Tag Archives: memories

Chim Chim Cheree!

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I cheered myself up last night swizzling champagne leftover from some party and listening to joy division. Depression, sales like doing your hair, viagra is easier when you are a kid. When I was little, all it took during that bleak half hour on a sunday visit to my father while he still slept, to send me careening into hysterical giggling, was playing the Beatles “Honey Pie” on his stereo. (go run-on sentence! go!) One is easier lifted from doldrums in grade school, too. After failing for the Nth time to tackle and smooch jason simonetti in the school yard, I could pocket my bus money and walk home, so i could get a greasy slice of pizza and a frozen coke when I got to Journal Square. You got these long straws with a scoop at the end. Fine, fine! Even with all that high school Weltschmerz, shoplifting would pick a girl right up!

Perhaps I ought to test against disappointment and spleen the power of chewing on a Fun-Dip stick and some Duran Duran.

smooch

Could you be mine, would you be mine?

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Lambchop

Mr.Rogers

O, Mr. Rogers! You have gone on to tv heaven. Every afternoon in 1978 Little Lambchop sat too close to the tv, rocking her bottom and singing along while Fred cardigan swapped. I don’t really have any jokes to insert here, because I am having a rare moment of a sincerely fond recollection.

I must add, however, that I am rather agape at Mr. Rogers mode of checking out. What’s the point of me trying to quit smoking and curb my alcoholism if Mr. Bloody Rogers dies of Cancer?! How can such a soft-spoken man have been riddled with tumors? Can’t really picture him bingeing on red meat and pouring vodka down his throat, lighting a smoke with the butt of the last one and screaming at his wife to get off his back about the goddamned dishes, can you? Well, another of the universe’s mysteries.

Thanks for Sharing. Farewell, Fred.

party baby yum

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These last few weeks have been a serial hangover. Well, what else is there to do but get drunk after going to see a mike leigh film in which you identify with the besotted strumpet? that mike leigh is the cat’s pajamas.

when i was a young slattern of 14 in Jersey City, i used to hang out on the corner in painfully tight jeans playing handball with delivery boys from the butcher shop. they were cute in their bloodstained aprons.

I hope everyone who was sick yesterday is better today.

smooch