Works-in-progress
[Here's what I meant to post last night before Truth broke in with all her matter-of-fact about putting my foot in my mouth]
I gave up on that stupid b-llsh-t Welcome Center story...for now.
But here's a stanza that I've been working on. It's one of four, but you'll have to ask real nice to get the other three.
Is "lighting a match to watch it burn" a worn out idea? I have a feeling that it's close to a song lyric (or a million song lyrics). And what about attributing consciousness to the match? Have I stumbled into hokey-ness? And am I leaning too hard on the rhyme by pairing "floor" with "war"? Rhetorical questions, all.
I trained for the Qpac pollster job yesterday evening. My first day (night) is Monday. I think the current poll is a Jersey poll, so watch out Garden Staters. Your caller IDs can't save you from the inquiring minds at Hamden CT's premiere public opinion analysts.
I tell you, though, the desperation in that polling room in the middle of a shift is intense. I walked in at 6:30 for the training (an hour after the shift began) and I felt like an anthropologist discovering a remote African village. Everyone--literally everyone--looked up from their stations in wonder. Who is this stranger from the outside world? Donzens of pairs of eyes sparkled with hope and curiosity. Has he come to deliver us from our pitiful lives of servitude? Remember the orphanage scenes from "The Cider House Rules," when the rich couple drives up in a fancy car and all the little orphan children accost them and affect their most adorable behavior? It was much more depressing than that. But I've got the desperation act down to a science (I'm coming up on 11 months of practice) so I should fit right in.
Speaking of desperation, I've been conscripted to join my mother on a Sunday trip to Nassau County, Long Island to "celebrate" Orthodox Easter with the husband's family. My Big Fat Greek Nightmare.
I gave up on that stupid b-llsh-t Welcome Center story...for now.
But here's a stanza that I've been working on. It's one of four, but you'll have to ask real nice to get the other three.
I light a match to watch it burn
It's out before it hits the floor
It knows that it will not return
To write a song or fight a war
Is "lighting a match to watch it burn" a worn out idea? I have a feeling that it's close to a song lyric (or a million song lyrics). And what about attributing consciousness to the match? Have I stumbled into hokey-ness? And am I leaning too hard on the rhyme by pairing "floor" with "war"? Rhetorical questions, all.
I trained for the Qpac pollster job yesterday evening. My first day (night) is Monday. I think the current poll is a Jersey poll, so watch out Garden Staters. Your caller IDs can't save you from the inquiring minds at Hamden CT's premiere public opinion analysts.
I tell you, though, the desperation in that polling room in the middle of a shift is intense. I walked in at 6:30 for the training (an hour after the shift began) and I felt like an anthropologist discovering a remote African village. Everyone--literally everyone--looked up from their stations in wonder. Who is this stranger from the outside world? Donzens of pairs of eyes sparkled with hope and curiosity. Has he come to deliver us from our pitiful lives of servitude? Remember the orphanage scenes from "The Cider House Rules," when the rich couple drives up in a fancy car and all the little orphan children accost them and affect their most adorable behavior? It was much more depressing than that. But I've got the desperation act down to a science (I'm coming up on 11 months of practice) so I should fit right in.
Speaking of desperation, I've been conscripted to join my mother on a Sunday trip to Nassau County, Long Island to "celebrate" Orthodox Easter with the husband's family. My Big Fat Greek Nightmare.
posted by temporarily unemployed at 02:27
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