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."
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ReplyDeleteChrist climbed down
ReplyDeletefrom 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.
Tiger Woods?
ReplyDeleteMeh. 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
Good story. But I have just one question. Would Ferlinghetti kill the frog?
ReplyDeleteNah, 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.
ReplyDelete