So long for a week or so
Leaving on a train in a few hours.
Try to behave yourselves while I'm gone.
Try to behave yourselves while I'm gone.
posted by Lane Savant at 11:36 PM
posted by Lane Savant at 11:36 PM
120 Comments:
Thank you, thank you for
respecting the Savant tradition
of the cute kiss off before you
do one of your trips; this one
being a train trip, wow!
The train ride will take more than
two days to reach the east coast,
right? So it will be like 5 days used up coming and going. By the
way, you never did let us know
which route you are taking either
direction. Then I guess you will
spend "several" days doing the
Smithsonian. So, you must have
hotel reservations right there
in D.C. within walking distance
of the museum? Melva tells me
that there are local trains and
subways all over the place, so
I guess you will travel without
having to rent a car.
I have made reservations at the
Tacoma Melting Pot restaurant
for our anniversary dinner on
April 3rd. I guess you will be
back by then? We still have
to do our taxes, and that little
chore will be done next week.
Melva is afraid that this year
we will have to pay Uncle Fed
some bucks. We'll see.
The Mac lap top that I bought
for Melva is hidden in one of
the downstairs closets. Hope
Melva does not see the invoice
or the Visa charges before
April 3. She probably will,
since she does all our finances.
But I always try to surprise
her regardless, and sometimes
I get away with it. Big doins
here at the office, but since
I am so very much out of the
loop these days, it does not
stress me as much as it would
have otherwise. Very respectful
way to wind down one's 53
years of being a wage slave.
I am less bitter already.
Hope you get to some Wifi
cafe there in the D.C. and
give us some update postings
along the way, or not.
It gives you great cyber
fodder for several postings
when you return, enit?
I think M. has booked us into a hotel or something in Alexandria.
It's possible that we're taking the Empire builder. Through the Rockies at night. And Montana, Dakota, etc. during the day.
4 days each way, I think, she's the one who planned all this so I'll find out, I suppose.
Sooner or later.
M has us traveling by subway when we're there.
She has memorized the map of the routes and all the area for miles around.
I shall be at her mercy as per usual.
I am now working with
Billy Collins poetry over on
FFTR now. He wrote a poem
that should tickle Doug.
Here it is:
Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes
First, her tippet made of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders
and laid on the back of a wooden chair.
And her bonnet,
the bow undone
with a light forward pull.
Then the long white dress,
a more complicated matter
with mother-of-pearl
buttons down the back,
so tiny and numerous
that it takes forever
before my hands can part the fabric,
like a swimmer's dividing water,
and slip inside.
You will want to know
that she was standing
by an open window
in an upstairs bedroom,
motionless, a little wide-eyed,
looking out at the orchard below,
the white dress puddled at her feet
on the wide-board, hardwood floor.
The complexity of women's undergarments
in nineteenth-century America
is not to be waved off,
and I proceeded like a polar explorer
through clips, clasps, and moorings,
catches, straps, and whalebone stays,
sailing toward the iceberg
of her nakedness.
Later, I wrote in a notebook
it was like riding a swan
into the night,
but, of course, I cannot
tell you everything -
the way she closed her eyes
to the orchard,
how her hair tumbled free of its pins,
how there were sudden dashes
whenever we spoke.
What I can tell you is
it was terribly quiet in Amherst
that Sabbath afternoon,
nothing but a carriage
passing the house,
a fly buzzing in a windowpane.
So I could plainly hear her inhale
when I undid the very top
hook-and-eye fastener of her corset
and I could hear her sigh when finally
it was unloosed,
the way some readers sigh
when they realize
that Hope has feathers,
that reason is a plank,
that life is a loaded gun
that looks right at you with a yellow eye.
Billy Collins
Billy was OK, but he will
never replace my Douglas.
Surely he understands that.
.........Emily
These new fangled computers
can really be irratating!
My message with Glenn's name
on it. What a revolting development.
...........Emily
I am still in shock that
Emily could be such a hot
tomato in the hands of the
right man!
.........E.A. Poo
One of the reasons Douglas
has had such a thing for me
is that he understood that
under my Victorian veil there
was a passionate woman. You see
he read all my poetry carefully
and could see between the lines.
..........Emily
I love train rides!
Maybe I could meet you
and Miss M. in Cleveland?
........Tiny Tim
Nice timing with your trip plans, folks. The snow is gone, and there will be some clear days while you are here, full of cherry blossoms
and the scent of government.
........Hilary Clinton.
You will find lots of photos
of me in my four star helmet
with my pearl handled Colts
and my sunglasses at the Smithsonian. I hang out there sometimes and watch people watching me. Maybe I'll see you there?
.........General George Patton
Maybe there is a Rock and Roll
section at the Smithsonian,
and you will see copies of my one album, SIDEBURNS.
.........Eddy Emerald
There is a jazz club in Georgetown called "Jerry's". Seinfeld has a piece of it along with Jerry Lewis and Jerry Lee Lewis's wife. My group plays there on Thursday nights, "The Wildcats". Check us out when you're in town. I'll buy you a beer.
............Woody Allen
Duglass...as long as youse are goin to be dere, cud youse stop by Danny's joint and pick up a packegge for me? Don't open it, jus pick it up and bringg it wid
youse home. I will contact youse
after youse return.
........Vinnie
Doug, you always protests too much
when we mention the plethora of gay bars that exist in all of the vacation cities you visit, but Boy Howdy...there are several bars in D.C. that would knock your garters off girl!
...........Elton John
Not just bars, there are bunches
of wonderful bath houses too!
Check out the Trojan Dude if you get some time.
.........George Michael
You fruits, you poofs need to understand that my Douglas is a straight arrow. He don't play those fag games.
...........Emily
Emily, you hypocrite! You know that your were mostly a frustated spinster with very little actual experience with men, and only a hair's breath from embracing lesbonics! That's why your poetry is such tripe.
........Edgar Allen Poo
How nice it is to hear from the old FFTR gang! You guys have been pretty quiet over the last few months, enit?
I once visited Georgetown, and wondered why I wasn't treated with more respect.
..........George Foreman
Our nation's capitol is where I set up the country's first Ramada Inn. Bet you didn't know that!
............George Gobel
Go slow when you get to the Historic section at the Smithsonian that deals with Little Big Horn; some great paintings and busts of yours truly. I was a handsome man.
....General George A. Custer
Maybe you can find my Cadillac while you are there?
........Geronimo
Stay away from Barack's crib, man. He is in a foul mood what with all these Republican headhunters after his butt.
..........Jesse Jackson
They probably have some modern tanks and Humvees there now; at least those from Desert Storm. Maybe they have some wax replicas of Saddam with the rope around his Iraqi chicken neck.
......Sgt. Rock
Hey, this is the Smithsonian, Sarge, not a wax museum.
.........Eddy E.
Der will bee eyzz on youse at all times, punk. So make sure dat youse do like youse been toold.
.........Vinnie
I was once President too, you know; had a run of 6 seasons on WEST WING.
........Martin Sheen
Marty, you weren't a real President--you just played one on TV!
......Jimmy Carter
You could say that about George W. Bush Jr. too, but why beat a dead President.
...........Barry Goldwaters
Junior's not dead yet, Barry. He still gets his mug on the 6 o'clock news couple times a month.
...........Sarah P.
He is dead from the neck up, and has been for 12 years.
........Shawn Penn
Hey Dude, you need to stay in your hotel after dark. There are some
very bad punks roaming those DC streets, and many of us want you and your Miss M to get back to Redwing Manor safely.
...........Ice T
Anonomann, get on in here and add some Deusches color to the mix.
..........Al Einstein
What book(s) did you take along with you to fill in those down times?
Chinese Dude: I'm doin good, and Doug and Miss M are probably doing well too, on their train ride. They should be clearing Montana and into North Dakota this fine
St. Patrick's Day. I am wearing
several kinds of green myself,
but I wonder how important this
day may be in the Orient?
My calendar is set up for three month increments, so I already
have May on the wall here at
the office. In a few weeks
June will make its appearance,
and the reality of ALL this
retirement adventure will begin
to sink in, way in.
I am headed to Personnel
tomorrow actually, for my
first "retirement counseling".
Tonight is my monthy Film
Club discussion meeting, and
we will look at ALL the films
ever released starring James
Dean: EAST OF EDEN, REBEL WITHOUT
A CAUSE, and GIANT.
Corey Haim and Peter Graves
died this week. In the tabloid
headlines I saw BURT REYNOLDS
BRAVE LAST DAYS, so possibly
he is getting ready to bite
the big one too. On the news
this morning it was announced
that Michael Jackson has over
60 unreleased songs he had
recorded personally, and was
working on; enough to release
11 albums over the next decade.
His estate, his kids, will
rake in those MJ bucks for
the rest of their lives I guess.
Man who stand on corner wearing green is not Irish, just moldy.
......Confuscus
In China man who wear green
probably Environmentalist,
or IRA terrorist.
.........Charlie Chan
Liz Taylor has green eyes, so she don't have to wear nothing today, and will not get pinched.
........Eddy Emerald
This is the one day all year
that the little people can
make their appearances without
having a bunch of large white
punks trying to catch us and
force us to tell them where the
goddamn pot-o-gold is!
..........Lepri Kann
Today would be a good day
to get out your DVD copy of
the remastered John Ford's
THE QUIET MAN. The Duke was
terrific in it. Maureen O'Hara
was an Irish beauty for sure.
The best acting award, of course,
goes to me.
.........Barry Fitzgerald
While on your train ride, sir,
maybe you could whip out your
lap top and watch a bunch of
train movies, instead of just
reading some lame book, enit?
Movies like John Frankenheimer's THE TRAIN with Burt Lancaster, and VON RYAN'S EXPRESS with Frank Sinatra, and BOX CAR BERTHA, one of Marty Scorsese's first efforts,
with David Carradine and Barbara Hershey, and MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS, with an all star cast, with Albert Finney as Poirot, THE POLAR EXPRESS just for whimsey, with the voices of Tom Hanks and Stephen Tyler, THE EMPORER OF THE NORTH POLE with Lee Marvin and Ernest Borgnine, THE GREAT LOCOMOTIVE CHASE, Disney's classic with Jeffrey Hunter and Fess Parker, THE GENERAL with Buster Keaton, BOUND FOR GLORY with David Carradine, UNION PACIFIC with Joel McCrea, NIGHT PASSAGE with James Steward, RUNAWAY TRAIN with John Voight, THE TRANSIBERIAN EXPRESS with Woody Harrelson, BREAKHEART PASS with Charles Bronson, 39 STEPS by Hitchcock, ATOMIC TRAIN, BRIEF ENCOUNTER, BULLET TRAIN with Ken Takakura, THE CASSANDRA CROSSING with Richard Harris, CAUGHT ON A TRAIN with Peggy Ashcroft, CLOSELY WATCHED TRAINS, NORTH BY NORTHWEST with Cary Grant, THE DARJEELING LIMITED with Natalie Portman, DEATH TRAIN, THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY with Sean Connery, THE STATION AGENT with Peter Dinklage, NORTHWEST FRONTIER with Kenneth More, SILVER STREAK with Gene Wilder, KANSAS PACIFIC with Sterling Hayden, HORROR EXPRESS with Christopher Lee, END OF THE LINE with Wilfred Brimley, and THE IRON HORSE (1924).
Her Body's a Temple
Patrick O'Malley hoisted his beer and said: "Here's to spending the rest of me life between the legs of me wife!" - and he took home the top prize for the best toast of the night.
In bed later that night, he told his wife: "Mary, I won the prize for the best toast of the night." She said, "Aye, Paddy, what was your toast?"
So he told her: "Here's to spending the rest of me life sitting in church beside me wife."
"Oh," she said, "that is very nice, dear."
The next day, Mary ran into one of Paddy's drinking partners in the street. Mischievously, the man said: "Did you hear about your husband winning a prize in the pub the other night for a toast about you, Mary?"
She replied: "Aye - and I was a bit surprised. Till now, he's only been down there twice. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come".
Sign in a Dublin shop: OReilly's Kentucky Fried Chicken.
If Colonel Sanders had had our recipe He'd have been a general!
One liners
Seen in a Dublin newspaper:
Prize crossword. Solve it and win £20,000 plus a holiday for two in Paris.
For those only playing for fun, the answers are on page 14.
Sign on the coast road by a small Sligo village:
'When you can't read this sign, the road is flooded.'
'I want some six by four timber for the new barn,' said Cassidy.
'We don't call it that now,' said the DIY manager. 'Since we've gone metric you have to ask for 15.2cms by 10.16cms. And if you want any it's two pounds a foot!'
Father Francis it was who stubbed his toe and stumbled whilst baptising a child, and henceforth the boy was known as Thomas oops McNaily'.
'My long lost brother is returning on Sunday. I haven't seen him since he left Ireland thirty years ago,' said Mick. 'He wrote to say he'll be arriving at Shannon airport at eight in the morning.'
'If he's been away that long,' asked Sean, 'how will you recognise him?'
'I won't,' reasoned Mick. 'But he'll recognise me cos I've never been away at all.
What of Jim Farrell who found riches in America and sent home a newly discovered rejuvenating drug, guaranteed to take years off a person's age?
Try a course of these, mother,' he wrote. Till be home in six months - I can't wait to see the change in you.'
Six months came and went and Jim arrived at Dublin. Through the waiting throng at the airport came a stunning blonde girl pushing a pram. 'Jim, don't you recognise me? I'm your mother. I took one of the pills and look at me!'
'In the name of heaven,' said Jim, 'what's that in the pram?'
'Ach, that's your father, he took two pills!'
As a birthday treat Pat had taken his fiancee out for a meal at a very smart restaurant. The menu looked rather too expensive for Pat's pocket so he gradually whittled down the lady's choice to chicken and salad.
'That'll be £38 sir,' smiled the waiter.
'Thirty-eight pounds,' said Pat. 'Sure we've only had chicken and salad.'
'Yes, sir,' explained the waiter, 'but you've had chicken breasts. There's only one breast on a bird so we've had to kill two birds to serve you.'
Mumbling to himself Pat reluctantly paid the money just as his lady friend said:
'Why don't we have a cocktail? I fancy a horse's neck.'
'Well,' said Pat. I'll have the legs. They're not killing two horses!'
Two eighty-year-olds were watching TV.
'Pat, me darling,' said Mary. 'Would you ever do me a favour? Would you go into the kitchen and get me some ice cream out of the freezer?'
'I will,'said Pat.
'Well, shall I write it down for you?' asked Mary. 'Because your memory's not what it was.'
'Don't be stupid, woman. I can remember a simple thing like a plate of ice cream,' snorted Pat.
'Yes, but I was thinking of having a little chocolate sauce poured on it, so I'd better write it down.'
'Good God in heaven,' bawled Pat. 'I'm not stupid you know. I can remember ice cream with chocolate sauce.'
'Yes, but do you know those hundreds and thousands decorations. I was thinking of a sprinkling of them on top. I'd better draw a picture,' said Mary.
'You'll do no such thing,' said Pat. 'I can remember ice cream, chocolate sauce and hundreds and thousands. Just hang on a minute.'
Hang on Mary did, one minute, ten, twenty, forty. Eventually Pat returned carrying a tray. On the tray was a plate. On the plate was egg, bacon and sausage.
'See, I told you. I should have written everything down,'said Mary.
'Why's that?' asked Pat.
'You've forgotten the toast,' she snapped.
As the Reagan twins sat watching TV, on screen came the Tour de France cycle race.
'Why do they do that?' asked Paul.
'Do what?' said Peter.
'Cycle for miles and miles, up hill, down dale. Month after month, day after day. Through wind, rain, snow, ice. Why do they continually torture themselves?'
'It's because,' said Peter, 'the winner gets half a million pounds.'
'Yes,' replied Paul. 'But why do the others do it?'
The news had spread like wildfire round Dublin. At the Point Theatre on Saturday there would be a very special event. It would be the only appearance in Ireland of the world-famous Brendini, the faith healer. Tickets sold like hot cakes and come the evening the theatre was packed out two hours early. The audience sat in great expectation of the wonders to come and many a one began to feel a little overcome by the importance of it all.
At last the moment came and the public address boomed out the news:
'Ladies and gentlemen, please meet and greet the greatest living healer. The one, the only, the fabulous Brendini!'
Lights flashed, smoke bombs exploded, fanfares blared and out strode the man himself to a standing ovation.
'Brothers and sisters!' said the great man. 'It is a delight to be with you all, and tonight I hope to heal as many people as I can' - cheers, applause, music.
'Now, without further ado,' added Brendini, 'I would like volunteers on stage right now. Is there anyone out there with an affliction? Please let me know now.'
'Here, sir. Over here,' cried Murphy. 'I've got a badly twisted leg from where the horse kicked me. I can't stand without crutches. Can you heal me?'
'Indeed yes,' said Brendini. 'Come on up. Now, is there anyone else afflicted?'
'Y-y-y-yes, s-s-sir,' called O'Brien. 'I-I-I've g-g-got a t-t-terrible st-st-st-stammer.'
'Come on up to me,' said the great one, and O'Brien strode up.
'Now,' said Brendini, 'I want you, Mr Murphy, to go behind the screen,' and Murphy did.
'Now,' went on the great man, 'I want you to raise your eyes to the Lord and throw out your left crutch!'
Out flew the crutch, and the audience cried, 'Hallelujah!'
'Now, Murphy, raise your eyes to the Lord and throw out your right crutch!'
Out came the second crutch and the people screamed, 'Hallelujah - it's a miracle!'
'Now,' said Brendini, 'Mr O'Brien, I want you to go behind the screen, raise your eyes to the Lord and say the first thing that comes into your head.'
O'Brien walked behind the screen, and said:
'M-M-M-Murphy's f-f-fell over!'
Idly the American tourist watched the Cork man dig and turn over the soil. Eventually he called:
'Hey, buddy, what's that you're doing?'
'I'm digging potatoes, sor.'
'Potatoes? Those small things? You call them potatoes? Back home in Iowa we have potatoes ten times that size!'
'Yes, sor. But you see. We only grow them to fit our mouths!'
When it came time for the child to be baptised Doolan proudly stood by the font in St Anne's church.
'Now,' said Father Francis, 'and what are we going to name the little one?'
'Hazel,' said Doolan, with a smile.
'Lord save us,' moaned the priest. 'All the saints in heaven, and you're calling her after a nut!'
The phone went in the hospital casualty department.
'Hello,' said a frantic voice. 'It's Mick Doolan here. Can you come quickly, my wife is having a baby.'
'I see,' said the receptionist. 'And is this her first child?'
'No,' said Doolan, 'this is her husband speaking.'
Young O'Brien had met the lovely Colette at university in Dublin and romance blossomed and then fully bloomed. Twas not long before O'Brien was invited back to Mayo to meet Colette's family - the Cassidys, farmers of long standing. As always, the family gathered in the front room, or parlour, and father-in-law-to-be Mick Cassidy began to hold court on the day's work at the farm.
While tea and cakes and sandwiches were brought in, Mick said to O'Brien:
'I've shovelled fourteen and a half tons of manure this afternoon - have another sandwich!'
With that the big Texan came over to Murphy.
'No thanks,' muttered O'Brien.
'This morning I shovelled over fifteen tons of manure, have a custard cream.'
'No thanks,' was the weak reply.
A short time later Cassidy senior went out of the room and the young suitor said: 'Your father's a lovely man, but he keeps talking about manure all the time. It's putting me off my grub. Can't you get him to say fertiliser?'
'Listen,' said Colette, 'it's taken us years to get him to say manure!'
Murphy was driving the horse and trap home from the pub on a warm summer's evening. Beside him sat Toby the labrador, great guard dog and constant friend. Suddenly the still of the evening was rent by a tremendous engine noise and round the tight bend in the country lane came a huge Mercedes car doing at least seventy miles an hour. Behind the wheel sat a red-faced Texan who chewed a fat cigar and drummed his fat fingers on the dashboard in time to the ear-splitting quadrophonic car radio. Too late the American realised he couldn't pass Murphy and the cart on the narrow tarmac strip - too late he realised he should have braked thirty yards ago.
Too late the Mercedes car smashed into the cart scattering horse, dog and Murphy to various points of the compass.
As Murphy lay in a daze bemoaning his fate, he saw the Texan go over to the stricken horse. Realising its legs were broken the Yank drew out a .45 pistol and shot the beast dead. Going over to Toby the dog, it was obvious that its back was broken - 'bang', a second shot rang out, ending Toby's misery.
With that the big Texan came over to Murphy.
'Hey buddy, are you all right?' he asked.
'As God is my judge,' muttered ashen-faced Murphy, 'I've never felt better in my life!'
Irish they were and drunk for sure and they sat in the comer of Mulligan's newly refurbished bar. Across the wall opposite was a huge mirror, fourteen feet long and stretching from floor to ceiling.
Glancing around the room Pat suddenly spotted their reflection in the mirror.
'Mick, Mick,' he whispered. 'Don't look now but there's two fellas over there the image of us!'
'In the name of God,' said Mick, spotting the reflection. 'They're wearing identical clothes and everything.'
'That does it,' said Pat. 'I'm going to buy them a drink.'
But as Pat started to rise from his seat, Mick said, 'Sit down Pat one of them's coming over!'
'Anyone who can guess how many ducks I have in this sack can have both of them,' said Murphy.
'Three,' said Ranagan.
'That's near enough,' said Murphy.
Mick Flaherty had supped more Guinness than enough and had stumbled out of Quinn's bar and into the Sunday afternoon air.
As his drunken eyes squinted to adjust to the light, an ambulance went by at great speed. Blue lights flashing and siren blaring, it roared up the street with Mick in full flight running after it.
A hundred yards, 200, 300, almost a quarter of a mile he tracked it until suddenly, lungs and legs giving out, he fell into the gutter.
Then with his very last ounce of breath he roared: 'You can keep your damned ice cream!'
Casey had followed Murphy back to his flat. Drunkenly they'd stumbled the half mile from the Jolly Toper pub to celebrate Murphy's birthday.
'I've got it all organised,' said he, 'we'll have a party just you and I.'
Entering the Murphy domicile Casey spotted the living room table covered in crates of beer and bottles of whiskey, brandy and rum. On a plate on the side were two slices of bread.
'Is it a party we're having?' he asked.
'It is so!' answered Murphy.
'Well,' said Casey, 'what's all the bread for?'
'Excuse me, landlord, but do lemons have legs?' asked O'Connor.
'I don't think so, why do you ask?'
'Well, I think I've squeezed your budgie into me gin!'
'If my father, God rest him, had lived till today he'd have been dead exactly three weeks last Tuesday,' said Flynn.
'Go on,' said Dunne. 'And was it you or your father that was killed in the car crash?'
'That must have been me father,' reasoned Rynn, 'because I've never owned a car.'
Draining his glass, Murphy said, 'I must be off. I'm taking night school classes in Vietnamese.'
'Why so?' asked the bartender.
'Well, we've just adopted a Vietnamese baby and I want to know what it says when it grows up,' replied Murphy.
Two men were scuffling outside a pub when along came a huge Irishman - fists like hams - who started taking his coat off.
'You're fighting about Ireland, aren't you?' he demanded.
'No, no,' said both men in unison. 'Honestly, it's a personal matter, nothing to do with Ireland at all.'
'Huh,' muttered the Paddy, and shuffled off. Two seconds later he was back, tearing off his coat saying:
'So Ireland's not worth fighting about, eh?'
The Rafferty brothers arrived in Britain on the Dun Laoghaire to Holyhead ferry. Disembarking, they noticed a diver clambering out of the water farther up the quay.
'My God,' said Sean. 'All the money we paid for our tickets, and that fella's walked it!'
Answers given by Mulligan to a general knowledge test in the local paper.
Who was half man, half animal? - Buffalo Bill
Who married Adam, apple is a clue? - Granny Smith
Complete this well-known saying: One swallow doesn't... - Make you sick
What was Gandhi's first name? - Goosey, Goosey
A workman was repairing the roof of the Liverpool Cathedral. Into the chapel below came the widow Cassidy bearing the world's troubles on her shoulders.
Kneeling down she poured out her heart at a great level of decibels.
'Mother of God, help me!' she cried.
'Mother of God, help me!'
Unable to contain himself the roofer called down in a booming voice:
'What do you want?'
'Don't be so nosy!' shouted the widow. 'It's your mother I'm talking to!'
'Can I have an ice cream, Dad?' asked young Eugene.
'Certainly not!' said Dad. 'It's too cold for ice cream.'
'Can I have one if I put my coat on?' persisted the child.
In Mulligan's bar, the young Salvation Army girl placed the collection box under the nose of Mick McCarthy and asked:
'Can you spare fifty pence for God?'
'How old are you?' asked Mick.
Twenty-four,' she replied.
'Well, I'm sixty-eight, I'll see him before you do. I'll pay him meself
The Casey twins had stumbled across a dead horse.
'What shall we do with it?' asked Michael.
'Let's raffle it,' said Joseph. '£2 a ticket, limited sale of 200 tickets.'
'But what happens when the winner finds out it's dead?' reasoned Michael.
'Sure, we'll give him his money back!' was the reply.
Murphy had asked Casey for the hand of his daughter in wedlock.
'And can you support a family?' asked Casey.
'I think so,' replied Murphy.
'Well. There's six of us, you know,' said the future father-in-law.
'Caught you!' said Policeman Muldoon. 'Poaching in the river me boy is a serious offence. I must ask you to accompany me to the station.'
Halfway out of the wood Murphy the poacher pulled up in his tracks.
'Bedad,' said he, 'haven't I left me jacket by the water's edge. I'll have to go back and get it!'
'No way,' said Muldoon. 'If I let you go back you'll run off. I've got a better idea. You wait here and I'll go back for the coat!'
'Are the tablets doing you any good?' asked the doctor.
'Well, to be honest,' said Murphy, 'I haven't started taking them yet.'
'Why ever not?' asked the doctor.
'Well,' said Murphy, 'you told me to swallow them after a hot bath and I haven't finished swallowing the hot bath yet!'
'We're a man short,' said the foreman.
'Well, why don't you employ me brother,' suggested Casey. 'He can do the work of two men!'
'OK,' said the boss. 'Send him tomorrow and you're fired!'
The family sat at table for the Christmas meal. Parcels opened, presents exchanged, they were now good and ready for the turkey and roast. As they tucked in, young Michael turned up his nose.
'Dad,' said he, 'this turkey tastes funny. And has anyone seen Harry my rabbit?'
This remark was greeted with silence.
'I'm just saying,' he went on, 'this turkey tastes funny and has anyone seen Harry my rabbit?'
Again silence.
'Dad,' said Michael mournfully, 'we're not eating Harry are we?'
'Indeed we're not,' assured the father. 'We're eating a duck. And it was a naughty duck - it ate Harry!'
Two old drunks on their way home from the pub, were stumblin up the country road in near darkness, "Seamus, I think we've stumbled into the graveyard - look, I can see a stone here that says a man lived to 105!"
"Glory be Malarki, was it anybody we knew?"
"No, twas somebody named 'Miles from Dublin'"
How is it that we know Christ was Irish?
Well, he was 33, still lived at home with his Mother, whom he thought was still a virgin and she thought he was the son of God.
Winging his way to America from Ireland, Father O'Leary asked a stewardess, "How high is this plane, Miss?" The stewardess replied, "About thirty-two thousand feet, Father." The Father's jaw dropped in amazement. "Who'd have believed it? And could ye tell me how wide it is?"
Two Irishmen were walking home after a night on the beer when a severed head rolled along the ground. Mick picked it up to his face and said to Paddy "Jez, that look like Sean" to which Paddy replied "No Sean was taller than that"
Paddy was tooling along the road one fine day when the local policeman, a friend of his, pulled him over. "What's wrong, Seamus?" Paddy asked. "Well didn't ya know, Paddy, that your wife fell out of the car about five miles back?" said Seamus. "Ah, praise the Almighty!" Paddy replied with relief. "I thought I'd gone deaf!"
McCuen stumbled out of a saloon right into the arms of Father Logan. "Inebriated again!" declared the priest. "Shame on you! When are you going to straighten out your life??" "Father," asked McCuen. "What causes arthritis?" "I'll tell you what causes it! Drinking cheap whiskey, gambling and carousing around with loose women. How long have you had arthritis?" "I don't," slurred McCuen. "The Bishop has it!"
Thursday it be, 32 degrees,
some ice on the windshield,
headed toward niceness in
the 50's "they" say, with
the verdant Saint Patty slipping
fast over that yesterday
horizon, and the wearing of the
green is gone for a time; until
the next time. Someone I bumped
into yesterday was wearing
orange. "What's the dealio?"
I inquired. "I am Protestant,
not a frigging Catholic!"
she insisted. Lot of heavy
symbolism there, I suppose, but
I still thought it was somewhat
dorky. What's next, orange beer?
It was a Led/Heart/Stones
morning, even though I had a
late start, sleeping in some
since I had less than four
hours sleep, getting home late
from the film club meeting.
It went well, but I will be so
grateful in a few months when
10pm does not punish me so.
I stopped at Denny's and had
a grand slam breakfast with
several cups of scalding
coffee, and now I am semi-
coherent. Doug and Meredith
should be in DC today, right?
And the weather will be great,
says CNN and the Weather Channel.
Kind of incredible how many
Irish types showed up here
yesterday; the humor was off
the chalalee, enit?
I go to my first Retirement
Counseling today. It is
like a get the wheels turning
kind of event; lots of paperwork
and advice and warnings.
Can't hardly wait for Doug
to return and begin posting
pics and stories of this
adventure of theirs. Melva
is suggesting we begin planning
our three week road trip for
late June, early July; post-
retirement, and when she gets
out of school on June 23.
Of course one could add all five of
the HARRY POTTER films to your
Train Film Festival, since so much
of the action can take place on
the Hogwart's Express.
I must say that the Anonymous
responses have been nearly
legion while you enjoy your DC
spring. I watched Bruce Willis in
SURROGATES last night, and it
was a solid Sci-Fi thriller with a
bang up moral. Rent it if you can.
It is Friday. I have the day off as I
pack up for our March week end
at Pac Beach. Supposed to be sunny
and in the 60's tomorrow. Great
time to beach comb and set up
beach chairs and breath those
negative ions, and dodge the
seagull shit and pick up and kites.
I got busy yesterday and wrote
three more poems for APPLEHOUSE.
Her challenge this week was to
use a pre-written line from some
other poem, and create the poem
that precedes it. I wrote NOT YOUR
SISTER'S SERAPHIM, HOVERCRAFT,
& HEIRLOOMS. In the final analysis,
Lynne is being very fair with me,
and dealing with my enthusiasm
calmly. She announced that she will
only have time to review up to (2)
poems for each author, not actually
resorting to restricting the number
of submissions yet. If she were to
do that, it would shoot her premise
and her mission in the foot, for sure.
My first Retirement counseling went
well. I should be semi-OK with the
three sources of income I will have.
Odd to be told that as a Federal
employee I have to "apply for
retirement."
A few years ago, I decided to visit my sister who was living in France. I assumed that most French would speak English. I found that many people spoke only their own language and this included the ticket inspector on the train. He punched my ticket, then chatted cordially for a bit, making several expansive gestures. I simply nodded from time to time to show him that I was interested.
When he had gone, an American tourist, also on the train, leaned forward and asked if I spoke French.
'No', I admitted.
'Then that explains', she said, 'why you didn't bat an eyelid when he told you that you were on the wrong train.'
Report: Something loose in cab.
Answer: Something tightened in cab.
Report: Evidence of leak in crankcase.
Answer: Evidence removed.
Report: Dynamic brakes don't work at any speed.
Answer: This locomotive is not equipped with dynamic brake.
Report: Alternator volume unbelievably loud.
Answer: Volume set to more believable level.
Report: Locomotive dances up and down when brake applied at 89 mph
Answer: Could not reproduce problem in engine house.
Report: Dead bugs on windshield.
Answer: Live bugs on order.
Report: Parking brake cause throttle lever to stick.
Answer: That's what it's there for.
Report: Engine missing.
Answer: Engine found under hood after brief search.
Report: Locomotive handles funny.
Answer: Locomotive given verbal warning to be serious.
Report: Radio hums.
Answer: Reprogrammed radio with the words.
Roger was on a train, mumbling to himself, smiling, and then raising his hand. After a moment of silence, he would go through the same process ... mumble, smile, raise hand, silence.
Maggie watched this closely, and after about ¼ an hour, she said, in a concerned voice, 'Excuse me. Is anything the matter?'
'Oh, no,' Roger answered. 'It's just that these long trips get very tedious so I tell myself jokes.'
'Why then, inquired Maggie, 'do you keep raising your hand?'
'Well,' smiled Roger, 'that's to interrupt myself because I've heard that joke before.'
Andy wants a job as a signalman on the railways. He is told to meet the inspector at the signal box. The inspector puts this question to him: "What would you do if you realised that two trains were heading for each other on the same track?" Andy says, "I would switch the points for one of the trains." "What if the lever broke?" asked the inspector. "Then I'd dash down out of the signal box," said Andy, "and I'd use the manual lever over there." "What if that had been struck by lightning?" "Then," Andy continues, "I'd run back into the signal box and phone the next signal box." "What if the phone was engaged?" "Well in that case," persevered Andy, "I'd rush down out of the box and use the public emergency phone at the level crossing up there." "What if that was vandalised?" "Oh well then I'd run into the village and get my uncle Silas." This puzzles the inspector, so he asks, "Why would you do that?" Came the answer, "Because he's never seen a train crash."
dang meese, dis is da damnist bunch of funnie crapola I ever red. hears hopping dat Douglus will fulley apprecheate all dese dudes, duds, and dudettes whos took da time to come over hear and put dis stuff on for da parueall of the Savant later on dere.
..................Vinnie
Glenn, I read your new poems. I love HEIRLOOM, another sentimental reflection of the love you have for your grandfather's memory.
................Emily
Hey Dude, I really dug HOVERCRAFT, taking us to the Hurt Locker realm. Lot of vibrance, strength, and insights in that one.
................Eddy Emerald
I found NOT YOUR SISTER'S SERAPHIM to be off the hook myself. It has several poetic twists and turns, although I'm sure Miss Rees will find something to criticize in it.
...................Edgar Allen Poo
Blake and his parents were drinking at the bar in a train station when they heard a whistle. The three of them rushed out of the bar onto the platform only to discover that they had missed the train. "The next train is in one hour," said the stationmaster. The three went back into the bar. The parents had another drink; Blake had a Pepsi. Again they heard a whistle, rushed out and discovered the train pulling away. "Next one is sixty minutes from now!" said the stationmaster. An hour later, Blake, with his mom and dad, raced out onto the platform, and his parents leaped onto the train as it pulled away. The boy was left standing on the platform and began to laugh uproariously. "Your parents just left you," said the stationmaster. "Why are you laughing?" "They came to see me off!"
A businessman was traveling in the train and his seat was reserved in the last couch of the train. Every time the train stops at station and he faced so much of problem as all shops to purchase eatables were far off. He was very upset and every time he was remembering that's all happened because I am in the last couch. When he got down at the destination station, he asked the station person that he wants to lodge a complaint against the railway staff. The complaints and suggestions book was given to him and he wrote: " There should not be any last couch in the train. If there is any last couch in the train, it should be kept somewhere in the middle.
he train came to a sudden grinding stop.
"What has happened, Conductor?" asked a nervous passenger.
"Nothing much, we just ran over a cow."
"Was it on the track?"
"No," replied the disgusted conductor. "We chased it into the barn."
Little Johnny kid is standing on the platform at the railway station. His momma thinks he's standing a bit close to the edge so she says, "Hey Johnny, get back away from the edge before a train comes by and sucks you off."
At this Johnny smiles and yells out: "C'mon train!"
There once was this guy who worked for the Railroad as a conductor.
Let's say his name was Joe. Well, Joe was walking through the train, en route,
collecting tickets from the passengers. He comes to car 12, booth 3. In it is
this beautiful woman. She had curves in all the right places, her skin was
just tan enough to give a healthy look.. well, you know what I mean.
So, he asked her for her ticket:
"Excuse me ma'ma, do have your ticket?"
"Oh, I am soooo sorry, I dropped it out the window by accident," she
replied.
"Sorry, ma'am can't have any passengers without tickets." He grabbed
her by the scruff of the neck and THREW her out of the train. Well, she
landed on the tracks, was run over by the train. Naturally, the conductor was
arrested, thrown in jail. He was convicted of murder before a jury of his
peers, and sentenced to death by electrocution.
The day of his execution came up, and he was asked what he would like
for his last meal. He ask of a banana. They gave it to him, he ate it,
received his last rites, and was escorted to the chair. The executioner
strapped him in, hooked everything up. Last, he threw the BIG switch once,
and NOTHING HAPPENED. So, he did it again, and NOTHING HAPPENED. Well, by
law the conductor was legally dead, so they had to release him.
Oddly enough, the guy got a job on another railroad, as a condustor!
One day, he was gathering tickets, and came to a booth with a little boy.
"Young man, do you have your ticket?", asked the conductor.
"A-a-a, I'm sorry, I ate it by mithtake..", said the little boy.
And.. the same thing happened-- the boy was thrown off the train and
killed. The guy was arrested, sentenced to death by electricution.It came
to him last day. The death row guard asked him what he would like for his
meal. He asked for banana again. He ate it, and a priest gave him last rites.
He was escorted to the death chamber. This time, though, they where
smart. They washed his hands to get rid of any banana slime, they washed up
the chair. Next, they placed him the chair, and hooked him up. The switch-
puller pulled the switch once, and NOTHING HAPPENED. The switch-puller pulled
the switch twice, and NOTHING HAPPENED, not even a single hair raising on the
guy's chest.
Well, as the law says, they had to let him go...
Even more amazingly, he got a job on yet another railroad.
This time is was a rabbai. Same old stuff. Rabbai had no ticket (he
forgot to buy it). Guy threw him off the train, rabbai died. Guy was arrested,
convicted, sentenced to death by electrocution.
When the guard asked him what he would like for a last meal, he asked
for a banana. He ate it, received last rights, and was escorted to the
chamber.
However, this time the officials where going to get it RIGHT! They
scrubbed his body with s brillo pad. They scrubbed the chair with steel wool.
They tried the chair on a few other prisoners...
Okay, they strapped him in, and threw the switch once, NOTHING HAPPENED.
Threw the switch asecond time, NOTHING HAPPENED. At this point the guy was
legally dead, etc, etc.
But, before the guy could leave, the executioner, extremely frustrated
(he'd seen this same guy THREE TIMES already). asked, "What is it with the
banana!"
The guy replied, "I just like bananas."
So, the executioner SCREAMED, "THEN HOW COME YOU DON'T DIE!!!!!"
"I dunno," replied the guy, "I guess I'm just not a very good conductor."
There once was five year old boy who enjoyed playing with his train set. One afternoon, his mother happened to be standing by the door listening to the boy play. She was shocked when she heard him saying,
"All right, all of you son of a bitches who want to get on the train, get on train. And all of you son of a bitches who want to get off the train, get off the train. And all of you son of a bitches who want to change seats, change seats now 'cause the train's getting ready to leave. Whoo whooooo."
The mother was just devastated, so she scolded her son and said to him,
"Now son, I want to go upstairs and take your nap, and when you get up, you can't play with your train set for two hours."
So the boy took his nap and didn't even mention his train set for two hours. After the two hours were up, the boy asked his mom if he could play with his train set again. She said yes, and asked him if he understood why he was punished. He nodded his head yes, and off he went. The mother stood by door to listen to what her son would say. The boy sat down to his train set and calmly said,
"Whoo whoooooo. All of you ladies and gentlemen who want to get on the train, get on the train. All of you ladies and gentlemen who want to get off the train, get off the train. And all you son of a bitches who are pissed 'cause the train is two hours late, go talk to the bitch in the kitchen.
A large two engined train was crossing America. After they had gone some distance one of the engines broke down. "No problem," the engineer thought, and carried on at half power.
Farther on down the line, the other engine broke down, and the train came to a standstill.
The engineer decided he should inform the passengers about why the train had stopped, and made the following announcement:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that both engines have failed, and we will be stuck here for some time. The good news is that you decided to take the train and not fly."
n the early 20th century, there were many coal mines in the Canadian Rockies, including some in what is now Banff National Park.
On Saturday nights, many miners would ride into Banff and have a cup of tea or glass of lemonade, or just possibly, something stronger.
One Saturday, an inebriated miner missed the last train home. He wandered across to the yard, found an engine in steam, backed it out onto the main line, and drove it to his mine, stopped it, went to the bunk-house, and fell asleep.
He was charged with "theft of a locomotive" by the Canadian Pacific Rly., but he couldn't remember a thing about it.
The trial went like this:
Defense counsel: Was the engine on CPR property before my client moved it?
CPR: Yes.
Def: Was it on CPR tracks when he left it?
CPR: Yes.
Def: Did it at any time leave CPR tracks?
CPR: No.
Def: Then where is the theft?
Magistrate: Case dismissed.
Two drunks were walking upgrade between the railroad tracks. One of them said, "this is is longest stairway I have ever been on." To this, the other replied, "It's not the stairs that bother me, it's the low banister."
A man and a woman, who had never met before, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a transcontinental train. Although initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, the two are tired and fall asleep quickly -- he in the upper bunk and she in the lower. At 2:00 a.m., he leans over and gently wakes the woman, saying, "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold." "I have a better idea," she replies. "Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married." "Wow! That's a great idea!!" he exclaims. "Good," she replies. "Get your own damn blanket."
Well, here we go, Week 2 of the
Palmer-Means DC Adventure is
underway. The Democrats have
muscled in their health reform
bill. Melva and I had a nice
weekend at Pac Beach. Our
youngest daughter came over
with her latest flame in tow;
a 23 year old Tacoma police
officer. Another couple, old
friends were sharing our place
too. The weather was not as
nice as we hoped. There were
40mph winds on the beach,
like a sandstorm most of the
day. The boyfriend built a
huge beach fire on Saturday
night, and we stood out there
in the wind and rain and
enjoyed it. We are starting
to make out plans for our
summer road trip; going to
take three weeks this time.
Our Toyota Camry goes in
for its recall this Tuesday;
tomorrow actually--the gas
pedal, computer tweek, and
the floor mats. It must be
substantial since they will
need four hours to do it.
Looking at the weather patterns
for the DC area, looks like
you two had wonderful weather
for the whole gig.
Jesus, begora, there are over
100 comments on this vacation
section, jokes, tears, and
joys, and rants; good stuff.
Have you read Glenn's poem SEEKER
yet? It is out there, even for him.
.............Eddy E.
Actually, the new poem MARVELS shows a softer side to the curmudgeon persona Glenn presents. It is also funny. Not that he is a man without humor, as his comments demonstrate on a regular basis, but often his poetry is sarcastic and bombastic. MARVELS just tickles me.
............Emily
Thanks you two for the responses.
Sometimes I feel like I am
writing in a vacuum, that the
words, the poetics just stand
up for a moment like a chalk
drawing on the sidewalk before
the next rain washes it away,
just temporal art, poems of the
moment; and maybe that is OK.
Posterity is overrated for sure,
as is notoriety, enit?
Tuesday it be, me hardys,
and it will be gorgeous they
say. It was 39 this fine Led
morning. I have been watching
the newest Tom Hanks/Steven
Spielberg effort on HBO:
THE PACIFIC, a worthy successor
to BAND OF BROTHERS, this time
a mini-series, 10 hours, on
the WWII war in the Pacific.
Hanks seems to have the Midas
touch as producer. I still love
his collaboration with Ron
Howard and HBO, FROM THE EARTH
TO THE MOON, after his success
starring in APOLLO 13.
I wonder what day this week
Douglas and Miss M will return?
Maybe Doug will write some
stuff on the long train ride
home, something for theater
like MURDER ON THE AMTRACK,
or TRAIN RIDES ARE NOT FOR
SISSIES, or 50 WAYS TO AVOID
INDIGESTION ON AMTRACK.
.........Edgar Poo
Swooner or latter, dat punk hasta
reeturn to da sceen of da crime, rite? My reports hav bin gud, sos
he dont hav two munch to worry bout
wen he gitsback dere.
...........Vinnie
Gosh, it is midday, and I
return to these columns hoping
to find some other commentors
extant within the confines
of this vacation; but no, so
far, just me and the Anonymous
gang. I did manage to scribble
a new bit of poetics today,
and match it to the sixth
proposed ending that Lynne R.
has proposed. I try and try
not to be overanxious, over
zealous, overwhelming to new
people, but my enthusiasm
swells up like rabid edema
and I have to write, have to
create, have to find a release
for my expression, have to
write more poetry so that
when I retire I have more to
choose from for the poetry
competitions I will enter,
the Poetry Slams. Am I clearly
deluded, or just preparing
for a poet's campaign, a
performance art happening?
Beats the rat shit out of
me, folks, but I have a
clear image of these events,
and until the bitter reality
of such things muddies my
mind and my world, I will
cling to these halcyon
illusions like a starving
man let loose at the Country
Buffet.
All right, alright, arite!
It be Wednesday, and the
Boss is still on vacation.
Hope it is a corker, and that
there will be stories, pics,
and rants to spare post-Palmer
return to the FFTL fold.
I found myself staring at
my Sherman Alexie book, WAR
DANCES again this morning. I
couldn't wait to buy it, and
have not found the time to
read any of it yet. Probably
OK though, just leaves more
delicious poetry for some
future moment when I am
ready for it, enit?
200,989 miles my odometer
said this morning. My Izzman
got his first oil change
of the 200 thousands yesterday
afternoon. I use the high
mileage oil, and it seems
to seal leaks and up my
gas mileage a bit. Following
a truck the other night
after work and a rock flew
out of its tire and smashed
my driver's headlight. I hate
it when that happens. You have
no recourse, just have to suck
it up and get it fixed.
Our Camry is at Puyallup
Toyota getting its recall stuff
done, and they gave us a
2010 Camry for a loaner.
We have to face H&R Block
tonight and find out if we
owe Uncle Fed some bucks.
That's always a treat.
Melva got on line and looked
at the Visa account and saw
I had spend more than a
grand on "something". She
inquired about it, and I
told her it was none of
her damned business; which
is code between us that it
was for some kind of gift.
She already has guessed that
it is another TV or a computer.
Much too clever this wife
of mine.
Oh, forgot to mention that I
received an email from one of
the Applehouse regular poet
commentors, and he suggested
that "since Lynne only can review
poems in her free time, wouldn't
it make more sense if I sent in
less poems so that she could work
them into her schedule." I emailed
him back, basically telling him
that I was writing off pure Muse
adrenaline, that I had written
more poetry in the last month
than I had in over a year, and
that he could (politely) kiss
my keyboard with his request,
and then I cc'd it to Lynne R.
The dude emailed me back and
just said "good luck; only a
suggestion." No word from Lynne
herself at this point. Damn
the world has another reason
to try and stifle the old
Glennmeister.
*&^%$#....HAD a hellish
Wednesday night. Was supposed
to meet my Miss M. after work
at H&R Block to do our taxes,
but had a flat tire. I never
have flat tires. Had to drive
on the flat 5 blocks here
on campus to get to an air
compressor to pump it up.
Then was not sure it could
make it Sumner from Tacoma,
so I creeped over to Les
Schieb in Lakewood. They could
not find any puncture, but
they replaced the valve stem
and did it all for FREE,
which pleased me of course.
Then I realized I only had
the stock donut tire locked
up under the tailgate, with
no jack and no tool to release
the ersatz tire. So I rushed
to Sumner before my pals at
Tiny's Tires closed. They
felt that the rogue tire looked
OK. I then ordered a used
Isuzu rim and tire for tonight
that I will just toss in the
back of the bed; having a locking
canopy on it. With my physical
limitations, I no longer can
change a tire, so I will have
to depend on my roadside assistance
dudes from Verizon. I have used
them for towing several times
over the years. I had my oil
changed on Tuesday night, and
perhaps those clowns screwed
up the valve stem, or maybe it
was defective. Who knows?
No further word from Lynne R.
about my overkill poetics.
Cortney Bledsoe left a comment
on my site RE some quotes from
poet Billy Collins, who happens
to be America's most "successful"
poet, like a millionaire.
C.L. wrote a "funny" little
poem, cuz Collins is considered
the Mark Twain, the humorist
of poets. I got into Billy
Collins recently because Jannie
had all 8 of his poetry books
and was giving them away on
her site; I actually won one
of them actually. Cool, enit?
Surely Shirley, you two will
make your triumphant return
to Redwing Manor sometime
today, or tomorrow. So I will
just post a small ditty here sos
that the number of comments will be even not odd, enit?
I got the most kind, wonderful,
astute, encouraging, and terrific
email from Lynne Rees. After
expecting yet another spanking
as I crash into another group
of strangers with my atypical
aplomb, instead she sent a
detailed sweet caring message
that encouraged me to write as
much as I wanted for her site.
Cudda knocked my ass over with
a parakeet feather.
I guess I "won" a Billy Collins
poetry book over on Jannie's
site, and it is in the mail
as I type. I found over 100 of
his poems to post on FFTR.
It did my heart good to dig
deep enough to find several
detractors of his work. He
is perhaps the most successful
poet in America like ever,
getting huge fees for appearances
and readings. Garrison Keillor
thinks he is a demigod. Yet
out there ready to snipe are
those "critics" who feel that
artistically his poetry is
sophmoric and unsophisticated.
I doubt that old Billy gives
much of a rip, setting in his
garret counting his millions.
Don't know why some of the
regular commenters out there
did not jump on the Palmer-
is-on-vacation bandwagon, but
there it is.
Did a cool thing for my
brother-in-law in Texas.
He is a pen collector, and
over the years I have found
some very neat pens for him.
A woodworker friend of mine,
former student of mine, has
made several custom pens for
Don, but this summer I will
present Don with the bestest
pen ever, made from moose
Antler, shiny titanium, and
real gold, with his name
monogramed on it. He will flip
out when he sees it in July.
Will need to get out and see
Roman Polanski's GHOST WRITER
this week for the film club.
Getting ansy to hear, to read,
to react to the Palmer wit,
the Savant riff that makes even
Robin Williams envious.
Whoa Nelly, shitfire Miss Agnes,
the RETURN TO REDWING MANOR
has not officially commenced
yet; or at least if Doug and
Miss M have returned, he has
not had the energy or the time
to slog through this 113
wonderful comments, and post
his triumphantness.
I did get out to see the
Polanski, GHOST WRITER, and
it was better than I had
expected. We had spent most
of the weekend playing cards
with friends and our kids;
some new game, Ponytail
Canasta, using seven decks.
A real wingding of a game.
I finally figured out how
to use ON DEMAND on my cable
box, and realize I will be
able to tape those shows that
I screw up and miss; which
is exciting for me, and
ho-hum for the rest of the
world, enit?
I did receive the Billy Collins
poetry book from Jannie,
along with her "real name"
and address, which will remain
a secret, cuz she still prefers
to go by Funster for all her
groupies, myself included. But
now I have an address in order
to be able to send a Christmas
card next season. I also
heard several times from
Yi-Ching Lin, the Chinese
poet and photographer who
lives in NYC. She has given
me permission to post poetry
on FFTR, which is great.
Another new week starts off
her at the Federal wage
slave central. Hope Douglas
is OK and will return soon.
Somewhere in motion
a Savant and Miss M
are--on huge train
wheels, or on their
own pins, or in a
shuttle, or in the
mighty Prius, moving,
traveling, heading hotly
toward Redwing Manor where
the boy and the cat
and the utility bills wait;
and their imaginations are
pumped with the multitude
of messages and ton of
images they carry with them,
all Smithsonian and District
of Columbia related, perhaps
with indigestion from cafes
and restaurants and the train
diner cars, perhaps with
new forms of knowledge wherein
three dimensional artifacts
have changed their personal
sense of history, perhaps
with bags of souvenirs that
will gather dust some day
after the first flush of
nostalgia has ebbed, perhaps
with cameras and iphone
swelled with hundreds of
photos that will be edited
and perused for days after
they return; for the Lake
awaits them, and the trees
bending near their porch
rub trunks in greeting
as they rumble across the
back porch and enter the
kitchen, heavy bags in each
hand, wearing funny hats,
and Groucho glasses.
After a little blue penciling--and it probably needs more, but it is
so topical and silly, who cares,
here is the poem I posted on FFTR.
The Returnees
for Doug & Meredith
Somewhere in motion
Savant and Miss M are--
on huge train wheels,
or on their own pins,
or in a shuttle,
or in the mighty Prius,
moving, traveling, steaming hotly
toward Redwing Manor where
the boy and the cat
and the utility bills wait;
and their imaginations
are inflated with
a multitude of symbols
and diverse visualizations
they now carry with them,
all Smithsonian
and District of Columbia related;
perhaps with indigestion
from cafes and restaurants
and the train dining cars,
perhaps with new knowledge
because three dimensional artifacts
have changed their personal sense
of history,
perhaps with bags of souvenirs
that will gather dust some day
after the first flush
of nostalgia has ebbed,
perhaps with cameras
and iphones swelled
with hundreds of images
that will be edited
and perused for days
after their return;
for the Lake awaits them,
and the trees bending
near their porch
rub trunks in greeting
as the travelers rumble
across the back porch
and enter the kitchen,
heavy bags in each hand,
wearing funny hats,
and Groucho glasses.
I can't stand it!
This morning I made the decision
not to leave a comment today,
cuz I've left "several" comments
for the days prior.
But as the hours wore on the
column called to me, and
here I am with nothing of
significance to report; and
so I do enthusiastically!
Report "nothing of significance"
as if were something else,
something ironic, something
dramatic, symbolic, sardonic,
sarcastic, golden, goose-
fleshy, or of several layers
of import.
I even waxed poetic yesterday,
and still they have not returned
to the fold of red wings.
Hell, it's only been 15 days.
Probably took 12 days just
to check out the Smithsonian,
enit?
A week or so?
A week or so?
Let's hear it for the SO!
One can only hope that this
trip has been one of the best
you two ever had. The weather
reports from DC are showing
warm temps and cherry blossoms
up the ying yang.
Actually as two retired types
you could take trips some time
that are "a month or so",
enit? It is 36 degrees this
morning and it is a full moon.
I sort of caught a chill and
keep trying to shake it
sitting here at the office.
It was a Led/Doors/Beatles
morning, which was fabulous,
since there were only 4 tunes
played. I leave home later now
since I no longer eat breakfast
at the office. When I had my
own office, it was homier.
Now adrift in a sea of desks
on the ass end of the building,
some of the old thrill of
ownership has subsided.
I made out my application for
Social Security, and electronically
filed it on line. Don't we live
in fascinating times?
We did our taxes this week,
and I discovered as we projected
into next year that if I am
not careful we will end up having
to pay the IRS. So I have to get
my three funding sources to take
out at least 20% of the income
for tax. 11 more weeks and I
become a free man. Can you dig
it? Of course you can!
Here's hoping that wherever you are
in this Great Adventure, that you are
having a GOOD FRIDAY. We all miss
you and know that your keyboard will
hum like a bitch on fire upon your
triumphant return.
..........This message brought to you
from the Washington State Chapter
of THE ARTFUL FOLLOWERS OF SAVANT.
hay dere punk and missus punk, youse bin
goner fora longg time dere, and sum of da
fooks dat luv to hang round dis sight wud
preceate if youse got wurd to dem 1 of dese
days or weeks. Startin to fel dat maybee dere
haz bin sum fowl play hear.
.................vinnie
When you get back, dear Douglas, check out Glenn's site. He has been posting lots of new poetry that he himself has written, along with some encouraging words from Lynne Rees, and bunches of poems from a Chinese-American NYC poet/photographer by the fetching name of Yi-Ching Lin.
....................emily
You will like Yi-Ching's poetry, man.
She favors short lines,
non-capitalization,
and often adds her own image
to augment them. I have been emailing
her, first asking for permission to post
her poetry on FFTR, and then discussing
her poems and photography. I bumped
into her over at the Applehouse.
She, like myself, has only been
participating over there for a short
time. I have a medical treatment
today following either by a birthday
dinner for my youngest daughter,
if my middle daughter can get time
off from her job, or hosting the
TFC screening of CHINATOWN
in the theater district in Tacoma.
Theatre on the Square, directly
across Broadway from our space
in the Pythian temple, are showing
old Cary Grant films, and then discussing
them--and then charging $9 a head.
Gee, we at the TFC do it for nearly free.
Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary,
and I will give Melva her new Mac
lap top with blue tooth wireless mouse,
and take her to dinner at the Tacoma
Melting Pot, where roses will be on the
table, and a photographer will be at
the ready. Sunday, for Christ's sake,
is Easter, and we will have the girls
over for a family get-together.
Monday, I will call in sick at work
and fill out the Retirement application
packet for the Department of Veteran's
Affairs, and I will check in over here
to welcome back the Palmer/Means
party, enit?
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