Speaking of...

fantasy football, just look what I came up with the other day when I was digging through all my old LP records!


What good times we all used to have, sitting around the fire, laughing together and eating hot buttered popcorn! It seems like only yesterday...

Or maybe that was just the virtual yule log they show on TV during Thanksgiving and Christmas, and instead of laughing together we were posting snarky things at each other on the message board, but still, we had a few laughs, right? Anyone? Bueller?

ENOUGH WITH THE POETRY ALREADY!!!!

Yes, I can hear your thoughts through the ether, I just wanted to get those three things up there because Stacey was kind enough to transcribe them from written versions that I sent her literally years ago now...I guess I write poetry at about the same rate I write songs, maybe one a year, I just got started a little later. I think they all tend to have close to the same arc or something, I dunno, maybe I'll write a term paper on my own poetry and see if I can get a Master's or something out of it.

For those brave souls that are just checking in every once in a while to see when the goddamn fantasy football league is starting up again, yes, it will start up, it may be a few weeks yet just so we don't have an interminable two months between starting up the league and starting to actually play games. And if you weren't, or if you've never heard of fantasy football, what the hell's wrong with you? You should play, it's fun, post a comment on here and I'll hook you up. All the cool kids are doing it, it's like jumping off a bridge. Except at the end you aren't dead, you just wish half the guys in the NFL were.

yet more poetry (old Spencer stuff)

We are students of the same subject, you and I
strangely quiet in our comfort
drowning ourselves
in the inexorable

When everything that has been
has been spoken, and everything that
cannot be is safely catalogued
we can still remain here, alone together
in the last chance of a dying moment
in pictograms and sonoglyphs
that give our histories the lie
and smudge our self-portraits

Will these heretical monuments
to an imagined circumstance
be rubbed and dated, reinstated
into canonical glory someday?

Listen, it's simple:
simply smile at enervated intervals
wait for the signal fire to light,
and in that crucial figure find a moment for yourselfish desires
the kind that roll around the tongue
and dance in desperate measures, full
to bursting with their own depravity
real enough for our time
and our time, too, is real enough
for the children that we were (not) to grow, old already
inside, far away

Concordia St. (old Spencer poem)

It wasn't even dark when you got back
I mean, it was dark -
But not as dark as it would be in five more minutes

When the street light nearest your house clicked off
as if by magic, by whimsy
When the halo that hung on the moon
felt the chill of the clouds
When the ash-end of my forgotten cigarette
finally winked out in the ashtray
When you closed the front door quietly
and put out the porch light

It was dark, I guess, as I was left
walking down the street away
but it wasn't so much dark as it was black

Lover (old Spencer poem)

The smoke curls gently against the ceiling
having parted slowly from your slightly parted lips
We both know that it's killing us
as we pass it, slowly, back and forth

(there is no urgency at three o'clock in the morning)

Weightless as the promises of happiness
sold by shameless hucksters
to the quiet, younger, gullible me
and the older, wiser, cynical you

For we have made those promises ourselves
tied them together with bundles of old books
Shared a bed and in the sharing of the darkness
discovered we could still see the differences
in outlines dancing without a pattern
without a hope for reconciliation
dancing in the slow breath of the shared room
to the flicker of a borrowed candle
lingering, beautiful, until it is exhausted
shadowing and foreshadowing the room itself
and you and I and our time and our time

There is no urgency at three o'clock in the morning
there is only you
there is only me
only time can teach us differently

SPANKED!!!!!!!

The Celtics are my new heroes and best friends!!! Not only did they beat the Lakers, they spanked them into oblivion and made them look stooooopid! I am soooooo happy!
Plus...they play great ball! They have crazy mad passing skillz and actually make their free throws! They're ... my God!...fun to watch!!!
Man, I'm having amazing sports watching luck! What yummy goodness can FOOTBALL hold in store!

Speaking of...Spence...when do the dreaded/longed for Uncle Rico's festivities begin? I'm almost recovered from last season and ready for my new fate. Almost!

short story June '08

It's always the same dream, except it isn't the same, in the details...it could be a street where lots of people that I know from junior high are hanging out, or a baseball field where my dad and I are playing ball together, even though we never played baseball and didn't have any baseball fields in my neighborhood. But it's always the same door, with some kind of off white color paint that's just starting to get the faint lines that are going to turn into cracks, before it starts slowly peeling away.

I always notice the door after a while, things are maybe going well in the dream or maybe my teeth are all starting to feel loose or I'm starting to feel like someone is chasing me, or whatever, but then I notice the door and it could be attached to a house that's somehow there all of a sudden or it could be a utility shed that I hadn't noticed but it's the door always, first, with a handle made out of some glass or crystal like my grandparents' house had, and the door is always shut tight without any cracks at the bottom or at the side for any of the darkness behind it to get out, but I always know that the darkness is there behind it, just in that way that you know stuff like that in dreams.

And so then time pretty much stops in the dream, and I usually go up to the door with something like fear, or not fear but something like a nebuluos fear, a general fear, I guess dread or something like that, and I always understand that I'm going to end up going through the door, no matter what. And so it doesn't matter as much what the details are from dream to dream; sometimes the door is locked and I rattle the handle for a while, and sometimes the knob is hot or cold to the touch, or maybe those are things that you can't even know in dreams and I just always fill them in later, I don't know. But the door always eventually opens, and then the dream is over because behind the door is always


nothing


and not in a way of the blackness that I knew (or thought that I knew) was behind the door before I opened it and not in just a blanket of whiteness that blots everything out but just in the way of not feeling and not seeing anything, just knowing that there's not anything anymore, behind the door

The wierdest part is that I don't always feel the same way about it, sometimes it's the scariest thing you can think of and sometimes it's almost a comfort, knowing that the door is always there for when you're tired and you just need to get away from everything for a while, I guess, and sometimes it's not either of those things, it's just peaceful, or not even peaceful but just there's nothing at all anymore, to think about or be pissed off at or to be worried over, everything is just done, and it's OK.

I think those might be my favorite door dreams of all.

A Miracle?

I may have witnessed a miracle over the last two days.

Two words: Exciting. Golf!?!?!?

That's all I'm saying. Discuss!

And Your Voice is Everything (pt 2)

Read part one of the story


Or maybe I should start with me, back then, late twenties and still without a real job, making do with help from my mom and dad for “college” and stocking groceries overnight from Sunday to Thursday. I had the t-shirts and the blue jeans, too; we all did, I guess, although I didn’t wear things ironically back then, not trucker hats and especially not t-shirts. I wish I still had some of the t-shirts that got turned into rags during those summers, I could probably find some online if I really felt like it, even-cheaper knockoffs of things that already were made to fall apart; I might get a couple of wears out of some of them, but just putting the shirts back on wouldn’t help me recognize myself anymore.

Because that was the me that fell in love with her from the third row, as it were, even though none of the places she played had any seats; most of them were doing well to have walls and ceilings that looked like they could pass a fire inspection. Because it was love if anything is ever love these days, and the fact that it happened over both the physical distance that I was standing from the stage and the infinitely greater distance created by the fact the she didn’t have a fucking clue who I was, had never laid eyes on me in her life, that wasn’t something that I thought about much. It was just the reality, but it didn’t always have to be, and since my general life plan seemed to be based mostly around a lot of waiting for things to happen, I think some part of me was expecting an encounter over brunch, or at a coffee shop or record store, or any and all of the other clichéd opportunities that I could possibly picture for that thing that was going on for me to move out of my head and into the world.

But none of that helped very much when it happened.

Spencer's Peeve o' the Week!!!!!

Yes, I'm shamelessly co-opting Stacey's peeve thing here, but she's not using it anymore, and there are children over in Africa starving for peeves! So we're just going to have to box up your extra ones that you didn't use and send them on over there, aren't we?

Today's peeve is all about WAITING ON HOLD!!!!! Yes, I know, in today's digital world, you well might wonder why in the Sam Hill any company would knowingly subject its customers to such an antiquated system as the telephone? Or, once they start down that dangerous path, why not go all the way back to telegraph, or teletype, or smoke signals, or faxing back and forth series of pencil drawn hieroglyphs or photos of drawings we each do, in turn, on the walls of caves?



The way I see it, there are 2 big plusses to allowing/encouraging email interactions with customer service:

1. You let people have time to actually write out what their problem/complaint/wish list actually IS at their own pace, and you automatically have a written record of it so they can't change what they said or were complaining about!

2. You no longer have customers who are SO PISSED OFF AFTER WAITING FOR 45 FUCKING MINUTES ON HOLD THAT THEY WOULD JUST AS SOON STRANGLE THEIR PET CAT STEVE AS THEY WOULD EVER SPEND ANOTHER THIN DIME ON ANY OF YOUR LOUSY ASS SHIT PRODUCTS, THAT'S FOR DAMN SURE!!!!!!!

So as you can see, it doesn't take a business degree from Harvard to lead a person to believe that, hey, for those of us with the magic of the interwebs at our fingers, yeah, verily 24 hours a day, why not give us a chance to interact with your great and mighty...um...ness at our own convenience?

And, yes, in case anyone's wondering, I have been on hold for quite a while over the past few days, thanks for asking.

DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!

I've been foiled by the googlewebs...so Stacey and I thought we'd get all fancy-pantsy and get a real got-durned web address of our very own, The Karmic Desk, we thought, it'd be the ticket to huge readership, fame and fortune.

Unfortunately, somehow the process of registering a domain through Google itself didn't work for us, even though they promised it would be easier than falling off a greased pig that was standing on a log! Curse you, lady Technology, for your come-hither stare and your easy indifference to the human suffering that you yourself have created! Except that I guess we created you, meaning Technology, so the metaphor is not quite right there, somehow.

Nonetheless, if anyone out there has any idea what CNAME's are and/or how I can actually point my spanking new domain name to our pitiful, creaking old blog, there's a shiny new nickel in it for you! And by nickel, I mean absolutely nothing. And by THAT, I don't mean that I don't mean anything by it, I just mean you'll get absolutely nothing, which people seeking nirvana would seemingly greatly prefer to a nickel anyway, so just think of it as my way of helping you become enlightened. Although, to be honest, if I'm coming back to this planet through reincarnation, I think I'd rather take my chances for a while as somewhat lower lifeforms, what with the global warming and the potential for radiation and pollution and whatnot...how much wrong do you think I'd have to do in one lifetime to come back as a cockroach?

actual update!

Well, I got some good news today, the biopsy was all clear, so I'm good to go for now. Thanks to everyone for your thoughts!

Let Them Eat CAKE!!! Lots Of CAKE!!!

So, the big news, about the thing that may or may NOT have happened...
Well, it DID happen, and Amy and Walter got married!! They semi-eloped to the hills Memorial Day weekend, taking a small, elite force of aiders and abettors with them.
In case you don't know who the Hell I'm talking about, Amy is Nadi's sister, and Walter is some guy she met, who is a lawyer BUT A NICE LAWYER, and they have a cute dog named Goldie. The "hills" that they escaped to are formally known as "Crested Butte", and it's a beautiful place, as you can see from le photoes. So, here's some pics, take a look and eat a piece of cake in support of their union!

So: here's the happy couple on the way up to the site. They and 2 of the guests biked it, us and 2 of the guests hiked. It wasn't any faster either way, they just REALLY like to mountain bike. TOO much, some (me) might say.

Here's a picture of me w/ the flower girl/ring bearer Goldie! (Hey, stop staring at my John Lynch arms and look at the doggie!) Definitely the cutest/best behaved F.G./R.B. I've ever come across. Goldie, not John Lynch. In case you were confused.


Here they are on the way to seal the deal. I don't think we got an actual smooch shot, but that's yucky, anyway! That guy that married them is Walter's buddy Jim, he got ministerized over the internets so he could do it. I might do that, too, one of us kids has to make my dad proud, ya know.




And here's Nadi and I doing a little posing 4 teh cameeeera. I know, it's not OUR wedding, but this is a MEcentric blog and I gotta give the peoples what they want. And what they want is me in GIANT FLUFFY SHOES!!!!!


Happy Wedding Amy and Walter!!! No pressure to make lotsa babies now! Unless it takes some of the pressure off of me! Then you'd better get after it.

Hi there!

Hey everyone, just wanted to check in here with a non-update...apparently my endocrinologist likes to keep the suspense thing going as long as she can, because she insists that everyone come into her office to talk about biopsy results in person, whether positive, negative, or unclear, or whatever, so I'm having to wait until Friday to hear the results.

I'm trying to look at it like I'm in a giant funhouse ride at Astroworld, or something, Come ride the Death Defying Doctor Consultator X400! Thrill to the endless anticipation! You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll become intimately acquainted with your insurance representative!

Also, I want to give a quick shout-out to Heidi, for putting up with me for THREE YEARS TODAY! Happy anniversary, sweetie!

Actually, I can't say that I spend that much time anticipating this Friday, because I'm still anticipating the NEW EXCITING POST that Stacey promised about 3 months ago. Tempus fugit, big chief. :P

And, on that note, later chumps.

poetry corner

One for the roads, collar off the cuff
lightening the ties that bind and
tightening the lies that blind
in a synchronistic euphony
"Oh, la la la" and so forth, onward
(quiet, damn your non-soul, quiet
lee the wind inside yourself
and it can still the panic)
highly liquid sounds are flooding
chambers of quiet
who is next to fill and be filled?
there isn't enough room here
for simulspontaneous steps backward
three tries, just like the carnie barker said
who is next to take their chance?
if I still walked in the evening
like the first man, taking the guard in
with some summer scheme
I'd want it to be just like this
not forever, just for now
with four winds raising dust from
non-existent corners and piling it up,
dune-like, in a mound big enough
to be buried in
in deed, in heritance enough
for me