Buried treasure

So, back when I was in college, I wrote a column for the school paper. I don't think it ever ran, but I did mail it to certain family members.

When we removed our belo9ngings from our attic, our sole possessions after Katrina included a random box that held stuff from college. In it were random, useless things, as well as my college diploma, which I thought I'd lost. My buried treasure was this column. The event took place in either late August 1998 or early September 1998. It's pretty funny based on the fact that it is a celebration of meat, yet I won't eat many varieties of meat these days. Remember, this was early in my college career, so bear with me as you read this occasionally cringe-inducing masterpiece.

Meat Fest

It all started innocently enough. My relatives from Philadelphia were coming in town for a few days, and to celebrate, we would all go across the lake to another set of relatives' house.

The visitors from Philly were my uncle Mike, my aunt Jean, and my two cousins, Crissy, 11, and Steffi, 7.

In addition to this bunch were my parents and 14-year-old brother, Geoff, my aunt Mimi and uncle Lance, Granny, uncle Dennis, his daughter Hayley, his girlfriend Kim, my uncle Dave, my aunt Judy, their kids Lauren and Colleen, my aunt Annie, my uncle Ralph, and their adult children Erin and Ralph, and me.

The main attraction of the day was a crab boil. Harmless enough, right?

Ha.

The day started off as planned: crabs. Delicious boiled crabs. Dave has a gift for boiling seafood.

Colleen is allergic to shellfish, so hot dogs and hamburgers were on hand. Steffi has a Yankee tongue, so she of course did not want any part of the crabs. Instead, she wrinkled her dainty little nose and stared at them like they were from the planet Zoltar.

Judy threw a few hot dogs on the grill for the girls. When she went to take them inside to fix them, one rolled off the plate and splattered into the dirt.

That reminds me: Do you know what happens to hot dogs if you leave them out in the sun for several hours?

They turn green. Limp and green.

Just thought you'd like to know.

So anyway, Lance decided that he wanted some sausage. Uncle Ralph, as opposed to young Ralph, announced that he had gotten some sausage from a friend. He called it "Special sausage."

The plate of sausage was passed around. I decided not to partake in the consumption of it since it had been labeled "special." He went on to elaborate that the sausage could only be obtained through friends.

Any guesses on what it was?

Oh, come on. This is South Louisiana.

Yup. You guessed it: venison. Deer sausage.

After consuming nearly all of the crabs, two sacks worth, along with some various other things, like venison, hot dogs, and munchie-type things, they seemed to slow down. It was just a breather, though.

Not long after the remains were disposed of, they brought out a fruit tray and two cakes. A chocolate cake congratulating Mike on his recent promotion to President and COO of Rohm-Haas Chemicals and a "wedding cake" for Annie's birthday.

By this point in time, my brother got bored and got out the video camera. Some of the exciting footage he captured included a turtle eating a large chunk of cantaloupe and Erin trying to feed Young Ralph a piece of cake.

I'm not sure which was more humorous. The turtle had a nice aesthetic quality with the green leaves, green turtle, and orange fruit. Watching his little neck shoot out of his shell as he bit into the fleshy fruit, which kept inching away from him, amused Geoff for a long time. The section with the turtle must be almost 3 minutes long.

Erin feeding Young Ralph is amusing. He did not want to eat it. The scene has Erin coaxing him whilst chanting "Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!" He kept moving his head away from her, and finally the piece of cake hit his mouth, fell off the fork, and bounced off his chest.

Did I mention they are 27 and 22?

We soon grew bored of shouting "Eat it! Eat it!" at each other, so the four of us journeyed inside to watch "Daria."

Erin made an important observation at this point: The men were all standing around the meat and the fire, standing at that safe "man-distance." The women were sitting in a circle at "woman distances," all chatting away.

The subject of our discussion, though, was the men standing around the fire.

"Look at them," Erin said. "That must be some primitive caveman instinct that has been carried through evolution. They feel a need to stand around the kill and make sure it cooks correctly."

That also brought us to our next observation: They were cooking again!

Hamburgers, hot dogs, and ribs, oh my!

This prompted Erin to christen the day as a "Meat Marathon." This evolved into "Meatapalooza," "Meat Festival," and, finally, "Meat Fest."

We discovered that the jambalaya present had turkey sausage in it.

"Hey, do you realize that we have met from every meat genre present?" asked Young Ralph. "Pork, venison, beef, seafood, poultry..."

We went on like that for at least an hour. By that time, it was time to eat. Judy brought out a (ready for some irony?) Sugar-Buster's pasta salad. Guess what was one of the ingredients?

Pepperoni.

Then Dave came inside to inform us that, should we want them, the rest of the crabs were being served, so hurry up and get outside!

We picked at the food for a while. Only picked, because we were waiting for the ribs to cook.

In the meantime, I picked up the video camera and went outside. By this point in time, the mosquitoes were having a "Meat Fest" of their own, with my family as their main course. But did this stop them? No.

I interviewed several people as to what their thoughts were on "Meat Fest '98." Everyone seemed to enjoy it. My mom added that it should become an annual event, and whipped out her personal calendar to write it in the advanced planning section.

I wandered over to the table where they were devouring the rest of the crabs, and Erin suggested making a documentary of how to eat crabs.

She just got her master's in speech pathology, and she had to dissect some cadavers in school. She told us that her cadaver had a Band-Aid on, and she couldn't help but think that that was an absurd and futile point. I jokingly called her crab procedural a "Crab autopsy." She liked the idea and crowned herself "Dana Scully" after the FBI agent on "The X-Files."

She thoroughly enjoyed this dissection. She said, "It felt just like old times."

Young Ralph, who is pursuing a degree in physical therapy, also had to dissect some cadavers for school. "It's just meat!" he said. "That's what we used to say in class. 'It's just meat.'"

Shortly after the crab autopsy, the ribs were ready. We were waiting for them inside, and the leftover hamburgers were sitting on a plate glistening in the light. "Mmmmmmm....glistening meat. Ahhhhhhh...." said Erin in an impression of Homer Simpson.

The ribs were finally ready, and we pounced on them like lions circling a dead zebra. (Hmmmm...there's an interesting meat that was not served.)

Erin stuck out her thumb and said, "Look, you know you're enjoying it a little too much when you get meat under your fingernail."

A moth was circling the table bothering everyone. Young Ralph tried to smash it when it landed in the bread basket. All he succeeded in doing was smashing some buns. The moth landed by me, so I picked up a hamburger bun, separated it, and smashed that sucker between the slices.

This grossed out my littler cousins. Geoff said, "Oooh, moth burgers! More meat!"

I just grinned at them and asked, "Want some flies with that?" (Grooooooaaaannnnn)

Somewhere in there, we started joking about making Meat Fest '98 T-shirts and selling them. Then we turned serious. That wasn't such a bad idea. That night, Geoff immediately got on the computer and designed a shirt. I think we may actually do it.

School work

Hopefully, I am in my final semester at the University of No Opportunity. One of my classes is great fun. It's Materials and Methods in Secondary School English. Our class as nice easy discussions about what we've read and/or experienced, then concludes with a writing workshop. We're using the book "Rose, Where Did You Get That Red? -- Teaching Great Poetry to Children" by Kenneth Koch. It's a well-documented fact that I hate -- nay, loathe -- poetry. I'm not good at it. I'm not deep enough, I guess.

Anyway, I really look forward to this part of my day on Mondays. We're given a poem to read, then we write a poem in that style. I look at it as spoofing, which I enjoy, as opposed to poetry, which makes me uncomfortable.

I thought I'd share some of my work.

This is Just to Say
By William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

This is Just to Say
By me

I threw away
your favorite
T-shirt that
you cut the sleeves off

and wore
to mow the lawn
during
the summer

Forgive me
it was trashy
so ugly
and inappropriate

The Passionate Shpeherd to His Love
By Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linéd slippers for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.


A Passionate First-Time Homeowner to Her Family
By me
Come work with me and fix my home
And we will drown in cleaners that foam
To scrub the filth from all the walls
Left by people who trashed the halls.

And we will spackle all the holes
And have the house leveled on poles
By men who crawl and yell and curse
As they earn money out our purse.

And I will pick out paint swatches
As the bugs my grandmother squashes,
We'll buy stock in Killz
As we pay all our bills.

A couch of microfiber suede
Will be just right and make the grade;
We'll tie it together with a rug
And flowers from the garden we dug.

A plumber to fix our water lines,
Shades to replace the scuzzy blinds,
And boxes that we'll need to move
So we can get our life in groove.

The work will be quite arduous,
My parents may try to argue us,
But in the end it will truly be ours,
Made lovely by our simple powers.


A True Account of Talking to the Sun at Fire Island
By Frank O'Hara

The Sun woke me this morning loud
and clear, saying "Hey! I've been
trying to wake you up for fifteen
minutes. Don't be so rude, you are
only the second poet I've ever chosen
to speak to personally
so why
aren't you more attentive? If I could
burn you through the window I would
to wake you up. I can't hang around
here all day."
"Sorry, Sun, I stayed
up late last night talking to Hal."

"When I woke up Mayakovsky he was
a lot more prompt" the Sun said
petulantly. "Most people are up
already waiting to see if I'm going
to put in an appearance."
I tried
to apologize "I missed you yesterday."
"That's better" he said. "I didn't
know you'd come out." "You may be
wondering why I've come so close?"
"Yes" I said beginning to feel hot
wondering if maybe he wasn't burning me
anyway.
Frankly I wanted to tell you
I like your poetry. I see a lot
on my rounds and you're okay. You may
not be the greatest thing on earth, but
you're different. Now, I've heard some
say you're crazy, they being excessively
calm themselves to my mind, and other
crazy poets think that you're a boring
reactionary. Not me.
Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention. You'll
find that people always will complain
about the atmosphere, either too hot
or too cold too bright or too dark, days
too short or too long.
If you don't appear
at all one day they think you're lazy
or dead. Just keep right on, I like it.

And don't worry about your lineage
poetic or natural. The Sun shines on
the jungle, you know, on the tundra
the sea, the ghetto. Wherever you were
I knew it and saw you moving. I was waiting
for you to get to work.

And now that you
are making your own days, so to speak,
even if no one reads you but me
you won't be depressed. Not
everyone can look up, even at me. It
hurts their eyes."
"Oh Sun, I'm so grateful to you!"

"Thanks and remember I'm watching. It's
easier for me to speak to you out
here. I don't have to slide down
between buildings to get your ear.
I know you love Manhattan, but
you ought to look up more often.
And
always embrace things, people earth
sky stars, as I do, freely and with
the appropriate sense of space. That
is your inclination, known in the heavens
and you should follow it to hell, if
necessary, which I doubt.
Maybe we'll
speak again in Africa, of which I too
am especially fond. Go back to sleep now
Frank, and I may leave a tiny poem
in that brain of yours as my farewell."

"Sun, don't go!" I was awake
at last. "No, go I must. they're calling
me."
"Who are they?"
Rising he said "Some
day you'll know. They're calling to you
too." Darkly he rose, and then I slept.


My Least Favorite Class Piece to an Obnoxious Poem
By me

My flash drive opened on my first
attempt this morning. "Hey! I've been
meaning to catch you. You're usually
in such a rush that I slow you down
by hiding from your save icon just
to make sure you're paying attention.
I'm opening immediately to make
you appreciate
what I do for you."
"Sorry, flash drive,
I stayed up late playing 'Rock Band'
and forgot to type my study guide."
"When I save your photos, you're
a lot more cautious," my flash drive said
cantankerously. "Most people don't shove
me on a keychain and throw me around
like a beanbag."
I tried to apologize.
"I never leave home without you."
"That's better" he said. "I
didn't think you'd reveal yourself
before I clicked save thrice."
"You may be wondering why I worked the first time?"
"Yes" I said beginning to
feel reformatted and wondering if
he'd wipe clean like my first one did.
"Frankly I wanted to tell
you that I like your prose. I see
all of your files and you're okay.
You may not do poetry
worth a darn, but your
prose hits home. I've saved
some corrupt files and frozen in
your USB, but I've always
saved your photos and prose properly.
Just keep on doing
what you enjoy and are interested
in. You'll find everyone's a critic,
but the arts a re personal. Too
wordy, too action, not lengthy,
to posed. You'll never please everyone, so just enjoy what
you do.
And don't worry,
not everyone shares your quirks.
But that's what keeps us awake and interested."

We had a few examples of Blues poems, and I wrote two. One has the exact repetition, while the other does not.

Cable's Gone Down
By me

Cable's gone down again,
Cable's gone down.
Cable's gone down again,
Cable's gone down.
Another truck barged down the street
Cable's laying on the ground.

Third time this month,
Plus once for the electric wires.
Third time this month,
Plus once for the electric wires.
We're lucky that one
Didn't cause house fires.

Cox swears they raised the lines,
Yet down they still go.
Cox swears they raised the lines,
Yet down they still go.
You'd swear these guys were amateurs
But they swear that they're pros.

Tried to call Cox on my cell phone,
But my cell phone's a hunk of junk.
Tried to call Cox on my cell phone,
But my cell phone's a hunk of junk.
No phone, no TV, no Internet,
My communication is bunk.

Feel cut off from the world,
In this Gilligan's Island.
Feel cut off from the world,
In this Gilligan's Isle.
Hope no disasters strike,
'Cause Cox says it'll be a while.

Coulda Had Another BA Blues
By me

Was back in '04 when I came here
Thought the program would be a breeze.
Came to UNO in '04 to learn
Thought the program would be a breeze.
Had no idea that I'd still be around,
Crying here on my knees.

Registered late back in '04,
Couldn't get a class.
PRAXIS scores came late in '04,
Couldn't get a class.
So I spent that first semester
Planted firmly on my ass.

Things went well in Spring '05,
I found a routine and did well.
Things were easy in '05,
loved my routine and did it well.
Found a job for the coming school year.
Spring '05 kept me a live.

In Fall '05 there was Katrina,
I landed back at Nicholls.
Fall '05 here came Katrina,
Landed in my alma mater, Nicholls.
Those teachers and students only cared about themselves
I had to drop because I found more empathy in pickles.

Spring '06 was a bit better,
Had a full schedule.
In Spring '06 I thought it was better
Despite my full schedule.
Took some classes with a great teacher,
She kept us awake, and had passion for school.

Fall '06 was just the pits,
Nothing was attainable.
The end of '06 was seriously the pits,
No classes could be had.
It was just as well, with all that happened,
Going to school would have been bad.

Spring '07 found me hopeful,
But what was UNO thinking?
In Spring '07, I was hopeful,
But tell me what the hell they were thinking?
One class was only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
From 10-11 a.m.? My patience was shrinking.

Went to register for Fall '07,
Discovered that I was out the system.
Went to register again in the fall,
But they kicked me out the system.
Had to reapply and cross my fingers,
They let me in, so I didn't have to beat 'em.

Had blocks on my account
Due to a medical waiver.
Had to remove blocks from my account
And sign a medical waiver
Married, monogamous women who don't live in dorms
Shouldn't get hepatitis, just UNO fever.

Got a class in Fall '07.
Couldn't believe my eyes.
Actually got in a class in Fall '07.
Couldn't believe my eyes.
I'd been gone so long that most had moved on,
And my new classmates I didn't recognize.

In Spring '08 I loaded down
Took three whole classes.
In Spring '08 I loaded down,
Actually got 3 whole classes.
Finally got some good news:
The state may choose to waive the last of my classes!

I'll be done by Fall of '08.
I can't believe it's near.
I'll be finished in '08,
Never thought it would near.
Instead of a mere certification,
I coulda had another BA, after 4 years.


Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
By Wallace Stevens
1
Among twenty snowy mountains
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
2
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
3
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was as mall part of the pantomime.
4
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
5
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendos.
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
6
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
7
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
8
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But i know, too,
That the blackbird is involved in what I know.
9
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
10
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
11
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
12
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
13
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

Seven Ways of Looking at a Blister.
By me

1
Tucked away on the back of my
heel, just above the line of my shoe
is the scab of a hellacious blister.
2
It was blisteringly hot on Mardi Gras.
The shoes were broken in but sort of new.
My feet were sweating,
and the Quarter funk didn't help.
3
My friends blistered with excitement that the day had arrived.
4
The blister is a testament to the amount
of fun we had on the balcony on Royal that day.
5
All these weeks later,
I wear dress shoes each day that rub the blister that won't die.
6
Band-Aids sweat off and cease protecting the blister.
7
I tried to ignore the ache
and kept on my shoes as long as I could.
Hand grenades and Rainstorms dull the pain of a
blister, but only for so long.
Before you know it, your shoe is covered in
blood and you let out guttural yells as you gingerly wash it.
Beware of Peroxide; pass me another drink.

Home Thoughts, From Abroad
By Robert Browning

1
Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brush wood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England -- now!

2
And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops -- at the bent spray's edge --
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
--Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Home Thoughts, From Anywhere But Here
By me

1
Oh, to be in Lakeview
Now that Spring is there,
And whoever wakes in Lakeview
Smells, some morning, unaware,
The scent of Tony Angelo's wafting 'cross the street
And sees the well-dressed and well-off stuffed down to their feet,
While we microwave Hot Pockets and toss a small side salad,
Wishing we could join them with their fragrant palates.

2
And after Katrina, when drought followed,
And the tornadoes blew through buildings hollowed,
Why? Oh why should we still yearn
For the ligustrums that blocked my nasal cavities
To be reborn and to return
Where Nature wrought her biggest travesties,
In this land of crime and sadness
Still this city brings me gladness!
And though we suffer much corruption,
Still I find the girl's got gumption
Like battered wive who won't leave their men,
--Still we return, again and again.

Damned straight.

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Your personality type is SLUAI

You are social, moody, unstructured, accommodating, and intellectual, and may prefer a city which matches those traits.

The largest representation of your personality type can be found in the these U.S. cities: New Orleans, Albuquerque/Santa Fe, Greensboro, Memphis, Providence, Washington DC, Pittsburgh, Orlando, Salt Lake City, Portland/Salem, St. Louis and these international countries/regions Puerto Rico, Iceland, Kazakhstan, Luxembourg, Turkey, Ireland, Ukraine, England, South Africa, Greece, Wales, Brazil, Switzerland, South Korea

What Places In The World Match Your Personality?
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