I'm Spying on You!

Turner Classic Movies had a neat feature last night. They were spotlighting some of the films of Thelma Todd. Naturally, they showed both of the Marx Brothers films she was in.

I forget how funny Monkey Business is. All four of the brothers get to show their chops. There's a wonderful scene in which they're trying to leave a ship. They steal Maurice Chevalier's passport and imitate him to try and fool the customs agents.

When you see a film multiple times, sometimes you find a gem you missed, or a little aside that suddenly strikes you as the best thing ever. This moment for me comes at about 4:50 of this great scene between Harpo and Chico, who are proving themselves to be tough so they can be bodyguards for a bad guy.



Groucho has one, perfect line in this scene.

After Monkey Business, Horse Feathers was shown. In the film, the song "Everyone Says I Love You" is used frequently and is performed by all the brothers during the film. I love the scene with Groucho and Thelma Todd as the College Widow.



I know Woody Allen did the film Everyone Says I Love You, and used the song as a tribute to the Marxes. What I did not know was that the song was written specifically for Horse Feathers. I always thought it was a popular song of the day. I liked Woody's film a lot.



Back to Thelma Todd, who appeared in a lot of films during her short career. Why was her career short? Because she was 29 when she died under mysterious circumstances. The official cause of death was a carbon monoxide overdose. She was found in a locked garage with her car running. There was also blood on her face and dress, she may have already been unconscious when the car was started.



I have a tendency to look back at my journal entries. This one from 2006 is quite spooky. It's a monthly horoscope that, if you push it back a month or two, has some dead on accuracy. Hindsight gives you the opportunity to do this.

"The winds of change are again blowing, and you are about to experience a radical shift in your career. The first week of September will be fraught with tension as unexpected news about a professional matter comes your way...

It looks like destiny has a plan for you. If you have been working long and hard, with too little reward or promise for a sound future, getting out of your current situation will be a blessing. It's time to clear out the dead wood that has weighed you down and wedged you between a rock and a hard place.

It appears your boss or client, most likely a female, is about to announce a surprise departure, and you will be distressed to hear this, for it looks like she was a strong supporter.

Before you get too worried, it's possible that you may have ALREADY seen a source of income dry up over the past few months. Let me show you how this could be by telling you a true story.

Summary:

A major, sudden career change near September 7, the full moon lunar eclipse - a change you won't see coming - will leave you stunned. A top-level woman who protected you may now suddenly depart, leaving you feeling orphaned. Or someone may attempt to harm your reputation, either through gossip or through a false accusation. In the latter instance, you'll soon find out who your true friends are, although the experience may turn out to be quite disillusioning.

While this sounds ominous, all this month will bring is a set of tests, albeit quite a number of them. On the upside, you will get them done all at once. October should be lively and productive, and November will be extraordinarily happy. December should be downright glorious."

I won't say November was happy, and December the opposite of glorious, aside from leaving CML - which was the relief of all reliefs. The crap really hit the fan in January when true, false identities and other craziness were revealed.

My Own Worst Critic

I don’t have much desire to be a touring poet. I feel safer at home and grounded, somewhat. Would I do special features if the situation was right? Sure, and that includes locally at anytime. However, my material is not there yet. Not even close.

I do not think I could put together three decent feature length sets of all different poems. Will I ever be better than mediocre at best? Do I have the time to devote to the craft and the talent to develop it? Good questions.

Maybe I’m being hard on myself. Today though, I’m just a hobbyist, and I’m ok with that.

Scared, in Front of a Crowd

Last night's dream involved my first wife and I doing a team piece at a poetry slam. A big poetry slam. A Nationals type event. Somehow when we printed out the poem, the part she was doing printed out fine, but mine only had the first part of each line so half my part was missing.

(Don't bring up memorization, it's my dream ok?)

So we got up to the stage and after the applause died down, I deliberately woke myself up because I did not want to know what would happen next.

Took the family out to a graduation party yesterday. N's been to this place before but was among a mostly unfamiliar crowd. So he was standing there looking a bit lost. Even enticing him with a lollipop did not get him to move. I took him by the hand and sat him in my lap, where he stayed, very content, for the next two hours.

At one point, I got up to mingle, and he stayed in the chair just fine. I looked over at him and he held his hand up as to give me a high five but when I gave him the high five he took my hand, pulled to to the chair and said, "Do you want down?"

Meaning, sit with me Daddy.

He's a very sweet child, even when he woke up at 4:30AM he's still sweet.

Philosophy, is the Talk on a Cereal Box

I haven't been punchy here for awhile. Or been self revealing in the form of navel gazing. While I'm in a good place, overall - there's always room for improvement.

There are things I'd like to write about, for instance, the Columbus Metropolitan Library levy, but anything I say, as a disgruntled former employee, would come across as me being bitter. So I do not criticize it, even though I'm more for the levy than I am against it. But, as I learned while working there, expressing any opposing view of that place was strictly forbidden.

It's not even that I'm censoring myself. I do not want to be negative. The trauma of being at my old workplace still exists. After three years I've finally found myself not flinching while being around my current coworkers when they talk to me, about anything. Only now am I coming to terms with it to find myself facing their levy campaign head on in the lives of the people around me. And I understand why it should pass, but there are still people there I want to slap with a dead fish. The bad stuff is not something that is easily let go, but this extension of my pain is not good either.

It's hard for me, like Edie Brickell, I don't get too deep. Yet, I do have my own passionate, yet often misinformed, opinions. Problem is, it comes out as anger, rage, a rant rather than anything with any real depth or intellect. Which is more about me than I care to admit but it's on the screen now.

The online interactions have all become a bunch of snarky one liners in lengthy Facebook threads, and they're starting to bore me. What's getting solved there? Opinions are not changing. I'm not going to retreat to this blog, shake my fist and give out links of things that I hate - there's nothing productive or remotely positive about that way of communicating.

The last thing I need, is a cell phone, another electronic addiction. I'm not a gamer. What I do here is the extent of my gaming. I watch very little actual television, outside of sports, and have no clue who these Jersey Shore people and their ilk are. Nor do I care. Why should I care about Heidi and Spencer, whoever they are? I read Entertainment Weekly and see the names and headlines and read that none of these reality people have done anything of any substance, other than making show. I'm not impressed. Television seems very boring now days and I'm better at entertaining myself than shouting old Nirvana lyrics at the world.

Sometimes I think even the poetry has suffered. Feel like it's rehash. Even when I challenge myself the results are mean. I can't even write a love poem. Should be grateful I'm not blocked. Stuff is coming out. Most of it I'd like to pitch. Some of it, I have not read in public and probably never will. Have I painted myself into a corner?

Never watched Lost. Don't watch Mad Men or anything on pay cable. Wish I saw The Wire, maybe I'll borrow the DVD from the library, but the rest seems a waste of my time. My dead boss used to say 'life's too short' before he dropped dead of a crack overdose at the age of 33 - and he was right.

I try not to pay attention to Glenn Beck, the group of inbred Palins or how the crazy folks in the Federal Reserve and Treasury have pushed this country into insolvency. At the same time it's so bad out there we've forgotten how to coexist. No one wants to share the $1,000 pizza though - and why should they? They paid for it. Then tweeted about it.

So do I lay on my deathbed wishing I had not wasted so much time on my laptop, or that I wasted too much time watching Gene Simmons' reality show? Heck, at least I did not do both. Now, if I could put myself in a situation to ditch both of those options for the real alternative - there's your hot action.

I Don't Know What This Means

Our friend Tyrone is leaving town soon. Not only is he leaving town but he's leaving the country. Not only is he leaving the country but he's leaving the Northern Hemisphere.

We're going to miss him.



Put the video together last night. Had to change the music after the first song I selected did not get approved. Darn copyright.

Tyrone is a good man. He can fire back when fired upon and does the shimmy better than any human should be allowed. His competitive eating skills are legendary. Every wedding should have a Tyrone, as long has he's invited and why would he not be?

I wish him nothing but the best.

A Recap

How close was last night's slam?

So close that the last poet on the mic had a chance to win it all.

Congratulations to Vernell Bristow for winning the Grand Slam. She will be representing Writers' Block at the Individual World Poetry Slam in Charlotte in December. She did her best and it showed. Pure class.

There was so much fine work on the stage at Kafe Kerouac. Dain and Marshall were both incredibly solid.

Scott Woods told us how much he dislikes someone's Bedtime Prayers. The crowd loved it.

Rachel Wiley had the high score of the night with a three minute poem that was edited down to one. It worked!

Ethan hit home for me with a piece about finding love away from the computer.

I hate going on after Rose Smith. She's too damn good to follow. She performed, using the whole stage. Really fine work.

I was the last poet to read. Thought I was out of it so I did An Obscene Phone Call from Mr. Potato Head to leave 'em laughing. If I had scored a 29.9 I would have won it all. It was not meant to be. Not this year. I did get the only ten of the night from the low scoring but consistent and fair judges.

Rachel Reid did a wonderful job as emcee, keeping the energy in the room up. Joanna was on the netbook, updating the slam live on Facebook.

The young lady whose cell phone went off during last week's slam came back. I was pleased to know I did not scare her off!

It's a bit of a relief that slam season, for me, is pretty much over. I think I'm doing it again at the Upper Arlington Arts Festival. Time to reassess, evaluate and ultimately, get back to work. I love what we do.

The streets is watching.

So Far From Suck...

Going to be a great night of poetry at Kafe Kerouac on Wednesday night. Eight poets are competing in the Writers' Block Grand Slam. What does the winner get? The right to represent WB at the Individual World Poetry Slam in Charlotte in December.

Three rounds of poetry - three, two and one - then a victor will be given the green jacket, or the tiara, the crown, well maybe not.

As you may or may not know, I am the defending champion.

It's going to be tough to repeat. Very tough. Seven of the eight poets in the slam have national experience.

Been working on the poems. Putting it together. The points don't matter but the poetry does.

Right?

Expect fire. Hot action. A great display from Columbus' best poets.