write on school nights. Maybe some weekends, I'll do something extravagant: the poetry equivalent of the Sunday crossword puzzle.

I can't promise that I'll write GOOD poems, but I'll wager that occasionally, there will be gems among the coal.

You will be able to tell when I'm getting lazy: I'll write dashed off haikus. When I am feeling ambitious, you may get a sestina, or some terza rima.

I am always open to requests. There is nothing too silly or weird. I'll try.

Poetry 365: Mix and Match

with apologies to W.C.W.

the red-white chickens
upon a water glazed
wheel barrow

depend so much
on rain besides

Poetry 365: Ormond Beach Nocturne

Handful of shark teeth
and a fifth of Jameson:
this is Saturday.

Poetry 365: Science Park Drawbridge

Every odd hour, on the hour,
the bells sound and life is on hold
for the patient river captains.
We tap our feet, change the station,
use up our anytime minutes,
stare into the tiny space
between our enormous cars,
or wonder what ever became
of the ancient bridgetenders
who read Philip Marlowe novels
to kill the time between boats.

Poetry 365: Quadracolore

Click, click: red. Click: blue.
ACD? Possibly.
Click: black. Click, click: green.

Poetry 365: Taking Confession

Let's pretend I know where to begin.
There's no telling where your teeth have been.
Forty days of sunlight and medicine
don't make up for the years of sin.

Is the lust over? Is the feast?
One half man, one half beast
moving to three quarters at the least?
We will know soon. Look out to the east.

When the poems start again

Two days, and I'm already in a rut. I'll take requests on theme, form, using a particular word, whatever. C'mon, help a guy out!

Poetry 365: 11:45 PM Rte. 20 Eastbound

Right hand on the wheel,
left hand out above the yellow reflectors
that shine like stars in the constellation
Straight Line.

Poetry 365: Night, west of here

The streets seem to throb
in front of the green porches
like suburban veins.

Write something!

Sometimes, we just need an excuse to write something, anything. So here's my Friday Five:


What kind of marks (grades) did you get in school?
As my wife likes to remind me, I was (am) a dork. I was a solid 3.6 sort of guy. I couldn't be bothered to work hard enough for a 4.0, but could coast to mostly A's. One of my favorite teachers once pulled me aside and mentioned my academic "minimalism" as though it was part of my aesthetic.

Do you have any birthmarks?
Yeah. It's barely noticable. If it were a tattoo, it'd be an actual size line drawing of ameoba.

What’s the story behind one of your scars?
I blogged this a few years ago. I have a self inflicted stab wound from a poor practice session with a kung fu sword. Recently, we had to take our son to the ER after an unusually high fever and a weird rash. He turned out to be just fine, but the doctor's all wore masks in case he was infectious. I recognized one of the ER docs as the one who'd stapled up my leg. He asked me if I had gotten any better with the sword. I said, "Apparently not. I stabbed myself in the other leg six months later."

What do you usually use to mark your place in a book?
Whatever is nearby. I tend to use junk mail, receipts or postcards. Once I used a $100 bill in a book of poems by Derek Walcott. I'd got the cash for my birthday from my grandmother. I found the money years later, after she passed away. I decided to save the money for something momentous. I used that bill to pay the minister when Jen and I eloped.

What famous Mark do you most admire?
Um... Mark E. Smith of the Fall?

You do it to yourself, you do.

I just had to share. It's a sweet video featuring cartoons, grafitti, one of my favorite Radiohead songs, the son of the guitarist from the legendary Spiders From Mars, funky 70's style hip-hop and horns, horns and more horns. I'll stop talking so you can experience it yourself. Sorry, did I mention the robots?

"Just"
Mark Ronson (feat. Alex Greenwald)

It must be Monday

I'd been sitting at my desk for about 15 minutes, when a guy who sits a couple of cubes from me flings off his phone headset and proclaims for the entire office to hear, "That guy was calling me from the bathroom. I distinctly heard two flushes during the course of the call."

Clearly, this is why we need to have an automated message before you get on the line with us that says, "This call may be recorded for quality purposes. We reserve the right to shame you with endlessly circulating MP3 files of your folly if you don't behave."

Summer

Twins in Maine, originally uploaded by ZelenyOko.

Summer's been pretty good to us this year: lots of BBQs in the backyard with friends, a thriving garden, tons of World Cup soccer to watch and a family camping vacation. The only real complaint has been the heat.

Anyhow, we had so much fun camping in Maine a few weeks ago, we're going there again. This time, we're bringing a couple of friends. We're heading out tomorrow morning. I've already got vacation brain on. We'll be back on Tuesday. Whee!

Independence Day

How do Americans celebrate our Americaness? By blowing up explosives and charring hunks of meat over fire. That explains a lot, doesn't it?

The thing I appreciate most about my home country is the right to critize it, so here's my rant of the day. I am disgusted by the anti-immigration factions in this country. If it weren't for your ancestors moving to this country for a better life, you wouldn't be here. Don't tell me they didn't. I doubt that you're Native American, sparky. If so, feel free to be bitter about immigration. You've every right.

My great-grandfathers came here to build the railroads. My grandfather ran a laundry. My father ran a restaurant. I sit at a computer for 8 hours a day. What's Jasper going to do for a living? I have no idea, but like his father, it'll be better than what his father did. This is the dream. Not just an American dream, but it is a dream that immigration makes possible.

Ole, ole, ole, ole

After reading posts about the soccer World Cup from both Xine and Wren. I'm going to throw in my two cents. (OK, that seemed weird to refer to "Wren" as I'm used to using her real name. It's almost as odd as being referred to as "Nervda".)

Personally, I love the World Cup. It's the only international sporting event that I really care about. The Olympics are just so-so for me. Normally, I'm not a jingoist, but when the U.S. plays soccer, I'm for them all the way. It's the only thing that this country is really ever an underdog in.

I watched the 1998 World Cup with my late grandmother. She passed away that autumn. We had a great time watching, as sports were one of the few things she could watch on TV and understand 100% (Weirdly, she LURVED "World's Strongest Man" too.) My entire knowledge of geography in Chinese comes from watching the World Cup. It was a game with in a game:

-What teams are playing?
-Um. England and that little country on the Atlantic next to Spain. Erm...
-The ones that own Macao? Portugal, William.
-Yeah, Portugal.

In 2002, I woke up in the middle of the night to watch games by myself on Univision on my TV with rabbit ears. Occasionally, I'd call my friend Steve in Florida after goals. It was weird because I'd see a play 10 seconds before he did, so I'd yell "GOOOOOOOL" only for him to be confused for a little while and then his TV would finally catch up. I think I ruined a couple of games for him that way. Sorry, dude.

This time, I'll be watching with the J-Dawg himself. We'll miss a week of games while we're off in the woods on vacation. We'll have a little shortwave radio which we may or may not use. C'mon BBC! I'm saddened by the US performance so far, but I think they'll earn a little respect some Saturday.

I'm rooting for: USA, Trinidad and Tobago (everyone I've ever known from there is unbelievably cool), Argentina and Netherlands (I love the orange jerseys and precision style). The brain knows that Brazil are the favorites, but I can't root for them. It's like pulling for the Yankees, or GM, or the US snowboarding team.

Oxymorons in daily life

I was in the corner store the other day, looking for a diet soda before working out. I came across Vault Zero. It's a diet energy drink. So it's zero calories. What is energy measured in? Calories. It's an energy drink that provides zero energy. It's basically a caffeine delivery mechanism.

iPod as Magic 8 Ball

This idea is stolen from the blog Emily Dickinson's Attic. Feel free to repurpose this for your ownself too. Put your media player onto shuffle, and let it answer the following questions for you:

How does the world see me?
”We Can Figure This Out” – Vulgar Boatmen. That's very optimistic of you, dear world.

Will I have a happy life?
”All We Have Is Now” – Flaming Lips. Spooky, but I think it's pretty true. I'm pretty happy now and anticipate on being happy later too.

What do my friends really think of me?
”Solitary Man” – Johnny Cash. You people are my friends? :)

Do people secretly lust after me?
”Sounds of Science” - Beastie Boys. I have no idea what that means.

How can I make myself happy?
"Two Headed Boy” – Neutral Milk Hotel. Nothing like a good freak show, is there?

What should I do with my life?
"Downtown Train” by Tom Waits. Jen probably loves the idea of moving back somewhere on the downtown train in Manhattan.

Will I ever have children?
"Dance Me To The End of Love” – Leonard Cohen. Cohen tells the truth about Jasper.

What is some good advice for me?
"The Late Greats” – Wilco. Hey, iPod? That's not a complete sentence.

How will I be remembered?
"Loquesto International Film Festival” – Mark Mothersbaugh. The documentary division, I'm sure.

What is my signature song?
"Time After Time” – Cyndi Lauper. Hm?

What type of men / women do I like?
"Undercover of the Night” – Rolling Stones. No comment.

What is my day going to be like?
"Watching the Detectives” – Elvis Costello. "She's filing her nails as they're dragging the lake."

What do I think my current theme song is?
"Napalm Brain” – DJ Shadow. That's about right.

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
"Special” by Garbage. Awww, thanks. That makes up for "Solitary Man."

What song will play at my funeral?
"Can You Fly?” – Freedy Johnston. I guess we'll find out the answer to that then.

Play

I just picked up our copy of Playful Parenting the other day, and it hit me how important play is in all of our lives. The book points out that playing is a baby's job. This is how he learns about the world. Not only is play teaching the baby things, but it should also be fun, so he's encouraged to keep learning and discovering.

I was in the gym at work the other day, messing around with the medicine ball. One of the other guys here at work asked me why I used the ball instead of the weight machines. I've always hated lifting weights. I told him that the ball makes me feel like I'm playing. After all, pushing iron is working out. I go to the gym to get a break from work.

I also realized why I love going to kung fu so much. It's my opportunity to go play with my friends. We're learning how to push our bodies, but we're having fun too.

Animals learn by playing too. I found this website dedicated to exercising like were were playing: Go Animal. It's a great idea. You'll exercise more if you are having fun. It's positive reinforcement. I think I'm gonna go with an all play exercise regiment from here on out. It's a good thing running feels like play too.

Jeopardy Audition Day

I took the day off from work today so I could audition for Jeopardy. Jen, Jasper and I were going out to breakfast when I started remembering all the weird superstitions that I used to have before academic competitions when I was a kid. I remember having to use the same Blackfeet Buckskin #2 pencil and wear the same pair of white Puma sneakers every time. I also remember having to listen to side one of U2's War album on my Walkman. (I'm old, so what?) So I took it as a bit of serendipity when there were two questions about U2 during the audition.

I got to the hotel where the auditions were being held about an hour early. I told Jen that I was more nervous about being there on time than about the auditions themselves. I was first to check in and fill out the paperwork. They took a Polaroid picture of each of the potential contestants. During my session there were about 25 of us. The demographics certainly seemed slanted to white middle class. I suppose this is who watches Jeopardy, after all. There was one African American woman, a young Latino law student, me and a bunch of Caucasian doctors, nurses, lawyer and students. Those four occupations made up 90% of the population.

We each got a freebie Jeopardy pen and set off on the 50 question written test. I only came up blank on two or three questions. Seriously, I studied poetry and I don't think I could come up with ANY Edna St. Vincent Millay quotes, much less they one they were looking for.

Then we each played a round of Jeopardy with the buzzers and opponents. I got to go twice, as our group was not divisible by three. I got to play in the last two rounds. At first, I found that I was going blank and not really seeing the clues. After a minute or two, I got rolling. I ran a category or two. The contestant coordinators told me I had very good energy. I felt very good about my performance.

I felt a little weird in that everyone else in the room clearly watches Jeopardy everyday. They gave out DVDs to whoever could name the person who defeated Ken Jennings in the Tournement of Champions, and who finally beat him in the run of play. I had NO idea. I can't name anyone involved with Jeopardy besides, Alex Trebek, Merv Griffin and now Maggie, Robert and Mike (the contestant coordinator crew).

Some of the other contestant hopefuls told me that they were impressed with my breadth of knowledge "for a young guy". At the end of the session we found out that we'd all passed and we're all in the contestant pool for the next year. It's sort of like being in a jury pool. We may or may not be called in the next 12-18 months. Well, here's to hoping. If nothing else, I had a good time and got a Jeopardy pen.

James Joyce 10K Ramble

Photo by Ted Tyler at Coolrunning.

Casing the joint: Jeopardy

Despite making the auditions, I must admit that I haven't watched much Jeopardy over the past few years. I've been spending most of my 7PM hours working out, or lately hanging with the family, not watching TV. Last night, I decided to watch it and see what I could learn for the upcoming tryout.

I need to wear a suit to the audition. There were two male contestants wearing suits last night: one with a tie, one without. Well, there's a trip to the dry cleaners for me in the near future.

I don't need THAT interesting a story for Alex to ask me between rounds. I had been a little nervous about the only paperwork they asked us to bring with us: five things that Alex might ask us about. One guy last night talked about how his dog saved his goldfish, and the other talked about moving from San Fran to Austin, when his girlfriend found a new job there. Yawn.

At least the woman had a good story. She skipped work to go to a Mariners game and was settling in with a beer, when her boss rolls into the row behind her.

Please post a comment if you can think of something more entertaining than that about me, that is APPROPRIATE for syndicated national television.

Here's my preliminary list:

• I got passed by Kermit the Frog in mile 24 of the Marine Corps Marathon.
  
• I have two broadsword scars.
  
• I wrote a poem a day for nearly three years.
  

The World Cup of BBQ

The last few weekends, it's been nice enough to fire up the Weber kettle grill that my brother and sister-in-law got me for Christmas. Our backyard is undergoing a full transformation. Jen's been working hard to get new flowers, grass and herbs growing.

We're intent on having many get togethers at our house this summer, so we're starting to brew up themes. I'm excited for the World Cup of soccer in July. I want to have a BBQ on the day of the final match honoring the two countries that make it. In the last cup, it would have been Brazil and Germany. That would have been something: brats and rodizio. Jen's rooting for Argentina, for chimichurri. The possibilities are endless. USA v. South Korea? Pulled pork v. bulgogi! Spain v. Iran? Chorizo v. lamb kabobs. Man, this is going to be great. Granted, I love the Dutch team, but I wouldn't have a clue what to make.

Who passed the online tryout for Jeopardy, Alex?

A few weeks ago, I took the Jeopardy online audition. I had to bring my laptop home from work, as the test ran on Windows only. Jen was in class and Jasper and I were hanging out. The J-Dawg was very patient as his daddy went about taking the 50 question test. It only took me 8 minutes, so he was able to entertain himself for the duration. There was only one question that I knew I was guessing on, and it turns out I was wrong. I'm not great on my knowledge of Roman emperors, you know.

I didn't know if I would make it. In a city as big as Boston there might be plenty of people who got 50 out of 50. So a few weeks go by until last night, when an email arrives from the Jeopardy Contestant Department, asking me to RSVP for physical tryout in Boston in the beginning of May. I'm past hurdle number 1.

I've always wondered what Alex Trebek says when he answers the phone at home and it's a wrong number. "Oooooh. So sorry. The correct phone number is 555-1213. Three."

A Bucket of Coins

I'm notorious in my family for emptying my pockets of change just about anywhere. I've lived in apartments where you could find enough change in the sofa, tv stand, windowsill or coffee cup to get a pizza at any given time. Now that I'm attempting to be a responsible adult, we have a tea tin to collect our spare change.

I've never been one to pay for things in change. We've been using CoinStar for a few years now. It's an ATM like machine that takes your change and gives you cash back. They've got locations in the US, Canada and the UK. They generally take 8.9% as a counting fee. It's always been worth that to me, but now they've got an even better deal. At certain machines, you can get Amazon gift certificates for your spare change, and they will waive their counting fee. You can find a location near you at the Coinstar website. Look for "eCertificates".

Roxy's 21st Birthday

Today is Roxy's 21st birthday. Dammit, he's gonna wanna go drinking tonight. Worse, all the bars have St. Patrick's Day cover charges AND March Madness is going on. Man, we're gonna be hungover tomorrow. Roxy Riley, the Mayor of Roxybury. We'll make an art film of the experience: "Mrrr-ooooow. Muuurrrrow." (It's my 21st birthday. Wanna buy me a drink?) "Mur-row-row!" (Kiss me, I'm Irish.)

Happy birthday, old man.

Strange

I've been commuting to my latest job for just over a year now. A year of blasting the iPod on the Pike and treating the people around me like cars, not people. Not so long ago, I didn't have a car and my modes of travel were the train and the sidewalk.

You don't look at a car and invent a life story for it. I used to see thousands of strangers' faces in a week. I sort of miss that. The car life keeps everything familiar. You could go weeks without seeing anyone or anything unfamiliar between your house and your workplace.

Yin and Yang

My cousin Derek came over with my Uncle George for a visit the other night. All three of us have some experience with meditation. Uncle G. does yoga. Derek has been part of a Buddist community center, and I've done Taoist style qi gong standing meditation.

Derek said that he didn't understand the point. Stillness in and of itself is interesting, but he didn't want his whole life to be so still and calm. He's a professional musician. He loves the chaos of a solo. He felt that he couldn't be chaotic when he's been meditating. And vice versa. When he's playing beautiful crazy unordered music, his life became disordered as well.

I pointed out that meditation is not an endpoint, but learning a skill. You want to be able to move from stillness to chaos at will. He'd never thought about the balance of yin and yang in everyday life and the role that meditation plays in this.

Recapping

So it's been a while since I posted about what's going on in our lives, so here's the quick rundown.

Christmas was nice. Jen's mom and my sister came to town for the occasion. Jasper got lots of cool new toys and clothes. Jen got a new digital camera. Jen got me a Roomba Robot Vacuum cleaner (I felt a little like Marge Simpson when Homer got her a bowling ball with "Homer" engraved on it. But it IS a robot, so that nearly makes up for buying me a vacuum.), and the yin to the Roomba's yang, a PlayStation 2. Katamari Damacy is addictive. I can't even explain it. Just go see it for yourself and if you're in the neighborhood, drop in to play it. I'm good at sharing that way. I also got a Weber kettle grill, but that'll have to wait for sumer. I can't wait to have cookouts!

Jasper's almost 20 pounds now and as always, ridiculously good looking.