Check it this cool project I am lucky enough to be involved with. Bridge Me Japan:
Argentinian born, Miami-based contemporary artist Gabriel Delponte will traverse Japan by bicycle for a year, creating art instillations, recording footage for a documentary and distributing letters and poems to people he encounters.
And one of my poems, “Postcard from Miami” was selected:
Sometimes drunk me leaves messes for sober me to deal with in the morning.
But once in a while, drunk me likes to surprise sober me with gifts like ordering books off Amazon. Thanks drunk Doc! I know someone who is getting a six pack left in the fridge this weekend …
This afternoon I ate my mom’s dog’s Coconut Colada treats.
Not because I was starving and and the fridge was empty, cabinets bare.
Not because I sample all Sargent’s food before I give it to him because I fear someone is attempting to poison him (were anyone trying to do that … go ahead …. but I have a hard time imagining how murking a shiatsu / bichon mutt would be worth the effort).
And not for accurate ammunition for writing a complaint letter to the manufacturer in hopes of receiving free product.
Nope. I was simply curious
And how was it?
Pretty decent, actually.
Surely better than civil-war hardtack, Gulag gruel, railroad camp rations, oregon trail packings or any meal available to the average citizen living before the 15th century (an age when people kept boxes of pepper in their front-entry as big middle-finger signs of wealth; when salt was such a wealthy commodity that governments employed salinators to guard against tax-skirting smugglers and of course when no one had thought to use replace bread with syrup-jeweled pancakes for egg and sausage sandwiches)
August first was both Herman Melville’s birthday and national IPA day.
Best believe I popped open a few bottles of my favorite hop-stuffed ales (pouring out a splash for Ahab) and flipped through the pages of “Billy Budd”.
I was pleased to learn others were celebrating in similar fashion all across the country.
What a holiday!
(as a sad side-note, a skunky Simcoe IPA is like unwrapping a Christmas present and finding a pack of underwear)
you might make a fool of yourself by telling the zoo-keeper that the exceptionally large horse on display with the two large growths on its back should probably see a vet as the tumor-like lumps might be cancerous.
hey – crab, get outta here – this is a library!
Another Memorial Day done.
How did I honor the losses and sacrifices made by and for war? With fresh boiled California-grown asparagus and a glass of asparagus juice, of course.
According to Rebecca Roup in How Carrots Won the Trojan War, “in the early 1990s, the American government in an attempt to persuade Peruvian farmers to grow something other than coca – the immensely profitable raw material of cocaine – began to subsides Peruvian asparagus. Under the tenants of the Andean Trader preference Act (ATPA) passed in 1991 and renewed in 2002, Peru is allowed to export its asparagus to the Unites States for free – a financial advantage of such magnitude that American asparagus farmers, faced with it, have toppled like dominoes.”
And all that patriotism made my pee smell funny ….
Never again shall you be forced to decide between getting drunk and reading poems. In Miami, at least: