i speak fish

New.

2009-01-22T11:26:00.002-05:00

Lasting Impressions or; maybe, maybe, just maybe so.

a hardened artery circumvents finger tips

Stalagmites staggering

dripping

up;

a gravity in reverse

we leave prints which (that)

slowly diminish the concept of

Ever Last

as though the idea of ‘What Sticks?’

needn’t go beyond Honey and tape

as though lasting imprint is nothing more than

the remnants of your palm resting against newsprint

If my pen stroke is weighted:

my letters read like

physical map face.

G’s ape gulfs and gorges

the blank page reads as the Sea of C’s contemplating Deltas. Receding.

washed away shore lines

my verse fades in direct sun or rainfall

“Birth, Something”

Oh, but my offspring (be it hat or child)

is just as fallible as me;

subject to tears & (heartache)

pulled string or vanishing semblance

I saw my name on pages in a book

I saw Art carve the book into Buddha face

What part stays?

Surely, when I run my footsteps follow but

like echoes softening off or

reincarnating, re-allotting

lox and other meat products

2008-12-04T09:10:00.006-05:00

9:10am

Me: (hovering over my bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon)

Receptionist: (peering at my meal) Is that Salmon?

Me: Yes...

Receptionist: I've never had it before but it looks like ham.

Last night, prior to leaving, well after everyone else in the office, I accidentally moved the dial on the radio while shutting it off. It wound up on a lite-easy listen-rock-pop station -- a far cry from the pop r&b and hip hop station i am forced to suffer through every morning.

I've been waiting to see how long these women go without needing to hear "...boots with the fur..."

Me: I've been to the emergency room over a dozen times.

Coworker: One time my eyes were bothering me so bad I had to go to the hospital

Me: Oh my god..

Coworker: Yea! and I was scared because I couldn't see so I had my mother come with me. So we wait and the doctor calls us in and he goes 'Oh your mother doesn't need to come...' but I insisted because, well, I couldn't see!

Me: I hear you, I hear you. So what did it end up being?

Coworker: Well, he turns to me and goes 'By any chance, did you allow a man to ejaculate in your eyes recently?'

Me: No way!

Coworker: For real! and there was my mother screaming at me "WHAT ARE YOU LETTING MEN DO TO YOU!" First, that shit never happened, secondly, who goes to the hospital full-well knowing that you've got cum in your eye.

Me: Who allows that anyway?

Wedding Poem

2008-09-15T13:54:00.004-04:00

September 13, 2008

gingersweet.

the honey bees, cricket cries, comet-flies
buzzing star/tales
an Aesop grown from Matter.

Flora Breathes
(I know amore stories last for centuries)
like moments, and pictures, and
well-made-shoes

Bathing beneath
sunburst & dovesong
here, beside tumbling hillscapes

We Rejoice!

I've seen beauty in love, and it is in front of me.

hands clasped like tree roots, like yarnstrings
twining towards....

This Is Yours
The Union
The Balance

keep in heart the Universe of this day

to give, my dears, all and everything.

-- For Sara and Dan

Fruity Computers - the saga

2008-05-02T12:40:00.003-04:00

Taken from the Email that I sent to Crapple:

My computer would not turn on so I made an appointment at the (Crapple) store and they told me that my computer had a "flat tire."

When I asked for further explanation, I did not get one other than I needed to reinstall my OS.

So, I ordered my OS discs on Sunday the April 27th via phone. When I did not receive notification via email OR the discs by May 1st I called Crapple care and they notified me that my order went through BUT the discs never went out; that they just "sat there."

When I asked how that was possible, the person said that eventually when I realized that I didn't get the discs I would have called and they (Crapple) would have figured out their mistake.

THIS IS A HUGE FLAW IN YOUR SYSTEM.

Then I was told that he would reorder it free of charge, which really meant that I was still charged but am now receiving the discs a week or so later.

He then said that he was putting the order through and would send me an email confirmation. He gave me a case id number and we hung up.

Two hours later, when I still had not received an email I called again. When I did I was told that they could not SEE the order. They asked for my credit card number AGAIN, when I informed that I had the Case Id they said they couldn't find it through that.

Then I asked for a manager because I personally don't like giving out my credit card number to countless Crapple employees.

I was livid at this point because not only did my order just SIT there but I was not getting the confirmation I was promised.

Then I eventually got on the phone with a Manager who told me he could see that the NEW order was placed and that it was "sent" but "CRAPPLE DOES NOT HAVE THE CAPABILITIES TO SEND AN EMAIL CONFIRMATION." This is another flaw in your system. You CANNOT take credit card information and not provide an email confirmation knowing that your order has gone through. I am case and point why this does not work.

CRAPPLE FAILED TO SEND MY ORDER AND YET CHARGED MY CREDIT CARD. HAD A CONFIRMATION BEEN SENT I WOULD OF HAD AN ORDER NUMBER, AND PERHAPS THIS MIGHT NOT HAVE HAPPENED. ORDERS THAT HAVE BEEN CHARGED SHOULD NOT JUST SIT THERE. THAT IS A PROBLEM FOR YOU. THAT IS A PROBLEM FOR YOUR CUSTOMERS. YOU ARE A COMPUTER COMPANY WHO IS NOT ABLE TO SEND EMAIL CONFIRMATIONS??? YOU ARE A COMPUTER COMPANY WHOSE SYSTEM ALLOWS PURCHASED ORDERS TO SIT THERE???

I am insanely unhappy with the service I received.

distraught troughs; we eat pigs for breakfast

2008-04-28T14:25:00.008-04:00

bodega babies buy their milk like cigarettes, a buy-one-get-one
commiserating with the cowboys

they in for a bootstrapping backlash

all neon light dyed exclaiming
"Yes! We've paid our electric bill!"

ain't like the service to slow just when the crowds surge
a voltage powering off the F train.

they ride the steed to the waters edge where the freaks make waves towards the sand

i've always had a soft spot for the biblebleeders --

Quran, Torah, New Yorker --

all pealed in and peered in on

Monday; AM
How Do You Pray So Hard?

I get tired

of believing

in silent lovers.

I Am

2008-04-15T19:24:00.002-04:00

the Queen of the Internet.

Something...

2008-04-11T11:52:00.008-04:00

Easy now.

Feet perched like teetering bricks, stacked on corners/fringes/brinks; plateaus careening with world ends.

Ain't gonna be around much longer with a foundation like that.

Buck wielded his fists back, cocked his chair, and leaned on his knuckle-bones. A see-sawed figure. Buck rocked.

A muddy silence swept through the room. The air was molasses thick and everytime Buck breathed, his life shortened.

He thought today ominous for something grand. He fashioned a window out of his imagination and saw billions of stars and thought, if this were earth... It ended there, but perhaps just for an elongated pause.

Sills

2008-04-09T16:57:00.002-04:00

My Impending Doom:

u p d a t e s

2008-03-31T16:09:00.006-04:00

My body sores me.

scours like:

"This ain't a tissue in a paper mill, hon. We got shit to do."

and if it weren't for rock music
I'd never put my shoes on.

we're of that
barefoot-don't-give-me-shit
Generation.

nowhere near richer
but
when the snow settles
we'll have mountains
leading mountains

and i could talk about the city as though she were bleeding
or crying
or living

it's all inclement.

Dive-bar debutantes
We rave over
raising something from nothing.

Genuine haberdashery
coated wings in wax. free standing mantel monuments.
In it; we all pose

& layer & curl by heat pipes
& cavities.

and when Autumn rears Winter
it is a cold Birth.

New one: ehhh

matching blood types
like paired red wine.

If we O’ed over
and the points between A and B equaled
plus signs,
we’d somehow be a match

lamb/lion/rain

2008-03-20T09:59:00.005-04:00

i feel like all i can do is sigh. but, i'm winded.

keep a line open.
if the ravaged revenged... oh my.
you talk about building-house.
or

i figure you for the, wade by the moontides.

that dissipates

so
when the earth moves
and you recede
i'll have already known.

and like brooklyn, it'll be just mine.

Wigga-what?

2008-03-11T13:38:00.008-04:00

Click on "Wigga-what?" above. download. and enjoy!

I dunno, I'd say close to a year ago, M. and I decided to make a children's book.
we didn't get very far. He illustrated, with my creative input, and I wrote, with his input as well.

The story has been lost to a notebook somewhere in the abyss of my parents house, however, the drawings were salvaged and coated in.... wax?? (art school)

With M's excellent Adobe Illustrator skills he recreated the few images that we had started.

The link sends you to a page where you can printout a black and white version of the characters, Mr. & Mrs. Wiggins, as well as their submarine, "something 5 million" (neither the he nor i could remember the name of it) and color it in as you wish.

Hopefully we can do a "who-colored-it-best" contest, when enough people have participated.

The Wiggins book is in full effect and we are working on having an issue out by this fall.

Artwork and Story Conceptualized and Produced by: Miguel Diaz and Claire Dickinson

easy now.

2008-03-10T23:04:00.003-04:00

its been a while. wow. time flies when you date your life by blog posts.

eesh.

new one: not done. let me know what you think.

For the out-of-towner

lying.

belly down.

feet dangling like bait

on fishing

and electric lines.

a harpsichord serenades: If Not For You

notes rain on concrete

we have melody for days.

Jailbird.

I see you flutter like

this wind's got runnin' shoes on

we got miles till the sea.

or a meeting ground

somewhere between

limbo and lush

2.14.08

2008-02-14T09:37:00.008-05:00

9:27am
Realization of the Day :: I like my coffee with 2 and a half sugars.

10:32am
2nd Realization of the Day :: I want to have what they have...

I often believe that Chipper, my bosses partner sometimes, hates me.
I won't delve into the dirty details. They are seemingly futile.

Today. Being the most popular hallmark-fabricated-holiday, he handed me a box of chocolates and wished me a happy valentines day. I assume he only really caters/likes/deals with me on holidays. Which i'm fine with... chocolates... christmas bonuses... whole foods gift cards... all good in my book.

chocolate:

So amazing, right? Oh, it's not over.
I open up the box to find the chocolate is surrounded by
small balls of chocolate. OH THE GLORY!

Spectacular chain of events!

updates later i'm sure.

FedMess

2008-02-13T10:22:00.002-05:00

I just can't win with package delivery companies.

FedMess lies. A lot.
The big-guy expects that I had a handle on everything a month into working, while moving.
I did what I could.
Sorry that I didn't draw the line and walk it for you.

[sigh]

I hate this shit.

Moderate moderations

2008-02-12T11:24:00.002-05:00

“I heard 'Hard Rain' and wept” - allen ginsberg

My body sores me.

scours like:

"This ain't a tissue in a paper mill, hon. We got shit to do."

and if it weren't for rock music
I'd never put my shoes on.

we're of that
barefoot-don't-give-me-shit
Generation.

nowhere near richer
but
when the snow settles
we'll have mountains
leading mountains

and i could talk about the city as though she were bleeding
or crying
or living

it's all inclement.

ikea killa, killa

2008-02-11T00:45:00.000-05:00

ikea

{click on the picture to view the whole gallery}

ikea has 2,000 new items so there were about 800 million people there, with measuring tapes and screaming children. everything is so nouveau riche, "modern" (if modern now means short tables, wavy mirrors and beds with few details, lines, or contours). i don't mean to hate on ikea, we all have a special place for that wonderful 'cheap' european furniture, with funny names like KLUBBOU. and you spend half the trip trying to prounce them with your best Swedish accent only then realizing that, you don't know how to do a Swedish accent. sigh. how do we proceed?

Also, there is nothing like winding up in a section where you can sit, on everything! chairs, cushions, chaises, sofas, beds, weird hanging things from the ceiling, ottomans, etc. oh! you could take a nap, if you didn't feel as though you were in a warehouse, and the fact that there's a line of 12 other people waiting to pseudo-nap in your chair too.

For having 2,000 new items, the store only seemed more hectic and maze-y not filled with Swedish goodness. The ikea i attend, has TWO eateries now, the more meatballs, the merrier. that's what i always say.. I have always been somewhat and slightly opposed to food in department-like stores. moreso with clothing stores, because i'm clumsy and spill stuff, but chatch-ki stores too worry me. maybe just swedish meatballs worry me.

mom commands the floor while, dad and i stare at one another mouthing "there's too many fucking people in here."

while home, I acquired:

4 new pez
hole-in-my-heart
winter vest
valentines candy (unopened, mom)
ikea rug
curtains
door curtains
2 packs of cigarettes
10 new pairs of socks

in transit.

2008-02-10T14:37:00.000-05:00

just got back from the airport

[sigh]

we're both, reeling.

again.

Floyd and I had a photo-shoot.
Senor loves the car, especially lying flat
across the driver's back and shoulders. occasionally sneezing down their neck. while nuzzling, at the same time.

providing just enough cute and gross for the fill.

[It is strange, in this moment.]

while you are away/my heart comes undone/slowly unravels/in a ball of yarn
the devil collects it/with a grin/our love/in a ball of yarn

Look Mom! I Did This!

2008-02-08T12:48:00.000-05:00

I've been working on this bag for WEEKS, finally, with enough gusto I was able to finish it this morning on the subway ride into work.

I must say that i am pretty flipping proud. If it didn't take me so long and didn't result in painful wrist/hand action, I'd make millions.

I went to college and learned loads of things. I excelled in circus skills.

happiness is a warm... gun?

2008-02-08T10:20:00.000-05:00

last night i heard a man get shot 100 feet away from my bedroom window. this was a poem I wrote after watching a man get mugged across the street from my apartment building a few months ago.

A, traffic jam
A, man mugged
outside my window
while we watched
and proclaimed

THIS never happens here.

I wanted palms & passport stamps.

This place was for us and now
I am left here
grassless;

planting spider plants in old coke bottles
locking, both, locks.

i miss feeling humbled.

[sigh]

some would call this, a nerd moment:

Me: did you see my story in my blog
Them: which one?
Me: the moose story
Them: is that its title?
Me: no i just refer to it as 'the moose.'
Them: oh, i thought you changed the title
Me: hahahaha well no, because i'm not Elizabeth Bishop.

hahahahahhahaa. oh. man. it's true.

someone for everyone.

2008-02-06T14:40:00.000-05:00

I love fark.com --- intensely love/cherish/rely on it. If fark weren't around, I might have drowned by this point.

Today fark gave me gold.

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/story?id=4244025&page=1

It's an article about a 2ft 9in woman falling in love and making a baby with a 6ft 4in dude. Of course this piqued my interest immediately because a) I heart midgets and b) I get new material.

I sent this to Moonslice - both at our respective work places so we could meander over, what else, how they.... do it....

Moonslice: how does he get it all the way in?

me: tips it

Moonslice: what?!

me: puts the tip in!

Moonslice: he's like "sometimes i throw her through a hoop like a basketball and catch her with my dick!"

me: then spin her around like a pinwheel!

Moonslice: while she blows bubbles

and he makes balloon animals for the kids!

me: and then they jump through a flaming hoop

and then amazingly.... wait for it....

she balances him in her vagina, while she walks on her hands

and they're called .... THE ARISTOCRATS!

Moonslice: hahahahahahaahahha, nice.

now... back to work. saving the world. as usual.

old lines.

2008-01-30T12:05:00.000-05:00

The problem with this blog creator (i guess is the term) is it doesn't allot for intricate line breaks. I wanna post my poems, n' stuff, but i think it's going to require me to learn some html code.

C'est la vie.

A friend of mine reminded me of two lines i wrote while we studied in France. They struck him, apparently, enough that 3 years later he's quoting them.

"I take a moment, to take a moment"

"The only thing keeping you here is gravity"

i'm a sucker for mantra-esque things.

new poem time. it's not finished, what is ever finished, really? enjoy. let me know what you think.

Half a heart and all warm weather clothes.

city-winter //
        // bandeau baby; you’ve got beach on the brain.

Plow’d, I will count pennies and miles for cheap air fare.

Coconut bra’d,
‘Ooo Wee!’ we smell just like the natives.

      naked zephyr wafting chimes and meat smells.

         (cooked things underground, moled, Maori-minded)

Concerned with taciturn turns
and mildly open roads

                        this place never gets paved.

Margarita melee:
    sea salt rimming the edge, kamikaze commanders. brimming carelessness like fruit flies. on coast lines. where the coconuts bury. head-first. in ocean-made fine-grained dunes.

             Scenic severance between
             light and lampshade
             sea and strand.

bubbling.

2008-01-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

Note to assistant sharing cubicle wall space:

If you say "it's so cold in here" one more time, without doing anything about it, i swear to god, i will shove a space heater up your ass.

always.

c

Revised: Sorry, it was early and she was killing my soul, only a bit, but enough to blog about.
Whew! now that that's that.

Here's a recipe of my own concoction

Claire’s Chicken & Potato Salad

Obviously, I don’t have exact measurements, because that’s for sissies.

Hope you enjoy, it came out really yummy for me; hot or cold!

What you’ll need

Chicken, boneless breasts
Potatoes, any kind – I like yellow
Onions
Peppers, preferably green
Fresh Garlic
Salt
Pepper
Olive Oil
Mayonnaise
Cheese; american, chedder, etc
Eggs, if that’s your thing, I’ll get there.

Directions

The potatoes need to be cooked so I chop them into quarters and throw them into a pot of water. Cut up as many or as few, depending on amount of people. For just M and I, I cut up about 5-6 medium sized potatoes (we had leftovers). Let the water boil, and cook the potatoes. The cook quicker than normal because they’re already cut so about 18 mins.

The chicken is cooked fairly barely. Ha! You’re gonna wanna cut the chicken into good sized chunks, prior to cooking. On a pan, put olive oil, fresh chopped garlic, salt and pepper, be as generous or sparse as you please. Through the chicken on the hot pan and cook it up. I like to start cooking the chicken about 10 mins into cooking the potatoes, just so the timing lines up okay.

Meanwhile, chop up the peppers, onions and a tad more garlic pretty finely. Also take your cheese and slice/dice/peel/what-have-you into relatively small pieces, no need for mounds of cheese.

If you’re into eggs, around now you’d hard boil some eggs. Again, if that’s your thing, personally, I think with the mayo, it’s a lot.

Now, lets say, your chicken and potatoes are done. Drain the potatoes and run under cold water for about a minute. Just to harden them so that they don’t turn to mashed potatoes. Then, add the chicken, one cup of mayonnaise, more or less as you see fit, I like mayo. Then add the peppers, onions, cheese, garlic, salt and pepper (here is where you could add chopped up hard boiled egg) – mix like you’re folding egg-whites and BAM! You have a meal. Enjoy. Now I know it looks like a pile of mush, but I promise, it’s delicious and filling!

I Like Moose: pt5 - Finale

2008-01-25T10:24:00.000-05:00

It is a wonder, The Moose, such a still animal and yet, so difficult to see. I felt like Bishop and by August my dream of a Moose experience was almost completely disappointed. For months I'd assumed that eventually I'd see one. I've driven dozens of times at night on back roads, been teased by yellow and black signs deeming that this place had moose crossings. Yet, I've seen nothing.

By this time I'd seen three Bald Eagles -- This was America. (In retrospect, I assume it was the same one, with a nest in the vicinity of my cabin). Cobscook was flooded with over 200 species of birds and I longed for the long-legged brute that capitalized my idea of Maine. Chuckles promised me I'd see one. "There're all over the fuckin' place. See, ones been here!" He pointed to a pile of dung near where we were walking. It could or could not have been moose; I believed he wanted to make a point.

"I've never seen one though. I want to see one in person, up close, not just it's shit."

"How close you planning on getting?"

"As close as it will let me." It was then that Chuckles promised that he'd help me find a moose before I left, and added that he'd like to see how close I could really get.

Two A.M. Chuckles roared into my cabin floodlight in hand, he shook me then cupped my mouth and whispered, "you ready?" I nodded feverishly. I threw on shoes and walked out of the cabin to meet Chuckles. He handed me a light as well and we treaded into the woods.

"Aren't we gonna take the truck? I've been here all summer, up and down these roads and I've never seen one." I spoke in a low, gravely tone. Chuckles paused, turned back and shushed me. I shushed. We were doing something. We passed through the park trails, and my trails, into the depths of the park. In fact, with almost 100 acres of land deemed State Park Material, it was hard to know where the ends and beginnings really were. I felt like we were the first humans to ever venture this far, me clad in flannel pajamas and fake Timberland boots, Chuckles was broad and indecipherable in his dark army green ranger outfit. His light was the only way I could find and follow him.

The sky was lightening-up. We walked for hours, I couldn't even tell it in miles, we could have been going in circles, or ovals or squares but I trusted Chuckles. We were moose hunting. We were surrounded by foliage, since there was no path or trail we were dodging branches and plant life debris left and right. Chuckles would clear his way and the tree would repel his arms whacking me in the face. I didn't mind. This would be my moment. I thought of the tides.

All at once, Chuckles stopped and ducked. I, caught in my own heady meanderings didn't notice till I almost tripped over him. He locked his eyes on mine. "We got her Claire." I inched up over his head to a clearing, like out of storybooks, out of myth, a space open, bathing in the moonlight.

It was my bather, my find. A moose, an Alces alces, the biggest deer I've ever seen. Standing. She just stood there, immobile; maybe she was as amazed with the night sky as much as I was. Maybe she was waiting for the sun, or her son or lover. As she remained motionless I crept closer and closer, I could smell her pungent mud, dirt, filth stench. I could see her gnarled fur, bare snout and armor-like antlers. They looked like bone breastplates, like parachutes, like atomic bursts. I wanted to reach out and touch them, believe they're reality, but I restrained for a few more seconds of untainted view.

I couldn't hear Chuckles rustling anymore; I questioned whether or not he's was there still, or if this was all mine. She turned. Saw me. Perhaps she knew I was there the whole time and was just letting me in. I held my breath. Oh radiant Beast, I thought, she was huge, towering over me, her rolling eyes piercing my skin.

In a moment, like wind, like passing breath, like fall to winter, she was gone. Moved like paintings, like a zoetrope, yet, I could only watch her leave.

I Like Moose: pt 3 & 4

2008-01-24T11:35:00.000-05:00

III.

June. Chuckles had given me an axe with my name on it. My job at the bay was, in a sense, to maintain/contain erosion that was claiming parts of the park. I served as a life force. Davey Crocket in stance. (It was hard not to notice the ever-changing water scene. I found myself caught, between axe swings, amazed by natural flow).

I did much of the hard labor, like chopping down dying Brown Ash trees and hauling tons of mulch and shit in the mornings, before the heat came. I renamed campsites on pieces of wood with white paint after Maliseet words like Nomihtu, which means 'to see.' I yearned for indicators of what this place used to be, sans dilapidated remnants. In the afternoon I led tourists and campers through the inner-workings of the park. Down trails I had cleared to get a better view. Most of the time someone would recognize my New York accent and exclaim, "You ain't from 'round these parts!" They, in turn, were on my path.

IV

The sky was larger here; it forced me to write about it. An expanse in space, I could see for miles in any direction and it was grand. The forecast for this evening called for a meteor shower and there was a group of locals who gathered in the front yard of someone's acres in Lubec to watch it rain.

the stars are fastened in the sky

flat pebbles

skipped across black depth

It was a dark ocean lit by millions of candles, light eyes, iridescent fish. Millions of comet tails bursting across the atmosphere. It could take full minutes to move from one side to the other.

and in between the moon

there is space

upon space

It was an ethereal light show. I felt as though I should pray. It felt as though God was there, exercising some holy superfluous attribute.

The heavens observers, whose lawn that had been taken over, met on every full moon and comet show, brandished with their large telescopes and computer screens hooked-up to enhance everything. I saw Venus, and she was beautiful.

And then it hit. What we were watching, what was happening, was beyond balls of gas, rock and combustion. True beauty, unadulterated, zoomed in on, but left unscathed.

it is late and the sky is dripping light.

I Like Moose: pt2

2008-01-23T13:22:00.000-05:00

"This was native land," the park ranger, Chuckles (so said his badge, not his disposition, I assumed the result of a bad joke) informed me on my arrival to Cobscook. "You could see it all over, marks of them Indians everywhere." It was true. The campsites were littered with genuine Maliseet-Passamaquoddy arrowheads, drawings, and decrepit lean-tos all left somewhat intact and protected. These two tribes once ruled over the area. Although they were independent from one another, they spoke mutually intelligible dialects of the same Algonquian language. Now, the tribes, once casual comrades, competed through business. Drive down the only paved road in Dennysville and there, beside one another, Maliseet and Passamaquoddy gift shops selling 'authentic-native-stuff.' Gen-u-ine Indian bookmarks and cell phone covers, at competitively low-prices.

"How you think they got along?" Chuckles asked me after a long drawn out diatribe on the history of the original settlers; while we watched the tides rush in over lunch. "You think it's like us an' them Canadians?" He pointed north.

We could throw stones onto Canada's soil. Chuckles, a Vietnam Vet, would drink whiskey on the old site of the Quoddy Project from the 30's, and yell at the border.

"I can see you from here!" He'd yell at the country from atop one of the four dikes actually constructed before funding was refused. (The Quoddy Project was a proposed series of dams and control structures, harnessing Cobscook Bay as a means of electricity; it quickly drowned before it ever had time to float). I never truly understood his qualm with Canada; maybe he regretted his decision to 'not-dodge.'

(pt2 of 5)

I Like Moose: pt1

2008-01-22T23:11:00.000-05:00

I wrote this short story several months ago. I thought I would share it, in its parts, respectively. Enjoy! - c.d.

Of Cobscook Bay

"A more interesting assemblage of phenomena than can be found on any other part of the eastern seaboard of the United States." -- Nathaniel S. Shaler, in 1886, was one of the first geologists to describe the bedrock geology of Cobscook Bay.

Late May. It was morning so the Clammers, adorned in waders and some, in linen-like hats with Saturn-like rims to block out the sun, trudged scenic narrowly winding trails towards the waterbed. The bay was mud; the only water left was in tiny puddles stored in the sediment and bedrock. The clams mused. Their misfortune awaited them in buckets and scratch rakes. The hunters sloshed out to the middle of the emptied bay handling a hoe-like object, a metal basket with teeth at the mouth. They spent the morning turning/collecting, from my perch (the waters edge beside an overgrown camp site); they are landscapers, preparing the bay for the rush. The flood. I know that by noon the bay will be stirring.

Part of the show is the tide change. Cobscook is a Maliseet-Passamaquoddy word for "boiling tides." These strong currents influence the sediments deposited in the Bay and increase shoreline erosion. The bay was destroying itself. The average high is 24 feet with some at 28. By lunchtime, the clamming fields have transformed into an ocean. Watch the water. It percolates. Rushes from different directions collide with one another and simulate the bubble. I have spent hours watching the water seep, rise and boil. Mimicking breath and heat. Rippling, or not, the water is alive; I have stared at it and put my feet in. The sensation against my toes, I think of home, Long Island, the goldfish pond in my parent's backyard. When it was warm out I'd stick my feet in the water and after some moments of stillness, the fish would nibble.

(stay tuned for part 2)

in limbo...

2008-01-21T13:33:00.000-05:00

Update, part 2: the saga continues...

So it's Martin Luther King's Birthday, or Day of Remembrance. I always get confused because of President's day and who that's really for and then it all cascades into every other person-based holiday and then I end up confusing Anne Frank and Helen Keller (Clerks 2 anyone?)

Most people don't work today, but not me and the Big Guy. We're slaving (ha!) away in an empty office yelling back and forth at each other through his half frosted glass wall that separates us.

The Big Guy is a little computer-illiterate

"You have Fotochop?"
"Yea, I brought my computer in so I could use it"
"No I mean a CD of it so I can put it on mine"
"I got mine off the internet... illegally..."
"Oh, hmph... well I don't wanna do that... how else can I get it?"
"Buy it... hundreds of dollars though"
"Ohhh, ouch!"
"Yea."
"What's this illegal thing? How illegal is it?"

explaining torrents to this man proved not only useless, but time consuming.

"File sharing"
Questioning look....
"It's free, just, as long as you don't get caught..."

____________________________________________________________________

Back to the update. So it being MLK day most businesses are closed, and as aforementioned the lovely establishment I grace every day is not. Well at least not for the Big Guy and I. The rest of the floor we are housed on did not come into today so this is apparently what happened with the elusive, mysterious, curious, business cards.

It seems that around 10am (while I was at my desk mind you) UPS decided that I was not here, according to the website tracker. I'm fine with that conclusion because, for all intensive purposes, why would we be here. Regardless, I'M HERE!

So the cards, I am assuming, will arrive tomorrow that is if the government or some other agency doesn't take possession of them or UPS decides that I am not here again.

It is strange to be told, via internet that you "will not be receiving packages today" because "receiver is on holiday" it's like, the computer is fighting my battles for me. Or making plans for me that I just won't keep.

UPS, next time, let me pencil you in.

Over the past few days I got a lot of feedback, people telling me that they LOVE the business card story, that it really made them laugh, which I completely appreciate as it is one of my favorite things to do, i.e. Make people laugh. I too, thoroughly enjoy this story, especially when I get offers and opinions about why other people think the government took our cards. My father replied with a simple "Hmm..."

I occasionally thumb my existing cards from the same company, delivered on time, no problems. I inspect it for distinctive marks, or smells. Nothing. Just my name, title, contact information. I look for codes, maybe, just maybe my boss is involved with some CIA shit and he's the middle-man between the big-wigs and the small fish.

Maybe they found out about the Fotochop I illegally downloaded. Dammit. I've said too much already.

...on hold... still...

2008-01-18T16:59:00.001-05:00

One of the worst things that I am forced to do, not only at my job, but in life, is to wait on hold.

A lot of places, have these Mus-ac songs with no beginning and no end so you don't know how long you've been on the phone for. 10 minutes... 2 hours? It's all a toss up! What a cruel thing to do to someone.

Occassionally I worry the phone receiver will fuse to my ear lobe. But that's just silly, isn't it?

I find it really interesting how long I can wait on one phone call, listen to the same riff over and over again without much complaint. Instead, I start to memorize the tune, make up words, and if I'm lucky, D.A.N.C.E.

Searched and Seized

2008-01-17T22:53:00.000-05:00

About a month ago, I ordered my boss business cards, and then, completely forgot about them.

Yesterday he asked me where they were. Upon my investigation I was confronted with this, from the UPS tracking website:

1/8/08 - Secaucus, NJ -

7:30am - PKG DELAY-ADD'L SECURITY CHECK BY GOV'T OR OTHER AGENCY- BEYOND UPS CONTROL

7:36am - ARRIVAL SCAN

8:30am - THE PACKAGE IS DELAYED DUE TO EMERGENCY CONDITIONS BEYOND UPS' CONTROL

Hmmm. Emergency Conditions? If I was ordering petroleum, I think I'd be more understanding, but business cards...?

What in the hell was going on? What exactly had I ordered?! I called the business card website main office:

"Hi, I ordered a package of business cards on the 3rd and haven't received them yet. When I checked UPS tracking website, it told me the government had it."

Woman on the line "Oh, you're like the 2nd person to tell me this has happened to them. We have no idea why this is happening."

"Oh? Um. That's strange..." and reassuring...

"Yea, I'm just going to send out the cards again, hopefully it'll get there this time!" She chortles.
And for some reason, an obvious one, I become concerned for her lack of concern. Isn't she curious why a supposed box of business cards has been inspected not once but twice by a government or some other agency? What was in those cards?! And what could this other agency be? My paranoid conspiracy theorists-self that I surpress while sober starts peeking her head out, examining the situation.

Then I had to relay this information to my boss. We consorted over what could have possibly been in the package to cause such a stir and delay:

"Anthrax!"
"Maybe it's some dissolving warfare chemical that if we inhale we die."
"Drug trafficking via business card website cover."
"What did you actually order, Claire?"
"Um... business cards! I swear!"

This morning, I checked my tracking order on the UPS site. The package is expected to be here today (yea right!) according to the page, it's still in California departure scanned and all. I will keep updated about the whereabouts and the like.

UPDATE

This is only because I'm an asshole:

Dear Prints Made Easy,

Although I have already called to express my concern about the package of business cards being held for extreme conditions beyond UPS's control, I have a question about semantics. You say under status "guaranteed arrival" of today January 18th. However, under the UPS tracking page, it says that it is arriving ONTIME on January 21st. This makes your use of Guaranteed incorrect. For better quality and assurance, you may want to have the two dates connect.

Why did I do this? Because I could.

Moments later, I received a response:

Hi Claire,

I am sorry. You are correct; the dates should match. They are on the way. I do apologize for the delay and inconvenience.

Thank You,
Customer Service

Have I won? Not entirely, but I can see the finish line.

Dropping the Ball.

2008-01-17T11:42:00.001-05:00

"Sweetie, bloggers aren't cool, the only people who think they're cool are other bloggers"

Hefty and valuable advice especially upon the launch of my own blog. I don't know exactly what I want to do with this, what I want to say, who exactly this is intended for, how much I can really divulge. Perhaps I will learn how to make a quiche or use those circular knitting needles or, relay my awkward mindless stories, or, who knows, change the world? (bah!)

The question isn't so much how to keep others engaged while reading this, but how to keep myself. Blogs are self reflective and self indulgent, which as, my brother's girlfriend Kat, of missunderestimated.com says, "so is anything artistic" adding "not to say that that's a bad thing..."

This post, in and of itself, is exactly what I am talking about. A self conscience examination of what exactly I'M thinking. You must make something for yourself before even considering making it for other people. It must resonate with you first before you can truly let it be explored by alien eyes.

So where do we start?

I live in Brooklyn. I work in Manhattan. Everything is changing every second.

when we lived
nothing was stable
everything was malleable

we were flight-takers.

Working Class Whatever

2008-01-17T11:33:00.000-05:00

Delays:

Flooding on the tracks

60's iconoclast in a class chasm
a horn totted G-chord
(Liberace in brass tones)

He stood near the doors. Bassman's Blues.

"I am the poor man's poet, Baby;
You got any change, Baby?"

The news spouted something of delays,

morning commute in a manic-panic

and when the milk
ran out/went bad/spoiled

i had my coffee dry
and sweet.