Friday, December 31, 2010

I Hearby Resolve in 2011

To finish what I start.
To offer up praise.
To say thanks much much more.
To stay in touch.
To do good work.
To dance a little more and spread terrific juicy sexual gossip a little less.
To meditate, yogaify, exercise, and vegetable-eat with greater regularity.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Have Yourself a Dirty Nasty Naughty Little Christmas

Christmas is full o' nasty.

Egg nog. Just the words. Soooo nasty.

Ditto Yule Log. Is that an elf sex position?

Also, someone is coming down your chimney. Is it me, or is that just gross?

It's an overweight German elf.

He comes from The North Pole. That's a distance.

He knows when you've been baaad.

He can throw his sack over his shoulder.

He stuffs your stocking. Are you getting this?

If what he's giving you is too big to stuff into in your stocking, he puts it out under your tree. This is not a euphemism.

He whips reindeer.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Had St. Francis Been A Foodie: Christmas Version


make me a cooking utensil, perhaps a spatula, of your peace
where there is hatred, let me sow langoustines
where there is injury, poi
where there is doubt in the freshness of cheese, faith;
where there is despair, hope
where there is darkness, light golden brown caramel with fleur de sel,
and where there is thin plonk, joy, and a bottle of 1982 Chateau Margaux.

O divine Konditor Meister,
grant that I may not so much seek to be served risotto
as to serve others risotto;
to be understood as having great palate,
as to understand that not everyone does,
to be loved, as to love the maitre d’;
for it is in giving wicker baskets of seasonal organic microgreens
that we receive,
it is in pardoning those who eat protein shakes, we are pardoned,
and it is by "Death by Chocolate" cake
that we are born to the masthead at Saveur.


Friday, December 17, 2010

Anxious Mom, Cool Babysitter: An Accidentally Recorded Conversation

My father transcribed verbatim this conversation that I accidentally recorded onto his answering machine. He immediately recognized it's potential.

Me: How are the kiddoes?

Sitter: They’re good. They’re just finished watching Monsters, Inc.

Me: Oh, they did? OK, do they seem kind of hepped up or do they seem kind of tired?

Sitter: They seem kind of tired now.

Me: OK. So we’re gonna be home probably within like a half hour or 40 minutes.

Sitter: OK. That sounds good.

Me: OK. If they, if they get really sleepy, hmm, yeah, it’s OK if you wanna, wanna hold them, rock them, or if they, you know, they seem like they’re headed in that direction.

Sitter: OK

Me: Yeah. Because sometimes they get so tired they get riled up.

Sitter: Nervous laughter.

Brief silence

Me: But . . . We’ll be home soon.

Sitter: OK

Me: OK. I’m glad things are going well.

Sitter: All right, well, we get to see you, too.

Me: OK. Take care.

Sitter: Bye

Me: Bye

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

My Manifesto or, A Few of My Favorite Things

Things that are good. And make me believe in a benevolent universe:

Brown paper packages tied up with string. Totally get it.

Hot towels.

Funny women.

Fred Astaire.

Sea otters.


The milk and long dry grass scent of love.

How flowers droop inside, in vases, and need slender plastic collars, but never do outside, in the wild.

Wide smile. Irresistable.

When first you do the wrong thing, but then you go back and do the right thing. That capacity.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

What To Do With Your Hands At Cocktail Parties

There is overstimulation with the flickering candle-simulation, the canapes, especially the shrimp bowl, the burbling jazz and the people asking you what you do in a really insinuating and uncomfortable way like what you do -- poetry writing-- is somehow less than, inferior to whatever it is that they do: skydiving corporate mergers. What do you do with your sad clown hands?

5) Pull hands into sleeves, make an elephant trunk. Lumber around the shrimp bowl, bellowing.

4) Carry two glasses of wine at all times. Every time someone takes the secondary glass that you've so kindly offered, go get a tertiary glass, and so on.

3) There is no word relating to the number eleven, but there is one that relates to the number twelve: duodenary.

2) Converse like this and no one will care what you do with your hands.

1) The shrimp bowl is yours.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Holiday Still Lifes

Under the tree, a Dutch porcelain mug, containing rum, that Mommy forgot.

A milk chocolate Adventskalender, ripped apart and strewn across the floor. Nearby, a dog is sick.

A landscape of a frilly woman's apron, flour, and sugar, and butter and cookie cutters in the shapes of elves is lit from the left, with 1930s Midwestern nostalgia.

A platter of red grapes. For now.

Hanging like Flemish grandmaster van Eyck rabbits in the dim hall closet, several pairs of flesh-red wool mittens, drying.

A silver ball on the tree, reflecting Daddy, in the other room.

In 3/4 view, the ham, is resplendent, burnt sienna, ochre and vermillion.

After Bruegels' Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, Mommy, who found her mug of rum.