Tuesday, August 29, 2006
DENIES GREGOR SAMSA'S
DISABILITY CLAIM.By Alex St. Andrews
- - - -Important Notice
GREGOR SAMSA Is Not Eligible for SSI
We are writing about GREGOR SAMSA's claim for Supplemental Security Income (SSI) payments. Based on a review of his/her medical condition, he/she does not qualify for SSI payments on this claim. This is because he/she is not disabled or blind under our rules.
The Decision on GREGOR SAMSA's Case
You listed the following impairment(s) on your SSI application:
I AM A GIGANTIC COCKROACH
You said the above impairment(s) affected you in the following way(s):
I CANNOT STAND OR WALK UPRIGHT OR SPEAK ANY HUMAN LANGUAGE
I CANNOT HANDLE OR MANIPULATE OBJECTS WITH MY MANY LEGS OR ANTENNAE
WHEN I AM ON MY BACK I HAVE DIFFICULTY RIGHTING MYSELF
MY FAMILY HAS IMPRISONED ME IN MY ROOM AND IS FEEDING ME SCRAPS
Get the rest here.
Monday, August 28, 2006
"He found it an interesting book and a quick read," said Mr Snow. "I don't want to go too deep into it, but we discussed the origins of existentialism."And to think it all started five years ago with My Pet Goat. Check out the Supplemental Reading List here.
Note to GB: Do not wait for the last judgment, it takes place every day. - Camus
Anything you'd like to suggest George read?
Friday, August 25, 2006
LOUISIANA 7:00AM EST
"The Science of Astronomy must always be open to change. This rings true in our industry as well" said Lem Figg, an animation industry spokesman.
Lovable cartoon dog Pluto was given a last meal and shot behind a bunkhouse for aging "toon" animals. The bunkhouse is purportedly owned by Hanna-Barbera with ties to Disney. A visibly shaken Deputy Dawg said "This is the part of my job I could easily do without. I'm so tired." An older, greyer, and unusually thoughtful Dawg continued "What can we do? We reflect the real world. Why Pluto? Why couldn't that planet have been named Muskie?" In the doorway of the bunkhouse, an aging Droopy, frowning even more than usual, spoke softly. "So sad, so... Steinbeck." Burial is scheduled for Saturday morning. For the kids, a "live feed" of the funeral is expected.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
So you walked in on an old man peeing in the bathroom and neither one of you seemed embarrassed. He asked you for coffee - convenient because you so happened to be in your favorite coffee spot, and odd because most people keep the door locked. "No," you beg off, still holding the door open as he washes his hands and wipes his nose on the wet paper towel. "I'm Tompur" and he steps through the doorway and yes, this is the same cafe where day in and day out, you arrive in the morning and work until lunchtime over cappucino and croissant but now a separate world since this encounter and everyone down the long yellow hall staring at you while they wait to relieve themselves.
Since last Friday, it's been much like this. As if you stepped off the train to a world familar to the last detail but robbed of all convention. Freeing and terrifying, not sure how to follow the thinking, the experience, unsure of your threshold and tipping off towards insanity might not be your most pragmatic response.
"No. No." You beg off coffee and Tompur nods his head. He understands.
"Some other time. You're with someone?"
Lying and we only just met. Upstairs. Work. Notes. An attempt at novelization. Fruitless. And you, importantly, don't hunger for companionship, perhaps best to keep encounters short and tumble the memory around later like butterscotch toffee after pasta. You world has turned. Husband left informing of communicable disease and heated affair with close office associate and all the late nights and calls to apologize for missing dinners and good-bye parties for mutual acquaintances seem somehow obvious in the face of the sour truth and your embarrassment.
Hasty doctor's appointment for testing. Patronizing looks over a mahogany desk remind you of the men who've never quite stepped up to the plate or deserted altogether for no pressing reason. The violent, dodgy ones stay. Cling on in desperation. Stupid choices, unkindness, and betrayal. Wise up and move on. Study war no more.
Why does the work go on? Denial and uncertainty of the next step. You go through the motions, eye on the downspout. Can you keep this up? Suppose yes and order more coffee hoping Tompur takes no interest. Imagine unrestrained sex in the bathroom with man two feet away from you, but you require someone younger and less blonde. Maybe by lunchtime the opportunity will present itself. No. These things only come around once and now you are in no position for spontaneity.
Struggle to hold off invasion as dreams from the night before flood brainpan while you're trying to hand dollars to the barrista. Nightmares of leper colonies and the one only before twilight where a small blemish transmorgified into an enormous skinbag on your left calf and somehow expanded until clothing became inconvenient and you considered joining the circus, if only briefly, before waking to soft oranges, a full moon, and the wolf at the door.
MY 3-YEAR-OLD SAID
THAT I'M CERTAIN THE
REST OF THE WORLD
WOULD FIND SWEET
Get the rest here. Found via Get Down!
After a Walk in the Park
ME: Did you like having our silly time today?
Did you like our walk?
HIM: I saw ... walky ... and ... (Starts giggling.)
ME: You saw a walky?
HIM: I will crush you.
HIM: Be certain that I am your undoing.
I am everything. There were three things
in my beginning: my interrupted biological
sleep, a birth, and the end to a warm darkness
and silence. And now I am here with you.
And a reckoning is coming, that's all I'm saying.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
I'm a fortunate movie lover. I came of age as an adult viewer between 1969 and '73. Directors like Sam Peckinpah, John Cassavetes, and yes, Clint Eastwood fed me. Their work still sits in my guts like a hot steaming bowl of cinematic Maltex. Actor Tommy Lee Jones has crafted a film that owes a lot to those days. It oozes Peckinpah and Jones himself oozes Warren Oates. It's the best thing I've ever seen him do and I love his work. And what a cast. I'm beginning to think if you see that country musician Dwight Yoakam is acting in a project, that's all you need to know. He picks good stuff. Check him out in "Slingblade" if you haven't already. And musician Levon Helm. Barry Pepper, January Jones and Julio Cedillo. All these and more round out this casting coup. The film is called "The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada". It's a beautifully shot fable set in present day Texas and Mexico. I'll say no more about the story. Get the DVD, some popcorn, and a couple of cold ones and let it unfold.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
According to Wikipedia, Planned Obsolescence was first developed in the 1920's. A guy named Spencer apparently missed the memo. Five days a week I deliver boxes to a building in San Francisco that has a wood and metal freight elevator. Installed by Spencer Elevator Company in 1928. It ain't pretty. It works like a charm.
Spencer Elevator Company exists no more. If poor misguided Mr.Spencer had built something that fell apart once in a while so he could sell some replacement product, perhaps things would be different. A giant corporation. A family of monied Spencer heirs posing with cocktails in a glossy society magazine. Nope. Just an elevator I use every day. Absolutely no foresight.