Saturday, October 27, 2007

I'm expecting a call from 1983.

A few more items:
-I've listed a buncha new stuff on etsy. I know etsy's primarily for handmade stuff and that's why I joined up, but the vast majority of my sales have been vintage gear. I'm probably going to quit listing stuff on ebay except for certain items that always make money: Danskos, Norwegian sweaters, Gunne Sax dresses, and some other stuff I find on a regular basis. I've been getting gouged on ebay and paypal fees for the crapshoot items such as vintage dresses that I think are crazy and amazing (craymazing?), so those are going to live on etsy, where they seem to be much appreciated.
-I saw my ass twin on the way to work yesterday. It was a little alarming and it meant that I couldn't stop looking at this chick's bum.
-On the way home from work yesterday, I saw a sketchy black 80s car whipping screaming donuts on the elementary-school playground lot. It was like being on a movie set: it was 6 pm and the sun was about to set; the sky was streaky pink and gray and the light was gold and the trees were flaming; the streets were desolate; the playground all cracked asphalt and burgeoning weeds and rusty chain-link; and on the school grounds this car was just going batshit crazy, screeching and burning rubber and wreathed in smoke. This went on for a minute and then they drove off, leaving smoke and silence in their wake. I'm telling you, the shit I see around here always looks portentous. It's bizarre.
-The other day a guy I know decided to buy his wife some voice lessons for her birthday and handed me a nice check for them. Unexpected money is my favorite kind of money, y'all.


  1. haha, ass twin!! that just fucks with my mindgrapes (my favorite 30 rock word)

  2. Yaaay for unexpected money! It is the best kind for sure.

  3. Kickpleat, I haven't been able to stop saying "mindgrapes" for weeks.

  4. Yes, asstwin.

    If you find black danksos in the 40/41 range, give me a holla and I'll pay you the cash.


  5. my husband might have a pair that size that are barely worn but he decided he doesn't really like them so much. they're brown oilskin or whatever that is. i'll check if you're interested.

  6. DAMN, that is a great concept, the Ass Twin. I'm going out to look for mine. Then, I'm going to high-five and maybe hip-check her. Jesus, I hope it's a her.

    Anyway, I am still really coveting them swanky platinum leather t-straps. This is all your fault, and I thank you for it.


  7. the danskos are crazy bigger than 40/41. european sizing confuses me when it's not my size.

  8. This donuts-in-the-parking-lot imagery reminds me of a rather dorky, warm-up sonnet I wrote last year. So now that the crowd has cleared, I am placing a sonnet in your inbox. I hope the line breaks are detectable.

    Amy Rose Sonnet

    Amy Rose, my brother’s age, stuck out her blue-jeaned hips
    and, tossing back a foot of hair, she taught me a new word.
    A gray blob clogged the fountain drain. She jutted out her lips
    before announcing, nostrils flared, “It looks just like a turd.”

    She was thirteen. I was eight but I was good at spelling.
    So, turd—is that with “e” or “i”? I knew it wasn’t cool
    to ask if it was “u” like “curd” and Amy wasn’t telling.
    She’d chased a brown Impala to the lot behind the school.

    Buzzard’s arm hung from the window. Amy swished her hair,
    bent closer for a puff, while “Kiss You All Over”
    bounced off the pavement in the blackbird-heavy air
    That I didn’t know was the heartbreak of October.

    Alone, I practiced spelling words but couldn’t concentrate.
    At four o’clock, my mother picked me up, an hour late.

  9. You own this comment box, M.