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Today is my missus's birthday, so we celebrate with a song by her favorite Kiwis. And also because, like Jemaine, she loves her cereal.

Happy Birthday, sweetie!
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It's National Poetry Month (which several peeps on my flist have duly noted by posting and/or composing beautiful poems), and it's also scant days away from my girl's birthday. So here is a poem for both occasions, because having coffee with her is better than most things, including girls with machine gun legs.

Having A Coke With You

is even more fun than going top San Sebastain, Irun, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluoresent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasently definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the "Polish Rider" occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the "Nude Descending a Staircase" or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michaelangleo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

~ Frank O'Hara
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The mighty mighty tagging project is done! This may be of little concern to all of you except [ profile] maroukian, who needs to catch up on her pretentious twat quotes. Even the missus in her sickly, cranky state (she has a vicious cold) made a contribution: the "it's stupid--who cares?" tag! Does this mean she wants to slap said tag on me? Quite possibly, as I laughed like hell when I saw a trailer for Grindhouse on TV the other night...more specifically, the "Death Terror" segment with Rose McGowan and her machine gun leg.

My spouse, however, was not amused by the machine gun leg, deemed it "repulsive," and quietly filed away the incident as evidence of insensitive, doltish, male-like behavior on my part (other evidence includes watching baseball, drinking milk out of carton, eating applesauce out of jar, indifference to state of toilet bowl, the world stopping for Victoria's Secret commercials, etc.).

So, dear readers, I put it to you:

[Poll #949691]
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When in doubt, cut up a pig - that was the town's motto.
~ Harry (Robert Downey, Jr.) in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang>

Miss me, honeys?

Actually, I am not moving to the country, nor am I planning on eating a lot of peaches, so the entire subject line is completely fradulent. But I was in "the country" for several days and managed to restrain all my Zsa Zsa Gabor instincts magnificently. ("Dahlink, ze gingham check would look mahvelous on ze pigs, no?")

Country Life

Pros: cows, crisp, fresh air, perfect sunny days, the wind through the fields, hummingbirds, corn as high as an elephant's eye, delicious food that is Bad for You. (One night I had a bison burger and a peanut butter milkshake. Not quite sure why my heart is still beating.)

Cons: No sex, no swearing. (We were staying with the missus' dad.) But hey, I can deal with not being Swearengen for a couple days. The pros outweighed the cons. Admittedly, it was a relief once we were in the car for the drive back, to let the poetry of obscenity flow once again. Hell, it's a necessity when navigating I-78:

The Mrs.: Look at that cocksucker up there cutting through the lanes! He's a fucking Republican! Cocksucker! Swedgin! Cocksucker!

Me: Cocksucker!

Both, in Blissful Harmony: COCKSUCKER!

As you can see, we've missed Deadwood something fierce. We're finished with season 2 and we're hopelessly craving season 3. This show is a big ball of opium to me.

Joanie, I'm ready to be heartbroken.
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From today:

Socialite Paris Hilton has reportedly been asked to play celebrated humanitarian Mother Teresa in a movie biopic. Indian director T. Rajeevnath has contacted the hotel heiress about taking the lead role in his new film, which will chronicle the late nun's life. He tells, "My agents in California have contacted Paris Hilton. Although there are several actresses willing to play the role of Mother Teresa, the most widely respected and loved person, the history of the actress who is finally chosen for the role would have to be analyzed thoroughly before she is chosen."

Mmm-hmm. You analyze her thoroughly then, Mr. Rajeevnath, and get back to me on that.

V-Day has come and gone. We had a nice, low-key dinner at home; I indulged our passion for comfort food by making macaroni and cheese--tried to spice it up a bit by adding feta cheese and copious amounts of pepper. Still, there's nothing like leftover mac & cheese smothered with ketchup. And somehow I managed to lose a pound in the last two days. Hey kids, it's the Macaroni and Cheese diet! I'll be on that Olympic curling team before you know it!

{And finally: Thanks to the anonymous sweetie who bought me virtual chocolate! I'll happily take it in any form I can get it!}
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This morning's stroll to the subway:

Teh Wife: ...and I don't like slasher films. Talk about gratuitous violence!

me: But you like horror films.

TW: There's a difference.

me: But you like movies with monsters and creatures. And the monsters are usually ripping people apart. Like tearing off heads and stuff...aliens popping out of stomachs. How is that any better than people getting slashed?

TW: That's more interesting!

me: What if you had a monster who was also a slasher?

Long pause

TW: You may be onto something there....

And what if we had a monster who was a femmeslasher? This is getting out of hand now.
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[Last night, end of SVU, promo for next week: Dean Cain, aka Superman/Scott Peterson, as bad guy. He is either stalking Liv or will become her white whale.]

Serious NBC promo guy [as SuperCain touches the Oliska tresses]:...will take her to a place she's never been.

Teh Wife: A man's bedroom?

twoo wuv

Jul. 1st, 2005 09:41 am
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You know you love someone when you agree to see a Tom Cruise movie.


Apr. 15th, 2005 09:36 am
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The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.

Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
On a pink official form.

Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.

~ W.H. Auden, "The Fall of Rome"

[In honor of my beloved's birthday today, I'm quoting one of her favorite poets.]


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