Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #433 (published May 7, 2009): "Like a silk-screen in a submarine."
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Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classic issue #433 (published May 7, 2009)
Like a silk-screen in a submarine.
Giant Squid: Ask The Giant Squid: On the Heels of Ambrose Bierce (In the Shadow of the Canyon of Death; part one of four) by the Giant SquidDear Giant Squid:
Something I read online led me to believe that I may be spending too much time on the internet. How can I tell if I should cut back on the time spent reading internet news sites and editorial columnists?
#
My Dear and Beloved and Devoted and Besottedly Drunk Reader,
I am reminded of something my dear, undead friend Ambrose Bierce once said while crouching over me in a Mexican tent. I was accompanying him on his trip south into Mexico. I had approached him some months earlier about writing his definitive biography, and he agreed on the condition that I help him with an important journey. At that moment, in the tent, we had been talking about his long career as a writer of published opinions, and although it bore not upon my mind at the time, I can say now that this conversation has since fundamentally influenced how I approach my own craft. . . .
Fiction: The Wreck of the Lizzie G. by Michael Pelc I'm just out of college and working graveyard at the Courier-Dispatch, which is as good a job as I can get seeing as how I got no experience yet, when this kid, this little piss ant kid who can't be more than nine or ten at the most, comes stumbling into the news room all dripping wet and disheveled from the storm that's raging outside. He's leaving puddles at his feet wherever he goes, what with the water pouring down off his yellow rain slicker the way it is, and all I'm thinking is that Mr. Grasso's gonna have my ass in a sling when he comes in in the morning on account of how, even if he ain't exactly the Charlie Pulitzer of newspaper editors, he does at least take pride in the appearance of the place. And so I'm making plans to get some towels and the like to mop things up, when the little portable lake of a kid holds up this Brownie camera he's toting with him and says, "I got pictures."
"Yeah? Pictures of what?" I ask, being all Joe College cool.
"The Lizzie G," he says. And then he adds, because he sees I ain't looking particularly impressed and/or interested, "getting smashed on the rocks." . . .
Poetry: In Case Of Toxins, Read Poetry by John GreyI did speak to my congressman about it. I'm not exactly sure what he said
(it was a bad connection)
but it sounded something like
"it being a lovely day,
go into deep woods,
seek out the gorgeous scarlet tanager."
Not bad advice . . .
Rant: And for This We Got What?
(A Poor Mojo's "My Travel Fiasco" Rant Contest Notable Entry) by Paul Baughman. . . Several years ago, my mother was moving from Raleigh, North Carolina, to Erie, Pennsylvania. My wife and I flew down from where we live in order to drive the rental truck containing her possessions back north. We would meet my sister and brother at our home, where they would continue driving the truck to Erie. We would arrive in Raleigh about 3:00 p.m., giving us time to go to the truck rental agency to sign for and pick up the truck, which we would load that evening for an early morning departure on Saturday. . . .
