Wednesday, February 24, 2021

Ferlinghetti, Woods, and the Invasive Species

 


The State of America: Tiger Woods automobile accident took over last night's news.  Commercially, I guess, it was a winner.  It was what mattered most to most Americans last night.  Who gives a shit?  Yet I found myself watching the coverage over dinner.  I was, I guess, reliving my own accident.  Being taken to the trauma center rather than the nearest hospital.  Being "packaged" and put on a body board.  Getting metal put in to shore up your body.  Etc.  

Otherwise, I mean for anyone who had not personal interest. . . why?  Is it really important to people that he plays golf again?  

Meanwhile, hardly anyone noticed this.  

Was Ferlinghetti a good poet?  I never liked reading him.  But was he an American icon?  Well fuck yea.  Any trip I've ever taken to San Francisco always included a pilgrimage to City Lights Books.  I've been going since 1975.  Ferlinghetti hung around for a long time and was apparently lively 'til the end.  The loss is significant to me.  

I didn't see anything about it on the evening news.  

Here is a wonderful tribute, however, put out today by the N.Y. Times. 

(link)

Funny to me. . . I don't think I ever took a photograph inside City Lights.  I don't think I have a single image.  Weird, that.  Last time I was there, though, I bought Ili and I some books.  I spent money there every time I went.  There was always more than I could carry home that I desired, though.  And now, it is one of the few bookstores left in S.F.  Crazy, right? 

I wonder how many golf shops there are?  

This is not what I had intended to write about this morning, however.  I am like a news channel, eh?  

Update: This just scared the shit out of me hopping across my floor.  


He is huge!  I don't want to deal with it, but I will have to.  This is an invasive species in my own home state and they are doing much ecological damage, or so I've heard.  The agricultural school of my state's major university has this to say:

"Cuban Treefrogs are pests, but they are living animals and should always be treated humanely. We recommend a two-part method to humanely euthanize these frogs and ensure that the method was successful. ... The frog will become comatose within about a minute, and will soon be euthanized."

I can't do it, though.  I can't kill it.  I don't know what I'll do yet.  For now, he is just hopping around behind the t.v console looking for a way up or out, I'd guess.  Problem is, these frogs shit like a baby goat. They leave big turds everywhere.  

Jesus, today's post has take a horrible turn.  This is not at all how it was supposed to go.  

What I wanted to write about is how good I felt after my first aerobic workout at the gym yesterday, a climb on the inclined treadmill and some elliptical training after.  I got my heart rate up for a sustained period for the first time in months.  My head cleared and my body felt more alive.  Shoot--I was almost happy.  

And today, I have a luncheon date with a woman from the factory who says she needs some career advice.  It is quite something to me, really, that she would ask.  As a matter of fact, she is the second person from the factory to come to me this week.  I spent over an hour on the phone with another administrator who wanted my take on an uncomfortable situation.  You wouldn't know it from the blog, but I have a good head on my shoulders.  It is wonderful to still feel of value.  

And even though I was an administrator, someone put my picture on the union recruitment page.  I was informed about this from one of the workers at the factory who sent me the link.  I was so pleased I sent it around to friends.  Bragging, sure, but it felt deserved since I put my own career in jeopardy early on in instituting a union.  "Tribute," I wrote.  One of my former department members, however, had a severe reaction to them using the image of a "boss" on the page.  I had a severe reaction to her's.  

We no longer communicate, but my image is still there.  

Holy smokes, this has become just a jumble.  I was simply going to write about how happy I was yesterday and how much fun it will be to eat out with someone today.  

But that's how it goes, isn't it?  The news and an invasive species can send you flying in an unintended direction.  I didn't even get to the part about my dreams.  

Whatever.  The sun is shining and lunch will be good fun.  It will put a smile on my face for a minute or two.  I'll take that.  

5 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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  2. Christ climbed down
    from His bare Tree
    this year
    and ran away to where
    there were no rootless Christmas trees
    hung with candycanes and breakable stars

    Christ climbed down
    from His bare Tree
    this year
    and ran away to where
    there were no gilded Christmas trees
    and no tinsel Christmas trees
    and no tinfoil Christmas trees
    and no pink plastic Christmas trees
    and no gold Christmas trees
    and no black Christmas trees
    and no powderblue Christmas trees
    hung with electric candles
    and encircled by tin electric trains
    and clever cornball relatives

    Christ climbed down
    from His bare Tree
    this year
    and ran away to where
    no intrepid Bible salesmen
    covered the territory
    in two-tone cadillacs
    and where no Sears Roebuck crèches
    complete with plastic babe in manger
    arrived by parcel post
    the babe by special delivery
    and where no televised Wise Men
    praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

    Christ climbed down
    from His bare Tree
    this year
    and ran away to where
    no fat handshaking stranger
    in a red flannel suit
    and a fake white beard
    went around passing himself off
    as some sort of North Pole saint

    crossing the desert to Bethlehem
    Pennsylvania
    in a Volkswagen sled
    drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
    with German names
    and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
    from Saks Fifth Avenue
    for everybody’s imagined Christ child

    Christ climbed down
    from His bare Tree
    this year
    and ran away to where
    no Bing Crosby carolers
    groaned of a tight Christmas
    and where no Radio City angels
    iceskated wingless
    thru a winter wonderland
    into a jinglebell heaven
    daily at 8:30
    with Midnight Mass matinees

    Christ climbed down
    from His bare Tree
    this year
    and softly stole away into
    some anonymous Mary’s womb again
    where in the darkest night
    of everybody’s anonymous soul
    He awaits again
    an unimaginable
    and impossibly
    Immaculate Reconception
    the very craziest
    of Second Comings

    Enjoy your lunch, Old Sport. It's good to see you out among 'em.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Tiger Woods?
    Meh. Golfers as celebrity athletes has always left me scratching my head. It’s like bowling for people who can’t stand to be indoors.
    There was no 24/7 coverage when Earl “The Pearl” Anthony fell down a flight of stairs and cracked his skull open. He later DIED from those injuries fer crissake.


    “The working class can kiss my ass,
    I got the foreman’s job at last.”

    How’s that for some Ferlinghetti tribute.

    Kill that fucking toad. Now. I mean RIGHT NOW!

    Invasive Cubans have ruined this peninsula. Marco Rubio – need I say more.

    Kill that fucking toad!

    Oh, I got suspended for a couple of days because of Ferlinghetti. I went to high school in the GOOD OLD DAYS – when preachers from local churches were invited to speak at assemblies and prayer and healing services were conducted in public schools. This was the way of things in hillbilly heaven Ohiah back in the day.

    We also had big ole giant hyper protestant Christmas pageants. I was in orchestra and choir and so was always on stage for these mandatory attendance public school revivals. One year John, another long-haired buddy of mine, who played upright string bass, and I hijacked the proceedings when I grabbed the one microphone for announcements, and he stepped up next to me playing a Peter Gunn style slow bass riff. I then proceeded to read Ferlinghetti’s “Christ Climbed Down.” At first the students and school administrators people thought this might actually be part of the pageant, until in a desperate move the skinny counselor with pasty eczema in charge of the light board cut the lights. However the spotlights in the balcony were on independent circuits. And so John and I were still bathed in twin bright shafts of light making us look all the more like a couple of beatniks at The Cellar because by this point against school policy John had lit up a Newport and the smoke was filtering through the beams. Things then got really interesting when the Vice Principal, a bald dago with terminal halitosis, started shouting from the back of the auditorium: “Cut the mic! Cut the mic!” Unbeknownst to chubby Mussolini, the microphone and speaker for announcements were on an extension cord circuit plugged right into the floor next to us – so they could only “cut the mic” by shutting off power to that entire wing of the school – not a wise proposition in the frigid December Appalachia. So, the wheezing dago ran down the aisle and started grabbing at our feet and the counselor joined him grabbing me by the arm and trying to pull me away from the microphone. Of course, the microphone came off the stand and I could continue with the poem even while albino sting bean was wrassling me around in circles. He finally gave that up and helped the VP belly crawl his way up on stage. The two on them bum rushed John and I off stage to a thunderous ovation. We got a week suspension. Yeah it was worth it.

    https://www.ft.com/content/2535e968-4997-11e9-bde6-79eaea5acb64

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  4. Good story. But I have just one question. Would Ferlinghetti kill the frog?

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  5. Nah, the old beatnik probably wouldn't, but Earl Anthony would drop a 16lb Ebonite Gyrobalanced Magnum 12 bowling ball on that little shit in a New York Minute.

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