Let's talk about Jesse

Had a meeting in the Main Library today. After, I checked out some of the special collections exhibits.

Where else but at The Ohio State University would you find the couch that was in Woody Hayes' office behind ropes?



There also a very cool exhibit that honors Jesse Owens in the 100th anniversary of his birth. He went to the university. Never received a scholarship because of the color of his skin. Imagine that.



There's a neat display of memorabilia of his from the 1936 Olympics, in which he received a photograph from Hitler, but nothing from President Roosevelt.



It's not everyday you get to see four Olympic Gold Medals in the same place.

On May 25th 1935 at a Big Ten Track Meet in Ann Arbor, Michigan, Owens did what may have been the greatest sports feat of all time. He tied the world record in the 100 yard dash, set world records in the long jump, 220 yard sprint and 220 yard low hurdles - all in a time span of 45 minutes.



That's one of the shoes he wore, bronzed, in the case. Owens still holds the school record in the long jump.



Easily one of the greatest athletes that ever was.

Did we really judge records and careers based on one single?

It was quite the pleasant shock when David Bowie released a single on Tuesday. It was the first new music from him in ten years and I did not think he would ever share music with the world again.

The backlash has been amazing. The song I will admit is not the best song in the history of songs, far from it. But so may have been comparing it to his earlier work, saying his voice is shot, that the song sucks and he does too, that Bowie is over rated, that he's releasing his music wrong and so much more.

The man is 66 years old. He is not the coked up mystery man in makeup that he was in the seventies. He is not the hit machine he was in the early eighties. He is not the man who made some questionable moves in the late eighties and nineties. Yes, I remember Tin Machine too.

Producer Tony Visconti says the record is much more upbeat than the initial single, Where Are We Now. I'm looking forward to hearing the rest of the record.

What I have not put in Facebook status updates or tweets.

I was at a Barnes and Noble recently, looking through the magazine rack I noticed about half a dozen soccer magazines, none of which were there when I worked there six years ago. I know print has changed, but you know the subject is gaining in popularity.

During last month's storm, the gutter on the front of my house was partially ripped out and hung there in the snow and ice. No way I was going up there. No way a repairman was going up there. Luckily it hung on until the snow and ice melted and I was pleased to find out it was repaired yesterday afternoon. Yes, I have to pay for it, but it's peace of mind.

This last month has been a struggle. Grief is all around me, and it's hard.



I really do not give a shit about who has and who has not been inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame this year.

Hey, we've extended the deadline to apply to read at the 2013 Columbus Arts Festival. Poets, you have until January 28th to submit. You can do that here. It's quick, fun, and free. Showcase your work in one of the coolest venues the city offers you.

Lovely Rita

The coolest thing you will see on the internet today.

Touts est Eh?

The NHL lockout appears to be over. After over 100 days and the cancellation of the Winter Classic and the All Star Game, which would have been in Columbus - owners and players have finally figured out how to share revenue and their toys, for another few years at least.

Have to admit I have not missed the game. There are plenty of other things to do than sit around and invest my time in watching an increasingly public (and casino revenue) funded sports franchise charge ridiculous money for tickets and even more for a 16oz cup of soda.

Here in Columbus, the Blue Jackets are an often maligned excuse for a professional sports franchise, with only one losing playoff effort in 12 years of existence. It's hard to support a perennial losing team. It's hard to support a team that was forced to trade away it's one marketable player in Rick Nash.

Caring became hard during the lockout. At one point, I could not name the coach of the team and had to look it up. Hi Todd Richards. The franchise is once again attempting another rebuild with a new coach, a new manager of operations in the respected, but not as successful on the ice as you think, John Davidson.

On paper, the roster as it stands have no proven goal scorers, a potentially solid defense and highly questionable goaltending. Still not a playoff team.

Not sure what it's going to take to get me to Nationwide Arena this season. I'm sure the organization interns will begin calling me as soon as a 48-50 game schedule is announced, and attempt to sell me a package of games. I might be locking them out for the next 100 days or so myself, and see where they are in the standings when this sprint of a season nears its end.

As of right now, they're tied for first.

Maybe I'm callously belaboring the point

Until a friend posted this article on Facebook, I had not really looked at this poem in three years.

In November of 2009 I was asked if I'd like to be in a poem a day group online. There would be critique and, I thought, support. Coming out of IWPS I had not written anything and thought it would be a good way to kick start the process. I knew only a couple poets of the dozen or so that were in the group and wondered how that would go. The first mistake I made was not knowing the audience.

The poem was in no way finished, and greatly flawed. It was about all I'd had written and I threw myself into the fray with the first poem submitted to the group.

The first comment I received back was, in part, "To this, my rebuttal will be: YOU ARE WRONG." (sic) And to, "please think seriously about food and your relationship with it; I think that would make for stronger and more convincing material."

Here is where I wanted to say to please think about how you interact with strangers over the internet you have never met but I was not in the mood to go on with a fight with a complete unknown on day one. I also received some feedback that the punctuation needed work, that it was too straight forward. (Much of what I write is, I know my flaws) but the poem was not a personal attack. More of a snarky rant that was admittedly without focus. A first draft.

Never had another comment from the person who made the first critique for the rest of the month. Somehow I did manage to write 30 poems that November, not everyone in the group could. Without going back and looking I'm not sure if any of my work has stuck around in my rotation. There was a decent pantoum in the mix.

It was my first, and so far last, experience of working with a group online and I have no great desire to repeat the experience with anyone. Errors were made. It felt like high school and I got very little out of it. Day one was not one that gave me any enthusiasm to continue with any group projects in the future.

Anyhow, here's my rewrite of the piece, warts and all, which I've worked on the past couple of days. Maybe it's a piece of nonsense with a "napkin-dangling straw man" (yeah, the first critique again) but it's done. Sometimes you have to burn shit, or never reveal it. Sometimes they have to be released, somewhere, even when it's not an open mic night. Hey, I have a blog for that!


Pin the tail on the sacred cow

I do not want to know the biography, genetics, the family tree of every animal I eat
Nor do I wish to know the amount of water, what kind of fertilizer
the level of organic biodynamic, whatever.
Or whether the beans were direct descendants of Mendel's experiments
which goes into the plants I consume 

To be told the stress level of the vines and how many grape varietals went into the blend of that French wine from the Rhone I drank too much of
last night is beyond my level of caring. 
Been there, failed to be a sommelier.

I like music, and knowing about musicians
But wanting to know when, where and who Charlie Parker
shot up with before he recorded Orinthology -
or Jim Morrison's blood alcohol content
when he recorded Roadhouse Blues is not information I care to seek out
It’s not going to make the voice sound any clearer,
give the mix more passion or make the horn sound any sweeter
Somedays you want to simply listen
Others to simply eat
You go right ahead and look up those things. I'm hungry

You want slow food
I want quiet food
I know you and I both want good food
Knowing about emulsifiers, natural gums, sustainable agricultural trends and
what makes the cheese artisanal is not going to make what is on my plate
go down my gullet better 
Good things one and all, you hear what's going on in my abdomen though?

While I support your remarkable efforts at using
locally grown produce and other food stuffs in your bistros, cafes
the now peaking past the curve food truck -
do not throw me into a barbecue pit of your jargon,
expecting me to be armed with volumes of Escoffier and Pollan
to remotely comprehend what it is you are serving me
Or even worse, you explaining it all and I mean it *all* to me
as I try to put the fork in my mouth while I'm interrupted with paragraph after paragraph of your foodie wisdom

Don’t batter me around with gently farmed, vibrant,
free range molecular gastronomy served at clandestine dining establishments with communal tables built from salvaged materials of torn down Indiana barns
After the day I've had, will you let me simply sit, chew, swallow then excrete?
In the end, that is all everyone does.
 

The story, is nice
The constant assault of branding is demeaning, overwhelming, occasionally insulting
When a server tells me every detail of the nightly specials, I am starving to death while my head nods
May I have a pizza please?
Hold the anchovies
Especially if they’re over harvested out of the cold waters of the North Atlantic by an independent commune of Icelandic fishermen -
who only use dolphin safe netting

Might as well post my work instead of hiding it

To start the year, three days in, a poem. Not sure if I'm going to put more of my work out here this year. That said, where else is my work going? Not like I've got people begging to publish my work or I'm submitting it anywhere.


From the streets of the under served

On a neglected street on the west side of Columbus
in the shadow of a pile of used tires
there is a brick on the ground
Next to it is a used yellowed condom
and I ask myself
"Is this why we have a casino now?"
Is this why a dormant perpetually losing sports team
gets millions of slot machine revenue
While there is a pothole in my alley
deep enough to bury a racehorse

At 1:25AM on new year's day
there is random gunfire
snapping out of my son's mouth
in the form of episodes of the Wonderpets
and a few verses of happy birthday
It is not my birthday for another six months
It is not his eleventh birthday until exactly nine months from this moment
And I'm trying to determine the difference between
visits and units of service from my insurance company
for his occupational therapies
I have my own emotional cliff to cling to
The raise a congressman just voted himself
could pay half of my son's treatment for a year

There are fireworks exploding in the backyard
of the boarded up house on the corner
a foreclosed building is a magnet for gunpowder
a broken fence a bed for empty spray paint cans
My neighborhood is not vibrant
It is barely sustaining itself amidst the evicted bedbugs who once resided in couches on the lawn next to my house
I can walk to play roulette
but cannot to get a cup of coffee and wi-fi
But i can find an old tire,
tie it to a tree in my front yard
Call it a theme park