Something vaguely Bard-like, in honor of spring

April 8, 2009

Cometh I bearing cocke and cumme…

Avail me not of it, Ignacio. ‘Tis no more the flowers of that bud in want of it, now that good Cecila is off to nunnery.

Cecilia’s memory burns but the fire is containeth and the ladle fit for any hand…

So call you then for her sister, Beatrice?

Indeed, as she buddeth on the spring, tis evident…

Ah but the bulls all laden in finery puff and huff the dust on their heels thus in the heat of the season. Thou ist not lonely in the pursuit, though lone of solitary bursting heart, tis the way of the chase … bullish sputum all round sows seeds of the land.

Aye, seems the path to Beatrice is laden full of’t.

Containeth not that which burns hotly as thy passion, goodly Ignacio.

Aye, for certain, dip’t of’t it must be soon or tis what you say is true, and mine heart and balles be fit of bursting.

I fear thy must contain’t sirrah, for Beatrice returneth not til on the morrow, and barring that may not be seen but for a full fortnight. She does not rise and fall like the sun; she is liketh more the hurricano in her manner. Thus, harken on the morrow and thereafter if need be. And keepeth thy temper even and true, and engageth not in duels with raging bulls of same-said fire.

I will, wise John. Till that breeze bloweth, I shall be but a sheet to’t.

As it must be, goodly Christian.

——-

(c. 2009, E)


I am so so sorry to everyone

January 5, 2009

I apologize. Haul me before the blogosphere court of justice and shoot me for dereliction of duty as blogmeister. Life has required my full attention. It got it, and it got me. Hard. So I will be back here soon, trying to make this a viable blog again, trying to go through and approve all the unread comments, trying to update the Mega Super Mammoth listing, and so on. Work duties call. Must run. -E


Thoughts as I scan the bus for sex

October 29, 2008
Chinese lady I vacillate on; she slides in the seat in front of me; sits. Asian, Chinese, a plus right off the bat. She wiggles out of a dark gray coat, fringed on neck with sharp gray fake fur. The body, rail thin, nice. Very nice. Peach sweater; creamy, hugging her boniness. Her thighs must be exquisite; the tendon must poke through the skin high up the thigh. An extreme turn on. The face, though; rather protruded mouth and teeth, too boyish; androgynous, but not in the way I like. Too much of my mother in that face, somehow. Could not make love to that body staring into that face. She’s a non-starter.
Her Chinese friend boards. Far more rounded face, mouth recessed. This is better. She smiles at the other and makes straight for the seat. She is directly in front of me. Black braided ponytail flaps over seat, inches from me. My face catches the breeze. Curiously I smell nothing, not even a light oiliness. Middle-aged, still retains some youth. Soft face fighting wrinkles, mostly winning except high on the neck. I know this problem. Some freckling. Some weariness. Average body. Could be good. Friendly, slightly addled maybe. Spoke to this woman for the first time last Friday (it is Monday now); a rainy morning. Rain starts conversations. Place was a bus station shelter; both of us waiting on transfer ride. “You ride your bike?” Not in the cold rain, I say. Summer rain, yes. She works where I do, she confirms. Enthusiasm seems overshadowed by preoccupation; or maybe a communication gap. She struggles with English. I struggle to hear. I nod as if understanding. I don’t. Don’t know if there’s a vibe. She spoke to me first, so maybe there is. Don’t care much, I guess.
Older red-headed lady boards; always sits near front in perpendicular row of seats. Catty-corner to me today; affords nice view of her. Tallish, lanky. Bony. Not old, per se; a hint of Desperate Housewives in her. Always provocative shoes with her. She likes shoes, I know; remarked last week on the leopard print pattern on the ancient woman’s shoes. She liked them. So did I. The ancient woman did not ride today; very erratic appearances by her. Too bad, I like her, smeared lipstick, greasy face and all. Could be her gigolo if she had the cash. So the redhead’s shoes today are pointed black boots; very hot. Really tiny points, long tapering. Red hair, darkish, slightly unruly, matted with spray; hardish. Business-like bearing. Black skirt. Dark red nail polish. Thin, lovely fingers. Not long, not wrinkled, soft. Hand model hands. Face thin, nose thin, lips average atop slightly jutting chin. Blue eyes; blue eyes and red hair. Unusual, fascinating. Balding a bit at the parted hair, white scalp drowns out the lingering strands. Betrays age. She reads through delicate frames; blueish-tinted frames, complements her eyes. Jowlish on neck, though. Could lose this; probably unable. Can’t be helped.
Would I? With her? Probably.
Men in back, the usual group, talking loudly. Well, just one—the opinion leader. Thinnish man with golden wire specks, light voice projects well. 60, 50; he counts down the likely trajectory of oil barrel cost. AIG, rated triple A, he exclaims, who saw that coming? He wonders. Manly talk. Very important.
Much blowing of noses today. Curiously, I haven’t this problem.
Last stop before the expressway. The big boned tall brunette. The one with the baggy tired eyes she tries to cement over with makeup. Hands and face made of Styrofoam. Odd complexion, texture. Not appealing. But her sadness draws me. Hair brownish with red hints, medium length. Smart enough, doted over, but accidental enough to appeal. Pudginess hinted all over, but mostly in hands and face. Solidly built lady, not overweight though. Face canine somehow, St. Bernardish, There’s a jowl but it’s solid, not turkeyish. Seems natural with her face, somehow. Not unattractive, this lady, but something transvestite-like about her. Mannish; the beefy jaws and hands emphasize… Much eyeliner on brow to emphasize femininity. Everything on the face slightly mannish somehow, yet unmistakably feminine. I wonder if she knows? Smartly dressed. Turtleneck sweater top, black. Pearlish necklace (more than one?) A lapel pin or delicate broach, perhaps, affixed over breastplate. Can’t tell, obscured by pearls. Large ring on left hand, a blueish stone in a hefty gold mount. She clasps a tissue in those stubby, mannish Styrofoam hands. She sits next to the redhead. They do not speak; they are not friends. Both business-like ladies. Both weary. I feel for them. I want to let them know it’s OK. Maybe they know better.
She rests her left arm on a smart little black purse. Can I see a gator-skin texture on it? Not sure. The handle rests down on her hard light tan skirt. The skirt stops above large knees. Her knees out, and below the bend a tantalizing few inches of a muscular, tannish lower leg. They rise out of high black boots. Stiletto-type heels, pointed toes. All of this very intoxicating. Could stare at this for the whole trip, and longer.
She grasps a metal rail with her right hand while the other rests on the purse. She crosses her legs. Too much. Skirt hikes up on beefy hard thigh. She knows, yanks it down a bit. She thinks, stares at nothing but her thoughts. Looks up, then down. Seems dissatisfied. Her mouth seems lazy, lips pursed. Have never seen her smile, I realize. I feel for her.
I vacillate on her. Would I? Probably.
I now think of a Venus-like quality to her face; stalwart, like something on a coin or bill, or Brigitte Helm. But looser, flabbier. That Styrofoam quality undoes it. She rouges over it, slightly too much.
-Evan

Still on hiatus, a brief update

October 23, 2008

Your ole pal Gravy has been swimming with the tide lately, sopping up life’s drippings on my rickety, flimsy fragile liferaft, inadequate perhaps to the task of navigation. It’s going to be awhile longer before I can get back to this business of blogging. My life continues to be in tumult; the gravy makes for thick wading. I’m moving ahead, but the high viscosity is a challenge. Divorce looms and a rebound romance has failed, but there are other lovely people who’ve gained my eyes, ears and maybe my heart. And my existing friendships have strengthened. Everyone I know is getting the whole story, and they all have advice. I listen, and let the ideas bounce around, making echo sounds off my inner skull, because my brain has turned to mush and can’t absorb them too very well. I’m a dreamer and I hope. Romance is all that matters to me right now. All very interesting, and all very time consuming. But hey, at least it’s life, moreso than blogging, and lots more interesting, yes?

-Evan


Gravy Bread’s Life is in Tumult, Please Stand By

September 3, 2008

Well, I hope soon to be able to inform you as to my status. I am ending one relationship and beginning another. I can’t reveal full details yet. So there’s bad news but also lots of good news (actually it’s all good news but there’s a struggle ahead). I really can’t wait to tell everyone, but for now I just can’t tell. I will try to maintain and expand the Mega Super Mammoth MP3 Blog List. But even that I’m falling behind on. Please bear with me. When things get worked out your host will be a happier, healthier camper and a better blogmaster. Yours truly,

-Evan


Hero of the Day: Dr. Thomas Mancuso

August 29, 2008

My father, who was a local labor leader and president for many years, died five years ago. The fellow at left is not him, but someone he admired. Among my dad’s effects was a book called, “Help for the Working Wounded,” issued by the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers and written by a fellow named Dr. Thomas Mancuso. That’s the guy at left.
Well, I picked up this pulpy looking thing and read it, and it was a shocking and detailed litany of safety outrages perpetrated upon working people by careless corporations. A lot of these dangers involved the use of toxic chemicals in manufacturing.
Mancuso died in 2004 at age 92 after devoting his life to studying the effects of these exposures and fighting for stricter rules to protect workers. When the government pressured him to water down his findings about radiation exposure, he told them in his own way that they could fuck themselves. And his funds were cut off. But he kept on going and published his studies anyway.
Mancuso’s one of those heroes that doesn’t get mentioned in our general discourse, and in fact, even the English version of Wikipedia doesn’t have an entry on him—but the German version does. Go figure.
There’s not much on the web either, apart from this adequate piece from a blog called Confined Space.
So, let’s make Dr. Thomas Mancuso our hero of the day.
-Evan


The Lifespan of a Bell Bicycle Pedal = Two Big Weeks

August 21, 2008

A couple weeks back I posted a big tutorial on installing new bike pedals (See How He Uses a Spanner.., Gravy Bread, Aug. 5)—those pedals being Bell Universal Fit Comp Bicycle Pedals, purchased at good ole Walmart. I didn’t honestly expect these pedals to last as long as the previous ones they replaced, which made it very nearly to the three-year mark, three very grueling years. I did, however, expect the new ones to make it for at least one year. Ha! How about 18 big days? That’s right. Catastrophic failure of the right pedal—installed on Aug. 3—occurred the night of Aug.20, on my way home, and this in fairly dangerous traffic. Luckily my foot was able to grip the remaining metal shaft enough to get me over some railroad tracks and out of the way of several cars behind me as we went through a busy intersection. After traffic cleared, I rode back to the spot near the tracks where the pedal had fallen off. Examination later, as shown in these pictures, reveals a complete separation of the middle part from the rest of the pedal. How can something meant for such a serious, grueling endeavor as bike pedaling be so shoddily made? I will be taking this back with the receipt, but without the original packaging (I threw it out) I’m not sure what to expect. I’m more baffled than pissed off. A company is mass manufacturing a product so unsuited and inadequate for its purpose – on the shelves of every Walmart, and that’s a lot of stores with a lot of shitty Bell bike pedals, if indeed, they were made with the same bad plastic or design. Guess I’ll be heading for the bike shop for pedals after all. -EG


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