Tag Archives: porn

Thursday Free Write

I’m eating a terribly bruised banana.  It’s way too easy to abuse bananas.  I swear.  You leave them alone for five minutes and they’re barely edible.  Just like children.

It’s a beautiful, mild day in New York City, but I’ve spend the majority of it in this dang’ed cubicle.  And wouldn’t you know it, during my 15 minute break, I go outside to catch the last of the day’s sunlight, and a guy soliciting my nonexistent money for a perfectly deserving organization sits down beside me.  Don’t you know, “Matthias” from “Greenpeace”, that I just gave a dollar to that drug addict on the subway the other night?  And he said, “Wow, a real American dollar bill!  I haven’t seen one of these in ages!”  And you expect me to also help do something to protect the environment and promote peace? … I guess that’s reasonable enough.

I went grocery shopping for the first time in weeks the other day and I saw this baffling thing on the shelf:

Who at Pepperidge Farm decided the word “pumpernickel” needed to be shortened to “pump”? And who backed that idea up enough for it to end up on that poor loaf of bread? It’s nothing short of tragic, especially in light of the word’s fascinating and bizarre origins I just found on Dictionary.com: Pumpernickel orig., an opprobrious name for anyone considered disagreeable, equiv. to pumper(n) to break wind + Nickel hypocoristic from of Nikolaus Nicholas (cf. nickel); presumably applied to the bread from its effect on the digestive system .

There’s something pornographic about that phrase, “Dark Pump,” right? I know it’s not just me.

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Ode to the Library

This is probably an unnecessary statement due to the name of this blog, but…I love the library.  It’s such a wonderful concept.  Books, magazines, CDs, DVDs all in one place.  I especially love the library now that I’ve moved to Queens.  Back in Massachusetts, in my hometown, the library was ruined by the menopausal women who worked there and by the possibility of running into someone terrifying.  Someone like…the home economics teacher who my older brother assaulted, or the guy who told me about my brother looking at porn in first period, or the other guy who told me he was taking the school bus to my house to buy drugs from my brother, or just running into my brother himself.  Just kidding.  He doesn’t go to the library.

But in Queens it’s different.  It’s also an adventure, but not one that will stir up nostalgia for my childhood.  Last time I went, for example, I was writing poetry on the second floor when a guy approached me holding a Bengali/English dictionary.  “Are you American?” he asked.  “Yes,” I said.  He asked me to pronounce “enthusiasm” with my American accent.  Then he explained that in Bangladesh he learned English, but it was British English.  And he said something about eggplant and okra, but I didn’t understand.  Then the library was closing, so we had to part ways, but he invited me to the Indian restaurant owned by his uncle where he works. 

At the library in my hometown you’d never get invited to an Indian restaurant.  You’d get slammed with a $30 fine for returning a copy of Angela’s Ashes that was (probably) damaged before you took it out.  Then you’d drive to the ATM, drive back to the library, and hand the heat flash of a woman two twenty dollar bills with tears streaming down your face because now you can’t afford to bail your brother out of jail.

Wish I Was Named After A Fatty Food

Note: I’m watching the Live Your Best Life webcast on Spirituality and turns out…the guy I call Reverend Bacon in this post is actually Reverend Beckwith. Sorry.

Oprah’s doing a whole week of episodes dedicated to the theme “Live Your Best Life.”  Today’s episode was Spirituality 101.  I called my mom during a commercial break to tell her to watch, and it was cool because she was ALREADY watching.  Which isn’t all that weird, since she watches it sometimes.

I’m not a big Oprah fan, but today’s show was a nice little therapy session.  It left you overcome with the feeling, “Yes, everything will be all right.”  People skype’d in with questions for her panel of expert spiritual people–one woman was on the brink of losing her bakery and all of her assets along with it, another woman was angry about her mom’s cancer diagnosis, and one man accumulated debt instead of accepting his gay identity.  Then Oprah played clips of past shows and past guests that had served as “spiritual teachers” for her.  My favorite was this guy John Diaz who survived a horrific plane crash.  He was the most composed, level-headed dude.  The least likely dude to be convinced of anything after watching an Oprah course on spirituality.  The least likely dude to listen to anything that Reverend Bacon here has to say:

diazbacon

(Diaz on the left, Bacon on the right, in case it needed clarification.)

But Diaz had the coolest story about his plane crash. 

“Two years ago, John Diaz was here talking about surviving a horrific plane crash,” Oprah says. “What he said that day is something that I know so many of you who heard it will never forget.”

After the plane crashed, John says he saw people strapped into their seats, burning. As he watched, he says he noticed what appeared to be auras leaving their bodies, some brighter than others. “I thought, ‘The brightness and dimness of the auras were how one lives one’s life,’ so to speak,” he says. “That’s one of the major things that really has changed within me … I want to live my life so my aura, when it leaves, is very bright.”

So that’s my basic goal for 2009–douse my aura with lighter fluid and throw a match.

That said, Thursday you can catch Suze Orman for Money 101 (did you know she’s a lesbian??)  and Friday’s episode is Sex 101. 

Speaking of Sex 101, the porn industry is asking for a federal bailout?  That’s cool…