At Last, The Ideal Job

I’m stretched out on my simulated leather recliner a few nights ago, the first half hour of the Cops marathon complete. I’m spent. I’m a top-tier cultural anthropologist, but I have been bested by information overload, overwhelmed by too much insight into the real America, Trump’s America. Continue reading

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Dear Graduates …

Years ago, I received academic degrees, but did not attend graduation ceremonies. I had better things to do: make paintings, write mediocre poems featuring images of shore birds and dead reeds, pound on drums as a member of a band that crisscrossed the country to then run aground in New York City, get loaded, have sexual relations with anyone who agreed, etc. I did not want to hear a geek babble about my bright future; it was not, and is not in my nature to be optimistic. Groundless, positive expressions push me over the edge. Continue reading

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Let’s Brutalize a Monk

Spring is here. Maybe.

Spring in Siberia With a View is a tentative season: it shows itself, lures you into a false sense of security, then slips away, allowing for another blast (or two, or three) of winter. I believe a higher power is at work here, his/her/its actions designed to inspire hopelessness. What good is being a high power if you can’t enjoy some cruel fun now and then?

So, spring is a test. I, and others who cart a good share of Nordic genes, are prone to dark moods encouraged by winter conditions. Spring of the type we experience in Siberia With a View, then, adds to an irritating storyline, one developed by that malevolent, cosmic puppeteer to push us to our limits. Continue reading

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It’s so simple, isn’t it?

I’m armed with a glass of decent, cheap red, and a hunk of unbelievably expensive Parmigiano-Reggiano. I’ve got my remote control, my thumb at the ready. The flatscreen is lit up and the photons are flying.

The dog has his muzzle parked on my thigh, a pool of drool is seeping into my sweatpants. Arnie loves Parmigiano-Reggiano and he knows, if he focuses on me with his big, brown eyes, and deposits enough dog slobber on my leg, he will get a treat.

Arnie and I are indulging in an annual ritual:  watching the State of the Union address. Continue reading

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