Here’s something you don’t hear often enough at award shows: “I want to shout out to all my poops.”
x-post: more MVRT madness
To say today’s MVRT is in bad taste would be a little like saying BJ and the Bear were in a TV show called “BJ and the Bear.” They weren’t in the show. They were the show!
Abu Ghraib: The Untold Story, now playing on Monkey Vortex Radio Theater.
x-post: Two new segments up on Monkey Vortex Radio Theater
Two new audio-fun segments now ready for psychic absorption on ye olde Monkey Vortex Radio Theater: The World is Loud, a poem written and performed by Rodney K., and The Birth of Cheese — a thick stew of fear, loathing, and dairy products, scripted by Jolene Phelps.
Cole Porter Lives
With the biggest smile, my headed-toward-four-year-old says:
“Daddy?”
And I say “Yeah?”
And he says:
“Since it’s such a beautiful day, I love you.”
And that line, complete with matching catchy melody, has been stuck in my headbone for nearly 72 hours now.
The perfect Cole Porter lyric, showing up nearly 40 years too late, at least from Cole Porter’s perspective.
RIP Cole Porter.
Tony Randall too.
Plastic cups
You could find us by the smell of cheap wine in open-air plastic cups.
See, we'd walked into this sunny summer party unguarded booze them all in college us two in high school. Strolling the lawn with our big red cups held chest-high both hands.
We were alert and amazed. Thick-haired and thin-faced.
Bobbing along like tipsy rowboats.
Sipping small sips.
Invisible. But not odorless.
Bacon
My son wants bacon made out of coffee for me and bacon made out of orange juice for him.
Leave those pigs alone!
But keep the bacon coming.
A thing
A thing a day a written thing a thought a memory a day it's not too much to ask too much to do.
Monkey Vortex Radio Theater
Shhhhhh. Monkey Vortex Radio Theater, now on the air. Take it for a spin (and let me know whatcha find confusing and/or broken), here.
In Florida
In Florida, the land of the dead for me. All those memories of bouncing on airboats through swamps, and wandering around exotic bird parks, and listening to King Crimson on the wide lawn under the wide sky by the reflecting lagoon.
And sometimes driving, sometimes walking over to my great aunts, and uncles, apartments for bowl snacks and conversation.
There was that one time -- Meyer borrowed our walkman. Suddenly volume spun all the way up, all the way up he could hear again. Oh my god such a smile.
All gone now, that gang. There were two Irvings.
And all alligators gone. All tennis courts gone. All rec centers gone with miles of immaculate green felt pool tables.
Key West too.
And Florida is for me. The land of the dead for me.
I want to build a house
I want to build a house with Richard Brautigan up on the third floor.
Looking out a large window at open land hands on the windowsill.
Wearing that old hat that old vest those old glasses.
He looks good.