May 2007
    1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29 30 31    


Estella Floats
I, Asshole
tequila mockingbird (SHE'S BACK!)
Mister Crunchy
(this shit)
Lily White Intentions
All or Nothing
Styrofoamkitty (RIP!)
She C. (RIP!)
Fresh Pepper (RIP!)
Get to the Choppa
Jen and Tonic
What's Brewin' Down Yonder
Almost Lucid
Dirty Fez
Sarah B.
Bad News Hughes
Bored But Busy
Malicious User
Run Jen Run
Knotty Yarn
Breakfast of Losers
Philosophical Marshmallow
Random Musings
Brooks Blog
Geese Aplenty
Blue Ruin
Tiny Voices in My Head
The Art of Getting By

Most Recent Entries


Monthly Archives


Advanced Search


Powered by



Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.


Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Snapshot, with Very Little Context

Last Thursday evening, I was finishing up on the recumbent exercise bike (timer hitting 25:05), listening to Sonic Youth’s “I Love You Golden Blue” on my iPod Shuffle, and I used a collection of poems (Jen Benka’s a box of longing with fifty drawers*) to mark my place in the March 2007 Vanity Fair (the Michael Wolff article on Judith Regan). (Marking my place in the Benka collection was bookmark promoting abebooks.com.)

This is what my blogging life has been reduced to: a fucking Twitter post. And I HAVE a Twitter page . . . in addition to this blog (plus one or two others), a MySpace page, and a Vox site. I’m really not holding up my end of the whole navel-gazing bargain, am I?

* A little critique (this would be the context). I don’t know where I saw a link to this collection, but I think it was on a blog I’d read. Reviews seemed promising. Well . . . I deal with words and language and linguistics for a living, but I don’t usually enjoy exercises in wordplay as poetry. I don’t want to have to read this whole collection in one 20-minute sitting to GET it. I want a collection of poems that, taken individually, MEAN something. And taken TOGETHER, might mean something ELSE. Or something more significant. I dunno . . . this just seems like a cute (but SERIOUS) gimmick-as-political-statement. All around, very light. THIS is the kind of writing that inspires ME to write more. And I am. Just not HERE, apparently. (As an aside, I like how more thought went into this footnote than the actual POST. ROCK ON, context!)

shaken and poured by Scott-san on 05/22 at 11:43 AM
PoetryThe Media (7) Comments closedPermalink

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Testing the Limits of SPF Technology

We’re back from our beach trip. If you know me at all, either in real life or this virtual one, you know I hate being at the beach. Well, we were at the beach for something like four days and four nights. And, lemme tell you, I never want to go to the beach again . . . unless it’s exactly like that. We stayed in an amazing house with a passel of blogger-ly types, ate great food, drank the perfect amounts of alcohol (except for that one night with the grape vodka and ziti), and kept my beach exposure to a minimum. I’m not joking; the house was right ON the beach (separated by a POOL, motherfuckers), so out of the 40-some-odd hours we were there, I touched sand for about one of them. One hour.

There was lots of SUN exposure though. Between the constant pool time Mia was demanding and the fact that the sun was full-ON every day, I was really pushing that SPF 50 Coppertone Baby stuff as far as I could. And I’m happy to report, that I didn’t burn anywhere.

The flipside to all of this is that, due to the omnipresent Guitar Hero playing, I never want to hear “Sweet Child o’ Mine” or “Girlfriend” or even “Message in a Bottle” ever again.

In a related note, my wife is, as I type this, pricing PS2/Guitar Hero combos on Ebay.

Also, in true Lunchbreak fashion, we didn’t take any pictures. At all. Didn’t even bring our camera. But other people did. Well, not OUR camera . . . you get the picture.

shaken and poured by Scott-san on 05/09 at 07:41 AM
RoadtrippingWeekends (6) Comments closedPermalink


There's no "I" in threesome.


I can't remember whether I've seen anything new since my birthday. Oh, right, that one.


I was hoping for a little more detail in the accounts of mauling-by-zombie. But the anecdotes were disturbing, nonetheless..


I don't have a solid grasp on which exact cheap beers I had at the ATL watering holes.