July 2006 Archives

Here's a tune and a time capsule, written on a rare day when my daughter Shonny woke up in a so-so mood. Fortunately, it didn't last.
-Cecil

time: 50 seconds; specs: 779K
Press Play to play.

Which describes the condition of the famous marchers as they skip and/or stumble toward the far side of this escapade. And yes, perhaps, like me, you've fallen a little behind again. But with so little food left on your plate, surely you've got appetite enough to pop this wee remaining morself?

Some will finish in the next few days. Others will likely finish next week in the wrap up post. As you cross the line, be sure to shout out and stake your claim to glory. Mug or magnet? Which will it be?

Next Wednesday: on to victory! (aka page 940 Grossman) where we will "undoubtedly fall to the ground."

As a married guy, a lot of my female friends and acquaintances have been asking me for years to tell them how to snag a fella -- to reveal the big secret of exactly what it is that men like. And until now, I've always said "I shant."

But then recently, I saw the movie "An Inconvenient Truth," and it got me thinking. Who knows how much longer we have on this shimmering blue-green marble orb? And if the world were in fact to end tomorrow, and I never revealed to women how to snag a fella, how lame would that be?

So, OK. With a tip of the hat to Al Gore, here goes:

There are basically two kinds of guy. The first kind wants to be treated like a baby. I call them "baby men." Baby men like it when you let them sort of lurch around and put their hands on everything. They leave fingerprints on your walls. And they'll eat whatever you put in front of them, so long as you puree it.

The second kind of guy -- I call them "old grandpas" -- wants to be treated like an old person. Old grandpas like it when you talk really loudly at them. They say things like "I have the right to drive in front of you," and they're very precise about their schedules.

Alright, you're thinking, that sounds pretty straightforward. But what about when you can't tell which kind of guy you're dating? Sometimes it's not so obvious, and the stakes can be very high. For example, if you talk loudly at a baby man, he might make doody.

Fortunately, there's one thing every guy likes, whether he be a baby man from Mumbai or an old grandpa from Galveston. And that's the big secret I'm now about to reveal.

Guys like it when you give them money. At the end of your second date, give your guy a dollar. Not change -- men don't like the metal clangy sound coins make. It makes them anxious.

Give your guy a paper dollar, and then sit back and watch him fall head over heels. A dollar is light, yet strong. Fibrous, yet flexible. To a guy, giving him a paper dollar is like saying "I respect you. And I value your time. And I'm going to show you how I feel by giving you this paper dollar."

And there's nothing a man likes more than that.

On the long list
of "things not to snort"

"pepper" is very close to
the top.

There wert a time, oh a long time ago,
like in movie time, when you could
tip someone a sketch more than they'd expect

and you'd say "thank you" in a
low ruffled D and they'd say
"thank you," clean surprise in their voice

and tall eyes with bouncy brows like
"thank you" you know? trilly and upright
and a tip of the bellboy's cap as for punctuate.

And I suppose it's still possible these days
to mark such a response
though I ain't heard so myself.

And what would it take?
Like a gazillion freakin' dollars?

The scariest guy in town
sits on a bus bench
beside his sweetie true.

His prison-gym forearms
coiled energy
  all Pop-Eye'd and snarling
  with frenzied shag

end at knotted hands
tranquill in her lap.

Driving past you can hear
love words plopping
like hash 
onto metal trays

out of that 
crazy-Joe 
bushy beard.

Regarding the troubled end and conclusion of week 16. Puff puff puff -- almost there, almost there. As we near the close of this adventure, my question this week is, what's next for you? I know a lot of folks read other books while they deathmarch, but I've pretty much been reading just this, with the exception of a brief dive into "Dean and Me (A Love Story)" by Jerry Lewis.

It's looking like my next book -- not next deathmarch, just the next thing I'm hoping to read -- will be "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," which I somehow never got around to. A friend picked up a copy recently, and I think I'm gonna tag along. The other contender is an interesting bit of recent history called "The Nightingale's Song" that one of my brothers lent me for a couple of lawn-chair page-flips when I was away on vacation.

How about you -- anything in the on-deck circle?

Next Wednesday: let's meet up at the end of Chapter LXV (892 Grossman), just before what may well be my favorite italic chapter opening line yet (is there a technical term for that feature?): "Which recounts what will be seen by whoever reads it, or heard by whoever listens to it being read.).

The food
inside my intestines
advances like a jungle animal

stalking me in small leaps
three inches, five inches at a time
seizing ground

rumbling
fixing me frightened to a point

because a jungle animal
doesn't care how nice you are
or how much you need sleep
or how sorry you are
that you ate too much and
drank too much
too much

and neither does the food
inside my intestines.

Concerning what befell the marchers on their way to Week 16. As ever, I'm one week behind. Good meaty section, I thought. And there's the thrill of holding a thin slice of a big book in your right hand, which never gets old.

Hit one of my most favoritist moments in the book so far on page 726, whence Sancho regales the Duchess and co. thusly:

"Without saying anything to anybody, not even my master, very quietly and gently I got down from Clavileno and I played with the nanny goats, and they're as sweet as gilly flowers, for almost three-quarters of an hour...."

What's better than Sancho letting himself pretend that he stopped time and played with nanny goats in the sky?

Other miscellaneous notes:

(1) When it comes to the whole proverb thing, I'm pretty sure Sancho has a medical condition.

(2) I was struck by Cervantes prophetic vision on 716 -- after all, here in the 21st century, you can't throw a rock without hitting an air-propelled wooden horse controlled by forehead pegs. How could he have known that? How?!

(3) A dozen bearded duennas? I will admit, that twist took me by surprise.

(4) A trio of favorite DQ lines: "God endures the wicked, but not forever." "I won't remember them any more than I do yesterday's clouds." "...the first thing I recommend is that you keep clean, and that you trim your nails and not allow them to grow, as some men do whose ignorance has led them to believe that long nails beautify their hands, as if those superfluous growths that they refuse to cut were nails, when they are actually the claws of a lizard-eating kestrel: a filthy and extraordinary abuse."

Next Wednesday: Catch ya at the end of Chapter LVIII (842 Grossman), whence someone's experiencing "more shame than pleasure."

Over the holidays, my family converted to one of those new religions you've been reading so much about on MySpace and Google. We chose the "Cheese Promise Keepers," a group that restores the authority over all family cheese decisions to the man of the house. While the "Cheese Promise Keepers" may not be for everyone, we've found a lot of joy in their teachings, and I wanted to take a minute to share the good news in case they might be a good fit for you too.

Here's how it works: if my wife or one of our kids wants to have some cheese, they'll turn to me and say "should I have this cheese?" and I'll say "yes" or "no" depending on my sense of what would be best for the family.

Sometimes they won't be in the mood for cheese, and I'll say "try some cheese with that." Or if they're having Swiss cheese, I might say "how about some Gouda instead? It's Dutch."

While these probably sound like suggestions, they're really more like commandments. As in: "thou shalt have some Gouda instead!"

My family appreciates the fact that the "Cheese Promise Keepers" have taken all the pressure out of their cheese-related decisions. And I like the fact that they've made me feel more like a true man.

Before the "Cheese Promise Keepers," cheese used to play a disproprtionately large role in our family dynamics. There were arguments over cheese. Slap fights. But now we're putting people first, instead of putting cheese first. And isn't that the way things ought to be? After all, in the Bible it says that God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and edam.

I had a dream last night that I was applying to be a referee in the the local "ring around the rosie" league. But they rejected my application because I was just too big. They were afraid I'd frighten the kids on "all fall down."

I mean, that's not fair, is it? That I should have such a dream?

A teensy tiny entry this week, since I'm mostly offline. Here's to Week 15 and your arrival therein!

Next Wednesday: Let's meet up at the end of Chapter LI (aka page 797, Grossman), just before "the claw marks had healed."