courtesy of anthro.ucsc.edu
(To the tune of “Bohemian Rhapsody”)
Is this my real life?
Or just a fantasy?
Down in a test pit
Digging for ar-CHEE-o-lo-GEE
Open my eyes
Brush off an old prize and see
I’m just in grad school
I get no sympathy
Because its easy come easy go
Big old rock, tiny hole
Every time I get close
Just another tree root for me
For me
(read quickly, and like a song)
Yeeeeeeeeelllll…
-lo is fabulous color
a really remarkable hue
It has all the zim of the sunlight
It has all the zang of the dew (when it’s new)
It’s the jubilant zing of a trumpet
Like a starfruit it has all the tang
There’s the sour delight of a lemon that’s ripe
And the sweetness of lemon meringue
OH!
Though apples are crispy and peaches are peachy I’ll still always take the banana-NA
‘Cause yellow ain’t cold, it’s more like honey gold or the voice of great Carlos Santa-NA!
Sunflowers, and fairies, beach sand and canaries, and butter and some kinds of beeean
With sea snakes and frosting, it’s all quite exhausting, so hurry and move on to green!
Ah ba ba ba
Ba Barber Man
Ba ba ba
ba Barber Barber Man
Cuts with left hand
Sprays with a can
I watch him clipping and a-snipping
Clipping and a-cutting Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Man
Needed a cut, I was in luck
Trims were on sale so I paid him seven bucks
Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Barber Man
I watched you clipping and a-snipping
Clipping and a-cutting Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Man
Ba ba ba
Ba Barber Man
Ba ba ba
Ba Barber Barber Man
Cuts with left hand
Sprays with a can
I watched you clipping and a-snipping
Clipping and a-cutting Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Man
[Interlude of clipping noises]
Tried an up-do
Tried dying blue
Knew it wouldn’t do so Barber Man got out the glue
Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Barber Man
You gelled my hair to Kingdom Come
I hope it don’t look dumb Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Man
Barber Man, Barber Man
Barber Man, Barber Man
Barber Man, Barber Man
Barber Man, Barber Man
I seen you clipping and a-snipping
Clipping and a-cutting, Barber Man
Ba ba
Ba Barber Man
When a blood curdling cry says there’s danger nearby
That’s a Moray
When the fish swim away to survive one more day
That’s a Moray
Bells’ll ring
Bring-a-ding-a-ding
Bring-a-ding-a-ding
And you’ll shout “Back to safety!”
Hearts’ll thump
Hump-a-bump-a-bump
Bump-a-bump-a-bump
It’ll be very hasty.
When an eye in the gloom gives you feelings of doom
That’s a moray
If you fall for its lure I should tell you that you’re
out of luck
See those teeth, see those eyes, always wanting a prize
It is frightening!
Here comes something it likes so it brutally strikes
just like lightening!
(Repeat first verse)
You know I love those colors yellow and blue
Oh oh oh, a Swedish thing
Hey look, a girl with a dragon tattoo
Oh oh oh, a Swedish thing
Dreaming of snowdrifts, and frigid ice
And a hot spring for lovers
Could use a juicy meatball right about now
Oh oh oh, a Swedish thing
It’s Abba’s country
Oh oh oh, It’s Abba’s country yeah
This lovely Swedish thing
All alone in the darkness, thought it was the mead
Oh oh oh, a Swedish thing
When I first saw my oh so lovely Swede
Oh oh oh, a Swedish thing
She knew I was hungry, meatballs she made
then came a massage
Think I’m in love with this place
Oh oh oh, a Swedish thing
Linnaeus’s home
Oh oh oh, Linnaeus’s home yeah
This lovely Swedish thing
I’m sittin’ on a plane
Just sitting on a plane
These seats are all lumpy
My back is in pain
My kids are in a fight
This seatbelt’s too tight
I’ll need alcohol to get past this flight
Is the stewardess near?
I’d really like a beer
Just pour me some Budweiser, and I’ll be in the clear
My sinuses feel pain
Why didn’t we take the train?
I’m sittin’, just sittin’ on a plane!
The other night I was bored and out of ideas for what to do. Not a pleasant combination. My usual entertainments had lost their charms, and I needed something to kill time. So I clicked on Google and on a whim began to search for a composer I liked. (This is the sort of thing I’ve been known to do, learn random but interesting information, and then spring it on people when they least expect and most need it.) Up popped the familiar name of Wikipedia, and I moved to the article. As I started to read I noticed with shock that the artist had been born on the same day as I had: June 23rd. (It was a different year of course.) My eyes kept scanning the page, but the surprising and delightful coincidence had side-tracked my focus entirely. What were the chances? Well, one in 365 actually. Still, it was impressive.
Since the artist had lost my interest, and the birthday coincidence had gained it, I began looking for things related to that date in history. Apparently the Roman emperor Vespasian died on that day. Hitler had conquered Paris by that day. As I kept going down the list I noticed that the entries were increasingly about wars, deaths, and other unpleasant affairs. This was depressing. Maybe the births would be more cheerful. Scrolling down, I suddenly stopped when I noticed a single name next to a year. It was the year in which I was born. This person was the same age as me. Almost exactly the same age. For a reason I cannot explain, I suddenly felt very connected with the person, like we shared a unique bond in that when one of us had just been released screaming from the womb into the world, the other, miles away, had just gone through the same experience. Who WAS this person? I found out they were an actor, but the article didn’t say much else. Switching over to Google Images, I ran the name through again, but with no luck. There were pictures alright, but none of them seemed to fit the person’s age or nationality. Finally I found him. It was not what I had expected. Instead of a handsome confident figure, as the pictures of actors often are, he had plain straight hair and glasses. His eyes were slightly too far apart, and he had a goofy look on his face. This was HIM? Now the connection lost some of its charm. I guess he wasn’t much like me after all. I hoped.
Now what? I decided to switch tactics, and began an image search for June 23rd. Well, the images didn’t have the same unpleasantness as the deaths and wars, but that was just because they were so random and unrelated that it was hard to make any sense out of them. For example, next to a Manga picture of girl was a boxer and a picture of fireworks. This was getting me nowhere. Clicking once again on the search bar, I added my birth year to the date. More pictures sprouted from the page, like a colony of mushrooms, but these were of a different species than those I had just seen. Instead of pop culture trash, I found images of everyday people. Over here was a someone with an American flag, over there was a couple getting married. Who were they all? What had happened to them in the time since that fateful date? Or was it fateful at all? I know it’s completely illogical, but the back of my mind had always had this idea that when I was born everything changed for 24 hours. The birds weren’t singing for their mates, they were serenading my arrival into the world. People everywhere had stopped in their tracks to look around themselves and perhaps comment on how beautiful the day was. No other events had happened that day, at least not important ones. Of course I knew that this could not be the case. Logic had conquered that territory of my mind long ago. But I had still always had that little voice of resistance leading me on.
Now that voice was crushed. It looked like it had just been an ordinary day for everyone on June 23rd of that year. Well, maybe not for everyone. The married couple for example. But by and large, on that day people went to work, people relaxed, people drove, people sang, people died, and people, yes other people, were born. No matter what happened, there would be no stopping. Don’t we all know it? Every day we muddle through our lives when out there somewhere someone is taking a breath for the first time. Or perhaps the last. But life won’t wait for them, nor will it ever wait for others in the future. On it will press, and all we can do it ride it like a train to infinity. But we hope that when we come to our last stop, a part of the world: the friends we’ve made, the people we love, will slow the pace of life for us, even if just for a moment.
You’ve read the blog. Now have it for your own. Coming soon is the book the world has been waiting for. The Best of SCRIBERE: A Writer’s Blog Volume 1 will soon be available through online order. A fresh new collection of the greatest writings from SCRIBERE’s vast archive of over one hundred fifteen works, hand picked by the author himself! Also includes a never before seen introduction and afterword. For a very reasonable price, you can purchase your very own high quality copy of the stories, musings, and poetry you love. Keep your eye out for updates in the near future.
A preliminary model of the new cover!
You know on Christmas Eve how every shopping mall from here to Bermuda is packed with despairing individuals who put off their Christmas shopping? I am one of those people. Except my anxiety attacks come in my own house rather than in a crowded Target. I try to keep this policy from when I was very little of making the presents whenever possible. It seems more personal that way. But as a result I always run into the same problems. I remember when I was ten, crying on Christmas Eve because the CD covers I’d made for the special mixed CDs I’d burned for my parents weren’t printing right. This also brings up the point that I tend to overdo my gift ideas. Even if I start early, these things always find a way to drag on until the last possible moment.
This year, I had a fantastic idea for what to give my parents. Ever since I’d started this website they’d been my most adamant readers, and I wanted to thank them for that. So I decided to make them a book. But not just any book. It was to be “The Best of SCRIBERE: A Writer’s Blog Volume 1!” Of course, I didn’t quite have the resources at the time to make an actual book, so after a bit of planning I decided to print the pages all on printer paper and fasten them together with metal brads. I felt like I was back in elementary school, but I knew it would get the job done. Then, two problems arose that changed the game plan. First, it turned out that I would have roughly fifty pages in my “book,” meaning not only would they all have to fit on the fastener, but they all had to be hole-punched in the exact same spot. A difficult task if you only have a single hole-punch. The second problem became clear after I’d printed my first test page. In an effort to minimize my page count, I decided to double side the pages. Since the printer was old and didn’t do that sort of thing, I had to feed the pages in myself (more on THAT lovely procedure later). Anyway, after I’d printed text on both sides of my first test page, I realized that the printer paper was far too thin. You could see the words on the other side bleeding through, making it difficult to read and look even cheaper than it already was. I had to find a new alternative.
CARDSTOCK. It even sounds more impressive than “printer paper.” I decided to switch tactics and bought a fifty-sheet package of cardstock, along with a clear binder to keep my pages together. But time was running out. I only had a day in a half left to complete the project before Christmas Day, and I still hadn’t created the actual pages yet. All I had was the raw material from my website, and a blueprint for how the book would be constructed. I already knew it would be divided into four categories, and would have an introduction, a dedication, a title page, and a table of contents. Starting to get worried, I set to work.
As it turned out, making the pages themselves was harder than I’d thought. At first I’d faintly hoped that I could make the whole book as a single Microsoft Word document. Ha ha ha. How quickly I learned the error of THAT idea. Every page had slightly different formatting, and this wreaked havoc with the rest of the manuscript. Extra spaces and page cutoffs were abundant, leading me to the conclusion that I would have to make fifty some different Word documents. Crap.
To add insult to injury, some of the more complicated pages refused to print correctly. It would have been one thing if they didn’t print at all. Unfortunately, they would instead print about three-quarters of the way, and then freeze the printer. On the screen, the little printer app said that the printer was “Idle.” “IDLE?!” I wanted to scream. “What the hell is THAT supposed to mean?!” After I clicked “Resume” half a dozen times, a second little box would pop up saying “error” followed by a list of unreadable characters. Then, a few seconds later the printer would magically come back to life…and spit the page out partially finished. Next, it would ask for more. Finally, the answer came from my mother. All she knew was that I was using Word and that the present was for my father, not her as well. (A sneaky yet desperate tactic.) “Why don’t you just convert it to a PDF document?” she asked. It turned out to be my life saver. Pages started to print again, and the project was back on track.
Just printing the text would have been fine, but anyone who knows me knows I am both a procrastinator and a perfectionist. A dangerous combination to be sure. I decided that it would be cool if I added these little figures I’d drawn on the computer a while back to the writings themselves. That was only the beginning. By the end of my brainstorm I’d used a huge scroll, a pepperoni pizza, and other seemingly bizarre images that actually fit in quite nicely. At the chime of 8 o’clock on Christmas Eve I was halfway done.
Long after everyone else was dreaming of sugar plums and Williams-Sonoma cookware, I was still sitting at my computer screen, my actions reduced significantly in energy. When Word unexpectedly crashed losing all my files, I barely even batted an eye. I reopened what documents had been saved and kept on working. By the time I went to sleep I had finished the layouts of all the pages, including the cover. All I had to do was print them out the next day.
The next day I woke up late. I had slept in the basement where the computer was, and where there were no windows to wake me up with sunlight. By the time consciousness came back to me, I could hear Pink Martini singing holiday tunes above me. Some friends of ours were spending Christmas with us, and had slept in a bedroom also in the basement. When they’d last seen me, I was burning the midnight oil at the computer, my eyes nothing more than glassy stares. By the time they got up again I was back at the computer, prompting them to ask, “did you stay there all night?!” I looked at them, smiled, and said yes.
By one o’clock on Christmas Day, I had still not finished despite working at the computer all day. However, I was very close to the end. Only six more pages to go. Five more. The count down was on. That’s when my mother came down to say we were about to open presents. Four more. Three. “Come on up!” they called from above. My teeth were gritted, my mind blocking out all other distractions. Two. I was a whirlwind of vigor, whipping the paper out as soon as it was done, and reversing it for the next page. One. “Come OOOONNN!” they shouted. DONE. I quickly assembled the paper, and shoved it into place. Then I delicately began to slide the cover into the front of the binder. My mother came down again. “What’s going on?! Come on, we’re all ready!” “Don’t look at this!” I yelped. Why was this stupid piece of paper not sliding in?! Come ON! YES! It was in. I slammed the binder shut, hurled it into a colorful Christmas bag, and leaped up the stairs to where the rest of my family was waiting. I deposited the bag, and sat calmly on the couch beside my father. My grandmother already had a large box marked “Talbots” sitting in her hands.
During the opening of presents, I completely forgot about the book. Then my father reminded me. “So where’s that thing you’ve been working so hard on?” I proudly handed him the bag. “This is for you too, mom.” She smiled. “Ok,” she said. The bow was untied. The binder was lifted up. “Wow,” said my father. Now it was my turn to smile. “I’m glad you like it.” Then my father turned to me. “Maybe we should print this as a real book.” There was every hint of seriousness in his voice. I looked at him, and thus an idea was born.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we were younger
Back when gas was 20 cents at most
When we felt a youthful primal hunger
For the girls that now just make the roast.
Oh how the food from Martha’s was the best
Now we just eat stuff that we can digest.
Back before the rice life was a feather
Carefree happy days with nothing bad
Wasn’t it real nice to feel the leather
Padding in the car we stole from Dad.
Remember running into Miss Greene’s big hedge
Now all we want is good insurance coverage.
Now that we eat rice.
Maybe if
We keep remembering good times they’ll come back to us.
Way back when
We did the simple tasks of life without a fuss.
We could pee freely
Without an accessory
Back before the riiiiiicce
Though it was nice to feel those times again
I think I heard the timer for my medicine
Yep, now we’re all old men
Now that we eat rice
SCRIBERE 