A Sad Sad Day for Samin

by Holly Chou

the rain fell all day.
the sun did not shine.
her kidneys flailed madly, weeping all the while
for lack of chocolate, for lack of love.
soothing coffee would warm and massage her heart,
but as she was told it would also claw and ravage her kidneys on the long way down.

the zemocha man would miss her and the coffee can grew dusty.
the former stared out the window and the latter turned rusty.
the curly haired patron saint of dark dark darky dark chocolate
drank cranberry juice instead, with only a touch of vodka every now and then.

did you know that that was called a Cape Cod?
the Greyhound, the Whiskey Ginger, the Suffering Bastard.
these would not miss her so, one because she never loved them very deeply and two because she did not have to stop

but the chocolate? the coffee?

the little anthropomorphized mug of hot chocolate with arms and legs but no face would stop dancing wildly in the middle of the night. instead, he would only sit quietly, sighing a rich chocolatey sigh and leaning his porcelain chin forlornly on one hand. he would grow cold. and old.

the poem could have picked up at the end,
and told of a new day dawning
how all was not lost,
and life would go on
with chocolate in moderation, with growing love of delicious decaf tea

but then
it would not be
a sad sad day for samin.



by holly chou.

I'm Pretty Sure I Need This

http://www.thinkgeek.com/pennyarcade/postersprints/8ebe/zoom/

That is all.

Harpo, Chico, Groucho and Sometimes Zeppo

Rumor has it that Zeppo, though always the straight man who fell in love with the film's engenue before removing himself to become the group's manager, was actually the funniest Marx of them all.

Now, I love the Marx brothers, especially Harpo, and I find them pretty much hilarious as it is. So to hear that one of them was even funnier? Now, this I gotta see!

Unfortunately, I can't. Because they're all dead. And for some reason, the supposedly funniest one of them all never had a single funny thing caught on film for sad little laugh mongers in the future like me.

Why was he relegated to the sidelines? Was it because he was the most conventionally handsome, and so could not possibly be funny? I guess in the 30s, you had to be ugly to be funny. But because they were funny, the more popular Marxes are made just as lovely, don't you think?*

And now I am suddenly sad about the best writer who no one will ever read, or the best actor who will never get cast in anything (incidentally, Private Jokes, Public Places has not been cast yet...I'm supposed to get a call either way when that happens), or the sweetest music that no one will ever hear. Also about the love of my life, who I will never meet and who will never meet me.

Maybe I've been reading too much Shakespeare to not be morose. Too bad I've got to wait until tomorrow for the next episode of the A-Team to wipe the slate clean.




* - Well really, I'm only referring to Harpo and Chico when I say that. Groucho wasn't that funny. And therefore...

The Search for Intelligent Signs of Life in the Universe

Just listen...amazing...in my head, I can still hear that violin concert. What *is* it in our brains that lets us recall the music after it's over? Why is it when we hear certain music we get a lump in our throat? My space chums wonder how come we don't get the lump in our ear. They're impressed with our ability to get lumps in the throat. Apparently, we're unique in that respect. They wanted to know if it felt anything like goose bumps. I said, "You never felt goose bumps, either?" They said, "No." They asked me to explain goose bumps - do they come from the heart? Do they come from the soul? Do they come from the brain? Or do they come from geese?

I decided maybe we should take in a play. I got goose bumps once that way. So we headed back toward Shubert Alley.

Next to my trances they love goin' through my shopping bags. Once they found this old box of Cream of Wheat. I told 'em, "A box of cereal." But they saw it as a picture of infinity. You know how on the front is a picture of that guy holding up a box of Cream of Wheat
and on *that* box is a picture of that guy holding up a box of Cream of Wheat
and on *that* box is a picture of that guy holding up a box of Cream of Wheat
and on *that* box is a picture of that guy holding up a box of Cream of Wheat...

We think so different.

They find it hard to grasp some things that come easy to us, because they simply don't have our frame of reference. I show 'em this can of Campbell's tomato soup. I say, "This is soup."
Then I show 'em a picture of Andy Warhol's painting of a can of Campbell's soup. I say, "This is art."

"This is soup."

"And this is art."

Then I shuffle the two behind my back.

Now what is this?

No, *this* is soup and *this is art*!

Did I tell you what happened at the play? We were at the back of the theater standing there in the dark, all of a sudden I feel one of 'em tug at my sleeve, whispers, "Trudy, look." I said, "Yeah, goose bumps. You
definitely
got goose bumps. You really like the play that much?" They said it wasn't the play gave 'em goose bumps, it was the audience.

I forgot to tell 'em to watch the play; they'd been watching the *audience*!

Yeah, to see a group of strangers sitting together in the dark, laughing and crying about the same things...that just knocked 'em out.
They said, "Trudy,
the play was soup...
the audience...
art."

So they're taking goose bumps home with 'em. Goose bumps! Quite a souvenir.

I like to think of them out there in the dark, watching us. Sometimes we'll do something and they'll laugh. Sometimes we'll do something and they'll cry. And maybe one day we'll do something so magnificent, everyone in the universe will get goose bumps.

Things That You Love

Here is a list of things that you love. Whether you pretend to hate them, feign indifference or actually believe that you dislike these things, OR if you've never heard of them and so can have no opinion on them, I'm telling you now: actually, you love them. They're your favorite.

- The Dick van Dyke show. Lord, that man was a genius.

- cuteoverload.com.

- Adverbs, by Daniel Handler. Excerpted from page 165: "He thought she knew what he meant, but the biggest mistake you can make is thinking they know what you mean. If you mean that you are also exhausted and feel dead in the park, and that you ache for a love to pull you to your feet and make you human again, then you must say so. If you have soup to sell you must write it on the chalkboard or no one will buy your homemade soup."

- The A-Team. Who doesn't love Howling Mad Murdock? The answer is NO ONE.

- Netflix. The movies come right to your house. AND you don't feel like you're wasting packaging or manpower (as you would if you were receiving Amazon.com packages every few days) because their delivery system is in a nice, simple, thin, flat, no-nonsense/cushioning materials envelope. And you don't have to be home to sign fer nuthin'!

- lists of things on VH1, such as "Top 40 Dumb Celebrity Quotes," "Top 100 Celebrity Oops," and of course, the perennial favorites "I love the 80s/90s/etc." Addictive and deliciously mind-numbing and non-purpose serving in a way that only shows based solely around pop culture can be.

- Project Runway. Addictive, but centering on design and fostering creative impulse, so not mind-numbingly useless and still magically delicious.

- Ice cream. I've heard of people who don't really like chocolate all that much, but anyone who says they don't like ice cream is just a damn liar.

- Little Britain, brainchild of silly lovely David Walliams and Matt Lucas.

- the cello. Easily the sexiest instrument ever. Ever. No, shut up. It's the cello. I don't care.