POSTMODERN LIVING IS EASY TO DO

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119854022011-11-12T20:36:10.495-05:00POSTMODERN LIVING IS EASY TO DOA collection of writers, friends.MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.comBlogger131100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1153456593170162242006-07-21T00:34:00.000-04:002006-07-21T00:36:33.186-04:00PAPER PUSHERS

Hank sat at his job, grading papers. He worked for a company contracted by different states to grade their standardized tests. This month, March, Hank was grading a test for Ohio. It was the math section and he would be grading the same question for forty hours a week over the next month. By the end of the month, Hank will have looked over ten thousand answers to the one question. The work

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1150086782058448792006-06-12T00:30:00.000-04:002006-06-12T00:33:02.073-04:00LAMB CHOPS

A black woman rang the buzzerdrawing my attention from daily cleaning to customer service.She wanted to know about lamb chops.In particular, she wanted me to tell her the difference between Frenched lamb chops and lamb loin chops.She referred to the Frenched lamb chops as pop-sickle chops.I lied and told her that I too used that term whilenever hearing it ever before.She asked me if I had lamb

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1144530821428416602006-04-08T17:12:00.000-04:002006-04-08T22:39:06.560-04:00SUBTLE CONTRAST

It’s the subtle contrasts of today and a year ago today that haunt me. Last year, the air –while having a slight chill—warmed quickly under the unobstructed sun. There was that earthy, sweet smell of spring-to-come, reminding me that the ground has thawed and the tulips in my backyard should be popping through the soil soon. There was no buzz of traffic. There was no wind. And, at this point

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1138592249989067332006-01-29T22:33:00.000-05:002006-01-29T22:45:55.073-05:00SUBMERGED

A nun, lifting her habit’s hemline, stooped to pick up a loose paper scuttling in the wind which had stolen it from an invalid black man.Sorry, I stepped on it, want it in your backpack? What zipper? Does it matter?I passed by, not pausing or picking up the paper for someone in need.This exchange seemed cliché but

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1137981267654898102006-01-22T20:51:00.000-05:002006-01-25T14:50:16.640-05:00HOUSEKEEPING

I peel a pale, faded elephant sticker from my hand-me-down computer monitorbefore I set to task. The sheets are stripped, comforter carefully Febreeze'd(I Wish I'd bought the anti-microbial kind, instead of the one that only refreshens fabric).I scoop up stray socks and nickels. Dirty dishes were never a problem for me,but clothing I leave everywhere, the stale airs of my days

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1133942533832316382005-12-07T03:00:00.000-05:002005-12-07T03:39:19.870-05:00DEAD ON A WEDNESDAY

It was sundown at the midwestern university. The sun dropped behind the trees and the buildings, only its top third exposed above the horizon. Two people, one student, one teacher, walked out of a campus building. It was built in that period of the late 1950’s and early 1960’s where every building looked like it was modeled after an automotive factory in Detroit. From a plane or a helicopter it

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1125456441375304192005-08-30T22:45:00.000-04:002005-08-30T22:47:21.390-04:00A ROMANIAN GYPSY RUINED MY LIFE

I’ve never met a Paul that I’ve liked. Every single one has been a cheat, a religious zealot or a son of a bitch. Every single one; there’s no getting around it. If you happen to be reading this, and your name is Paul, I’d apologize for the libel but you’re an asshole; I’m sorry, but you are. So say your name is Paul, and by the miraculous touch of God you’re not an asshole. Well first, I

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1117058297322336682005-05-25T17:57:00.000-04:002005-05-25T17:58:17.326-04:00DEAD'S FLOTSAM

‘You just couldn’t wait, could you?’She asked me this as I lit a cigarette before saying good-bye in the morning. I tucked the cigarette—a Turkish Royal—into my hand so the hots wouldn’t burn her Static Guard laced hair. She showed me earlier how Static Guard could be used to suppress fly-away hairs so one would look professional when one was closing out home equity loans. ‘Does your mom

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1115935194810052122005-05-12T17:58:00.000-04:002005-05-12T17:59:54.816-04:00MAROONED IN MOSCOW

Just enough heater to fall asleep,just enough sleep to wake up sober.The chill creeps in to my engine and guitar, whileThe drink keeps it from my lungs and bones.There's a comfort in knowing I will survive this night, yetThere's a shame in realizing I will still be here in the morning.I've dabbled in fantasy, in adventure and pipe dream,ordeals never meant to breach the security of

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1114718787665552932005-04-28T15:59:00.000-04:002005-04-28T18:06:16.036-04:00THE BIAS FLIES BY US (PART TWO)

Rajiv and I didn’t say a single damn thing to each other the entire twenty minute trip to Windsor. I weaved through the sparse traffic like a spinstress knitting a new sweater while on speed and Rajiv’s inability to focus on less than five things at once was heightened by the car going near a hundred miles an hour, turning everything into a blur. The soaring music of Sigur Ros filled our

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1114640319307821852005-04-27T18:16:00.000-04:002005-04-28T16:06:59.876-04:00THE BIAS FLIES BY US (PART ONE)

The Cuban revolutionary’s head hung low, swinging back and forth from the rope above. His black eyes peered out from his black beret and black beard. His thin face swung back and forth with every turn of the wheel.“So what do you think I should do?” Rajiv’s voice cut through my gaze at the hanging wooden Che Guevara necklace dangling from my rearview mirror and back to the road. Normally when I

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1114550601282444702005-04-26T17:22:00.000-04:002005-04-26T17:25:58.230-04:00TO RON

I’m too drunk to think right now…Ron just left for Idaho solemn good-byes from the Wheat and Rye—the original ‘Lonely Hearts Club’--we say our peace and Ron--with sagacious wisdom—tells me that he’ll look for my work publishedas long as I writeand looks forward to Nikki doing great things.I’m far too drunk to think right now.Only a tear drips from my eyes:that one of my best friends is leavingand

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11985402.post-1113774583464041552005-04-17T17:46:00.000-04:002005-04-25T14:36:46.623-04:00NEW YEAR EULOGY

Sitting on a stoop in Brooklyn with the best minds of my generation,chain smoking, visiting good friends and making new ones, celebrating the new year, drinking ourselves into mindless stupors, recalling good and bad times, predicting where we’ll be and what we’ll be in five yearsAll these things I miss Intellectual masturbation at the Library Pub after endless rounds of McSorley’s dark

MG (ed.)http://www.blogger.com/profile/13022754935597327899noreply@blogger.com2