An Extremely Scientific Comparison

"Actually, the only conclusion I can make out of this pointless story is that Adrien Brody and Nomar are not without similarities. Glad to have enlightened your morning. ;)"

In light of this recent post by our most venerable Miss MKR Mouse, aptly entitled "Awwww", it has come to my attention the need for a Comparison:



Mr. Nomar Garciaparra (Please excuse the presence of Miss Hamm, she means no harm).



Mr. Adrien Brody

In my personal, baseball-illiterate and extremely biased opinion, Mr. Brody is much better looking and more dramatic than Mr. Garciaparra, who seems rather Ken Dollish to me. But they both have epic noses and look nice in suits, so maybe this is besides the point?

What do you think, Madame MKR? :)

1999

We came home that day,
Ran through the iron-rung gate
And thought we were
Safe.
It was our everlasting summer.
Who could care? It was another day
Under a fiercely mediocre sun.
Until
A voice said “Where is she?”
In the ring that every child knows.
Knows, hears, and
Smells of fear.

The nectarine tree
Gnarled up out of the ground.

Half-Pint, Pa says.
The prairie is a good place
Golden place
With its whispering winds and
Flowering fields. But Half-Pint,
Do not go to the swimming hole
Without me.

I saw its blackly
Charcoal-dead trunk;
Amber blood encrusted
On branch and bough,
And thought nothing.

Beyond the gate
The peeling pale iron-clad
Wheels towards two years of
Just-walking Life. The vestige of
Humanity left in the truck
Stops
Before she is lost, and
Returns our baby to us.

My mother cries, and
Only hours later do I understand;
This is not a golden place.

----

Written in imitation of a Norman Dubie poem for Nature and Poetry. Who knew you could work Little House on the Prairie into a poem about your little sister almost getting run over by a truck? 0_o Also, isn't it strange how 1999 feels nostalgic already?

Here we go round the prickly pear

The sun rises as it sets
And dies as it resurrects.
My heart beats.

Does anyone else wonder if, in these times, art is superfluous? Of course, there are the arguments for it being the expression and even documentation of a culture, an outlet for creative energy and emotions we can't control otherwise. And, as always, there is the strong case for the search of goodness, truth and beauty in the world, with artistic expression leading the way.

When
Is Today.
When
Are you?
Are you,
Were you,
Will you be?

But I can't help feeling that maybe it's a bit wanton to be doodling various anime characters (though, whoever said that was art? ;), sketching out graphic novels and learning Tchaikovsky when

Silver chain across my skin
Binding time to sinew fast
Beat
fights
Beat
Blood,
And the second hand

America's economy is crumbling (yet again) and people all over are starving, being tortured for any number of reasons (Christianity, politics, sheer malice, etc), too desperate to continue life, too tired to enjoy life, or too angry or too bored or too confused to let other people continue enjoying life.

What are these never-ending shrines?
What are these rosaries?
What are these tools but to give a Face? Our
Monuments to shamed waste.

My dear friend had to separate with her fiancee, recently. Just after her grandfather died.

I watch my watch
Which 'keeps' this time
Faceless Time
Nameless Time.
(I fear that
Which I cannot name
And so I try
I name you time
And countenance your face
This watch).

It wasn't over anything stupid, like those random arguments that swell up into one enormous, dead absurdity. "Untimely matters," was what she said. Untimely.

Tomorrow is soon today, swans!

Have you noticed how, sometimes, the days go by so quickly? And then you wake up on Saturday morning and realize that the week is over? Or maybe it's Sunday night, and you are shocked to find that the week is beginning for the second time in two days. (It still feels like Tuesday! Monday!)

And the Next is Now, you alder trees!

Maybe art is our way of preserving moments. Why do we read books over and over? Why do we keep going back to a picture, photograph or not, and stare? What brings us, time and time again, to any song?

Why don't you hurry,
Why don't you flee?

Perhaps, for just a time, so that we can sink into another world, as well as be lifted above our own. For all the days that we feel stuck in a rut, where everything is so monotonous that it's impossible to grab a hold of any one moment, to pierce the fabric of the hour;

Flee
From
Time

novels, portraits, concertos, sketches, haikus, ballads, and all the sort give us something to cling to. Perhaps then they empower us to sort through the mundaneity of the daily, the minutiae of the second.

Because, quite honestly, I'd prefer to move past the prickly pears of the morning hour. ^_^

Oatmeal Cranberry Scones are Delicious! :D

Join Phi Theta Kappa, Honors Institute of the 2 year College, today! :D

Along with gaining scholarship information and exclusive access to other important-sounding stuff, you get to take part in a super-deluxe Pat-Yourself-On-The-Back-Because-You-Are-So-Smart Induction Ceremony.

Let me say that again,

Induction Ceremony.

In-Duck-Shun. Ceremony.

Sends a thrill of excitement up your spine, doesn't it?

---

Oh dear. I'm very sorry for that. I just attended the mandatory (and yes, it is called an) Induction Ceremony for this cult thingymajig called Phi Theta Kappa. Basically, if you have a 3.7 GPA or higher, you get a letter inviting you to join so you can get extensive ego-patting and/or scholarship info. Oh, and you get to wear a nifty little pin and bright yellow banner at graduation. *_*

They gave us Roses of Truth. I'm not kidding, they poker-facedly called them Roses of Truth. Or of something.

The poor siblings had to come along to watch the weirdness, too! At least we got cookies!