This Week In The Dream Antilles
[Note: For several months, I have been putting up a weekly weekend digest of essays on this blog at five group blogs. I haven't been posting it here. Why not? I didn't want to post the precis of previous posts. Today I decided that the digest should be posted here, too. And so I give you, without further delay or explanation, This Week In The Dream Antilles.]
This Week your Bloguero’s vehicle (Note: this does not mean the Mahayana) ended up in the breakdown lane. Actually. This is partially homophonic and also oddly metaphorical: the brakes broke. Your Bloguero appreciates these heavily coded messages from the Universe. But does it mean that the brakes were defective, or used too much, or used too little? Likewise the driver, your Bloguero: too much brakeage, too little? Not enough breaks? Not enough braking? Time for vacation? It is, as Churchill said, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside and enigma. Your Bloguero contemplates these messages and their significance, believe it or not. He has taken out his secret decoder ring and is working diligently on it. So far he has no results to report. If you dear reader know what it means, if you know what any of it means, please write the answer on a $50 bill and mail it to your Bloguero. Meanwhile, your Bloguero’s negotiations with the Universe’s mail room continue with your Bloguero’s quest for greater explication meeting a certain persistent opaqueness.
Wednesday your Bloguero celebrated Bloomsday, an actual holiday in Ireland, and the only holiday anywhere based on a novel. Your Bloguero hears you muttering. The Bible is not a novel. Regardless, your Bloguero thought about a breakfast made of the “inner organs of beasts and fowls” but managed instead only a Gorgonzola sandwich, a salad, and a glass of claret. Poldo would have been proud that his lunch of 107 years ago was so beautifully and joyfully duplicated.
New York State, where your Bloguero finds himself at the moment, is trying to get to a vote on marriage equality. Something with the misleading name of National Organization For Marriage (which is actually against the marriages in question) has been making repeated, annoying Robo Calls to your Bloguero’s several phone lines. And even leaving messages on the voicemail that it called to take an important survey. Hah. What a bogus waste of money, what an annoyance. Stop The Robo Calls, Please explains who is paying for this insanity. And as your Bloguero posts this digest, the question of whether the vote will occur and whether there are enough votes for it to pass the New York Senate appears still undecided.
Your Bloguero fell hook, line and sinker for the Amina Abdallah hoax. First, your Bloguero, incensed that the blogger who wrote the Gay Girl in Damascus blog had been targeted by Syrian government goons, kidnapped by thugs, and silenced if not disappeared, urged readers to Free Amina!. But then questions about the authenticity of the blogger arose, and your Bloguero dutifully wrote that maybe he (and others) were being snookered in How Many “L’s” Are There In “Gullible”. These early reports led eventually to an admission that Amina was actually an American man in Scotland. And a fiction. Your Bloguero could have let the issue drop. But no. He put up a mea culpa, It Was A Hoax. There Is No Amina, thus capping a three-essay hors d’oeuvre to what had by then become a five course meal of crow sushi, which your Bloguero dutifully ate. Face meet egg.
As if the embarrassment of Amina weren’t enough to leave The Dream Antilles abandoned in the breakdown lane, there was Anthony Weiner’s apology (before resignation) to that thug Andrew Breitbart. Your Bloguero responded in disgust with Time To Change The Channel On The Weiner Affair. The entire affaire may have set a new world standard for narcissism and hubris, but the folks at Guinness World Records haven’t reported out yet. They may be considering it for another award in another category, political ineptitude.
The week couldn’t have been complete without your Bloguero complaining about the US Men’s National Soccer Team. Can’t Anybody Here Play This Game was a discussion of the US’s embarrassing loss in the Gold Cup (Copa de Oro) to Panama. Your Bloguero is no fan of that prima ballerina Landon Donovan, but your Bloguero’s contempt for him is nothing compared to his disgust at what tries to pass for the US defense. Put another way, there are players on the field, but they are not a defense. They are an embarrassment to your Bloguero. And they’d be an embarrassment to the nation if the nation, like your Bloguero, cared about futbol. But enough recrimination. This weekend the US plays Jamaica. So if the loss to Panama qualified as a national disgrace, your Bloguero is sure it will be topped by this event. Your Bloguero thinks Jamaica will eliminate the US, 2-0. To the US team your Bloguero thumbs his nose and says, “Jamaican me crazy.” In any futbol oriented country in the world, the US coach and many of the players would be the focus of a media hail storm. It only furthers the disgrace that it won’t happen here, no matter how terribly the team plays this weekend.
Your Bloguero notes that this Digest is now a weekly feature here. Your Bloguero, though needs encouragement to continue. From you. It's easy to give him that. If you read this Digest, please leave a short comment. That's the only way your Bloguero will know that you visited. And sometimes the comments are the only things that keep him going. Hasta pronto.
You never give me your money
you only give me your funny paper
And in the middle of negotiations you break down
I never give you my number
I only give you my situation
And in the middle of investigation I break down
This Week your Bloguero’s vehicle (Note: this does not mean the Mahayana) ended up in the breakdown lane. Actually. This is partially homophonic and also oddly metaphorical: the brakes broke. Your Bloguero appreciates these heavily coded messages from the Universe. But does it mean that the brakes were defective, or used too much, or used too little? Likewise the driver, your Bloguero: too much brakeage, too little? Not enough breaks? Not enough braking? Time for vacation? It is, as Churchill said, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside and enigma. Your Bloguero contemplates these messages and their significance, believe it or not. He has taken out his secret decoder ring and is working diligently on it. So far he has no results to report. If you dear reader know what it means, if you know what any of it means, please write the answer on a $50 bill and mail it to your Bloguero. Meanwhile, your Bloguero’s negotiations with the Universe’s mail room continue with your Bloguero’s quest for greater explication meeting a certain persistent opaqueness.
Wednesday your Bloguero celebrated Bloomsday, an actual holiday in Ireland, and the only holiday anywhere based on a novel. Your Bloguero hears you muttering. The Bible is not a novel. Regardless, your Bloguero thought about a breakfast made of the “inner organs of beasts and fowls” but managed instead only a Gorgonzola sandwich, a salad, and a glass of claret. Poldo would have been proud that his lunch of 107 years ago was so beautifully and joyfully duplicated.
New York State, where your Bloguero finds himself at the moment, is trying to get to a vote on marriage equality. Something with the misleading name of National Organization For Marriage (which is actually against the marriages in question) has been making repeated, annoying Robo Calls to your Bloguero’s several phone lines. And even leaving messages on the voicemail that it called to take an important survey. Hah. What a bogus waste of money, what an annoyance. Stop The Robo Calls, Please explains who is paying for this insanity. And as your Bloguero posts this digest, the question of whether the vote will occur and whether there are enough votes for it to pass the New York Senate appears still undecided.
Your Bloguero fell hook, line and sinker for the Amina Abdallah hoax. First, your Bloguero, incensed that the blogger who wrote the Gay Girl in Damascus blog had been targeted by Syrian government goons, kidnapped by thugs, and silenced if not disappeared, urged readers to Free Amina!. But then questions about the authenticity of the blogger arose, and your Bloguero dutifully wrote that maybe he (and others) were being snookered in How Many “L’s” Are There In “Gullible”. These early reports led eventually to an admission that Amina was actually an American man in Scotland. And a fiction. Your Bloguero could have let the issue drop. But no. He put up a mea culpa, It Was A Hoax. There Is No Amina, thus capping a three-essay hors d’oeuvre to what had by then become a five course meal of crow sushi, which your Bloguero dutifully ate. Face meet egg.
As if the embarrassment of Amina weren’t enough to leave The Dream Antilles abandoned in the breakdown lane, there was Anthony Weiner’s apology (before resignation) to that thug Andrew Breitbart. Your Bloguero responded in disgust with Time To Change The Channel On The Weiner Affair. The entire affaire may have set a new world standard for narcissism and hubris, but the folks at Guinness World Records haven’t reported out yet. They may be considering it for another award in another category, political ineptitude.
The week couldn’t have been complete without your Bloguero complaining about the US Men’s National Soccer Team. Can’t Anybody Here Play This Game was a discussion of the US’s embarrassing loss in the Gold Cup (Copa de Oro) to Panama. Your Bloguero is no fan of that prima ballerina Landon Donovan, but your Bloguero’s contempt for him is nothing compared to his disgust at what tries to pass for the US defense. Put another way, there are players on the field, but they are not a defense. They are an embarrassment to your Bloguero. And they’d be an embarrassment to the nation if the nation, like your Bloguero, cared about futbol. But enough recrimination. This weekend the US plays Jamaica. So if the loss to Panama qualified as a national disgrace, your Bloguero is sure it will be topped by this event. Your Bloguero thinks Jamaica will eliminate the US, 2-0. To the US team your Bloguero thumbs his nose and says, “Jamaican me crazy.” In any futbol oriented country in the world, the US coach and many of the players would be the focus of a media hail storm. It only furthers the disgrace that it won’t happen here, no matter how terribly the team plays this weekend.
Your Bloguero notes that this Digest is now a weekly feature here. Your Bloguero, though needs encouragement to continue. From you. It's easy to give him that. If you read this Digest, please leave a short comment. That's the only way your Bloguero will know that you visited. And sometimes the comments are the only things that keep him going. Hasta pronto.
Etiquetas: digest, Port Writers Alliance
posted by david seth michaels at 5:09 p.m.
2 Comments:
Thanks for reading. It's entirely wonderful for you to leave an anonymous (anonimo) comment (comentario). Just tyupe it into the box, click anonimo (for anonymous comments, or your name if it shows up), and click "publica tu comentario" (publish your comment). Easy, no?
Perhaps it's because I spent the better part of today mowing lawn (and am decidedly far too tired than I'd like to admit) that I continue to feel as thought I've never used a keyboard - or left a comment anywhere else - before.
Let us hope that this insightful commentary finally gets posted. Yeah, it probably will, since I have nothing intelligent, witty, nor even, sadly, sarcastic to write.
If nothing else, I hope that this comentario will serve as just enough of an enticement to keep you writing, crow sushi or not.
I think your fantasies about the U.S. ever giving a shit about futbol when they can find their titillation and excitement in so many other venues, including the "political" arena (if you want to call it that), are going to remain just that for a good long while. I nevertheless find your enthusiasm for the sport refreshing.
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