The migratory fowl must agree that spring has truly arrived, as I've heard a few flocks of geese and swans flying north tonight. But the clouds are not departing entirely yet. All the days in the long-range forecast are either mostly sunny or partly cloudy, except (appropriately) next Sunday, which is expected to be sunny.
I do hope we get a few more rainy days in April. This week I'll have to start watering the yard again, and I'd rather not have to go on doing that all spring. It's not that I mind spending the time, once the evenings have turned mild. I actually enjoy the watering itself. It's the big water bills I don't like. That and the mosquitoes. They'll be arriving soon, and I'm definitely not looking forward to getting bitten.
Shopping brought one surprise today. Grocery Outlet had interesting looking, unfrosted loaf cakes I hadn't seen in their ad, so I picked up a couple for $1.49 each. They weigh 18 ounces, so somewhere around $1.35 a pound, which I consider a pretty good deal for cake. I tried a slice of one when I got home and it's actually quite good. If they still have some next week I think I'll get a couple to keep in the freezer.
Now I'm going to have some soup while I still have a cold night to eat it on. It won't be long before the nights get too warm for soup. I'll miss it.
The Laws of Probability in Levittown
by Jennifer L. Knox
I've been smoking so much pot lately,
I figure out what my poems are going to do
before I write them, which means when I finally
sit down in front of the typewriter...well...you know...
I moved back in with my parents,
and I'm getting really good at watching TV.
Soon as I saw the housewife last night on "Inevitable Justice,"
I knew her husband was the killer and I told her so and I was right.
Remember whenever Jamie Lee Curtis would come on
TV and we'd yell, Hermaphrodite! all happy? I maintain
her father, Tony, is an American treasure, and have prepared a mental
list of examples why, so should we happen to meet again, my shit's backed up.
There were too many
therapists in the city—97% of all therapists
are certifiable ding-dongs by nature which is fine
if you live in Platteville, Nebraska, where there's only
like three therapists in the entire town
(the odds are in your favor) but if 10,000
therapists are lurching around the streets, chances are
1,000 will be 100% batshit nuts.
I had a choice between watching
Robert Frost talking about his backyard
on Large American Voices and Farrah Fawcett on True Hollyweird.
I chose Farrah, because I knew what was going to happen and I was right.
Here's something I've been trying
to work in: 10 rations = 1 decoration.
What do you think? 10 monologues = 5 dialogues,
10 millipedes = 1 centipede, .000001 fish = 1 microfiche...
I've got a million of those.
I wrote them down, back when I was
writing things down. But I've been thinking I should
tip the Dominoes kid more than a buck on 14. Should I?