well, umm . . .

hello.

_ hello.

how are things going? i only ask because it has been some time since we have spoken, and i imagined in my mind that there were some things that may be going. that is to say, events in your life perhaps have moved to a place where they were not at the moment of our last conversation.

_ you are correct. things have happened to me since we last spoke.

and . . .?

_ i am debating whether i will tell you about them. i have serious doubts that you even remember who i am, and even more serious doubts that you remember who you are. these doubts then create additional mistrust that you will retain the information that you are asking me to impart at this moment.

so . . . hmm. i love you and can't stop thinking about you. does this help?

_ of course. i've been involved in several professions since our last meeting. i have several occupations and interests. they are, in no particular order . . .

1. a staff singer at a college radio station in north andover massachusetts. i sing station break call letters, promotions for visiting musicians, class schedule changes and announcements for ice cream socials, biology seminars and hoagie sale fundraisers.

2. mattress sale sign holder.

3. waterer of plants in corporate office park spaces.

4. constructor of white and kraft paper bags. specifically, the 25# shorty super strength beer bag.

5. Donny Osmond. just to be clear. i am not working for Donny Osmond. i am Donny Osmond. i thought that it was time that you know this.

thank you for answering my question. i feel that i have a better grasp of who you are, what you are doing and what you are capable of achieving. your response has certainly fulfilled the desire of my query "how are things going?" now i know. thank you. also, i don't really love you. i am sorry for tricking you in that way.

_you're welcome. and i know you don't love me. i just like talking about myself.

ok. good.

move on.

when i took this photo, i wasn't really sure that there was anything else to say. i am always looking for textures. i'm looking for textures that tell different stories at different distances. form is different at 2 feet and 2000 feet. remember that magazine, "world" by national geographic i think. there was a feature in the back called "what in the world?" that showed a close-up of some animal or natural phenomena, and the following issue would reveal the answer.

in some ways, this photo is the fountainhead. it is howard roark vs peter keating. it is the answer to every colonial revival house in america with fake plastic shutters next to windows with fake mullions. it is the NAPA autoparts car with a hat on top of the cab. A HAT ON TOP OF THE CAB. it is a laptop computer with music player buttons as part of the hardware.

it is wheel of fortune continuing as a game show.

ok. good.

i mean, really. really?

hello. i have a small problem with something that you did last night. the funny thing about it is, we've talked about it many times, and nothing changes. i'm tempted to ask you "how many times have we talked about operating the AN/PDR 65 while the radars are in operation?" but i know that i'll get the same answer i always get. "i don't know" or "three million times." i'm not even asking you to stop operation of the GS/FU 75, or your personal favorite, the AN/PDR 64 (i'll never understand why you have not upgraded to the AN/PDR 65 permanently, it is far superior to the 64.) yes, yes, yes, i know the 65 has one small hang-up. you can't operate it when the radars are in operation. but really, how often are the radars in operation? certainly not enough to warrant an unauthorized operation of the AN/PDR 65. a little patience is really all that is required.

anyway, moving on. i hope you are well, and that we'll see you at thanksgiving this year. grandmother will be baking up a storm as usual. ok. good.

and . . . action

i was riding the train to boston from newburyport massachusetts. on a friday night. i barely made it in time and forgot to bring anything to read. the blackberry was on 2 bars of battery life and i needed to make some calls later. so i put it in my pocket and stared out at the tail end of the day that was receding behind the trees made evil due to lack of leaves. the conductor sat diagonally from me with a copy of the Herald and pen for the crossword. he kept getting up to call the stations and i desperately wanted to fill in some answers. rowley, ipswich passed, and i was getting bored. we came to hamilton and everything changed.

a woman got on and sat where the conductor had previously been. she was about 45 or 50 years old, looking a bit tired and haggard. she wore some obscure brand of athletic jumpsuit that had half-gloves at the end of the sleeves. it was navy blue with neon green stripes and accents. she wore beat canvas tretorn sneakers with a pink logo. her auburn hair was tied in the back of her head in some sort of victorian bun. what happened next was nothing less than mezmerizing.

it was another 30 minutes to boston. in that time, she literally put on her face. we've all heard that phrase "i need to put my face on." or "face that she keeps in the jar by the door, who is it for?" this woman unrolled a tool kit of mascara, eyeliners, powders, wrinkle creams and lipsticks went to town on her face for 30 minutes. she attacked it. in between applications she sent text messages, took phone calls and adjusted her sports bra. she explained to her friend that "steve" had called at the last minute and asked her to the celtics game. this woman threw on a body-tight track suit, beat up tretorns and ran out the door to meet steve, knowing full well she would have 30 minutes to apply her mask before reaching north station and the famed boston garden. there, she would meet steve, who would spend the next 2-3 hours staring at 10 men run the court, while the woman in the mask sat next to him.

i really became attached to this woman, and her process. i started out stealing looks at her via the reflection in my window, but near the end, i was flat-out staring at her. i don't think she ever even saw me, her eyes boring into her hand-mirror the entire time. holding it at different angles and making conversational expressions into it. i believe she covered every known emotion with her face to make sure that her makeup would withstand any reaction. and it did.

we reached north station and i walked out of the train behind her. i really wanted to tap her on the shoulder and wish her good luck. good luck with steve. knock him dead.

but i didn't. ok.

perception

i heard a fascinating conversation on NPR a few days ago regarding the need for religion. the main point stated that religion was created to explain things humans couldn't understand. we now understand more, so the need for religion to provide explanations has expired. of course, this does not address faith. you can still have that, if you like. ok.

call me

hello. my name is 1977, and i miss you. it has been some time since we have spoken. perhaps you have forgotten me, or at least forgotten my number. maybe you've moved on to another year, one that has different numbers, larger numbers or prime numbers. 1753, there is a good year, with prime numbers, ahhh, 1753. sorry, i digress. anyway, 1977 here is saying that i would love to hear from you. just use this handy device to look up my number. i think it is still in there. ok.

happy birthday

this may be the most perfect combination of items i have ever had the chance to witness. as you can see, it is a mangled birthday cake sitting on what looks like a puddle of urine, and a pile of dog shit. think about the messages being sent here. an image of sweetness and fun times and laughter and presents and the surprise on the office manager's face when we presented the last cake in the market basket bakery case to her, combined with a pile of dog shit. a pile. i love the way that this is described. it isn't a mound or a collection. it isn't just "dog shit." it's too small to be a heap and too large to be "a touch." it is a pile. a pile of dog shit.

so, here we are. happy birthday to anyone who wants a half-eaten birthday cake sitting in a puddle of urine next to a pile of dog shit.

wait a minute. i just had a thought. what if this cake was for a dog. a dog's birthday. this cake was presented to a dog in honor of it's birthday. and what did that dog do? it was so excited it squatted down and began devouring that cake. and in that excitement, the dog took a piss and laid down that pile.

i think i like this vision better. this is what happened.

ok. good.