By Norm DePloom
A sampling of recent e-mail from some kind, helpful “friends”:
Beautiful Russian women waiting to meet YOU!
Me, really? How beautiful are we talking, here?
Show your lover that there can still be a lot of heat in your bedroom.
Indeed, the weather is getting warmer. Perhaps I should open a window.
Check account status.
Great idea! You need my social security number, right?
Nominate yourself for a Certificate.
Can’t get a promotion, but I’ll gladly accept your certificate, kind sir or madam.
No prescription needed
So now you tell me.
Make sure you look better by losing weight
Why, do I look fat in this golf shirt?
Beautiful watches for less.
Who wears a watch anymore?
You get freaked out when it comes to bed.
Yeah, it’s called insomnia, my friend.
Bank account blocked
I’ll get right on that. Bezunesh, you’re in Nigeria, right?
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
some poetry... "The Card Players"
Factory workers,
housewives, husbands
neighbors
gather
in the small kitchen.
Under bright light
black night
looks in.
Dealer slides
cards across
slippery table.
Laughter,
cigarette smoke
soars to gray ceiling.
Ginger and whiskey
glasses sweating
stains on rock maple.
Hands holding
many cards,
they disappear
one by one.
housewives, husbands
neighbors
gather
in the small kitchen.
Under bright light
black night
looks in.
Dealer slides
cards across
slippery table.
Laughter,
cigarette smoke
soars to gray ceiling.
Ginger and whiskey
glasses sweating
stains on rock maple.
Hands holding
many cards,
they disappear
one by one.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
get me a soda ...
We couldn't go swimming for days after the airplane crash. We were told there might be body parts floating around; fingers, toes, who knows what. People stood around the edge of the water as it lapped at their feet asking questions of men in uniforms. The edge was as far as they usually got anyway. There was part of a wing that we could see. We wondered, is that a wing or is it really a whale. It wasn't a whale.
People still went to the beach. The crash didn't keep them from working on their tans. They sat on their beach blankets sipping cold drinks, soaking up as sun, rolling from front to back having someone rub more oil on them. Some had umbrellas for cover and little chairs low on the sand, as they read or napped. We kept going to the beach because this is what we did everyday after school until mom got home from work.
We turned right as soon as we walked out the door of our apartment house, down the palm tree shaded street, then a left and we could see the beach. The small main street was to the right, with stores, a movie theater and restaurants. It looked intriguing but we never went that way. The beach and our grammar school that we walked to were our furthest points. That was our Key West.
When there were torrential rains, the deep gutters in the streets filled up within five minutes. The street became more fun than the ocean to cool down in. Coconuts fell into the fast moving water, some floated down the road, others were ours to eat. The big porch filled with people from the apartment and nearby neighbors. They watched their kids splash around in their new swimming holes and in the evening sat outside in the cooler air fanning themselves, some nursing a drink. In the warm summer months, the hot days and humid nights made it unbearable for most, but little kids got away with being naked on their own porches.
At the beach a man cried out, "hey kids, would you each like to make a nickel? Get me a soda and keep the change!" We wondered if we should be talking to strangers, but the concession stand was nearby and it seemed a safe way to make some ice cream money. We looked forward to waiting on the beach people and getting tips. They would rather have their food delivered than move from their spots in the sun.
Sis got behind me as the man grabbed and held my hand then put money in it. Don't bring a soda to this creepy guy I thought. He wore mirrored sunglasses, we couldn't see his eyes. He could watch people and they wouldn't know. We tiptoed on the hot sand, bought the soda for the shiny man, scurried back and put it near his towel, then ran to another spot on the beach.
People still went to the beach. The crash didn't keep them from working on their tans. They sat on their beach blankets sipping cold drinks, soaking up as sun, rolling from front to back having someone rub more oil on them. Some had umbrellas for cover and little chairs low on the sand, as they read or napped. We kept going to the beach because this is what we did everyday after school until mom got home from work.
We turned right as soon as we walked out the door of our apartment house, down the palm tree shaded street, then a left and we could see the beach. The small main street was to the right, with stores, a movie theater and restaurants. It looked intriguing but we never went that way. The beach and our grammar school that we walked to were our furthest points. That was our Key West.
When there were torrential rains, the deep gutters in the streets filled up within five minutes. The street became more fun than the ocean to cool down in. Coconuts fell into the fast moving water, some floated down the road, others were ours to eat. The big porch filled with people from the apartment and nearby neighbors. They watched their kids splash around in their new swimming holes and in the evening sat outside in the cooler air fanning themselves, some nursing a drink. In the warm summer months, the hot days and humid nights made it unbearable for most, but little kids got away with being naked on their own porches.
At the beach a man cried out, "hey kids, would you each like to make a nickel? Get me a soda and keep the change!" We wondered if we should be talking to strangers, but the concession stand was nearby and it seemed a safe way to make some ice cream money. We looked forward to waiting on the beach people and getting tips. They would rather have their food delivered than move from their spots in the sun.
Sis got behind me as the man grabbed and held my hand then put money in it. Don't bring a soda to this creepy guy I thought. He wore mirrored sunglasses, we couldn't see his eyes. He could watch people and they wouldn't know. We tiptoed on the hot sand, bought the soda for the shiny man, scurried back and put it near his towel, then ran to another spot on the beach.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
My Man Charlie Chan
The side streets were dark in Key West. Every Wednesday night dim streetlights lead us to the outdoor movie in the dirt parking lot. Sis and I each carried a bucket, to be flipped upside down for our seats. We brought big caramel suckers that would last through the movie and into the next day, then put them in the ice box kept cold by a huge chunk of ice delivered to our door every few days.
The same kind of movie was shown every week, a Charlie Chan flick. Number One Son would listen at a door or pick up a phone on the hallway table of the mysterious house and hear a lady with the name of Madam X making plans to steal a secret formula from the government. Her eyes were made up with thick black eyeliner and she wore bright red lipstick and colorful silky dresses. She wore her hair up on her head with a big wooden needle to hold it in place. It was also a weapon if needed, right through the heart and her enemy was dead.
The story usually went on something like this, number One Son gets caught because he sneezed or knocked something over. Someone ties him to a chair in a cobwebbed basement. Eventually he wriggles his way out by hopping to a tool bench nearby where he has spotted a knife to cut himself loose. He creeps upstairs and listens at the door. Madam X and her gang are plotting the crime. He goes back down cellar, sees a part way opened window and climbs out, he must warn his dad.
His famous detective father, Charlie Chan is worried about his hapless helper, what is he up to, he thought. He scolds him about his immature antics, but is secretly glad that he is out there helping in spite of his halfwit methods. In the end Charlie Chan catches Madam X and her gang. He smiles when he tells the police chief how valuable Number One Son was in his own clumsy way.
By this time, our all day suckers are only half gone and the light by the makeshift concession stand is on to warn us to pick up our buckets and go home. A zig zag route, and we are there. Up the dark staircases to the third floor, through hallways with big overhead fans blowing wet, damp air. The rubber mats on each stair had become sticky, we walked slowly and softly. We reached our apartment door and listened just like Number One Son. We heard loud talking and crept in quietly. The curtains blew slightly as we slipped into our beds. We hid under the white sheets hoping no one knew we were back.
The same kind of movie was shown every week, a Charlie Chan flick. Number One Son would listen at a door or pick up a phone on the hallway table of the mysterious house and hear a lady with the name of Madam X making plans to steal a secret formula from the government. Her eyes were made up with thick black eyeliner and she wore bright red lipstick and colorful silky dresses. She wore her hair up on her head with a big wooden needle to hold it in place. It was also a weapon if needed, right through the heart and her enemy was dead.
The story usually went on something like this, number One Son gets caught because he sneezed or knocked something over. Someone ties him to a chair in a cobwebbed basement. Eventually he wriggles his way out by hopping to a tool bench nearby where he has spotted a knife to cut himself loose. He creeps upstairs and listens at the door. Madam X and her gang are plotting the crime. He goes back down cellar, sees a part way opened window and climbs out, he must warn his dad.
His famous detective father, Charlie Chan is worried about his hapless helper, what is he up to, he thought. He scolds him about his immature antics, but is secretly glad that he is out there helping in spite of his halfwit methods. In the end Charlie Chan catches Madam X and her gang. He smiles when he tells the police chief how valuable Number One Son was in his own clumsy way.
By this time, our all day suckers are only half gone and the light by the makeshift concession stand is on to warn us to pick up our buckets and go home. A zig zag route, and we are there. Up the dark staircases to the third floor, through hallways with big overhead fans blowing wet, damp air. The rubber mats on each stair had become sticky, we walked slowly and softly. We reached our apartment door and listened just like Number One Son. We heard loud talking and crept in quietly. The curtains blew slightly as we slipped into our beds. We hid under the white sheets hoping no one knew we were back.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Director Blames ELO For Movie Tanking
The director of a depressing movie blames the ELO soundtrack for the movie tanking at the box office.
"When you hear an ELO song over the previews, it means that the movie is quirky, funny, and kind of hip," said the director, Sam Rootbeer. "Why they chose to promote my movie with an ELO song, I'll never know," added Rootbeer.
His film called "A Long, Slow, Painful Death" was a four hour epic detailing the final days of a dying man as his body and mind whither away and ultimately breakdown after four long hours.
Critics called the movie, "Mind Numbingly Boring," "Incredibly Stupid," "Ill-conceived," "Utter Crap," "A Complete Waste of Time," and "Sleep Inducing." The critic from the New York Times said, "This movie was so bad it made me want to kill myself." It got -1 stars from the Boston Globe, and Two Big Toes down from the guys who replaced Siskel and Ebert. Reportedly, one person did actually commit suicide while watching the film, hung himself in the theater, although that's unconfirmed.
But the director thinks people's opinions of the movie were swayed by the soundtrack. "People go to movies based on the songs that play during the commercials. The song tells them what kind of movie it is."
The ad for the film featured the ELO song, Mr. Blue Sky, playing over scenes of the old man sitting in a hospital bed with tubes out of his nose and mouth turning blue. Film-goer Jefferson Jeffries called it misleading. "I saw the ad, and yeah, it didn't make much sense, seeing the old guy dying in the bed, but hey, it was ELO, so I thought that they just weren't showing the quirky parts in the ad. What a gip. That movie was NOT quirky."
The director said his movie attracted the wrong type of people because of ELO. "Everyone knows that when you hear an ELO song, quirky will follow. Well, my movie, 'A Long Slow Painful Death,' is not quirky," he said. "It's serious. It's about dying and a four hour movie about an old person dying is not for everyone." The crazy director called it Neo-Escapism, for people who want to escape all their problems, you know, by watching a movie about what he called the ultimate escape, death.
Turns out, not one person in the world liked the movie, ELO or no ELO. Talk about escapism, all they wanted to do was escape the theater as fast as possible. It was voted the worst movie of all-time by the Hollywood Foreign Press.
That's today's fake news.
"When you hear an ELO song over the previews, it means that the movie is quirky, funny, and kind of hip," said the director, Sam Rootbeer. "Why they chose to promote my movie with an ELO song, I'll never know," added Rootbeer.
His film called "A Long, Slow, Painful Death" was a four hour epic detailing the final days of a dying man as his body and mind whither away and ultimately breakdown after four long hours.
Critics called the movie, "Mind Numbingly Boring," "Incredibly Stupid," "Ill-conceived," "Utter Crap," "A Complete Waste of Time," and "Sleep Inducing." The critic from the New York Times said, "This movie was so bad it made me want to kill myself." It got -1 stars from the Boston Globe, and Two Big Toes down from the guys who replaced Siskel and Ebert. Reportedly, one person did actually commit suicide while watching the film, hung himself in the theater, although that's unconfirmed.
But the director thinks people's opinions of the movie were swayed by the soundtrack. "People go to movies based on the songs that play during the commercials. The song tells them what kind of movie it is."
The ad for the film featured the ELO song, Mr. Blue Sky, playing over scenes of the old man sitting in a hospital bed with tubes out of his nose and mouth turning blue. Film-goer Jefferson Jeffries called it misleading. "I saw the ad, and yeah, it didn't make much sense, seeing the old guy dying in the bed, but hey, it was ELO, so I thought that they just weren't showing the quirky parts in the ad. What a gip. That movie was NOT quirky."
The director said his movie attracted the wrong type of people because of ELO. "Everyone knows that when you hear an ELO song, quirky will follow. Well, my movie, 'A Long Slow Painful Death,' is not quirky," he said. "It's serious. It's about dying and a four hour movie about an old person dying is not for everyone." The crazy director called it Neo-Escapism, for people who want to escape all their problems, you know, by watching a movie about what he called the ultimate escape, death.
Turns out, not one person in the world liked the movie, ELO or no ELO. Talk about escapism, all they wanted to do was escape the theater as fast as possible. It was voted the worst movie of all-time by the Hollywood Foreign Press.
That's today's fake news.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
We Got Thabeet
We got Thabeet, We Got Thabeet,
Everybody get on your feet,
jump ba-aack,
get down,
round and round,
We got Thabeet, we Got Thabeet, we got Thabeet,
or, for Sonny and Cher fans,
ThaBeet goes on, Thabeet Goes on. Yada dada dee, la da da da daa
And Thabeet goes on
With apologies to the GoGos and Sonny and Cher, Go Huskies. Bring home the championship this weekend!
I like Uconn in a close game over Michigan State, 71-67.
I like UNC over Villanova 77-68
Then I like Uconn over UNC in the finals Monday night, 69-66.
Uconn wins its third title in the Calhoun era, Calhoun announced his retirement and rides off a champion. You heard it here first.
I'm pumped for Saturday night. It's big; the biggest night of the year as far as I'm concerned. Buffalo Wing-big.
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