the rix mix

A face behind the glass
I stared at her

Tiny girls in leotards
walked in & out
of her tiny office
 
A shy child needing her
to sew a tear - she closed the door

Mothers gossiping
who got the best parts
in The Nutcracker

Shifting my weight
from foot to foot
pretending to read an old magazine
was my dance

Twice I went out for air
then returned to wonder
at her rice flour face
& when she walked down the hall
I admired her ass

I had heard she had a boyfriend
but was unhappy with his abuses
I wondered if she ever danced away
from those men

I was tired of dancing -
I wanted to fill envelopes
with words about the moon -
hand them out as my resume 

When the ballet class ended
my niece stage-whispered
 “Did you talk to her?”

*******
1991. 17 year relationship with Chtistine over; intense, unpleasant rebound affair shortly afterward (woman snatched at a poetry reading from another poet, who wasn't acting fast \enough - he never forgave me); .nearly a one night stand with  a  (married)  friend visiting from out of town - encouraged by mutual friends. I went to work at Pearl Arts Supply in Woodbridge. I did meet a woman there eventually, together three years.  Dabbled in local  newspaper relationships  wanted to no satisfaction. This was not how I met women. I hadn't "dated" since high school. All my other significant relationships were meet somewhere, hang out usually with friends, then go off & hang out on out own.

Labels: family, love, poem

Labels: George W. Bush, holidays, love, Mahalo, postcard

THE BALANCING BEAM

Waiting for you at the park
I tried the balancing beam
on the exercise course

Expert level was once walking forward
& once backward with hands at sides

At no point was the beam
more than a foot above the ground
I could not do it

When you arrived
you could not do it

We met an old man
who had gone to Rocky Graziano’s funeral
he could not do it

Who but a circus performer
can balance walking backward blind
on a four inch rail
& do it every time

We strolled around the park
holding hands & talking
we are trying to balance our lives
& find a balance with each other
We are not experts

Although the ground is close beneath
we feel as if we are walking
a hundred feet up without a net

We never become experts
no matter how often we try
to find a balance
There is always the possibility
of an unexpected breeze
or someone laughing at us
or a fear of falling
that makes our knees wobble

You said you could it
after we were done with our walk
but you did not try

We had dinner instead
thought about having sex
decided against it
because we could not balance
the time with our other obligations

The need for balance
the work that must be done
& cannot be avoided

We are not experts
yet we keep walking
blind and backward
trying not to fall

Labels: love, poem

Old maid?
She's an old beat poet,
a surrealist painting on the wall,
a great stove, the bird cage is Trompe-l'œi,
& my guess is she has
a fabulous record collection
& a shelf of "art" photograph books.
Give me her phone #.

Labels: holidays, love, postcard

A couple I know with a lot of mutual friends in real life & on Facebook recently broke up. The woman reassured her FB friends that it was mutual & everything was o.k. between them.  The man, a long-time personal friend in this relationship,  pulled into himself a bit on FB. The woman began posting lots of photos of herself at various bars with other guys, then took off on a vacation with a guy whose relationship to her is not clear, & is posting photos of him. I wasn't  interested in the details of the breakup,  I never socialized with them as a couple, so I haven't observed  the trajectory of their relationship. But now I'm becoming curious about what the hell happened, which may or may not be her intent.  Breakups are  nearly always damaging to self-esteem, & people respond in variety of ways.

Labels: love, Mahalo

. It was obvious to others back then that I found her beautiful, smart & talented & loved her.

The rest is a pop song & I play with the  lyrics., my right as a poet.  

We were small town ambitious. We believed one or the other of us, or both, might become famous.  Although neither of us was a great social butterfly, we were sociable & enjoyed being seen together.

I've always been grateful for her family, her mom especially, how I was taken into that crowded, chaotic house on Hemlock Street during a turbulent period in my own family. I was  "Karen's boyfriend," & with that came meal privileges &  use of the old upright piano.

Karen, of course, always wanted to get out of the house if it wasn't a school night,  or if it was, at least go sit on the front porch or on the back seat of an old but functioning 1948 Desoto, a Battell heirloom called "The Turtle" kept in the garage.  She would be annoyed with  me If I settled on the couch, watching TV with three or four kids crawling over me.  But I felt  love in the chaos, & I sensed the love was emanating from the frazzled woman in the kitchen who welcomed me if I went in there, sat down  & chatted with her.  As long as mom liked  me, I'd be o.k. with her dad &  we'd get a longer leash. I liked talking with her mom.  I suspected  her dad secretly hoped we'd elope the day after Karen graduated high school just to get her out of a crowded house lacking in space &   privacy.

It was my job as a writer to fit Karen into my narrative.  Where I fit into her's was of small concern to me. I hoped only that she carried no hurtful memories, & in our  few conversations  later she never gave the impression she had.. You won't find her in my poems, except invisibly in  a group I wrote in 1990 which drew from every romance  & break up I'd gone through up to that point.

Karen passed at age 62, a tragic fact.  I have only two early years of those 62 & I wish she had lived until my small percentage was much  smaller. But they were two adolescent years filled with the kinds of days & nights everyone remembers as the  rest of our days & nights & years  speed by faster & faster.  My poetry mentor, Joel Oppenheimer, taught by example that there are memories a poet holds in trust.  He was passing down an old tradition.   One might never bring those memories to a poem or story, but they are held & treasured  all the same. It is a privilege.

Remembering how Karen,  the most beautiful teenage girl I every knew, entered   a party, a dance,  a brightly lit diner, a wedding reception (we went to at least two),  my dad's living room,  whatever  occasion called for it.  She always did this if she was wearing something new from Daffy Dan's. She would walk through the entry, quickly survey the occupants, tilt her regal nose up & slightly to one side just so, & pose for a moment.  Yes, people looked. Always.  I'd be standing behind her or off to one side, thinking, "Wow! I'm sure she   rehearses that." To me she was dancing.

In Memory of Karen Battell Silva, 1950-2012

Labels: growing up, Karen Battell, love, Mahalo, obituary, Roselle Park

The Beach Boys, Today! (1965) It's difficult to imagine oneself as a teenager in a small town when this special album was new & yet had the power to grab attention away from the hipper Beatles, Stones, Animals, etc. We didn't hear it in terms of the tremendous influence of Phil Spector on Boss Beach Boy Brian Wilson,  as it is always discussed now.  It was years later that I realized my love for this LP wasn't just about the incomparable music, but also that the record was so completely (& honestly) framed within a world of teen relationships  not yet afflicted by cynicism. The album has joy, anticipation, insight, & beautiful  ballads of love & insecurity. Who except poets believe any of this anymore? & we know we're fools. Last month I went back to  The Beach Boys, Today! for solace & to get some sense of the sentiment & ideals we felt & the self-contained world my girlfriend & I  created for ourselves where adults hardly mattered at all if we could help it.

The opening  cut of "Do You Wanna Dance" is brilliant. The Bobby Freeman original was one of the few Fifties songs you'd hear at parties in the mid-Sixties, & this over-the-top  version supplanted it  (Plus Dance, Dance, Dance, the side one closer & also a hit single). Dancing at private parties among friends, especially in backyards  dimly lit by strings of Christmas lights, was far more uninhibited & ecstatic than at public dances & record "hops." Brian captures it.   I have non-specific memories of arriving at  a house at twilight, hearing music blaring from the back yard (some improvised loudspeaker system), smelling the hot dogs & hamburgers, walking up the driveway. Usually some big guy or two  hanging around there who'd  nod you past. Crashers were always a concern, their bad vibes  could kill a party in ten minutes. You couldn't make a grand entry into these parties, they were bathed in perpetual dusk, crowded &  noisy, mysterious at first; you slid into them.

Labels: growing up, Karen Battell, love, music, video

In the summer of 1966, when  I  was 17 & a recent high school graduate, I met  Karen Battell,  16,  entering her junior year, & a devoted dance student.  For about two years from that time well  into 1968 we were  a couple. Her family witnessed it, my family witnessed it, our friends witnessed it, probably most teenagers in  Roselle Park knew it.  We reached the point when adolescent  lovers break up or grow up, & we broke up. The circumstances of the split haven't mattered for a long time.  Those are, I believe, the bare, indisputable  facts. & that I was in love with her.

Everything else about her is a song. Every meaningful memory of her from that time  is a song. I'm a child of doo wop; literally a child when it was in the air, mesmerized by its etherealness & absurd boppity bop ding a ding  dong  language of everlasting love. The idea that you could treat an adolescent  romance  with anger, sarcasm, mockery, as the Rolling Stones sometimes did,  was new to rock when Karen I got together (we both liked  Mick Jagger & The Stones). I knew it would never be my way.

Karen Silva died  at age 62. She left a husband, a son,   six younger siblings,  at least one dozen nieces & nephews & hundreds of former dance students. With so many knowing & mourning her, Karen's life story is secure. All those too-few years were more important years than the two with me. But those two years so long ago are mine to tell, what I remember of them, &  in my own way.  Karen knew I was a writer,  a poet.   Let her other years  be whatever they are, whatever anyone else makes  of them.

In that summer of 1966 Karen began appearing at the periphery of my social crowd, a loose, coed, fairly  diverse  group that had been hanging together a couple of years. Some of us skateboarded. Mostly we talked about records, which bands were cool, which were not. We were starting to  feel the Vietnam War & nascent counterculture pressing at the borders of our small town universe.  I was nearing draft age & my brother was in the Army.   I had hardly noticed  Karen around town, for reasons that soon became clear. My previous girlfriend & senior prom date had been a vacuous, whiny, faithless  blond cheerleader. It taught me a lesson & I had closed up.   I had to be  informed by friends  Karen was trying to get to know me. Ever cautious, I made a few inquiries about her, some background information but  mainly to find if she'd recently broken anyone's heart. What quickly came back was this:  Nobody seemed to know much about her except she had grown up in town, was the oldest daughter in a very large  Catholic family on Hemlock Street, & that she was really, really into ballet dancing.  Take a good look at her.

Karen Battell  was the most beautiful teenage girl I had ever seen.  She has remained so to this day  & will always be the most beautiful teenage girl I have ever known. Not an indisputable fact. Don't underestimate my ability to make a convincing case for it.  Accept it as the eye of the beholder.

She had a regal nose & dark hair sometimes brushed out, sometimes  pinned up in  a dancer's bun. She was also smart, quick-witted, sarcastic, sweet, knew how to dress herself, & had  poise & presence -  words that wouldn't have occurred to me then  - meaning  a way of looking good just standing in one place. & she was really into ballet.

We lived 1,500 feet from each other. Half block, long block, short block, right turn, first house on the right.   I can still walk it in my mind. So close. I know a family across the street. Where has this beautiful girl been hiding? It would have been like to me to look at her house, at night,  before I picked up the phone. "Here's her number," someone handed me. It was in the phone book. I'd looked. Thanks, I'll take it from here.

I understood  really being  into something. I was really into writing & getting into music. I had friends really into playing guitar. My dad was really into  American history. I didn't question their devotion or the time they gave to it or the dreams they had. Karen, just by observing me at a distance, had perhaps  intuited I was something of a kindred spirit. It was good to be a teenage couple in that town. She wanted a boyfriend who wouldn't compete with her dancing, wouldn't question her dedication. That would be me.   I wasn't handsome, I stuttered, I had anxiety attacks, I was an insomniac, I was shy.  But I had a  variety of friends, most of them  a little nutty,  I knew  how to have fun.   I had interests I didn't   much share with my friends. I had the capacity - familiar to other poets - of seemingly doing nothing for hours on end.

That's all there it is to it, for a start. There is not much chronology or narrative. I didn't keep a journal. I went away from writing for awhile, to make music. It's possible I wrote a few poems for Karen, perhaps some letters. It's mostly  anecdotal now. Some are anecdotes I've been telling for decades, on the radio, to friends, in my blog - impressions of her, her family. The way she looked in different surroundings,  how she moved. How I felt being with her. Never saying her name. She was The Dancer. There are things about her I have never shared with others & never will. We were both private people who held back large parts of ourselves, a Scorpio & Capricorn. My nickname, Rix, was itself  a kind of public mask.  Privacy was a premium in both our homes. we valued it,  & quiet moments. We were open with each other in ways we weren't with family & friends.  But even then we had our closed places. She became a rudder & keel to my sail.

I don't look back at it as a  failed relationship.  I've long thought of it as a successful relationship, a remarkable adolescent pairing for its time & place, hardly connected to what came before or afterward.  In a larger town  we would have been invisible.  Being a  couple in our one square mile town was a public thing.  In real life, people  have love relationships that go on two or three or more years after they should end. Some of them turn  into doomed  marriages because it's the direction the current flows in many small towns & families.  You get engaged halfway through college & from then on ride  toward the wedding on the commitment itself  &  on expectations of others, blinding yourself to  changes making  the  thing   an increasingly poor gamble. Take away the natural  adolescent  disappointment that Karen & I weren't soulmates & the relationship provided me with  just about everything I could have wanted from it.

Labels: growing up, Karen Battell, love

Labels: Asbury Park, boardwalks, growing up, jersey shore, Karen Battell, love, music, obituary, postcard

Jotting down various memories of Karen Battell Silva, who passed away far too young this week. As they accumulated they began taking on a "what a fool believes" quality. Which is all wrong. I don't overestimate my impact on a teenage girl in the 1960's who lived an entire life since then, or her influence on me. She leaves a husband, a son, her mom, six siblings at least a dozen nieces & nephews. My condolences to them. But as a writer  I'm always trying to draw a narrative out of the episodic, was already doing that when I was 18 years-old. I'm the son of a fine  "amateur" historian & storyteller. There are a number of anecdotes  about Karen & her family I've told  all along.  I repeated one to my stepbrother earlier this week, before I heard about Karen  -  he knew her as  my girlfriend & met his future wife shortly after I met Karen -   about a particular summer night on the crowded  Seaside Heights boardwalk.  Karen & I were strolling the Seaside Boardwalk on a balmy summer evening just digging the scene. Karen probably wearing some light summery dress - she was very much a dress kind of girl in those days. Over leaning against the boardwalk railing were my stepbrother & his girlfriend, a tall attractive blonde, both in leather jackets.  At the timehe  had a beard & a bike & looked a bit like an outlaw Abe Lincoln. We sropped & chatted for a few minutes, the most natural thing in the world to meet in that place at that time.

 I 've told a few stories on the radio. None of them are negative.  I  began writing some of them down only after I started this blog,   I allude to Karen in a very general way  in just one of my poems  I can think of. Most of my poems are located in their moment of creation, recent past, or mythic time.  She was long gone when I began writing publishable poems. She has her place back there, mainly in mythic time,  but she is so distinctive a personality,  attractive,  sensual,  intelligent,  even as a high school student, so memorable - & I've been with several remarkable women since then in longer, more serious relationships. I imagine  Karen would  appreciate being so memorable. She wanted her presence & personality felt. She was very good at  letting me have the spotlight, but when it was her turn, I got out of the way. Maybe I learned that from her, when to get out of the way.  She also had small tolerance for crass or vulgar people, & that taught me something important, too.

 Karen was not only the first woman (at 16), but the first person to give an unqualified  "yes" to my creative aspirations, which at that time were vague & largely undefined & searching for outlets, but very strong.  For Karen it was part of who I was, just as dancing was who she was, & something she liked in me, & no further discussion was necessary.

Labels: boardwalks, growing up, jersey shore, Karen Battell, love, Mahalo, Roselle Park, Seaside Heights

Matthew 22:17, the famous "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's" encounter, is not about paying taxes. Jesus is saying, "I'm trying to explain something important & all you do is show me your stupid money."

The Synoptic Gospels have many stories like this.

"I'm trying to explain something important & all you do is ask me how to join the club."

"I'm trying to explain something important & all you do is ask me what the rules are."

"I'm trying to explain something important & you think children can't understand it."

"I'm trying to explain something important & all you do is demand I perform miracles."

"I'm trying to explain something important & you think I'll be annoyed because you didn't do  a good job arranging the cookies on the tray."

"I'm trying to explain something important &  you're pissed off because I didn't tell you first." 

Jesus looks at a Roman coin & the guy with his face  on the coin thinks putting his face on the coin proves he's divine. But Jesus, who has an inside knowledge of such claims, knows that every individual person on the planet is more precious to God than the whole freakin' Roman Empire.

"Go away," Jesus says to the bigshots with the trick questions, "you don't get it, don't bother me with this bullcrap."

 Of course, Jesus made particular claims for himself & his mission.  But his refusal to be distracted for long by politicians, ideologues, snobs,  celebrity mongers, sightseers, & scripture-quoting savants is typical of great spiritual teachers.

Labels: blogging against theocracy, love, Mahalo, religion

Uploaded this a few days ago for Eddie Brigati's birthday.

Labels: love, Mahalo, music

Interesting examples of phrasing poll questions from CNN / Opinion Research Corporation

Do you think gays and lesbians have a constitutional right to get married and have their marriage recognized by law as valid?
49% Yes, 51% No

Do you think gays and lesbians should have a constitutional right to get married and have their marriage recognized by law as valid?
52% Yes, 46% No

In the first question, I'm uncertain if it means ideally or in actual current practice. But in the second question, I have a clear opinion. The perecentages also reflect what I think is an unstoppable demographic shift in favor of equal marriage rights.

As you may know, a group of Muslims in the U.S. plan to build a mosque two blocks from the site in New York City where the World Trade Center used to stand. Do you favor or oppose this plan?
29% Favor, 68% Oppose

Here, I'm with the 68%. I do oppose the plan  & I have my own questions about who is funding it. If the question were posed in terms of rights, I'd support the right to build. But people outside NYC aren't aware of the location, what the financial district  & City Hall area look  like,  the size of the buildings there, or that 9/11 survivors & powerful real estate interests have been battling  each other all along over redevelopment plans.  Park Pl. is not a Ground Zero memorial site, although it was a jet debris impact area.  It's ripe for gentrification, monification, bankification, whatever you want to call it. One demagogic NY candidate for governor thinks he could use eminent domain to turn Park51 into some kind of garden. Sorry, if the mosque doesn't go there, a bank will move in.  Burlington Coat Factory isn't returning. The financial district isn't about Muslim, Christians, & Jews, it's about money & profit.  If you really listen to Mayor Bloomberg, that's what's he saying.

The design I saw for Cordoba House looks like  a contemporary  office building with a fanciful facade.  Everyone knows St. Patrick's Cathedral & the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. But most old churches in Manhattan are crowded in & you don't notice them until you're standing in front of them.

Labels: blogging against theocracy, in the news, love

Walking on eggshells today for fear my catheter will be expelled again. Yesterday I had a new one installed by an ER nurse. The urologist office thought it very unusual, but the ER treated it as a simple procedure & the doctor there, a nice woman, sent me home.   I was unable to get a medical opinion from the urologist yesterday or today, who was out of office, & the suggestion that I come to Newark for an assistant to look at it I suspected would be pointless, since she was the one who inserted the catheter that came out, & it never felt seated correctly, & whatever doctor was there probably wouldn't feel empowered to do much of anything. But I had to run some errands today with Gina, who is sisterly & the soul of kindness as I minced steps through Shoprite.  Sisterly seems to be her nature toward many people.

Gina is the "The Broad"  Glen Jones occasionally mentions - with affection - on his Sunday WFMU radio show. They've been together for a number of years. While they share a lot of interests, they have distinctly different personalities.  Though she's plenty sociable, Gina isn't nearly as extroverted as Glen.  Often handles his wardrobe for live appearances.   She has a first rate art school education, one of the finer photographers I've met, pinhole is a specialty.   A sucker for stray cats. Every year they head to south Florida for a few days on a budget vacation,  stay in a Fifties era motel,  see some jai alai. Now they're hooked on the Silverball pinball museum arcade in Asbury Park where you can BYOB, pay a flat admission, & play as many classic pinball machines as you can fit into the time you paid for.  Silverball is now one of the great Jersey boardwalk attractions.

One of Gina's proudest acheivements  - she likes mentioning it -  was introducing the True Love to a guy who doubted he would ever find it. I believed  he would eventually find it, & I'd seen him in some of his most despairing moments.  His problem was that he was selecting his own women, & I guess his criteria weren't quite right. Gina knew  someone who  was not only good-looking, but single, lonely, & talented, & perfect for him.  Me, I've had about five True Loves, & I think I had all chances I was gonna get.

Labels: love

FIRST SPRING POEM


It is May
I have missed
half of this spring

You bring it to me now
with a sleepless night

At two I am reading
troubadour poetry

At three I hear
a bird singing
sad yet hopeful riffs

At four I am consumed
with hunger
so I light the kitchen
searching for a snack
but it is you
I am seeking

At five birds again
seagulls flying over
on their way to the park
but it is you
who sails above my bed

As the trees throw off their shadows
flowers appear beneath them

Now I see this spring
you have brought to me

(1990)
© Bob Rixon

Why not an old love poem? I'm not sure if this was ever in print, but I liked reading it to audiences & always got a good response. Many poets think "love" poems have to be deep. I think all they need to do is sing. I was in a May rebound affair following a hard breakup. The woman to whom this poem is addressed had a boyfriend studying in France & she was certain he had a girlfriend (they got back together). The best part of the affair lasted only about a month & hurt as it ended. But I jumped at the opportunity to put shock, sadness, & anger aside for awhile, & allowed myself the moment & the poems it inspired.

This poem is grouped chronologically with four more poems, Doo Wop Song, First Night, Lovers, & The Balancing Beam. But they are not grouped together at The Balancing Beam website. This is because the breakup poems were written before the love poems, about a different woman, & I didn't want to create a false narrative. So I removed any possibility of a "story" & let the poems speak for themselves.

Labels: love, poem

JACKSON, Miss. – An 18-year-old Mississippi lesbian student whose school district canceled her senior prom rather than allow her to escort her girlfriend and wear a tuxedo said she got some unfriendly looks from classmates when she reluctantly returned to campus Thursday.

Constance McMillen said she didn't want to go back the day after the Itawamba County school board's decision, but her father told her she needed to face her classmates, teachers and school officials.

I have mixed reaction. It ought to be no big deal, & there are many places where it isn't . & yeah, she has the right. I admire McMillen's courage in a small Mississippi town. I wonder, how "out" was she around school before this? & why go to a prom just to make a statement when she knows it won't be any fun? But there's this:

A Feb. 5 memo to students laid out the criteria for bringing a date to the prom, and one requirement was that the person must be of the opposite sex.

If Constance hadn't made up her mind about attending the prom, that rule probably decided it. Nothing would have infuriated & challenged her more. It's like decreeing all tuxedo jackets must be powder blue. Adults took it upon themselves to protect the other teenagers from Constance, when she posed no threat to them. She might have needed protection. Going to the prom was her choice to make, not the adults' decision in a public school.

Every Spring there's a wire news story of a prom where a gay guy was elected "Prom Queen" or some other way teenagers treated homobigotry as an absurdity. They realize that when they just accept the gays & lesbians among them, not only does it all work out fine, they have more fun, too.

Labels: in the news, love

was the Jersey State Senate vote against marriage equality. But I don't make too much of it. Public support for marriage equality hovers near 50% here . The most vocal spokespersons in the senate for & against were both Roman Catholic men, & the against guy is 75 years old. Our suburban Republican governor-elect is relieved he won't have to veto it; he was hired to do something about spending, taxes, & corruption & is disinclined so far to promote a right wing "social values" agenda. No politician of consequence attacks domestic partnerships. So the defeat is more a "not yet" than a "never."

Only the most naive of those opposing marriage equality in New Jersey can't see they're on the road to Appomattox. When I see a conservative Black Baptist pastor & a Hassid protesting together, I'm looking at both what's great about America & awful about religious patriarchy. I almost excuse them for the reason that they must protest. Almost, because marriage equality won't affect them any more than Will & Grace TV show reruns or the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. No one will disturb their patriarchal order & insist that dancing Hassids include women in their celebrations or a Baptist preacher acknowledge that his Sunday School Director has lived for years with a "friend" of the same gender & they're not just sharing the rent. Although I feel for the closeted men & women in their communities whose only alternative to staying silent is being shunned & driven out into the wilderness. Being born into those communities is different than choosing a religious environment in order to hide from one's sexuality, like gay students at Liberty University.

Small comfort to same sex couples in Jersey who want to be married now, but if the courts don't help, a clear popular vote majority for marriage equality is just a few years away here in many other states. High school & college age youth aren't interested in the reasoning that can elect an openly lesbian mayor of Houston & yet deny her a legal status as someone's life partner, & then get hung up on the line between "domestic partnership" & "marriage." You want to legally call it marriage, fine with me. I'd prefer if government got out of the marriage business & everyone signed the same civil union contract. But that is not to be. It'll have to be marriage.

Labels: blogging against theocracy, love, New Jersey, New Jersey politics, religion, sex with a Republican

Labels: Cape May, jersey shore, love, Mahalo, postcard, sex, Wildwoods NJ

“Saturday night, Sarah Palin is going to drop the first puck at the Philadelphia Flyers’ hockey game. Then Palin will spend the rest of the game trying to keep the hockey players out of her daughter’s penalty box.”

Conan O'Brien, 10/08/08

Olive Garden (Darden Restaurants, Inc., also owner of Red Lobster) denies they are pulling ads from Dave Letterman's show, I don't think they can until the contract ends without losing the money they paid. & it'd be dumb. Dave's ratings went up, way up among Leno's older audience. The Late Show can easily make up the ad revenue with Viagra commercials. & as you see in the graphic, Darden stock is doing fine.

Your blogger used to patronize full-service chain restaurants, when I had girlfriends. Probably like most people we went while we were driving back from somewhere, or on impulse. They're convenient, predictable, everywhere. Avoided them on Friday & Saturday evenings, minimum hour wait for table at TGIF.

I met one girlfriend in Blimpie's. She worked there. I didn't patronize the place much, but when the mutual attraction became obvious I got very good sandwiches on my lunch breaks & frequented it more often. Later, she waited tables at a Ground Round, which had decent food & o.k. atmosphere if you went late when the children's parties were over & kids weren't flinging the free popcorn. I thought free popcorn was a bad idea, too filling. They were franchised, the owners had some menu flexibility. She received free dinner-for-two certificates from her boss, which we cashed in at the Ground Round in Toms River because it served fresh seafood, she'd have lobster or daily special fish, & I'd have crabcakes or steak, & we left huge tips & came home with doggy bags of appetizers, sometimes stuff we hadn't even ordered. We also stole cute, small ceramic coffee cups from Denny's. Oh, we were rogues. She's still remembered fondly by some older WFMU DJs for temporarily transforming me into a sociable, out-going human being.

I haven't been to an Olive Garden. Never had the opportunity. The faux Tuscany gourmand cuisine wouldn't stop me, or that it's promoted as a multi-generational family tradition, like ordering a Maruca's Tomato Pie during vacation in Seaside Park. I've been to many Pizza Huts, most of the food there is awful even by my standards, always disappointing, yet I couldn't stop myself. But then, the typical pizza you find in a Jersey downtown is wildly overrated by Sun Belt expatriates.

Labels: Grandma Palin, in the news, love, TV

I dislike dreams where I'm trying to go somewhere in Jersey. Last night, I was with some people - who they were probably wasn't so significant - & we needed to catch a NJ Transit local train to get to a town to pick up a car to take a boat to the Jersey shore. After we were in the car, it was suggested that we stop by a local bar & give a friend a ride home from a party. We went to the bar, our friend was there sitting at a table, I recognized a number of Jersey poets, the party was breaking up, it was very late, & we were wasting time trying to pry our friend out of the joint. At this point dream lucidity began kicking in, & I was thinking how absurd it all was. You couldn't possibly take a boat from there to the shore, yet outside was a canal with a number of small boats all going to different places at the shore. But it was the middle of the night & I was tired of traveling, & not interested in taking a long boat ride or engaging any of the dream companions in conversation to find out what it might really be about, because even familiar characters in dreams rarely are who they appear to be, their answers are always evasive or cryptic, & you have to approach them with bemusement if you want to enjoy the encounter. So the dream ended without any resolution, & I woke up with the annoyed feeling of not having been asleep at all but of having used a lot of real world energy inside a dreamscape, to no purpose.

Then my daily horoscope for Scorpio was: Are you hungry for a more intellectual connection with that new cutie in your life? Start getting comfortable with the idea that it just might not happen. Oh come on. There's no "new cutie," & I was 22 years old the last time I was with a woman I might have referred to as a "cutie," & that was her nose. They've always been "cuties" to me, intellectual or not. "Intellectual" has never been a qualification. But "ignorance" has always been a disqualifier.

Labels: astrology, dreams, love