Thursday, March 31, 2016

Kids These Days

Kids These Days

The Scene: Several Moms and Dads waiting in front of a daycare center, just before being let in to pick up their children.

Here is some of their overheard conversation:

“We love reading time.  She’ll just get up into the bed and read a whole stack of books.  And she’s only 11 months!”

“That’s wonderful!  Mine loves to read too.  Right now he’s going through the classics: Gulliver’s Travels, Peter Pan . . .”

“Mine’s doing his dissertation on Dostoevsky.  The University says they want to give him a scholarship as soon as he learns to walk.”

“Well, mine was walking since she was only two months old.  She’s now figure skating.  She’ll be in the next winter Olympics.  She’ll be the youngest ever, at only 3 years old.”

“That’s wonderful!  Maybe they’ll score her on the new mathematical scoring system that my son developed when he was only 6 months old.  It’s a quantum statistics program that actually solved the mystery of PI…”

“That sounds like what my daughter just did with the medical field.  She just developed a new non-invasive laser procedure for brain surgery.  MD Anderson wants to hire her as President.”

“If we’re talking about medicine, my son amazed me SO much.  He had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and he unwrapped it himself and then gave me a Caesarian section IN UTERO!  Then, when he crawled out, he stitched me up himself and didn’t even leave a scar!”

“That’s incredible!  That’s almost like my daughter, who at two months had read everything Stephen Hawking ever wrote and then disproved it completely.   She’s already given directions to NASA and MIT on how to build a time machine that will completely alter the SPACE/TIME CONTINUUM!”

“Mine already did that when he was still a zygote.   We’ve lived alternate versions of this same reality for millennia now.”

“Aren’t kids just so smart these days?”


“They sure are!”

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Poem of the Day: and so the blast made us . . .

and so the blast made us
look again, turn around and look over our shoulders,

at the entrance to the Metro that we had just left.
and there were then some

people staggering out, covered in dust, some
covered in blood,

not always their own.
and then there were military

running toward us, past us, down
the stairs into the tunnel and

we reached out to the people who had staggered out,
and we sat them beside the wall,

we pulled our water bottles out of our backpacks
and we gave them what we had to drink,

The medics arrived and began to
take charge and direction of

all the others who were coming out of the Metro
tunnel, and the medics looked at us

and asked if we were all right, we
then realised that we too

were lightly coated in dust,
had faint flecks of blood,

our ears ringing and our eyes burning, we were
indistinguishable from the rest.









MR
2016-0322


Saturday, March 19, 2016

Overheard at Table 1: Immigrants

All this talk about immigrants and illegal immigrants and building walls and all that crap.  Can't stand it.  Why?  Let me tell you why:

I know a woman.  81 years old.  From El Salvador.  She lives here.  She's lived here in the states for over 20 years.  She lives off of welfare.  Yeah, that's right.  She gets food stamps and health care.  Her kids pay for her house and her utilities.  She sold her business to come here.

So, you'd all think "She's living off of OUR stuff!" OK, well, let's take a look at it.

She had five kids.  She got them all sent here to go to college in the 70s and 80s.  One of her kids is an engineer.  Designs electrical grids.

One of her daughters started a hospice business.   Helps the elderly stay in their homes.   Another daughter works in international banking, making a lot of wealthy white people a lot more wealthy.  

Another son works for a Mom-n-Pop oil company.  Instead of remaining local, he expanded them into Colombia, making all of them a shitload of money.  Her other son owns his own landscaping business.  Works for all the rich houses, museum district.  

Now, THAT son has two daughters.  One of them is a nurse and the other is a dentist.  The nurse is an ICU nurse, and she helped my family as we sat there watching my father die.  She held our hands and she brought us tea and she was there for us.

So, whenever ANYBODY talks about immigrants - either legal or illegal - in the way of "they're taking our stuff" those people need to shut their ignorant mouths, because they have no fucking clue what they're talking about.  Because you never know what these immigrants have done for this country, by having their children or relatives or themselves here, working in our communities, giving back, building whatever, making other people money, or just being the only nurse on the entire floor who actually gives a shit while your father's heart stops and the body grows cold.

So next time you hear somebody talking smack about immigrants, just let them know that their minds are tiny, tiny, tiny, like their black black hearts, and let them know that they will never know just how much an immigrant might have made their lives as good as they are.

Well, at least that's MY take on the whole thing anyway.


Friday, March 18, 2016

Overheard at Table One: Foreplay and 3 Minutes

Joseph: Overheard this woman at work and she was telling another co-worker, "He's a three-minute guy but he makes up for it with some AWESOME foreplay, and I thought, "Man, if my wife heard that she'd say, 'Hey, are you sleeping with my husband?'"

Monica [sips her coffee]

Joseph: Wouldn't you?

Monica: Wouldn't what?

Joseph: Say that to her?

Monica [slight grimace]: Well, honey, I'd have to say that - yes - you ARE a three minute man, but your foreplay ... could use a little work.

Joseph: It's not "awesome" ??

Monica [reaches over and pats the back of his hand]: But you know I love you!






-
From the Salinghetti Chronicles Vol. 60, Track 9
Tracey Chapman - Give Me One Reason



Thursday, March 17, 2016

Overheard at Booth 5: Got the Contract

Guy 1: So, did you get the contract?

Guy 2: Yeah, I got the contract.

Guy 1: Cool.  Who's the mark?

Guy 2: Kinda who we supposed it was gonna be.  The frontrunner.

Guy 1: Not bad.

Guy 2: Well, it's kind of a bummer.  I was gonna vote for the guy.



Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Song of the Day: Dropkick Murphys "Going Out in Style"

DROPKICK MURPHYS
"Going Out In Style"
(feat. Fat Mike, Chris Cheney and Lenny Clarke)

I've seen a lot of sights and traveled many miles
Shook a thousand hands and seen my share of smiles
I've caused some great concern and told one too many lies
And now I see the world through these sad, old, jaded eyes

So what if I threw a party and all my friends were there?
Acquaintances, relatives, the girls who never cared
You'll have a host of rowdy hooligans in a big line out the door
Side by side with sister barbara, chief wells and bobby orr
I'd invite the flannigans
Replace the window you smashed out
I'd apologize to sluggo for pissing on his couch
I'll see mrs. mcauliffe and so many others soon
Then I'll say I'm sorry for what I did sleepwalking in her room

So what if I threw a party and invited Mayor Menino?
He'd tell you to get a permit
Well this time tom I don't think so
It's a neighborhood reunion
But now we'd get along
Van Morrison would be there and he'd sang me one last song
With a backup band of bass players to keep us up all night
Three handsome four string troubadours and Newton's old Fat Mike
I'll be in the can having a smoke with Garv and Johnny Fitz
But there's a backup in the bathroom 'cause the badger's got the shits

You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style

Make me up dress me up, feed me a big old shot
Of embalming fluid highballs so i don't start to rot
Now take me to Mcgreevy's, i wanna buy one final round
What cheap prick would peel an orange in his pocket
Then hurry up and suck 'em down

If there's a god the girls you loved will all come walking through the door
Maybe they'll feel bad for me and this stiff will finally score
You've got the bed already
And nerve and courage too
Cause i've been slugging from a stash of desi queally's 1980s bathtub brew

You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style

You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style
You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style
You can take my urn to fenway spread my ashes all about
Or you can bring me down to wolly beach and dump the sucker out
Burn me to a rotten crisp and toast me for a while
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style
You may bury me with an enemy in mount calvary
You can stack me on a pyre and soak me down with whiskey
Roast me to a blackened crisp and throw me in a pile
I could really give a shit - I'm going out in style

Spread all my ashes about
Dump the sucker out
Toast me for a while

I'm going out in style

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Overheard at Table 2: After Lawn Mowing

A mom brings in her son to the Z&T Café after he had mowed the lawn for her.


Son: I had to pick up all the leaves.

Mom: Excellent.

Son: With a broom.

Mom: Well, good!

Son: Which SUCKED!

Mom: Poor baby!

Son: You don't have to sound so sarcastic.

Mom: Who's being sarcastic?

Son: You are.

Mom: All those leaves . . . with a BROOM!



Friday, March 11, 2016

Coffee and the Acoustic Guitar

My wife is as bold as coffee and as sensual as an acoustic guitar.

This may not seem like much of a compliment, I know, but let me explain.  Coffee is dark, like her eyes are dark, which hide the secrets of the ages.  And while she is not the darkest skinned of her people she still wears a proud, strong, bold brown that calls to mind Amazonian queens and defiant indigenous peoples who, even though they might have fallen to the swords of the Spaniards and the canons of the Portuguese, they fell nobly, and with much pride.

The acoustic guitar is a perfectly balanced instrument.  It is made of wood, wind, and steel.  The wood signifies the earth, and the earth's bounty which creates the body of the instrument - smooth, curved, strong, with internal bracing that holds its shape and allows the breath of life to flow within and without.  A strong neck pulls the strings across the body and holds them tightly in place.  The strings themselves, once made of gut, but now made of steel, demonstrate how the machinery of humanity can augment the beauty of the wood and the wind, drawing forth from it that which was dormant and soundless and giving it voice.    The acoustic guitar is the melding of humanity and nature, and it the epitome of our potential symbiosis.  

My wife is as bold as coffee and as sensual as an acoustic guitar.

Do those words sound better, now that I have explained them?


Thursday, March 10, 2016

Last Night at the Z&T Acoustic Café: Rodrigo y Gabriela!










Yes, it may be at The Triple Door in 2014, but just so you know, wherever acoustic concerts are held is immaterial - they are ALWAYS at the Zen and Tao Acoustic Café!


Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Overheard at Table 3: Spam


Dever Dodd: I don't often check my spam filter, but when I do I find crap like this:

Hey Handsome! I want to make true all your desires. I am a young and mischievous girl, and I can surrender to you all. Take my body and shape of it all that you want I thy sake fun ready to absolutely everything, you even can't imagine what I'm going to get up. I will fulfill all your dreams, the only thing you have to do is dream you really like what your fantasy become reality, a reality in which you received the most powerful orgasm and indescribable feelings, sex with policemen will not leave you indifferent, is not forgotten, that I guarantee you will want more. I know about it. Come to me. We'll get a lot of pleasure

.

Clare O'Casey: Well, I don't know about how truthful this is.  Sex with policemen has always left me indifferent.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Overheard at Booth 1: Sex Objects

Some Guy: If'I'm to be honest with myself as a heterosexual male, I don't look at women as sex OBJECTS, per se, but more like sex OPPORTUNITIES.

Other Guy: Like sex POTENTIALS.

Some Guy: Right!


Saturday, March 5, 2016

Overheard at the Counter: Gluttons for Our Own Doom

Niall Carter: Definitely a freaky troll doll you all have got going fer ya, here.

Steppenwolf (taking a sip): What's all this us?  You've been here since Reagan.  You're in this too.

Niall: Maybe I don't want to be.  You all be getting scary real fast.

Lucky Moran: It's just the dust being shaken up from the rug.

Niall: Dust that should have stayed under the rug, if you ask me.

Steppenwolf: Maybe it needs to be aired.

Lucky (motioning the barista for another refill): Well, the way I see it, if we want to air it this way, and elected this moronic playboy racist freakshow, then we are all just gluttons for our own doom.


Thursday, March 3, 2016

Overheard at Table 4: Trump trump trump trump

Dever Dodd: My Gad all I hear these days is Trump this and trump that, man you'd think he was president already!

Clare O'Casey: I'm afraid that's how people see it.  Like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Dever Dodd: More like a nightmare where you just can't get yourself to wake up from!

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Overread at Table 3: Poem of the Day: We strip apart the woman

We strip apart the woman
to eat her mean flesh.
We are ravenous but it comes in waves,
Sometimes we imagine that we are satiated and
at other times we realize that we are not.

We strip apart the woman
and eat her mean, mean flesh.
We wonder why this is, why
this has to be so - but
only intermittently, between
the sinking of the tear and the
rearing back of the head, coming up
for air with an enormous chunk of
blood and meat wrapped around
our canines.

We strip apart the woman
to eat her mean, mean flesh.











To be honest I don't know where this comes from.  This morning I was actually thinking about how it is Super Tuesday and that everyone's voting, most likely the narcissistic crook scumbag will win, so on some level I was thinking about our democracy as the woman.  But that doesn't really work for me; I might have also been thinking about how we - both men and women - tend to tear other women down, and have for so many generations throughout all cultures.

Or maybe it's because I haven't yet had breakfast.  Hell I don't know.  You tell me.


2016-0301
MR