And the Olympics are over. I watched most nights and was entertained and occasionally enthralled, especially during the Boarding and Luge and Downhill coverage, but these Olympics won’t burn bright in my brainpan like Lillehammer or Barcelona or even the Athens games do.

My favorite stories? The Norwegian coach who gave that Canadian girl his ski pole after hers had broken. Lindsay falling and finishing second, creating an enormously tragic farce which is extremely human in its plot – who really wins when the winner doesn’t win on a technicality? Johnny Weir, being here, being queer, being proud in velvet and sequins. The French winning the downhill and the Tiara Queen Julia winning the Super-G.

Events I want to attend in Vanny – Cross-Country and/or Biathalon, any of the Snowboarding runs, curling.

Poetry Scrap


Don’t wanna be no Trump
Wanna be the boy catching
little ratty girls’ eyes in the
gourmet food shoppe; not a
warrior-poet, much more
of a warrior of a poet –
Not so much adverse to fighting
as conscious of skills and
reveling in them, rollicking
in the grass in fact, my
fatty liver pushing
the lint out of my belly button


Found a new pleasure this weekend – Kirsch. Not at all like many brandies, rather Kirsch is the essence of cherries. $40 for a bottle but it’ll last me several months and is thus easily worth it. I’m keeping it in the freezer, ready to be slugged like Hemingway would slug Kirsch when he neared the end of a day’s work in A Moveable Feast.


For posterity’s sake, here’s my current Weekly Plan as realized this morning while walking through the neighborhood –


Previously I would dive into whatever I had been working on the previous week, as if to consciously create an obliviousness between the weeks as a protest against the briefness of the weekends.

Now I realize the essential need to plan. On Monday morning I lay open the deck of my deck, examine each nuance, decide what needs attention and what I can get done and most of all, what change I can affect THIS WEEK to make LifePro better – more efficient, more profitable, or more of a fun and joyous place to work. Preferably all three but at least one of the three.

At midday we gather together to report to each other on what happened the previous week and make plans for the week to come. Afterwards I gather with my team and discuss their previous week and their week to come.

Monday night is martial arts class and when I’m home and fed from that, it’s an hour of screw-around before bed.


Tuesday thru Thursday are my get-done days at the office. On Tuesday I’m fully committed to LifePro – I’ll jot down an idea that comes across my brainpan but won’t elaborate unless I feel an extreme urge.

No caffeine or alcohol (unless a glass of wine with dinner) are taken Monday thru Wednesday. These are my clean days.

I try to get some exercise on Tuesday but it is mostly a rest day between my two martial arts days.

I may go to a café after work to write a bit, but only if I have something to say. I never force the issue on a Tuesday.


Wednesday is a mini-Friday, a day when I go all out to wrap up my total-LifePro week and then usually have the better of my two martial arts classes. When class is over I may have a beer or glass of wine with dinner to celebrate.


On Thursday morning I’ll go out for coffee and start to write. It’s generally a bit rushed and slightly stressed but it’s a good way for me to dive back into my artistic side. Nonetheless from 9-6 I’m all business, though on Thursday or Friday I will stop to not only jot down an idea or poemlette but I’ll also elaborate if I think I can squeeze something juicy out.

I try to go to a café to write after work on Thursday night.

Thursday is feast night, meaning that we either eat out or cook a tremendous meal at home. I may take several drinks on Thursday night.


I may go for coffee on Friday morning but often I’ll get right to the office since it’s absolutely necessary to bookend my week, which means finishing or realistically deferring my tasks for the week. Closure and the tying of loose ends and the feeling of accomplishment are absolutely necessary for me to be able to walk out that door on Friday evening.

Friday night is wholly dedicated to relaxation and pleasure. I generally will have a drink immediately, though I try not to drink too much on Friday night. I try not to write or think about either writing or LifePro projects on Friday night – it’s a good TV or movie night or a night out at a show or on the town when we have money.


Saturday morning has just recently come to be my time of rerevelation. Walking to the café, blasting big excited thoughts about the world and then blasting caff and then pouring those thoughts and more down on electrons is one of the great joys of my week, a shining star, my version of church on the Sabbath and how the most devout must have felt is how I feel on a righteous Saturday morning.

I eat very healthily during the week and at night most nights other than Thursday, but on Saturday morning I’m liable to have bacon and eggs for breakfast.

After pouring out whatever’s built up in my brainpan, I like to take some time to organize what I’ve written during the week into my journal.

After I’ve written well is a good editing time – I’m excited and confident and wanting to go on and so I can generally tell if something I’ve been working is good or not. On Saturday I’ll try to make the tough choices between what stays and what goes and what needs to be rewritten and what is golden and truthful enough to publish.

On Saturday night I may let loose a bit. Often I’ll have my first drink of the day in the afternoon, like Hemingway would towards the end of his workday. I may even have another coffee in the afternoon to pump me up for the evening.

Saturday afternoon is also a good time for improving my living space.

I work out with weights on Sunday, typically in the early afternoon.


Sunday, the first day of the week, can be as Sunday is. I never plan my Sundays. What comes on Sunday should be joyous and unexpected. On Sunday I drink early – I may even take a drink in the morning if I feel like it. Sunday is about indulgence.

Often work gets done on Sunday – writing work that is – though generally not as much as on Saturday.

Obstinance of youth

I’m wikipediaing for Bobsledding when I find an article about the word game which leads me to the entry on paper football. Paper football! I was always first-done with projects and tests in school and so had a rather extensive paper football career. I remember getting in trouble bad one time for playing paper football – we were probably in 5th grade. 5th grade! 10 years old. And we got in so much trouble… for what? A ten year old isn’t supposed to play?

Teachers. The problem is cyclical – the teachers’ union’s propaganda ensures that only the talentless need apply – the rest of us are scared off by the promise of low wages. Which are kinda a misnomer, when you consider that they only work nine months out of the year.

School. Thinking back to SDSU. It’s five miles from here and the same city and yet it’s the proverbial millions. I’m thinking of a girl I can’t remember her name. Pudgy girl, short, kinda cute. Islander. Studying business. Been working at Chick fil-A since she was 15. Has her whole life planned out. Going to be a manager at a Chick fil-A, just as soon as she earns that degree from SDSU. Such a strange thing how a life planned seems like a life wasted already –


Evening. The last of the sun beating its way through the dust and grime of a TJ day. Persistent. That’s the sun for you. Keeps taking a beating, keeps coming back for more. Sometimes when I reflect on the life of a primitive I say a little Thank You to mankind for secularizing the sun. While it would certainly be fun and poetical for a little while to hae a lively – and therefore moody – Sun God, to cower in fear all night over him coming back in the morning – yeesh. That’s no life for me. I’d rather have rough spherical bodies coldly orbiting each other behaving simple Newtonian physics, thank you. Save my moody Gods for whimsical things like nature, time, love –

Poetry Scrap

To dance for the moon goddess you
Should when the moon is rising like
A Chinese thousand year old egg or
A van gogh lantern or both dance
Beyond the jar where you live :
Don’t consider the jar, the moon or
Any anthropomorphized version of goddess;
Just dance, smash the jar, stomp
The shards deep into the mud;
Orange moon and play, mufah ma
Oon ah bahn, ay, pah pah mah-ay