It's Been A LOOOONNNNGGGG Time!

I realized (and it was sort of pointed out to me) when I wrote that sad, sad poem the other day, that it has been a long time since I ran a contest around here. Three whole months plus one week, if you can believe it! So I lopped the beginning off the post I planned for today and decided to run it by itself as a miniature quiz/competition.

One Friend and Khurston (and Chris, by extension, just in case) are disqualified, because I've already told them this little bit of information, but for the rest of you... The first person who guesses the correct answer to the following question gets a guaranteed-hysterical poem/photo montage posted right here in their honor sometime this coming weekend.

Aren't you excited? I am!

Ready? Okay!

What can you deduce about me this week (as opposed to last week or, hopefully, next week) from the following photo of my desk?

Think of what you know of me, look at old pictures on the blog if you like, find the difference between this picture and others, and then imagine what reason there could be for such a difference.

So go! Guess! Play!



Oh, and because it's been a long time since this, too (two months! holy crap! no wonder I feel faint!), here's a little something-something to warm the blood on these crisp early autumn morns:

I could make a really foul joke here about clams, but I'll refrain.

Over The Hump

There once was a sister named Khurston
Who thought Wednesday would be the worst one
But Khurston's mistaken
I'm almost done shakin'
Wednesday was a good day -- the first one!


I'll tell you all about it later.

Okay, Sandy & Michael...

...I'll close the contest.

Because you're right -- oxblood it is!!!!

Phew, that was hard. Thanks, everybody, for playing -- whether you were really trying or just being silly. I don't know which I appreciate more.

I'll write the poem in the morning. Though I don't know how I'll ever find a rhyme for Sandy & Michael...

Would You Like Me To EXPLAIN...?

Positraction, positraction, I’ll explain you.
You’re so like a metaphor for spinning wheels.
This allusion caused confusion – I don’t blame you
If you’re one of those who thought that was the deal.

Do you recall My Cousin Vinny’s Mona Lisa?
Marisa Tomei’s Oscar-winning part?
Khurston did, and she left me a comment.
Two days later, time to fête her...
I was inspired by Marisa’s Mona Lisa
To act a brassy, positrashy work of tart.

Tomorrow, I swear to god, I'll actually do something around this house...

Sic

I'm sorry for the small type of what follows, but the format of the poem doesn't work if each line doesn't fit on one line. If you can't read it as is, I've posted the entire thing (with stupid ugly formatting, and without the links) as a comment on this very post...


“I cannot come to camp today,” says Brandon M, “and by the way
“I want more money than I said. The guy I shot at, he's not dead;
“The guys I stomped, they're walking since. So let’s talk dollars, forget sense.”

Georgetown House worked really hard for this homage from the bard
(That’s me this time, not William S. – and how do you like that largesse?)
So she gets an entire verse (except the part on me, of course)

When others said “He’s a mistake” I gave the kid a brand-clean slate.
I thought he knew the chance he’d gotten, I thought he'd stop being rotten.
But I was wrong, others were right: this dog’s still looking for a fight.

LadyScot’s one of the ones who remembers the brawls and guns.
Donna played by private email, bringing up the new five-year deal.
(Joe D. – though he's off the mark – gets credit for the Whinehouse snark)

Rookie holdouts are the norm, but from a punk it’s just bad form.
If you’re that good, let’s see you prove it. We’ve seen you’re* ass, let’s see you move it.
Really, what’s your damage, Heather? I’m sorry, I mean Meriweather…

*not a typo, but a very clever play on words…

I Pricked A Winner!

Prick is my favorite, though Poppo never said it,
Leaving it up to the reader to get it.
All that I know is I started in May,
Going a month with a job every day.
I even extended, I’m two months in now
And this guy thinks he’s so darn clever – this cow
Ruminated my Manifestation
Into a bolus of appropriation.
Some folks (like Goody) say I should be flattered;
Maybe I would be, if I thought the cow mattered.


Goody wants me to point out that I know it's not technically that P-word I've been so careful not to say, and I'm not actually accusing anyone of anything. Just having a little fun, and pointing out an incredibly (some might say unbelievably) happenstantial -- oh, let's just call it a coincidence, shall we?

The P Word

In a comment on my last post, Robert suggested a P-word contest, regarding this little nugget that I closed with:

"This Fellow I’ve Just Heard Of Who’s Decided To Do A Blog Entry A Day For Thirty Days About His Renovation Project: Oh, I know there’s a P word I could use here, but it’s not one a lady in my line of work likes to throw around…"

So gimme a P!

This time the winner doesn't have to be first or right -- I'll just pick whichever word I like the best, so enter early and often. (If you win, as always, I'll make a poem with your name in it.)

I think I might already know what form this poem will be in, but I'm open to suggestions (especially from winners)...

Day 42: With Apologies To The Unicorns

a long time ago (like yesterday)
there was more things going Wrong than you could ever say
i was running around getting f.ed at every turn
and the worstiest of all was the ace of furn
there was mean Keyspan people and Comcast freaks
there was humper bumper traffic and toilet leaks
there was trainsanddrainsandhusbandfights but sure as you’re born
the worstiest of all was the ace of furn

the furnace guy promised he would come and see
he says "stand back, i'll be there at fivethirty"
fivethirty comes and i'm sittinonthecouch
this back can't be no good for my slouch
(Imean)
and you take mean Keyspan people and Comcast freaks
take humper bumper traffic and toilet leaks
take trainsanddrainsandhusbandfights but sure as you’re born
buddy don’t you forget my ace of furn

now Charlie was there and she answered the callin'
she knew about ABZ and she kept me from bawlin'
(wellnotquite)
but i couldn't talk to her till after eight
cuz furnguy's call would no longer wait
hey Chuck i got your mean Keyspan people and Comcast freaks
your humper bumper traffic and toilet leaks
got your trainsanddrainsandhusbandfights but chuck i’m so forlorn
cause i just don't see no ace of furn

i waited till nine through the drivin' rain
but the furnace guy was hidin' playin' silly games
we tried callin' and yellin' but it didn’t do durn
oh that silly ace of furn
then the PAP started PAPpin' and the roof started shakin'
the husband started husbandin' and the floor started bacon
the mice started squeakin' and the cats started purrin'
everything's pissed about the ace of furn
i mean the mean Keyspan people and Comcast freaks
the humper bumper traffic and toilet leaks
I cried "i need sleep, i've got to in-turn"
and i just can't wait for that ace of furn

then the house started movin' and it drifted with the tide
and the furnace guy looked up from his truck and cried
and the water come up and sort of floated him away
thats why you'll never see a furnace guy to this day
you'll see a lot of Keyspan people and a whole mess of freaks
you'll see humper bumper traffic and lots of toilet leaks
you'll see trainsanddrainsandhusbandfights but sure as you’re born
you're never gonna see no
(singitwithme)
aaaaaace
ooooof
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurn

This was a request, for those of you who don't read the comments. I couldn't really get the ee formatting in blogger the way I had it in Word, because tabs and extra spaces don't work here, but you get the jist. Thanks, I feel a lot better now...

Day 41: Accomplished (oh it so counts)
Time: All f.ing day.
Cost: Another little piece of my heart (takeit).
Getting To Combine Cummings -- Sorry, cummings -- And Uncle Shelby Instead Of Writing What I Should Be Writing In The Morning Because I've Come To Believe I'm No Good At That Anyway And Someone Should Really Just Give Me A Spatula And A Paper Hat And Be Done With It: Priceless, and a little bit precious (in the obnoxious kind of way).