IFAQ: Infrequently Asked Questions

Last night's Japanese class was a little difficult (Kino no ban kurasu wa chutto muzukashi deshita), but I survived. I shall be adding another revolution to my list of New Year's Revolutions: 1 hour of Japanese verb conjugation everyday. God only knows where that hour is going to come from though. I may need to borrow against my future earnings.

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I am not sure you noticed this bit of news yesterday, but it certainly took me by surprise. Just when we were getting used to being alone in the Cosmos, and Grizzly Adams turns up on Mars. How do you like that? If there is anything which convinces me of the existence of a higher celestial power (with a more sophisticated sense of humor) in the great chain of being, it is odd little snapshots of our psychology like this. It takes a talented eye to pick a bearded man out of a bunch of rocks.

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One thing I am not often asked is: Why do you blog? What is the meaning of all of this drivel you have been posting lately? Especially the poems. Gorblimey! What are you, some kind of sadist. What gives?

I think George Orwell probably had the final word on why a writer writes, in general, but everybody's motivations differ slightly. I do not expect to earn money from blogging, or publishing poems, nor do I really feel that I have anything new to say that has not been said already, or will be said more eloquently by others.

I guess the reason I am here, typing, is more or less selfish. Writing helps me untangle my thoughts. The software at Blogger just makes it easier to embarrass myself.

The addition of rhyme and rhythm to ideas helps me to remember what I am thinking, or was thinking, at a particular juncture in time: allowing me to coordinate the decisions I make in the present with the past, and with the future.

I am not sure I have a particular destination in mind right now. I am just in it for the ride, as it were. But where one is going, after all, depends an awful lot upon where one has been.

And here we are.

The Terrible Twos

I hope I may be forgiven my two minutes worth of Hate the other day. But when you are fed a daily diet of lies, terror and intellectual capitulation in the face of terror, it is hard not to want to, occasionally, blow off steam.




I usually try to do this creatively, in the manner of a controlled demolition we know as a sonnet. Or I go to the gym and add a few extra plates to my squats. Sometimes I compose sonnets while I squat. These efforts I would rather not publish, however, as they are full of the most unprintable, fraudulent, flatulent noise.

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Today is a much better day than Tuesday, I am happy to report. We are two steps closer to the weekend, after all. And even though I left my hat at home this morning, and I nearly froze my head off waiting for the 8:39 in Stamford, I have been trying to keep my spirits up: I am avoiding the news and reading a little poetry online.



It is true that, during lunch, I will be forced to brave the cold and run over to the little stall on 45th and 2nd where they sell hats. I also need to run to CVS. So I will try to look at the hat buying today as an adventure--a slight detour into the world of whimsy. I try to look at Life as an adventure, but when I am tired my imagination is not always up to the task.

Anyhow, if you have nothing else to do this afternoon, why don't you tag along? Everyone should visit New York once in their lives. We can cross 3rd Avenue, into the Crimea. The UN is just down the street. And when we come back to the Chrysler Building, foot cream in hand, clad uniformly in our new Balaclava Helmets, ladies will be leaning out of windows, scattering panties on our heads, like laurels, for conquering heroes.


As a footnote, I should like to add that at 5:08pm today, I actually discovered my old hat, the one I thought I had left at home, in my gym bag. I was rummaging around for a pear. Apparently, I remembered the hat, but forgot the fruit.

How damned irritating. I am hungry. And, at 5:00pm, I always look forward to a little fruit.