My mattress might have short-term memory foam loss. It doesn’t seem to remember my recent positions. But what if its long-term memory foam has eroded, too? It might not remember any of my positions, especially the ones from my Golden Age of Recreational Sleeping. I went to the drug store and looked, but I couldn’t find any memory foam. (I thought I might rub some, like Rogaine, on the bed.) I mean, Odysseus returned from his Ten Years Odd-at-Sea and his old mattress remembered him! (It also seemed to remember the positions of various Penelope suitors, but that’s another epic altogether.) To comfort myself in moments like these, I often play a game of Celebrity Stinky / Not Stinky. For example, Bill O’Reilly: Stinky, Pitbull: Stinky, Howard Stern: Stinky, Dr. Oz: Stinky, Mitt Romney: Not Stinky, but dirty in a bright, defensive way, The Offshore Way. I clicked on the television just to catch a snippet of the washed-up boxer responding to allegations that he once ducked an opponent. “I ducked awl hith puncheth,” he said. “Unleth it wuth a ludicrouth attempt like he ran outta the busheth drethed ath a bahbarian in Hannah Bahbaric timeth!” Consider a world with different values, I suppose, if that’ll make you feel better about your lot in life—that, or exchange the word “ice” for the word “beef.” You’d no longer go to the Ice Capades, but to the Beef Capades, instead, and you’d no longer listen to Ice-T and his song “Ice Ice Baby”, but Beef-T, and “Beef Beef Baby”, instead, and you’d no longer recite the poem “Fire and Ice” but “Fire and Beef.” The world will end in beef. Perhaps I’ll go down to the stinky discount mall, you know, the Olfactory Outlet, for some Reverie Foam.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Gratuitous Julie Christie picture. FML.
Stopping to think “I’ve seen [insert sight] in a previous life” doesn’t really convince me. Oh, the train brooded on the spur-track the same way as it did once before; Oh, the sky filled with thunder and wind the same way as it did once before; Oh, the State of New York awarded Woody Allen’s spouse her own university, SUNY Previn, as it did once before, “I SAY HAH.” Whereas, stopping to think about stopping to think—now, that might be déjà viewable. Seeing as it only happens twice—[i.e., stopping to think]—things often travel beyond irony into steely damn. Hey, I think I’ve seen this typeface on a previous occasion. It’s Omar Sans Sharif, the font of an Egyptian actor who gets to freak Julie Christie in Dr. Zhivago. Speaking of actors, Al Pacino plays a wily mountain cop who blows the whistle on high-altitude corruption in
flick’s called Sherpaco. CHECK IT OUT.
Maybe it’ll be your punishment in the underworld to keep approaching the same station
in a crowded conveyance, everyone shoulder-to-shoulder and Enya aficionados to
boot. Yeah, it’ll be summer, and the strap-hangers will smell like a bean
casserole or just plain muggy overalls straight outta the hamper. A pot of
chili and good ol’ American B.O.—[when you really think about it]—really do estimate
one another. Perhaps your punishment in the underworld will be to keep
appearing in a spinoff sitcom, I Dream Of
Hygenie. Hey: Language matters: Dignity matters: No matter how many times
you may stop to think “I’ve seen this [insert slander] in a previous life”: No;
language matters; Hot Dignity Dawg. Nepal
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
[1.] Why Mississippi and not another state, country, movement, or debacle?
You got your 1-Arid Desert, 2-Arkansas, 3-Micronesia, 4-Tea Party, 5-Global Warming, 6-Federal Debt, 7-Mississippi, 8-Lewis & Clark’s Route to the Pacific, 9-Colorado River Basin in Crisis, 10-Took a Wooden Nickel, you know? There’s a lot of ways to count, to 60. So OK so.
[2.] Shouldn’t you begin with “Zero-Mississippi”?
It’s not like the Universe began, and it was already 1-Mississippi outside. No, it was less than 1. Headed there, but not yet 1. So, I mean, shouldn’t you go “Zero Mississippi”? What would the world be like, without Mississippi? Delta-less? Delta blues-less? See? It’s more than you think.
[3.] There’s an infinite amount of time between 0 and 60.
Don’t believe me? Divide a half in half. You get half & half. They call it half & half because it comes out of cow that has mixed ethnicity. Whole milk, on the other hand, comes out of a pure-bred cow. They have both types in Mississippi, pure cows and halfies. Lots o’ cows, yep.
[4.] Does anybody ever make it to 60, and if so, who?
I bet that Gandhi counted to 60 a few times, although I doubt that he ever said “Mississippi”. They have a statue of him in Washington, D.C. In the statue, he braces himself with a walking stick and wears a thin wrap. I worry about him when it gets below freezing. He must be mighty cold!
[5.] The 1960s is a distant target.
You could count to the 1960s by year and by Mississippi, so you could go “1900-Mississippi, 1901-Mississippi”, and so forth, but by 1960-Mississippi you’d be too exhausted to enjoy John Coltrane’s music, which transformed so much turmoil into beauty … but I digress.
[6.] What does each unit of 1-Mississippi indicate?
The lightning is 3-Mississippi away. You are 1 Mississippi closer to chasing your friends. In 9-Mississippi the CEO will issue a public statement but will shy away from making an apology. It takes Umpteen-Mississippi to achieve happiness unless you experience Premature-Mississippi.
[7.] Let’s try the Stuff Smith Counting Game in FrenchOne = un. Two = deux. Three = trois, et cetera. So OK so: Un-deux// trois-quatre// cinq-six// uh-huit// neuf-woof. Which is how a lot of French ends, with silliness like neuf-woof. You don’t get silliness when counting via 1-Mississippi. You just never get to 60. But at least you have dignity!