Things lately (ish)

Someday, in the future, when our brains are half computers, we'll simply be able to think our blogposts and BLAM there they'll be uploaded and ready to go. There won't be any of the annoying lag time between posts, no, it'll be a constant stream of witty, insightful, poetic, and captivating notions all integrated seamlessesly as we munch our morning cereal. Sigh.

Until then I must do better about writing on here from time to time. I like it when I do it, so here goes: some new things going on in the lives of Ryan and Jacqui.

Captain
We've got a new little buddy to keep us company. He's a 3 month old dachsund named Captain and he's really, pretty fantastic (more and better pictures coming soon!). We got him from a rescue place up near Toledo in late September, and so the past few weeks have been at equal turns fun and challenging He's a total puppy and goes from completely unconcious with weariness to racing around like a torpedo and chewing everything he can get at. He's been great at making friends with people and we love him a lot!

Whistling in the Dark
Jacqui and I, along with our friends Karl and Jessie, are working behind the scenes on a play! It's a ghost play called Woman in Black and is being put on by some friends of ours who started this really great theatre company in town called Whistling int he Dark Theatre. It's felt really good to get back to working on theatre and Wild Goose Creative has more coming this winter with a partnership with the guys at Whistling for their Christmas show Jacob Marley's Christmas Carol, should be a good time.

Our House
I realized I never really blogged about it, but WE BOUGHT A HOUSE. Of course this was back in July so some of the newness has worn off, but surprisingly it still feels like we're settling in, in a good way, and making it home. It's in a great part of town on a quiet (except for the occasional train) little street called Como. Built in 1942 it's a three bedroom brown cape cod. Some of our favorite parts are the little sunroom off our bedroom, the screened in porch off the sunroom, the great backyard off of the porch (it's a little cozy labryinth), and the finished basement. We love having people over so feel free to invite yourself over anytime...

Free Beer, Free Food, Great Music

Join us for a special concert, one night only!

August 15, 2009 • 8pm

Tickets at the Door • Pay What you Want • KIDS any age FREE

FREE FOOD and BYOB or enjoy FREE BEER on us! Sponsored by PBR!

Morgan Foster, and father, Joe Foster, join us to share a night of new songs, old standards, and great stories.

Lead singer of the popular Chicago based band Common Shiner, Morgan Foster is no stranger to the spot light having played in some of the Windy City’s most celebrated venues. Foster’s songwriting, which has been described as “heartfelt…epic but humble, and full of stories that draw you in and make you listen up.” with lyrics that have a “pop sensibility, that people can really latch on tom,” is beautiful and sure to be a highlight.

Dad, Joe, is no slouch either, originally hailing from the east coast and now a folk charmer throughout southwest Michigan, Joe plays some of the best old timey folk tunes you’ve ever heard. Joe is also a fantastic storyteller weaving in a fascinating and hilarious anecdotes between each song.

In this rare joint show both will bring their own unique style and presence to the stage as they offer up an evening unforgettable stories and tunes.

Bacon Poem

This is a new poem that I wrote for Bacon Camp, an event that happened at Wild Goose Creative this past weekend. It was a celebration of all things bacon, including over 15 different food entries, craft and art pieces, and many, many pounds of bacon.

As part of the event I was asked if I would write some bacon slam poetry, which was ridiculous and fun. In a rarity of photographic fortuitousness you can actually see a picture of me performing this very poem live here. I love Emma, who wandered in during the middle. There is no doubt she upstaged me with her unbearable cuteness, a fact which I am perfectly okay with :)

Bacon Days

The pop of the grease nearly making me blind
worth the barrage of hot spit
just to sit and hear it sizzle
memories turning in the back of my mind.

Saturday morning cartoons
and dad’s famous eggs
which in life I was later to learn was
simply achieved by the addition of
Velveeta cheese and a dash of milk
yellow smooth like silk
as he whipped the yolks to a froth
and scrambled his way to family legend.
Easy trick, but he never let on,
content for our humble adoration
as we praised his culinary creation.

Truth be told though we were just being nice,
lauding the scrambled centerpiece
but all the while eggs, an after thought
our hickory smoked brains waiting for the slam and sizzle
on the griddle for the thick cut slices to reign down
and generously fill our bellies with
sweet and salty sustenance.

It was and is still true that there is
never
enough
bacon.
It’s a statistical, empirical fact.
It’s salt, it’s fat, it’s smoke, it’s crunch, it’s chew,
and you
you can always eat one more half morsel,
savor one more partial slice poached from a friend’s platter
or rejoice over one more unearthed crumble
hiding like pink gold glistening like
Yukon treasure from under the toast or hashbrowns
boring bedrock concealing a coveted gem
ready to be mined.

Just briefly, I’d like to pause this poem
for a quick public serve announcement
And it is this:
If you out for breakfast and it comes times for a sausage vs. bacon decision,
Always get the bacon. There are no exceptions to this rule.
To take it a step further if they should
give you the choice to mix and match
do not be fooled.
Always get ALL bacon.
In the moment there might be some deluded part of you that thinks
“Hey, what’s the harm in mixing it up a little?
A little bit of this, little bit of that, little sausage, little bacon.”
Wrong.
You will always be disappointed.
And you will treat the sausage differently,
covering it syrup, pushing it around your plate,
silently wishing that you’d just done
what you knew in your heart was right.
And that’s just not fair to sausage.
Sausage has it tough enough as it is
simply by virtue of it
not
being
bacon
without you and your false hope.
This announcement was brought it to you by
you guessed it
Bacon.
Back to the poem.

l feel it now like nostalgic smoky potpourri
(or maybe pork-pourri?)
hand turning over handle
cast iron sizzle pop blanketing my house
with the fine aroma of
summer vacation
of snow day,
of honeymoon
of those secret mornings where
there is enough time
to forgo granola
pass on the poptart
take a sabbatical from cereal
and snuggle deep under the covers
for 10 more minutes
before you can’t take it
and you need to go find
and embrace
whoever is making your brain
explode with goodwill, joy and
holy culinary reverence
towards breakfast,
towards your fellowman
and towards the world.

New Poem

Untitled

My breath hits the glass and the molecules collide.
There is carbonated death in the air as
atoms twist and condense between streetlights.
and through windows warfare sparks in the millimeters between souls.

I’ve traded in circles of light for smoke,
walking down crooked sidewalks with
burlap sacks of ash and soot,
scattering filament and fog over the shoulders of strangers and lovers alike.
Once perfect photons tarnished, collapsing into neon knots
and phosphorescent ghosts.

In the middle of the day
we wake to dreamy silence deafened by the
heavy weight in our brains, wearing chemicals
like overcoats, enthralled with the backside of shadows,
trying to look underneath and peel back electrons from thin air.

I have given too much and asked for too little.
Accustom to the haze I shield my eyes from the blinding blaze
and wait for morning to come.

On your mark, get set....

Each year down in Buda, TX there is a fun little event know as the Buda Wienerdog races. This is their poster for this year. Enough said really.

The reasons I'm up on the latest news about an obscure animal sporting event down in Texas sadly, are multitudinous, however they are in no small part to due to my purchasing a little ground breaking film I purchased for Jacqui's birthday last year. Brilliant on so many levels it's been a real driving force in changing the face of modern cinema.

One of these days I'll get down to Buda and take in the festivities myself. Road trip anyone?

Post card

This is a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. Still thinking about it and not quite sure what to make of it/if I like it/if it works. It was in response to a poem Andy had written about an existential walk across a parking lot with someone you love.


Postcard

The first postcard came last week.
Know this: I love you
Was all it said.
In oddly elegant script.
I reread the address sure of an error.
But no, there was my name.
Unable to simply recycle the sentiment
I tacked it to my bulletin board.

Two days later
lonely and three quarters drunk.
my legs twitched to the rhythms of
a crowded room.
The walls were buzzing and muffled
with evaporating expectations
as bodies shuffled, waiting,
glances glancing of armored imaginations
strangers hating to make indirect eye contact.
My vision glazed I swept carelessly
from corner to corner.
when I was suddenly frozen by her smile.

Confused I smiled back
and the intensity of her grin increased
wide, friendly and inviting
her face expanding like
a time lapsed flower inclining towards sunlight
a lopsided and stunning grin
that hit my heart just left of adolescence.

She smiled like she knew me. Like she loved me.

I looked away
Suddenly swept away with friends and motion
filling the inane quotient
of half finished conversations.
And when I looked back she was gone.
My chest heaving, slightly panicked
like a child who’s hand has slipped from a firm grasp
I scanned the faces for hers
and finally silent saw her disappear out the front door of the bar
a red winter hat lost in a sea of bobbing bodies.

That night I re-read the post card
thinking hard, reconstructing lost minutes
hopelessly grasping at the cold
thin straws of memory.
And behind rational thoughts in the secret room
where your heart makes admissions
without consultation
through the foggy breath of and what if calculations
I began to wish that
this stranger
with the brilliant, knowing smile
had carefully lettered each word.

A week later I found out through friends
that they had received similar cards.
A sadly conceived marketing scheme
from a national soft drink company.

Bastards.

I don’t know why but I kept the card,
carefully filing it away between
tax returns and tattered warranties,
both a trinket and a monument,
like a hopeful nesting bird
saving string, and flowers
storing up for spring.

Over the Counter

Last Spring my friend Andy Anderson and I started a poetry conversation project. Basically we wanted a way to write more and wanted someone to collaborate with. The concept was simple: he would write a poem and I would have 48 hours to respond using his poem as a starting place for inspiration. We’d then go back and forth.

We did well for awhile. We were sticking to it and getting into a good rhythm. A bit about the project with a portion from the earlier section of our conversation was even selected for print by a monthly journal. Then the fall hit and things got a little crazy.

Now we're back writing with a new commitment to the 48 hour rule. It's been fun so far and given me a chance to write about things I would never have thought to write about. This is a new poem I wrote in response to a poem Andy wrote about people playing an aggressive game of marbles at work. Enjoy!

Over the Counter

I woke, surprised to find that my head weighed close to 200 pounds.
I craned my eyes toward the dial on the bathroom scale again.
Yes, it was as close to accurate as bathroom scales get.
203 pounds…and a little bit.
Maybe a 1/6 of an extra line.
You know how bathroom scales can be.

Thinking back I wish I’d read the caution label
before I’d purchased the nasal spray.

Stuffy and congested I had liberally squeezed
an inexact amount of the rose scented liquid up each nostril.
I had gone to sleep my sinuses feeling open and lofty
ready to intake and push out air in their usual manner.
Before drifting off I made a few mental notes,
about the sprays general attributes—rating it’s overall effectiveness,
ease of use, and pleasant scent—on a scale I’ve devised
for all over the counter nasal products.

The next morning , my alarm sounding fuzzy and odd,
I found I could not lift my head
more than a few centimeters above my pillow.
Slowly I rolled out of bed, sliding down head first
until my face rested on the floor.
With effort I propelled myself across the floor to the bathroom,
my forehead sliding smoothly across the floor
with a hollow slipping noise.

Luckily the bathroom scale was just inside the door.
After taking some estimated cranial measurements
(You know how bathroom scales can be)
I remembered the spray and thought to read the label.
Knocking it down from the counter
with a firm kick to the base of the sink I read the warning:

“CAUTION: May cause, headaches,
blurred vision, ‘Marble Head’, and fatigue.”

I sighed. This was just my luck.

I hate being fatigued.