The Iceberg Theory

all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.
you'd think romaine was descended from
orpheus's laurel wreath,
you'd think raw spinach had all the nutritional
benefits attributed to it by popeye,
not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of
verlaine and debussy.
they'll even salivate over chopped red cabbage
just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.

i guess the problem is
it's just too common for them.
it doesn't matter that it tastes good,
has a satisfying crunchy texture,
holds its freshness,
and has crevices for the dressing,
whereas the darker, leafier varieties
are often bitter, gritty, and flat.
it just isn't different enough, and
it's too goddamn american.

of course a critic has to criticize;
a critic has to have something to say.
perhaps that's why literary critics
purport to find interesting
so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.

at any rate, i really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in an italian or roquefort dressing.
and the poems i enjoy are those i don't have
to pretend that i'm enjoying.

- Gerald Locklin

At Least

I want to get up early one more morning,
before sunrise. Before the birds, even.
I want to throw cold water on my face
and be at my work table
when the sky lightens and smoke
begins to rise from the chimneys
of the other houses.
I want to see the waves break
on this rocky beach, not just hear them
break as I did all night in my sleep.
I want to see again the ships
that pass through the Strait from every
seafaring country in the world-
old, dirty freighters just barely moving along,
and the swift new cargo vessels
painted every color under the sun
that cut the water as they pass.
I want to keep an eye out for them.
And for the little boat that plies
the water between the ships
and the pilot station near the lighthouse.
I want to see them take a man off the ship
and put another up on board.
I want to spend the day watching this happen
and reach my own conclusions.
I hate to seem greedy-I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what's going to happen.

- Raymond Carver

Cows

"To my mind, the only possible pet is a cow. Cows love you. They are harmless, they look nice, they don't need a box to crap in, they keep the grass down, and they are so trusting and stupid that you can't help but lose your heart to them. Where I live in Yorkshire, there's a herd of cows down the lane. You can stand by the wall at any hour of the day or night, and after a minute the cows will all waddle over and stand with you, much too stupid to know what to do next, but happy just to be with you. They will stand there all day, as far as I can tell, possibly to the end of time. They will listen to your problems and never ask a thing in return. They will be your friends forever. And when you get tired of them, you can kill them and eat them. Perfect."

~ Bill Bryson, Neither Here Nor There.

David Sedaris

We were sitting in the back yard on lawn chairs. It was early Spring and our bodies were hungry for the sun, having spent so much of the winter indoors. I had a stack of books and was reading, while Jane was content to close her eyes and soak up the sun. I had heard of a new book called Naked; a series of essays, many of them purported to be funny, and had picked it up at the library. I was reading and laughing till Jane asked what was so funny. I began reading aloud and soon Jane was doubled over in laughter. The author was David Sedaris and we were in love.

"The dinner hour became either unbearable, or excruciating, depending on my mood. 'Methinks, kind sir, most gentle lady, fellow siblings all, that this barnyard fowl be most tasty and succulent having simmered in its own sweet juices for such a time as it might take the sun to pass, rosy and full fingered across the plum colored sky for the course of a twilight hour. Tis' crisp, yet juicy this plump bird. Satisfied in the company of such finely roasted neighbors. Hear me out fine relations, and heed my words. For me thinks it adverterous and fanciful too, to saddle mine fork with both fowl and carrot at the exact same time, the twin juices blending together in a delicate harmony which doth cajole and enliven the tongue in a spirit of unbridled merriment. What say ye, fine father, sisters, and infant brother too? That we raise our flagons high in celebration of this hearty feast. Prepared lovingly and with tender grace by this dutiful woman we have the good fortune to address as our wife, wench or mother. '"
- David Sedaris, "The Drama Bug"


Tonight we are seeing David Sedaris live for the second time in less than a year. The first time was in NYC at Town Hall. It was springtime in New York and it was glorious. It was unseasonably warm and the entire city came out.

It's now fall; a perfect fall day in fact. It's been raining for the last several days, but today it's cool, still and sunny. The leaves are only just starting to turn, but autumn is definitely here. Pumkins and corn stalks. Mums and hay bales.

Bernadette is coming with us, and Jessica is watching the girls. We're leaving in a couple of hours, so we can enjoy the day in the city. We have dinner reservations at 5:45pm at El Vez, hotel arrangements at the Loews Philadelphia, and theatre tickets at the Kimmel Center.

But, as excited as we are, there is a part of me that wishes we were sitting in our own backyard, reading David Sedaris, with a fire burning in the chiminea.

Happiness and a Plunger

I heard this poem recently. It was read aloud by none other than Garrison Keillor. It reminded me of how often we get so caught up in what's practical, we forget to allow for a little happiness.



Coconut

Bear with me
I want to tell you
something about
happiness
it's hard to get at
but the thing is
I wasn't looking
I was looking
somewhere else
when my son found it
in the fruit section
and came running
holding it out
in his small hands
asking me what
it was and could we
keep it it only
cost 99 cents
hairy and brown
hard as a rock
and something swishing
around inside
and what on earth
and where on earth
and this was happiness
this little ball
of interest beating
inside his chest
this interestedness
beaming out
from his face pleading
happiness
and because I wasn't
happy I said
to put it back
because I didn't want it
because we didn't need it
and because he was happy
he started to cry
right there in aisle
five so when we
got home we
put it in the middle
of the kitchen table
and sat on either
side of it and began
to consider how
to get inside of it

- Paul Hostovsky

They were in Home Depot. Jane, Jessica, and Ricky. No one seems to remember why they were there, but at one point, while walking down the plumbing aisle, no doubt just crossing through, Ricky came upon the toilet plungers. Something struck him and he picked up a small plunger, almost toy-sized, and began putting it against his stomach, then his head and face. He began impersonating Jim Carrey, fighting the plunger for control.

'Can I get this?' Ricky asked. It cost less than $3. Jane agreed and they finished shopping, Ricky amusing himself with his plunger. Later, in the car, Ricky asked if they could stop for ice cream and without thinking, Jane said, "Come on Ricky, it's never enough. I just bought you a plunger!"

Everyone in the car laughed. Especially Jane. And then they went for ice cream.

We still have that plunger, no doubt tucked away with the rest of Ricky's toys, in the attic, as he is now too old to play with them. But it always reminds me to think about my answer before I give it. I would have said no to the plunger. Because I didn't want it. Because we didn't need it. And because, most likely, I wasn't happy.