Icky

This Is A Gun

This is a gun

If no one had ever invented it

I would not know

That one

Gun

Was waiting for my outstretched hand

Just within reach

During those quiet moments

Appearing as a sleek steel solution

To a myriad of problems

An endless catalogue of grieves

Just a thought away

And the bullets

That go in it

So cheap and so plentiful

And life so expendable

That the thought comes

Most every day

This is a gun

A tool I can use

And my God-given right

Right?

Mine to bear and employ

Stead of sufferin’ the fools

And the madmen

And walking away

I can turn

Barrels blazing

So the sun glints off my teeth

And calmly

Quite rationally

Blow them away

With my tool

With my gun

Just a brief thought away

In the trunk of my car

Or in my nightstand

Bought off that one guy

Behind the taco stand

Who beckoned to me

With a crooked finger and said

“This is a gun.”

And it gleamed in the darkness

And it followed me home

Like a dirty thought

Still there and still lurid

In the cold light of day

Wrapped in an oily cloth

Stuffed in the back of a drawer

Under old socks and scrapbooks

That tell of decay

And love lost

And wars fought

And nothing’s been saved

But some money

In a jelly jar by the sink

With a label reading

“This is a gun.”

And every time

It hurt some

Or it hurt a little more

In went some quarters

And a couple of ones

To buy a gun

And when the rage

Filled my rooms

And burst open the doors

Fistfuls of money

Were forced in my jar

And the label was altered

“The Best Gun”

“The Worst Bullets”

“A Big Scary Thing”

Make them all pay

Like I pay

In cold sweat and blood

That I’ll turn into bullets

For my gun

This is a gun

And it’s mine

Not yours

You can get one

Go buy one

But I’ll kill you first

This is a gun

Party Girl Obituary

The party girl is dead and buried

With a “Hallelujah” and a couple of “Bout time”s

But her bones

Keep poking up

Through the grave

Calcium reminders of

What she had been

Splintered and rotting

From cocaine and gin

Intruding themselves

Into the bright fresh day

So fractured and crazed

They blow away to dust

Like those feelings of lust

Seen red-eyed in the morning

Through the holes

In the skull

Of the dead and buried

Party girl

Whose rib cage

Floats upward through the dust

To show the empty case

That held her heart

Dead and buried before her

In the grave next door

Capital

I feel CHAOTIC

You look POSSESSIVE

Let me buy you a drink

The gin will start us talking

And we’ll see if this can WORK

Can it bring home the BACON

Fry it up in a pan

Can it make you a MAN

Can it make an HONEST WOMAN

Outta me

Let’s think

And have another drink

On me

Cuz I feel less HOPELESS

And you look less HEARTLESS

Than you ever have before

Do you snore

Slip ice picks in BAD GIRLS

When you’re bored

With the WHINING

And the SIGHING

Tell me more

About yourself

And have

Another drink

As we sink

In a morass of love

Rough Ideas for Idiot's Guide To World Peace

[The following are just some ideas I was kicking around during the Bush administration. Pretty simplistic and fairly naive but still has some merit.]

Essay-IdiotsGuideWorldPeace

I’ve been thinking about writing a book called The Idiot’s Guide to World Peace. One basic premise is the “punch in the face” theory. If I walk up to someone and punch him or her in the face then his or her first instinct is to return the favor. America in terms of the CIA and military (as an arm of the government) goes around punching a lot of people in the face. This makes it more likely (not less as the Bush administration purports) that we will get punched. Here is the big idea- Stop punching people in the face! Stay home, staunch our bloody nose, get it reset, and start spreading the word.

Like “Hey, all you South Americans! What say we stop sending our spooks down there to show you how to be experts in the deadly art of face-punching and you stop punching each other in the face? Especially stop punching the poor ones who are too weak from lack of food to recover from the blows.”

We could go to Africa and stand between the punchers and the punches (seeing as we are big and strong) and repeatedly say “Hey! Cut that out!” This may seem simplistic but look at it this way. When the puncher keeps punching but not getting the expected result, he’s going to have to say “What the hell! This ain’t working. I’m gonna ask this bastard what’s up.” And, voila`, diplomatic talks have begun.

Now on to Iraq. Like it or not, we started that brawl. Those Iraqis had nothing to do with the deadly and most devastating punch in the face our nation has ever received. What the Iraqis did have is a very turbulent unfriendly regime that threatened America’s –shh!-oil interests. But, believe it or not, the answer to our problems was not to go punch those people in the face. Now, that whole nation is a continuous free-for-all of face punching and we are in more danger than we ever were!

Here is an alternative. We go to people and say “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong? What is really going on here?” Sometimes, the reaction will be, diplomatically speaking, a punch in the face followed by some instructions to mind our own business. We can react by saying “That is totally uncool and uncalled for but you know where to find us when you want to talk”. Then, we return home and ignore them until they are ready to stop being such jerks. This is, essentially, what we call “sanctions” or “I’m not sharing anything with you until you learn to play nice!”.

Yet, other times, when we employ this alternative approach with no threat of face punching in the offing, we may receive an honest reply such as “We’ve tried this and this and this but things are still really screwed up! Any ideas?”  Here, we can begin with the “stop punching concept” and move forward from there.

            I know all this seems very silly but it is deadly serious. Let’s take a look at all the things that fit into the broad category of face punching. The biggest and most obvious is out right war. When one nation or an alliance of nations occupies the territory of another nation, slaughtering so-called combatants and civilians indiscriminately, this engenders a level of violence that cannot be ignored and that is always met with more violence. It does not matter what cause or justification is assigned to the initial act of violence, the end result is always great suffering and death. Another form is civil war which can be linked to any number of causes. As we see in some parts of the world, this can lead to the virtual annihilation of whole cultures. Not just by death but through rape, degradation, and shattering of the homeland. Also, there is terrorism. We are currently in the grips of terror. When all feel that they are under constant threat of attack, the overall level of violence continues to escalate. We lash out indiscriminately, hoping to hit a target we cannot see and by this we further degrade any hope of security.  A particularly vile form of face punching is torture. There are individuals all over the world who have been stripped of their human rights and are being subjected to unthinkable tortures in the name of national security. When anyone, anywhere can be treated with no human dignity then not a single man, woman, or child is secure.

These are what I consider to be the largest forms of face punching. Yet, as long as we live in such a climate of violence, we will become further anesthetized to the smaller forms that surround us every day: The school yard beatings, domestic abuse, molestation, rape, theft, and murder. We watch all these things on TV in one form or another and have begun to accept them as an unavoidable part of life. We cease to be shocked and horrified and become resigned. We must now learn, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said “Violence begets violence.”



Fragmentary Shards of Past



Please excuse my total lack of posts as of late! I am trying to edit a cabinet full of poetry as I have realized it does me no good languishing on the shelf. Here are a few of the poem fragments I have run across to tide us over until I start writing new poems and essays again. -Megan the Wonder Bunny

Fragment- No Name

I know a man who has no nose

He likes to sense things with his toes

And although he thinks that no one knows

His prehensile tail still grows and grows

In point of fact, it ate his nose

Fragment-Clarice

What can I say about Clarice

She never let us down

She never left a bad taste in your mouth

She was a real lady

Clarice could make a man

Cry out for his mama

And never smear her lipstick

Fragment-BrainTune

My brain is tuned to a frequency other than mathematical

But the light from a distant sun still touches my face

Though I can’t measure how far

It has travelled

To reach me

The knowledge and the light

Are not dependent on each other

Fragment- NiceMice

Beer on ice

Is nice

For mice

In the pitter patter of an unlit kitchen

Leave them wine

And cheese

And rice

You needn’t tell them twice

Those mice

Fragment-OneEye

Closing one eye

I lose half the world

Is it my good eye

Or my bad eye

I’ve closed

Which half of the world

Am I seeing

Which half has disappeared

What have I lost

Denied

Pushed aside

Fragment-Teeth

I like to obsess over things

How bout you

I like to gnaw

Small, petty things

With my sharp, keen teeth

Til my lips bleed

And my tongue is lacerated

Don’t you

Fragment-Union

My soul went to a wedding

And caught the bouquet

Returned with these flowers

And asked to marry my mind

With my heart’s blessing

The union was approved

What a happy day

What a lucky bride

To walk through the world

United mind to soul

Stoopid Vampires

I think the time has come for a story about dumb vampires. I am unsure about when the vampire myth made the transition from the minds of men to literature but since the early 1800s we have been saddled with the cultured, charismatic vampire. What a pain in the neck! I am sick to death of the fascination with and romanticizing of the vampire. I think the legend of the vampire is ripe for a story of a tremendously stupid bloodsucker.

It shouldn’t be that difficult to imagine. Consider the common view of how someone becomes a vampire. After being bitten on the neck and drained of most but not all of one’s vital fluids, a person finds him or herself with an allergic-type reaction to sunlight and a bad case of dehydration. Sounds like a virus to me. I don’t know about you but a good dose of the flu makes me all wooly-headed and thick. I’m much more likely to curl up on the couch and watch cartoons than break into a person’s bedroom and start spouting Proust when I have a bad cold. It really isn’t much of a stretch to imagine vampirism making you all kinds of stupid. I think it is much more likely that vampires wear footie pajamas while clutching a box of Puffs than velvet tuxedos and capes. They would probably stalk you in the cold and flu aisle of the local drugstore rather than an exclusive gallery opening. It’s hard to be mesmerizing when you have crusties in the corners of your eyes and a runny nose. Vampires could prey on your sympathy for how lousy they fell rather than draw you in with their exotic sexuality. But, even that implies a certain level of cleverness for vampires that I am totally over.

            I want a really, really stupid vampire. Seriously, irredeemably dumb. I want a vampire who accidently eats garlic bread and drinks holy water. A vampire who plans a vacation in equatorial Brazil and forgets the sunscreen. Maybe even a story about a vampire who faints at the sight of blood. A gang of vampires who plan to rob a blood bank but end up cleaning out a sperm bank instead. Dummies.

            All I know is that I’ve had enough of vampires who, in spite of being parasitical, undead monsters, are still cooler, classier, and sexier than the humans they hunt. Someone please step up and write a story about the vampire equivalent of Homer Simpson and end the reign of the trendy vampire forever. Thank you.



Science and Me

I like to consider myself an intelligent woman. I believe that I am well-educated and have a reasonable ability to comprehend difficult concepts. I act as if I understand the various scientific reasons the world works as it does. The truth is that when I look on these myriad processes I truly see one thing. Magic. That is the actual depth of my understanding. Nuclear reactors. Magic. Electricity. Magic. Digestion. Magic. I am no more aware of how these things work that I am of next week’s lottery numbers; I know that they will contain digits which are a combination of 0-9.

A good example of my belief in magic can be characterized by my relationship with electricity. I sit here with my headphones on; listening to music while I write this with no clear idea of what makes this possible. I can speak with great confidence about power plants and generators but, it’s all a front. I do not know what actually happens when I plug my little MP3 player into my computer to “charge” its battery. I take it on faith that after a given period of time the little meter shaped liked a battery will be full and that when I flip the “on” switch it will play music. Magic. And don’t even get me started on how sound can be digitized, recorded, etc. As far as I’m concerned, my MP3 player is a magic box that has forty-eight bands and a symphony orchestra shrunk down to microscopic size contained within it. Or do I mean nanoscopic? I am sure that at some point in my life I was presented with a cogent explanation of how electricity works – probably while watching School House Rock. Nevertheless, all the details about electrons and conductors have been smelted down by my furnace of a brain into one big lump of magic.

            If I were to try and explain to a child how the body turns food into energy and more person parts, the results would be laughable at best. I would probably start strong enough by describing how stomach acids break down the food we eat but I cannot in anyway explain how the body then goes about extracting anything from the resulting soup – let alone transferring it to my cells and toe nails. To me, the only way that a slice of veggie deluxe pizza becomes brand new cells for my friend, Liver, is unmitigated magic. I know about as much about the process as I know about how that damn rabbit ended up in Mystical Marvin’s top hat.

            And now, on to the Magical World of Computers! I remember my class in junior high where it took the full hour to type commands into the system to make an outline of a sailboat that I could have drawn in twenty seconds with a crayon. But, in a way, that made sense to me. I had to tell the system where to place each individual pixel on the screen to form the pathetic sailboat. I could assume that all the operating systems we use daily that I find so convenient are a result of someone writing lots and lots of sailboat type commands. My mind boggles at the very idea. What makes it possible for me to use a program to draw my same sailboat via pointing and clicking is, clearly, magic. We can now store vast amounts of information on microchips that look like the base materials for really exciting, avant-garde art jewelry. It’s not binary, my friends. It’s magic. The internet? Wi-Fi? Cloud drives? Magic flowing through wires and flying through the air. I have friends who could sit down with me and patiently explain every detail of how our new information age functions in ways both educational and entertaining. But, after the magic show was over I would still be wondering how he crammed all those doves up his sleeve.

            I have to reach a place where I accept and embrace how I really see the world. The magical sun rises every morning and sends down its magical rays to warm the earth and magically feed the plants. Plants which are magically turned into parts of animals which we magically turn into parts of humans (unless you’re a vegetarian which means you skip the magic animal step). The humans then perform tremendous feats of magic as they magically stick to the surface of the earth. I, magically, give up.



Polyanna Rescinded

Dragon Baby

Penitentiary blues

I feel a cage coming on

No point in runnin’

The chain’s already welded tight around my ankle

I put it there

Forged the links

Out of grudge metal and angry fire

Made the decision

To be chained

To be caged

To be an animal

To be a dragon with opposable thumbs

Raining down destruction

On my own suburban landscape

Of peaceful homes and happy families

Lock me up

Before I make victims

Of my own dreams

I made the cage

I made the dragon

I lost the key

I acted out my fears

Lived like they were true

Until they became true

More real than the blue skies above my head

More real than the green earth beneath my feet

I want my freedom

But I just can’t

Let

Go

Symphony

Walking down the street

Looking for cigarette butts half-smoked

Hoping no one will notice when I pick them up

All I see is leaves and feet

Cracks in the sidewalk

A symphony of fear plays in my head

When will I die

And why am I not dead

Every day I wake up

Breathing

Wearing skin

Like I belong here

Should be on this planet

In the form of a girl

With no money

No cigarettes

No hope

But to find that half-smoked butt

To breathe in its smoke like shame

To match the symphony of shame

That plays in my head

That sounds like theft and lies and empty sex

That sounds like bagpipes at a funeral

For a lonesome little girl

Who lived her life in a bottle

Praying for half-smoked cigarettes and death



Stars and Dirt

Lull

We never dreamed to make our own constellations

To write our own names across the sky

We should have

We dreamed of being rock stars

We dreamed of being rich

We dreamed of dingy things

That tarnished to the touch

We dreamed of a better life

We dreamed of a better day

Then slept through its creation

To dream of movie stars

Who swept us off our feet

And took us away from it all

We dreamed of power

We dreamed of dominion

We dreamed like sheep

We never dared to dream

Of creating a world

With our own two hands

We never dared to dream

Of brightening the sky

With our own fierce light

We never dared to dream

Of peace

Then awoke to unfold it in our lives

We never dreamed we were real boys and girls

We never dreamed the stars flowed in out veins

We never dreamed we could

We should

Now dream

Short Harvest

Grow me a rose before it’s too late

My bloom is already fading

Petals drifting down

With the softest slither of sound

Create a bouquet

That spells out my name in color

That means what I mean

That shows my beauty

Which is fading

Bleaching like winter grass

Grow me a garden

To feed my soul

Through the long hungry years ahead

Plant an orchard

Till the earth

To keep me fertile

To stop me from withering

And going to seed

Dissolving into the soil

Unnoted

Unmarked

Like a forgotten grave

In the countryside

Thanks Luna

The moon told me I was beautiful

And I was so flattered

To look on me

With that milky white skin

And see beauty

So I reflected it back

And waxed more beautiful

As the night wore on

The moon told me I was flawless

Still whole and complete

On the darkest night

And I was filled

To overflowing

And shone with such radiance

That I woke the birds

The moon told me I was wanted

By ever star that filled the sky

And the light that touched my skin

Was a far traveling gift of love

Sent centuries before my birth

To reach me just in time

The moon told me I was loved

From the moment I first drew breath

And resting in its gentle light

I just knew

It was true



Hamsters In Peril

There is an important matter I want to draw to your attention. Hamsters all over the United States are in peril. Pet store owners previously believed they were dealing with inexplicable but isolated incidents. So, until recently, there has been no media attention drawn to what has been happening. Pet store owners when approached my have remarked on the incidents in question as 'odd' or 'strange' but little concern was in evidence. All over the nation, leaving behind small puffs of smoke and not much more, hamsters are detonating.
In recent years, the popularity of the hamster as a pet has been experiencing a steady decline. It has been hard for them to compete with the variety of small pets available such as hedgehogs and sugar gliders as well as the rise in lizard ownership. The traditional hamster has been replaced in the school classroom with turtles and other low maintenance pets. This problem is not just commercial in nature but has much wider consequences and implications. And, now that the explosive hamster fatalities are coming to light, we are finding that the phenomena bears a closer look.
I have been doing research into the more isolated reports of pet store hamster explosions since the late seventies and was in a fortuitous position to notice the alarming trend. For decades previous, the average time from pet store arrival to purchase for any given hamster was five days. Shipments and general procurement of hamsters by retailers were designed to reflect this high turnover. Though hamsters have a short life span, ranging from one and a half to three years, their fertility rate is very high. Furthermore, they reach maturity quickly making them well suited to a demanding market. On the rare occasion that a hamster would remain 'on the shelf' for two weeks that hamster appeared to experience spontaneous detonation. It was difficult to correlate the data on explosions (which lacked a consistent method of reporting) with an accurate timeline in terms of shipment and arrival. Due to the increase in hamster detonations, these numbers have been thrown into sharp relief.
It has come to light that these hamsters have been used to collect data of their own. During the Cold War, the primary purveyor of hamsters was the former Soviet Socialist Republic. The Russian hamster farms were producing as many as ten thousand marketable animals per week. This lucrative business served a dual purpose of steady revenue and information gathering. Each tiny hamster was implanted with a device designed for both recording and transmitting far beyond the capabilities anyone suspected the Russians of possessing. It was thought by the Russian intelligence community that hamsters unpurchased after two weeks may inadvertently find their way into scientific research, resulting in discovery of this valuable technology. Hence, the inclusion of the detonation fail safe.
Following the dissolution of the Soviet Socialist Republic, the thriving hamster business and advanced hamster technology fell into the hands of the new Russian Mafia. Arrangements were made and the entire system, part and parcel, was transferred to the Chinese government who willingly employed this valuable information asset. The widespread proliferation of pet hamsters provided information from a variety of resources including U.S. classrooms! This asset has remained viable and a real boon to the Chinese information community for many years until only recently.
Many factors have contributed to the decline in hamster sales over the past several years but the net result is what is most important. The marked increase in hamster detonations has made the data apparent and recordable at last. In the past, the relatively low number of explosions kept the wider scientific community skeptical of the phenomena as a whole. Furthermore, the destruction of the hamsters involved was complete as it takes a very small charge to effectively destroy all evidence. I was eventually able to obtain a hamster that had succumbed to wet tail (proliferative ileitis) prior to the two week "shelf life" deadline and was finally able to verify the presence of both the receiving/transmitting device and the detonation charge. I cannot emphasize enough that hamsters are completely blameless in this situation and should be seen as helpless pawns of the dark machinations of an information hungry world. Rather than penalize hamsters for their unwitting role, we must take steps to relieve their plight.
The size and placement of the intelligence gathering devices makes removal untenable for the hamsters and would be almost universally fatal. Yet, it would be cruel to leave these hamsters to simply explode in pet stores across our fair nation. It is eminently possible to include hamsters in out homes and classrooms without fear. We can save the lives of these innocent victims of global politics and still protect our national security. It would be a simply matter to care for and enjoy pet hamsters while presenting them with a steady stream of either disinformation or neutral data. Simply make certain to keep your hamster in a room that does not contain a television and shield it from all media feeds. A small speaker may be placed near the hamster habitat and set to play an innocuous mix of jazz fusion and new age music. This should prove soothing to the hamster and a bar against information leakage. Furthermore, you may bring your hamster into the common areas of your home on a daily basis and discuss completely inaccurate information in its presence such as false military base locations and defense policy issues. Take an opportunity to be both compassionate and patriotic. Buy a hamster today!

Dichotomy

Vacancy Filled


I'm not going to waste my time
Looking for my better half
Because I'm already whole
I wasn't created in pieces
Scattered all over the globe
That must be assembled
To achieve completion
Whole is how I started
And whole is what I am
Maybe a few chips
Here and there
A nick or two
From rough handling
But I am totally capable
Of patching those up
With a little quiet time
And a good book
A nice bubble bath
But I'm not broken
I was made of stronger stuff
Not glass or china
No porcelain girl
I'm organic iron
I'm flexible steel
My soul
Needs no mate
My heart beats just fine
In its solo state
I'm no lesser half
Of a cosmic partnership
I'm whole

Entertainment News

A new one woman show
Starring me
Watch me walk out the door with confidence
Head held high
And trip over a rabbit
Watch me change my clothes
Fifteen times
Ranging in styles
From Urban Pirate
To Mod Rocker
To the first outfit I put on
Then walk out the door
And trip over a rabbit
Who is deep in conversation
With a hedgehog
Watch me cry during a zombie movie
Watch me laugh at seeming tragedy
Just watch me, okay?
I'm needy
No- not needy
Highly entertaining
A must see
Two thumbs up
Watch me make a vow
To eat only lettuce and raw flax seeds
Then eat myself sick and sobbing
On nacho cheese and red meat
Watch me fall in love
With a guy glimpsed at the gas station
And spend the next eight weeks
Wondering where he lives
Watch me act like a human being
With human feelings
Then beat myself up
For being and feeling
Then trip over a rabbit
Who is discussing the paradoxical nature of time
With a hedgehog and a parakeet
That rabbit hates me

The Importance of the Cartoon Medium or Cartoons Rock!

            I think it may be difficult for me to express in a convincing manner why cartoons will always be the best form of television ever. Many who know me have laughed derisively when I answer the question “What are you doing?” with “Watching cartoons.”  Some even go so far as to say “Oh, you and your cartoons.” As if this is a defect of mine they choose to lovingly tolerate. Whereas, I believe I am very tolerant of their lack of understanding of the absolute, innate superiority of the cartoon art form.  Like any available medium, one may see bad examples and good examples of how to employ it. But, when a cartoon is good,  its worth is beyond measure.

Now, it would be a mistake to assume that I am referring to the quality of the drawing in any given cartoon as an indication of its worth. While some cartoons do contain excellent artwork in terms of scenery and whatnot, this is not the means by which I measure greatness. It is all about content as well as full and total exploitation of the medium.  Even the most surreal situation comedy ever produced is shackled to the mundane world by physical limitations. (And don’t bother me with that CGI crap as it is the lame-ass cousin of animation.) In the world of cartoons, all such limitations disappear. A character may be flooded out of town on a rising tide of over-populating rabbits with no loss of continuity. The number of times a duck can receive a direct shotgun blast to the face and still be able to deliver snarky remarks is limitless. Cartoons can take us to outer space with no expensive sets or costumes and all visited atmospheres are breathable. Also, no alien life form yet met is smarter than the cleverest earth rabbit which is a very comforting illusion.

Another important aspect of the medium of cartoons is its function as a safe outlet for aggression and violent tendencies. I have been watching cartoons regularly since childhood and have never been in a physical altercation and have always been a supporter of non-violent conflict resolution. Observing violence done to cartoon people, cats, mice, rabbits, ducks, and squirrels has not resulted in a lifetime of aggressive physical acts on my part. Rather, I have been allowed to laugh at the trials and tribulations of these cartoon creatures and, thusly, laugh away all my desires to indulge in like actions. Maybe a wider proliferation of cartoons would mark a decrease in the wider proliferation of armaments. It is possible that repeatedly watching a coyote get blown to smithereens by his own bombs and dynamite could bring about lasting peace.  (Are you listening United Nations?)

I would like to make a brief foray into the matter of cartoons and gender roles. I have nothing but admiration for the flexibility and plasticity of traditional gender roles in the cartoon genre. It is just another way in which cartoons break free of the limitations of our day to day lives. I challenge almost anyone to transcend our traditional gender boundaries with the ease shown by our cartoon creations. Isn’t this repeated theme indicative of our own desires to break free of the status quo? I have heard a lot of hullabaloo concerning the sexuality of a certain sea-dwelling, pants-wearing, yellow sponge – not that sexuality should be lumped in with gender roles – but in this instance, it appears that the two are being confused. I would beg to refer one back to an earlier example of gender rule-breaking; Bugs Bunny. Bugs was and is the master of slipping with ease and grace between the male/female roles. Never, in my experience, have I heard anyone refer to Bugs as “gay” or “homosexual”. His ability to change roles at will is accepted, revered, and admired. (As well as his ability to be alluring in harem pants and a skimpy top.) So rather than fear the apprehended sexuality of a cartoon sponge, we should celebrate the lessons to be learned about the assumed concreteness of current gender roles.

            Lastly, and I believe most importantly, cartoons rock! They make me laugh my butt off. I could watch ‘em all day long. Screw “Two and a Half Men” and all that other prime-time dross. Give me cartoons every time and you’ll never hear me complain. Just keep making ‘em! You’ll always have me for an audience.



Public Pajama Wearing

In a world filled with alarming trends, I find one in particular to be not alarming at all and simply annoying. So, that is where I prefer to keep my focus. I speak of course of the frequency with which women of today wear pajamas outside of the house. There are very few public places that are immune from the invasion of the pajama wearing type. I have viewed them at the grocery store and the gas station. I have seen them waiting for the bus and strolling along the boulevards. Where was the line and when did we cross it? I understand the temptation to do a 1:00 AM ice cream run in ones fleece pants and Eeyore t-shirt but, to date, I have never presented myself before the shrine of Ben and Jerry without a bra on and real shoes. I wonder if what is missing for these pajama people are simply some key facts.

Fact: Despite the word “pants” being included in the term “pajama pants”, they are not to be considered actual pants. Items that could be considered covered by the word “pants” would be more along the lines of trousers, jeans, capris, or, possibly, culottes. When we consider the term “pajama pants”, it is important to note that “pajama” serves as an adjective describing the type of pants in question. Pajamas are a type of clothing which is worn while sleeping. Hence, “pajama pants” does not refer to clothing one wears to go visit Aunt Louise at the nursing home.

Fact: No female over the age of seven looks attractive or even cute in pajama pants, regardless of that female’s size or shape. I receive the impression at times that certain women believe it is adorable to appear in public wearing fuzzy pants emblazoned with a repeated Tinkerbell pattern. Untrue. Furthermore, beyond a certain age, a woman should refrain from attempting to look cute or adorable and focus on being viewed as confident and competent. Or at least smoking hot and dead sexy.

Fact: Slippers are not designed to withstand the elements. If you listen to your grandmother talk, you may even hear them referred to as “house slippers”. Many of the modern slippers are very fuzzy in design and may even have more in common with a stuffed animal than an actual shoe. In choosing to wear slippers of this type out into the world, one is polluting their plushiness with grime, bacteria, and other unpleasant elements. Slippers of the indicated variety are particularly adept at absorbing and retaining all the nasty stuff one finds in a gas station parking lot.

Fact: The set of circumstances in which nipples are attractive is limited. I may be making assumptions on this one but I am not afraid to call it a fact anyway. [Corrections provided by my male readers on this subject will be politely ignored.] I am in no way denying the value of nipples in certain contexts. Nevertheless, when one is at the drugstore picking up feminine hygiene products, there should be no nipples in evidence. Your average t-shirt depicting a unhappy looking kitten embellished with the phrase “I am NOT a morning person” is not an appropriate showcase for the nipple.

            I hope I have assisted those who possess any misconceptions concerning when and where to sport ones pajamas. If you require further clarification on the subject, I refer you to that grandmother who still says “house slippers”.



Rain Walk Poems

Weather Girl

Changeable days and reflections

I’m cloudy

I’m sunny

I’m gray

I shine

Splashing my way through my day

Like a duck in a puddle

I’m washable

I dry out quickly

And I look a little cleaner

Every time it rains

It makes me shoot up like a weed

Sprout flowers

And send out tendrils everywhere

It curls my hair

So maybe I don’t care if people call me moody

Stormy

Crybaby

I feel the world through each and every turn

Every revolution is charted in my heart

And I breathe the way the world breathes

And I cry the way the world cries

And I smile each and every day

Ignored Advice

Don’t walk in the dark

It’s fraught with peril

Don’t walk in the rain

You’ll catch a cold

Don’t live in your life

You’ll wind up dead

Don’t act for yourself

You’ll make a mistake

Stay cocooned, coddled, protected

Stay in bed

Under the covers

Safe

Let things happen

To other people

And watch them on TV

You may feel restless

A little bit bored

But it will be painless

Don’t smile at a stranger

He will follow you home

Don’t kiss that boy

You’ll catch a disease

Don’t wish for what’s better

It will all end in tears

If you live in your life

You’ll just end up mangled

And fearful

And sad

If you live in your life

You’ll just end up tangled

And tearful

And mad

Or

If you live in your life

Take long walks in the rain

Make decisions

Have big dreams

Kiss boys and just smile

You still wind up safe at home

With a head full of joy

Too Sweet

Gingerbread gets eaten

Icing just melts away

Architecture too sweet for this day

Forms its own cavities

And falls into decay

Leaving gaps in the railings

A sore spot in my eye

And a desire for endless cans

Of rich enamel paints

In aquamarine and passion pink

To paint the ladies

With former glory

Til they outshine the bungalows and ranch style homes

That crowd against their delicate shoulders

And make them feel so small and unloved

Unwanted

Dilapidated

Decayed

Fill in the cracks

Lacquer the nails

Capture the glow

Of a ridiculously optimistic era

Where bright colors and frills

Were meant to last forever



Animals I Need

The first on the list of animals I need is, clearly, a giraffe. I honestly do not know how I have lived without one so far. A giraffe is an absolute necessity for the backyard and my over all happiness. I do not want to make it seem as if I would view him or her as decorative or a mere possession. I would lavish my giraffe with love and praise. Nevertheless, I find that while I do not have trees in my yard, I always end up dealing with leaves from the neighbors’ deciduous denizens. A giraffe would solve this problem nicely. It could easily lean across the fence and denude the trees over the course of the summer so that I would have a leaf free yard come fall. Also, who doesn’t want to see a giraffe peering over the roof at them after a hard day at work? I do understand that giraffes require a warm environment all year long. I would need to make friends with someone who has an exceptionally tall greenhouse for the winter months. Piece of cake!

And no house is truly a home without an elephant. Why an elephant you say? Well, because elephants are so. . . so. . . elephanty. Who else could trumpet such an excellent greeting to the rising sun? It makes roosters seem ridiculous and redundant. Also, my yard has always been rather lumpy and prone to forming hillocks. An elephant would transform my yard into a perfectly level surface and get rid of all that pesky grass I hate mowing. In addition, I could probably start a booming manure business. I am certain that elephant dung would grow magnificent tomatoes! And last but not least, it is very soothing to talk out your problems with an elephant while leaning against his broad reassuring bulk.

Certainly, I require an ocelot and a kinkajou. They would have to stay indoors in a specially created arbor area. Not only are their names fun to say but their glowing eyes would be very disconcerting to any nefarious nighttime intruders who happened to get past the elephant and giraffe. And the hippopotamus. Didn’t I mention the hippopotamus? He would have his own moat that circled the house. And though, hippos are adorable, they are also fierce defenders of hearth and home. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry too much about hippo upkeep as they come with those handy, little grooming birds. As for the ocelot and the kinkajou, they tend to keep to the trees which limits wear and tear on the floors. They also add an exotic flair to the décor of any home.



I require a prairie dog town to run along the front of my property. Their alarmed barking can serve to alert the hippo and others to danger. Also, it is very entertaining to watch them pop in and out of those little holes. Prairie dogs just happen to rate very high on the cuteness scale in general and more so when they are making remarks to one another about the state of things in the neighborhood. Some may be drawn to meerkats for their communication skills and commune style living but I prefer the more patriotic prairie dog. Besides, meerkats always look like they’re up to something.

Last but not least, I need a wombat, solely for the purpose of introducing him to my friends. “And this is my wombat, Bruce.” But, I suppose what I really need is a much larger house and an unlimited income. Until then, I suppose I will just have to be satisfied with cats.