I'm so excited! learningtoloveyoumore.com posted my sign!
Link
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Sunday, September 2, 2007
I wouldn't
Thursday, August 16, 2007
After the Deposition
Saul Steinberg on America
"Here there is every sort of felicita, including the horrendous happiness of Florida, concentration camps for old people, the happiness of the rich, who want only to buy things, and the happiness of the bums, the human wrecks. In every large city there's a place called skid row (in New York, it's the Bowery), which is the free zone for derelicts and drunkards, people who want to end their lives in their own way, looking for happiness until the end according to their own judgment, even if they're idiots or lunatics. As long as they don't bother others too much, the police leave them alone. When winter comes they arrest them all and put them in jail, just to keep them warm, so they don't freeze to death...There are those who work steadily for years, businessmen with families, and all of a sudden they enter the skid-row world, and prefer to spend the rest of their lives there. Suicide, except it takes a little longer.
On the Bowery you see many noble faces, marked by life's sufferings, but without the degradation of vulgarity and cunning. There are artists there, painters (I'm not talking about musicians or writers, who don't belong to the same family), defenseless, childish creatures who use their intelligence and courage not for survival, who are primarily concerned with their integrity; who don't exploit anyone, or live on this earth like those who are born with a specific purpose and think of life as something from which to gain the greatest possible advantage."
Saul Steinberg with Aldo Buzzi, Reflections and Shadows (The Saul Steinberg Foundation, 2001. Published in the United States by Random House, Inc., NY, 2002, English translation copyright 2002 by John Shepley)
On the Bowery you see many noble faces, marked by life's sufferings, but without the degradation of vulgarity and cunning. There are artists there, painters (I'm not talking about musicians or writers, who don't belong to the same family), defenseless, childish creatures who use their intelligence and courage not for survival, who are primarily concerned with their integrity; who don't exploit anyone, or live on this earth like those who are born with a specific purpose and think of life as something from which to gain the greatest possible advantage."
Saul Steinberg with Aldo Buzzi, Reflections and Shadows (The Saul Steinberg Foundation, 2001. Published in the United States by Random House, Inc., NY, 2002, English translation copyright 2002 by John Shepley)
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Candy
I'm just getting home from school. I have my red plaid book bag. One of its buckles is undone and my messy papers peek out. Mommy is wiping her hands on her apron and smiling. She says did I notice what was on the table? I look over, there are two red velvet heart-shaped boxes. One's for me and one's for my sister. They are from Grandpa who makes candy and sells it in his cafe. It's weird for him to give me such a nice present. I don't even remember meeting him; maybe once. He had a cigar and needed a shave. He didn't talk to me but "played poker" with my sister. She was 6 or 7. She was supposed to have played golf with him too and gotten a hole-in-one. I can't figure out what this means but it makes all the adults happy.
When Grandpa died we had to hang around this hotel with big-patterned, reddish carpet and wait a lot. My cousins were there. We watched Gilligan's Island in the room and looked at what brands all the grown ups smoked by reading the butts in the ash tray. Some had lipstick on them.
My Mom made me go look at him in the coffin. She said "Maybe you could say a little prayer for him." We never pray in my house. I don't even know how. Something about the whole visit has made my Mom nervous.
When Grandpa died we had to hang around this hotel with big-patterned, reddish carpet and wait a lot. My cousins were there. We watched Gilligan's Island in the room and looked at what brands all the grown ups smoked by reading the butts in the ash tray. Some had lipstick on them.
My Mom made me go look at him in the coffin. She said "Maybe you could say a little prayer for him." We never pray in my house. I don't even know how. Something about the whole visit has made my Mom nervous.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Sunday, July 1, 2007
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