Birthday wishes

He'd have been one year old today.

That also means that in less than two months, it will be a year since my son Harry died. It seems like both an eternity and a few days ago. We're having a little mini-family vacation this week in Harry's honor. I wanted it to be more of a celebration than a mourning.

So if blogging seems a little light this week, it's not laziness, I promise.

My toes show it

I was tidying up in the old Siftin' archives and came across something I wrote in the early-90s when I could be found occupying the ticket booth at my local theater.

Working box, as it was called, was often fairly solitary. While I sat in the ticket booth, my co-workers manned the concession stand down the hall.

In between shows, there wasn't much to do aside from helping the occasional "When's the next showing of 'Dumb and Dumbler'?" customer.

And no, I didn't misspell that. That's what she asked. She also asked about "Richie Richie" as well as another title that was just so wrong, I'm not going to mention it.

Anyhow, I passed the time by writing. Armed with either a notebook, or scroll-like on a roll of rough and amazingly water-resistant brown paper towels, I scribbled furiously.

One day, much to my amazement, I wrote a poem. Now keep in mind, I'm not a poet at all. My best work up to that point was

Roses are swell

Violets are nifty

I got your valentine

For a quarter at Thrifty

Real poetry was over my head with its use of symbolism and abstract imagery. So when I read what I had written, I wondered just what the hell happened. Did I zone out that much? Was I tripping on the Windex fumes after cleaning the box office window?

Beats me. Even now, a dozen or so years later, I still can't imagine having written it if I didn't have the hard copy in my own writing.

I see references to commercials and Michael Jackson's marriage to Lisa Marie Presley, but everything else is just a mishmash of images, almost like flipping through channels late at night.

If you want to sample this oddity for yourself, have at it. It's long, and I can't say that it's particularly good (I wouldn't really know, honestly), but it is weird, and that's what we're all about at this blog, right? I would like to clarify that I was stone sober when I wrote this (I was at work, after all).

I bask in the glory of my Barka Lounger

Because I'm not a La Z Boy

Overdub a Jack in the Box springing

Or falling or summering — no matter

I sing the words because I can't hum

The darn thing has wings — so I can fly

To my Craftmatic Adjustable Coffin

And sleep restfully forever or at least

Until the Bunch comes back on because

Marcia was the cutest — ow, my nose!

What is that noise trip-trapping at the olfactory?

Could it be Jeno's Pizza Rolls?

And what roles

Do pizzas have?

I guess olive to learn another day.

How do you smell relief?

Just don't light a match

Because only you can prevent forest fires.

I have a not-so-fresh feeling

I should have used a Ziploc bag

Yellow and blue make green, which

Is the whole point of watching anyway

Watch, sleep — perchance to think

Make sure your answer is in the form of

A question? I'm sorry

We have to take your first answer

Because the second one was right

Skinned purple dinosaurs are on

No relief no commercials no hope

This is your brain on drugs...A fried egg

Doing the Humpty Dance. I just hope

It was margarine because butter

PARKAY

Is high in cholesterol

My dog's bigger than your dog

'Cause he eats mailmen who take steroids

A is for anarchy

J is for jenius

Cinnamon toasty, finger-licking good

The Colonel will always have a friend

Wearing big red shoes.

It is the shoes

Start a revolution with Elvis-in-law

Moonwalk through

Turn the other cheek

But don't squeeze the Charmin

Mr. Whipple and Mrs. Olsen got married

Which made for some interesting coffee

They had in France what was the

Name of that waiter — Jean-Luc?

Boldly serving coffee where no one

Has gone to celebrate the

Moments of your life

Send the

Very best to get your z's but avoid

Operating heavy machinery as you

Can learn a lot from a dummy

I love you, you love me, my

Parents were Grimace and Dino

Yabba-Dabba-Does She or

Doesn't she?

Only her plastic surgeon

Nose for sure.

Are you sure? Raise

Your hand if you really think you ought to

And now a word from our sponsor about these

Messages after this

Word we'll be right

Back.

Sorry, Alex.

What is back?

Daily Double Martini, extra dry

Shaken, not stirred

Don't forget the olive

Blow me down.