Living Out Loud

Dinner, Snack, the Cosmic Joker

Dinner:  Chicken breast, salad, carrots, two bowls of cereal, soy milk.

Midnight Snack:  Food poisoning.

If anyone’s ever had food poisoning, I’m so sorry. Now I know how it feels. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t even wish it on my partial enemy. Even my cats looked at me confused. I’m sure they were thinking, “What the hell’s the matter with you, ew, gross Mom, let us outta here, for real.”

What’s even stranger is that I was just bragging about my manly stomach the other day, how it’s made of steel, how I can eat anything, how I’ve never had food poisoning. My exact, bold words were “I’m immune to it.”

Never say never.  Sometimes I think God is a cosmic joker.

— C.A. MacConnell

The Chimney Stack

Joe’s a skinny guy.

Drives a Harley

and works

at the Kroger

in Mt. Washington.

Sometimes I think

he’s too thin

to be driving a Harley.

I saw Joe

catching a smoke,

he sat there glum,

looking lonely,

looking at the parking lot

looking at his smoke.

Crawfish on a Sweatshirt

(Editor’s Note: Looking back at Hurricane Katrina one year later, I find myself wondering what we learned from this. Anything? A year later, New Orleans is still a mess and most have not been able to return to their homes. The editorial below ran as CityBeat's Living Out Loud column last September.)

I’ve held on to it all these years – this green sweatshirt with a big red crawfish on the front – the caption reading “New Orleans Crawfish.” I found it in a bottom dresser drawer.

That morning, when New Orleans was at its bleakness, I dug out my old sweatshirt and turned off the television for awhile, needed a break from all the news about the flooding, the hurricane, the looting and the evacuation. I wanted to stop thinking about the thousands of people left dead in what was left of their homes or dead in the water that’s full of gas and sewage or those simply left to rot on the sidewalks.

I put on the old sweatshirt, poured myself a cup of coffee and went and sat down in my chair on my porch. I took a deep breath. Memories of The Big Easy started to come back.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Cell phones and bathrooms: Can we establish some official ground rules here?

OK, I have, on occasion, taken my phone into a public restroom either because I was waiting on a call I absolutely couldn’t miss, or because the phone is in my purse. The conversation is usually, “I’ll call you right back.”

But I have had some strange experiences in public restrooms. One time, at U.C., a girl was a few stalls down having some severe diarrhea, and felt the need to share the experience, not only with me, but with whoever it was on the other end of her phone conversation.

Usually, I mistakenly think that the stranger in the next stall is talking to me when they’re not. I mean, when there are only two of us in the bathroom, what am I supposed to think?

Fleas

Phoebe, my cat around nine years old, started acting funny a few days ago - scratching herself constantly, not hopping onto furniture, staying to herself, not eating well and not seeming very happy. While not really a friendly cat, she is usually to me and my adult son - maybe because we’re the guys who feed her.

On Friday morning, my son figured out what was wrong. By examining her skin and seeing “something” on her, he discovered that our indoor cat who never goes outside had fleas.

In researching the problem on line, my son decided that the only quick solution was to give Phoebe a bath with stuff that would get rid of the fleas. Now cats don’t like baths and you have to understand that Phoebe doesn’t do well when it comes to changes, going to the vet, moving and especially being given a bath. I simply told my son “find another solution. You will be bitten all to hell if you try to give her a bath.”

Comment on "Reefer Madness"

Note: This post is inspired by Larry Gross' Living Out Loud column in this week's CityBeat, "Reefer Madness."

I missed the hippie era. By the time I visited Haight Street, there was nothing but dark, creepy streets strewn with homeless people. I got a coffee, visited a Dead cover bar and found a place to crash, frustrated.

I could score some bud or whatever I wanted in a finger snap. I know the lingo, the corners. If I wanted to smoke a joint on Fountain Square, I would. But I haven’t eaten a tomato in a long time. They make me sick. Other people love ‘em, grow the plants, give them as gifts, et cetera.

I have trouble talking to buzzing individuals. They appear distant, aloof. But I’ve been told I naturally appear distant, aloof. I’m sure people have trouble reading me. I talk to crack-addicted individuals. Sometimes I give them money. If they’re in withdrawal, they need more drugs. I would.

Book Review: "Voodoo Heart"

Scott Snyder teaches creative writing at Columbia University and his debut collection of short stories is a bit strange and more than a little deranged. This doesn’t make the book bad. In fact, Voodoo Heart is quite good. You never know where his characters are going to end up or what they’re capable of doing.

In “Dumpster Tuesday,” we find a Wall Street trader now guarding a dumpster outside a pawn shop in Florida. He’s traveled there, searching for his girlfriend who ran off with a country music singer. He’s got his spear gun all ready once he finds them.

“Blue Yodel” is about an employee who works for Niagara Falls. His job is to watch for jumpers, but now he’s mostly chasing after a blimp in his car. His girlfriend escaped from him on it, but now she’s throwing personal objects from the blimp so he can keep tracking her.

The Garden of Eden

OK, according to the bible, God told Adam, Don’t eat from the tree of knowledge, or you will surely die that day. (Gen. 2:17)

Then the serpent tells Eve, You’re not going to die; God just doesn’t want you to know what he knows. (Gen. 3:4-5)

Adam and Eve eat the fruit and God says, Oh no, man has eaten from the tree of knowledge, and now he knows good and evil as we do. Now we have to kick him out of the garden before he eats from the tree of life and lives forever, too. (Gen. 3:22)

So here’s my question: If you read it literally, who was lying to Adam and Eve, and who was telling the truth?

Writing a Column That Bombs

The new issue of CityBeat will be out tomorrow and it’s none too soon for me. I want people to forget about last week’s Living Out Loud column.

It was a take off on Bill Maher’s “New Rules” - a spin that clearly didn’t work. I got no response at all, nothing good, nothing bad - nothing. I consider it a bomb. When you’re writing a column, this is the one thing you don’t want.

Football and Sex

Well, it’s football time again and I can’t say I’m happy about it. It screws up my sex life.

My boyfriend lives and dies by the Bengals. When they win, he is a sexual animal, the best lover a woman could ever have. when they lose, he is a loser - going to bars with his buddies and crying in his beer - then coming home to me and going to bed. It’s like sleeping with my sister.

Can you imagine what my sex life was like when the Bengals were constantly losing?