Final Rose

The blog entry name is supposed to be a play on the Bachelor/Bachelorette TV shows. I think they have a "rose ceremony" with a "final rose" but I am not really 100% sure since I don't watch that crap.

In unrelated news, I missed another episode of How I Met Your Mother...(it is NOT crap AVR!)

Goodbye September poem:  

Roses are finished.
Violets are over.
I have no idea what poem
I'll do for October.

In Memory of Mr. B

My sister's new father-in-law passed away this past week, and his funeral was Saturday. In his memory, and in following with his wishes of reminder to all, I am submitting this public service poem.

I am trying to light-heartedly point out that you need to go to the doctor for regular checkups and recommended colonoscopy every now and then. I am not making light of his death, but I imagine this is the kind of tone he would prefer people to have.

Taking care of yourself poem:

Regular checkups are necessary.
Blood work is super.
And be sure to have to the doc
Check out your pooper.

Even so, I can't help but write something a little serious about him. Mr. B was the kind of guy you really looked forward to getting to know better. For those of you who didn't have the pleasure at all, I will tell you that he was able to talk to anyone, he had (and maintained) a perfectly dry sense of humor, and he could take a step back and honestly evaluate himself. Those are all qualities to which I aspire.

There are lots of ways to "go," but Mr. B did it with dignity and selfless foresight. We are all better people for having known him, I just wish we could have had longer.

His sons have been hugged.
His wife has been kissed.
But no planning will ease
How much he'll be missed.

Blackberries: Have to Pick a Sweet One

Ok, I owe some back-poetry here. Sorry.

So here is something I want to rant about: my blackberry. I have the new(ish) Blackberry Bold and let me tell you - don't bother. But I am going to keep making them replace mine for free until I get one that works. It is like the reverse lottery, I am just waiting to get what I paid for.

Blackberry poem:

Cameras and games are awesome.
Web surfing is a ball.
But I'd prefer if my phone
Could place an Effing call.

Ed. Note: Inspiration shout out to Mon who suggested this topic after receiving my ump-teenth request on Blackberry Messenger.

Writer's Block

I am having writer's block........

Daily entries are dogged.
My thoughts are quite frank.
But it is hard to blog
When my mind is blank.

Retrosexuality

So there is a new word being discussed at the water cooler lately and generally speaking, no one likes a new word or phrase more than I do.

However, I am not sure I can get on board with this latest creation..."retrosexual."  Now I know what a heterosexual is, and I know what a homosexual is.  I even learned what a metrosexual was a while back (in fact I lived with one.)  But this whole retrosexuality thing I'm not so sure about.

So here's the deal: with the advent of all of these social networking sites, people are reconnecting with old friends and old flames.  So when you rekindle that old romance, the media powers that be are calling that retrosexuality.

In some ways I understand the draw of this regressive dating.  I was a lot more put together in, say, high school.  Also, I was more easily defined; that is to say my role and how I fit in to life was much clearer. Sometimes I wish people would see me now as how I was then.

But still, that isn't how life works? That you change and don't get to go back? Isn't it sort of cheating to erase everything you have done since high school? It seems that way. And if you can't make some kind of improvement from what you have learned in the meantime, maybe stay away from MySpace and Facebook for a while to avoid the temptation.

Retrosexuality poem:

Some new guys are awesome,
And others are overrated.
The only ones I know won't do
are those I've already dated.

Be Hari-ful Near Electronics

[Disclaimer: this is yet another incredibly vain post.]

Ok so let's talk hair. My hair is getting caught everywhere lately. It constantly gets stuck under the strap of my bag, when I sit back it gets caught between me and the chair, and when I am cruising around with the sun roof open, it gets sucked right out.

Clearly it is time for a trim, but I have two totally ridiculous concerns about this. First of all, I am going to have to cheat on the guy who cuts my hair and go somewhere else cheaper. I do love him so very much, but there is no reason for anyone this poor to pay a $20 premium for excellent flirting skills and an adorable accent. Second, I am concerned I am going to look older. It isn't easy for us non-22-year-olds to fit in with the law school, district attorney's office crowd. People don't question me now but post-weed whacking, who knows? Maybe I am like the Sampson of looking youthful (Bible character shout out).

What is that you say? On a scale of zero to ten your pity level is a 0.2. Yea, I figured.

If you think that is ridiculous, I just want you to know that this kind of madness of runs in my family. My dad* has crazy long, brambly, bushy eyebrows which he refuses to cut. I have told him on many occasions that children will think he is trying to steal Christmas.

I truly and honestly believe that he does not cut them because he strokes them as he thinks (as an old wise man would stroke a beard) and he is afraid he will not be able to think as well without them.

Anyway enough about other people, back to me.  This length hair is flat out dangerous, I say it has to go.

Hair poem:

Godiva was great,
Rapunzel was better
But my hair hangs too long
To go near a shredder.

* I feel totally comfortable making fun my dad of because he never reads this blog of his own free will - his fault.

Band Names

I had a drink of vino with some of my fabulous cousins tonight (don't try to out-cousin me, you lose before the firing gun even goes off). One of the many things we discussed was a band of a mutual friend of theirs. This made me think about something I hadn't thought about in a while: band names.

I admit that in the past I have often judged bands by their names. Not bands whose music I have heard before, but the bands who are pre "making it" phase. Those I judge. Come on, don't eye roll or head shake, I'll bet you judge too.

Like for instance take this situation: You have a free ticket to a music festival. There are two bands playing at the same time of different stages. One is called "Dog Ate My Homework" and one is called "Toe Fungus." Which one are you going to? Yea, I thought so.

Band Name poem:

Kings of Leon is regal.
Black Eyed Peas is cheery.
But my band would be named
Space-time continuum theory.

How I Almost Didn't Meet Your Mother

So, last night I went the the parental units' abode to mooch off of their leftover food, and then I went to class and I'll be darned if I didn't miss the season premiere of one of my favorite shows: How I Met Your Mother.

I have gone months without seeing any new Barney Stinson and I can't take it anymore. Luckily I did not miss the meeting of the mother (just the usual hinting that it was close, which it never really is.)

Missed Season Premiere poem:

Class is one great event.
Family dinner is another.
But I don't prefer either
During How I Met Your Mother.

Boyfriend Orientation, Pt. 1

I always think it is important for a couple to communicate.

That is why I have instituted boyfriend orientation. Orientation allows you to tell that special guy in your life some things that you really just don't like. That way he doesn't waste money or effort doing something or giving something that you don't care for, and you don't have to pretend to like it.

I have a "few things to avoid" in my boyfriend orientation. The first is a certain kind of flower, which I find repulsive for the below reason. On a more positive note, I love getting flowers - particularly when they smell so fresh! (Mmmm...I am thinking of you, stargazer lily...)

Boyfriend education poem:

Hydrangeas are romantic.
Lilies are sweet.
But don't send carnations
'Cause they smell like feet.

Stand Up Comedy is Not in my Future

Do you want to hear something weird? I am working at the District Attorney's office this semester and we had to do a mock jury pick on Friday. Part of the critique of my "performance" was that I was never going to be a stand up comedian, but that I had a serious nature that works well and I should develop my technique around that.

I find this particularly funny because I can NOT stop joking around. I'm not saying my one liners are funny, I'm just saying I tell them it all the time. I use humor so people will like me, I use humor when I'm bored to entertain myself, I use humor to make people feel more comfortable, I use humor to make myself stand out, and I use humor even when it is not appropriate.

I guess that's it really, I just found it funny. So maybe I do have no sense of humor.

Some humor is calming.
Some quips are good chatter.
But when I choose a jury
It's no joking matter.

Hindenburgs in our Future?

Ok, I have noticed in several sci fi (not SyFy) movies and shows about the future or an alternate reality that people travel in blimps.

I thought as a species, we had established that the blimp is unreliable...did I miss something? My favorite ridiculous blimp use is during inter-species battle or to keep A VIP safe from what is happening on land. I have watched a ton of TV and movies, and I never heard any villain say "We have to kill that guy attached to a huge, slow-moving bag full of explosive gas but I just can't figure out how."

Anyway, I hope that scientists figure out something more reliable because I don't want my kids riding around in one of those things. Of course I'm sure my grandparents felt the same way about my dad's Harley. Still, the only blimp I care to see is the tire-promoting one hovering over the Cowboys games.

Blimp poem:

Space ships are awesome.
Teleporting is pimp!
But I don't see "future us"
Traveling around in a blimp.

New Years State of Mind

On my birthdays, my aunt used to always tell me "I can tell, this is going to be a special year for you." I think she meant that I was going to find someone (which I have not yet) but actually, she was literally right. Most years of my life have been better than some people will ever experience.

I bring this up because I have been thinking lately that how happy you are is so clearly a function of your attitude. Actually I have been thinking this since I saw Liz Murray speak. She has this incredible story about how she went from a homeless teenager to a Harvard student. (Check out a brief overview here.) Her whole life changed when she was able to look at the same things in a different way.

So this Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) I am going to try and keep this little trick in mind. When I am down or annoyed or uninspired, I am going to try and consider what the positive view might be. That is my New Year's resolution.

Jewish New Year poem:

Frustration is unproductive.
Worry is for naught.
Instead harness the power
of positive thought.

I Don't Understand Twhy

I am about to show you how uncool I am, but I do not understand Twitter.

As far as I can tell by not being a "tweeter," Twitter is the same thing as a constantly updating your facebook status. And it requires its own network, but I already have a facebook network and I think that is sufficient. Though I do love perusing people's facebook statuses when I'm bored, I don't really want to be constantly e-bombarded with everyone's tweets.

Normally I would be 100% supportive of something that involves making up its own vocabulary. (The "peeps" who follow your tweets = tweeps. Love it!) And the one benefit I see is that you are limited to 140 characters, which makes effective tweeting pretty much like effective plogging. But still, I can't get on the twagon.

Feel free to disagree.

Twoem(?):

Email is instant.
Love letters are sweet.
But I don't understand
Why people tweet.

300

Someone call the A&M marching band and the Quick Change* people and tell them to get ready for a show. We are having a virtual celebration: my blog got to 300 hits! And don't bother calling to tell Gerard Butler (pictured above). He already knows since he is coming to this virtual soiree as my date.

I would like to give shout out to those who have made it possible: my mom's tuna rice salad, to my moral compass KK and her assistant Uh-rck, and to everyone who reads this doggerel and tomfoolery.

300 Poem:

Authoring poems is challenging,
Reader comments are divine!
There are so many blogs out there
I am delighted that you read mine.

* No joke, check out the Quick Change people - they are so cool. I saw them at basketball games before they were on America's Got Talent and they are so entertaining! I want to have them perform at my 40th birthday party. In 22 years. Twenty two years from 2011, that is.

Update: Further Time Wasting

House votes to "admonish" Walsh

Seriously, this guy Walsh is a jerk or he isn't a jerk or whatever your opinion is, but would our elected officials mind terribly focusing on what may be the most important thing they do in their careers? Awesome, thanks guys and gals.

One step down from a "Dear John" letter to the House poem:

Debate is good,
But wasting time is dumb.
We didn't elect you
To twiddle your thumbs.

Healthcare Re-bore-m

[Ed. Note: This post may make me a bad citizen. Also this is a ridiculous thing for someone who wants to work in public policy to publish for all to see but what can I say, I like to live on the edge.]

Ok, is it just me or is health care reform boring? Sometimes I honestly can't believe that we are still talking about it. Here is an idea that some people don't seem to get: Basic human rights. Say it with me everyone. BASIC. HUMAN. RIGHTS. Now say it like Stevie Wonder. Yes! Good head work. Now sing it like Donna Summer while doing the Saturday Night Fever pointing dance. Ha! You look like a fool.

But I use that musical interlude to remind everyone that there are some rights that every person deserves just by virtue of being a human being. Like the right to know why your own government is holding you. And the right to education (don't get all upset uber-conservatives and libertarians, we are already paying for that and it is going well so you lose). Shouldn't access to health care be a human right?

Ok calm down again uber-conservs. I'm not saying every starlet gets a free boob job and every granny gets a motorized scooter (although I think Wilford Brimley may have already taken care of that). I'm just saying that everyone should have a chance. And I'm saying while I sit at home and watch Ugly Betty on my LCD TV there should not be a lady ten miles away who gets evicted and can't buy her children food just because she got cancer.

"Oh, it's just so expensive" say the uber-conservs. Well yes, it is extremely expensive. We are all going to have to pay more, perhaps a lot more. But sometimes you just have to wake up, put on your big girl panties, and do what has to be done because it is the right thing and we are making the world a better place one decision at a time. Even though initially it is a strange and inconvenient and costly, it will all turn out ok. If you doubt me, open up your Encyclopedia Britannica* and check out these topics: the fourteenth amendment abolishing slavery, woman's suffrage, the downfall of the lava lamp.

I'm just saying, things like required transplant surgery should not be denied people because of expense. Can't we all just get a lung? [Paraphrase shout out to Rodney King.] Anyway, if you made it through this rant, you are not entitled to reimbursement for your narcolepsy treatments.

Healthcare Poem:

Surgery is expensive,
Medical bills are trying.
If we've made so many advances,
What is all this money buying?

* Ha! Do those even exist anymore? Remember how you could buy certain letters separately? Like there was nothing important to learn that started with Q. Ahhaha...oooh. Actually I can't think of anything academic starting with a Q.

Get 'Er Done

Have you ever thought something through, then decided that you weren't sure so you thought about it again? Then you were further confused and thought about it some more? That is a phenomenon often referred to as analysis paralysis. I suffer from it frequently.

I read somewhere once that the best decisions are made with 40-70% of the possible information. Forty percent was the minimum to have a good idea of what you were talking about, but more than seventy percent and you are just wasting time. If you find that you can't "pull the trigger" yourself, the next best cure is usually the advice of a considerate but decisive friend.

Paralysis Analysis poem:*

Opinion from thought.
Information from analysis.
But lengthy decision making
Shouldn't morph into paralysis.

* I have decided to use "from" instead of is/are in this poem. If you have a problem you can take it up with the management.

Another Dedicated Poem

I was very lucky to have a super fun (stolen) friend staying with me this weekend. This is a shout out to her and her nickname, which I think is both hilarious and appropriate.

This girl is a hoot,
And she is a hottie.
Zoe and I had fun
With "secret hot body."

Happy Birthday

This is a birthday poem for one of my favorite people, pregnant or otherwise:

Doctors are smart
But nurses are wiser.
As for human beings
You won't find one nicer.

Happy birthday Jess!

Nine Eleven

I remember September 11th, 2001 pretty well.

I had chosen that day to change my career track, I wanted to work in investor relations. I dressed in my best suit and planed to go talk to the director of investor relations at my company. Investor relations seemed challenging, engaging, and rewarding. Needless to say, that meeting didn't happen.

As soon as I got to work and heard about the second tower being hit, I turned around and went home. I spent most of the day in bed with my roommate wondering "How could this be happening?" As the dog came and laid in bed with us I couldn't help but think that animals would never do something like this to each other.

But here we are eight years later and what has changed? I have to take my shoes off at the airport, but the things done by a small group of misguided people in the false name of God has changed nothing about the fundamental character of this country. On that day people all over the country and the world reached out to help strangers. And now in a time with a historical president proposing historical improvements in our country, we just keep on keepin on.

Though I did not get to have that talk with the director at my company, I have found another, better way to enhance my working life (law school, I'm talking about you). And though things may have been different for our country without 9/11, Americans have still found a way to progress.

I think that is also worth taking a moment to remember.

Buildings are crumbled,
A city is hushed.
But what this country stands for
Cannot be crushed.

Mad About Mad Men

Lately I have been borderline obsessed with the show Mad Men. The entire show is beautiful, I'm not sure how else to describe it. Visually stunning? That is cliche. And the plot is so engaging. And the rhythm of the show is different. I don't know, if you don't watch you won't understand.

Not that things were better in the early 60's, but the class and elegance of the time is pretty attractive. I even went on the Mad Men website and "mad men"-ed myself. I look like that office hottie to the right. And if you want to watch together and discuss, let's do it over a cocktail (see below).

And now I'm writing a poem about it.

Madison Avenue in the '60s poem:

Pillbox hats are elegant.
Drinks at work are super.
Oh to date Don Draper,
And work at Sterling Cooper.

The Devil and Miss Jones

You know, it doesn't make any difference how many people you talk to during the day, if you haven't got someone that really cares for you you're all alone. One person against the world, unless you have someone.

-The Devil and Miss Jones

Something about traveling always makes me think about people being alone.

Not necessarily in the depressing way: sometimes being lonely or alone makes you push outside of your comfort zone and either do something out of the ordinary, notice something new, or talk to someone who you wouldn't have met otherwise. Being alone can also help you learn a little about yourself.

But I've also noticed that when you are alone and ready to reach out to someone else, there is usually not anyone reaching back. And then when you are overtaken with companionship, more opportunities just pile on.

Maybe we should all make an effort, when we are busy and happy, to look around us to see if anyone else needs a friend or someone to care about them at that moment and reach out. And then do it.

[Cue "The more you know" logo.]

Being alone poem:

Friendship is enriching.
Kindness is effective.
But being by yourself
Can give you great perspective.

Noguchi Guchi Goo

I am making a habit of blogging about things that I want but can't afford. So technically I think I am breaking the tenth commandment - and they were not necessarily written in order of importance. What can I say, I ain't perfect!

Even so, I feel the need to tell you about this most fabulous coffee table that I have been coveting in spite of divine direction to do otherwise.

I think this table is the essential anti-clutter furniture because a) it doesn't have a space underneath to put magazines that you will never read, and b) it is natural looking and blends well with the rest of the room, whatever your style. In short, it is the perfect coffee table.

Almost every industry has a Noguchi, something that is timeless and shows a lot about a person's style. I can't wait until I have a real job and I can afford one! Yum!

High Style Poem:

Autos are Bentley,
Fashion is Pucci.
But all that I want
is a table by Noguchi.

Weddings

This weekend's wedding festivities were incredible.
Everything turned out so beautifully in spite of a few glitches (including wrongly initialed cake, a short rain delay, and a small but scary bridesmaid injury from a falling sun umbrella). Even after all of that, coming into the reception hall and seeing everything come together just wipes the slate clean. And we rewrote that whole event with a heck of a party.
The bride looked so beautiful that she could have walked straight out of a magazine. The mint juleps and firefly lemonade were delicious and perfect for the ambiance of the event.
The best part of all was having the honor of being a bridesmaid and getting to be involved in the whole process. Being invited into people's home, life, and family for one of their most important days is beyond description.
So thank you so much and best wishes to Bistopher* and Sarah.

Bridesmaid-ing poem:
Weddings are memorable,
Receptions are great.
But it's a thousand times better
When you can participate. 

* Apparently how the cake designer felt his name was spelled.

I'm on a Boat!

The Trbovich Epps Rehearsal dinner was so awesome!

We set sail on the Carolina Girl for an amazing sunset cruise. There were drinks, a breeze, great food, and incredible company. Not to mention an outstanding variety of "I'm on a boat!" jokes. (Obviously the best line, though I cannot properly "rap" it, is "I'm on a boat and it's going fast and I got a nautical themed pashmina afghan.")

A girlfriend* and I were pontificating about the total perfection of the night, with the small exception of an unfavorable ratio of single men to single women.

That picture above is actually from the boat as the sunset went down.

I'm on a boat! poem:

Drinks are flowing
The mood is zen
Now all we need
Are some single men.

* A shout out to ML, the girlfriend who noticed the absence of single men with me and helped me write this poem.

I'm on a Plane

I was on the world's smallest commercial passenger plane on the way to Charleston. It could only have been designed as a plane for hobbits. Freaky!

Airplanes are scary.
Fate is by chance.
On a plane this small
I might pee my pants.

Happy Birthday Doc

This post is actually based on a Roses are Red poem I wrote on a friend's Facebook wall on his birthday. He is in the seemingly neverending process of becoming a doctor.

Arteries are red,
Veins are blue.
Bloodletting is old.
And now you are too.

Happy Birthday.

Feel free to totally plagairize that for someone you know.

To Plog or Not to Plog

So...these poems are a lot more difficult to write than I originally expected.

Also, I am finding that I am not having a lot of original thought lately...say since school started. Coincidence? We'll never know.

Poetry Poem:

Haikus are fun,
Roses poems are hard.
If I've learned one thing
It's this: I ain't the Bard.

[Ed. note: Who doesn't love a caricature with an unusually large head? Look who has a Globe now Shakespeare!]

Seagulls

Is there anything grosser than a sea gull?

Thanks to movies we associate sea gulls with a sign of hope for stranded seafarers (Land ho!) or the backdrop to a romantic walk on the beach. (With the one exception of Hitchcock, he was a little closer to honest.)

Other scavenger birds know their place and have the decency to embrace their inner ugliness by showing outer ugliness. Even a pigeon seems to acknowledge his status, with his tiny head and weirdo eyes.

But no, not the sea gull. He has to say "Ooo, look how nicely I glide through the air like I'm floating. Look how my white and gray feathers match your J Crew summer dress." Then they pick apart your sandwich when you go to the bar for a refill and leave warm steaming pile of avian doody on your table. Jerks!

Also is it just me or do they try to look a little like eagles? Eagles, as in our national bird. Totally unpatriotic! Good thing for them Bush never caught on to that while he was President or they would all be in a "sanctuary" somewhere with clipped wings and weekly milk-boardings*.

Poem to seagulls:

Your cawing is annoying
Your eyes are untrusting.
When you eat roadkill,
I find that disgusting.

* Seagulls can have their heads under water but I'm guessing they won't be so fond of a face full of cow juice.

Clutter, the Remix

As I mentioned a week or so ago, I have realized how much stuff* I have in my "full house" and how unnecessary it is.

In making my give away piles, I have cut deeper into my supply of stuff than before but I still am having some trouble parting with things I really like. That should be fine, but there sure is a lot of things I like, particularly in the clothing area.

So this (appropriately overpacked-sounding) poem is more to remind me to get rid of clothing, more than anything else. You're just along for the ride.

Clutter poem #2:

Cleaning is in vain
Anti-clutter thoughts are unheeded.
If it's unworn for two years
It is clearly unneeded.

* Just so you know, I am not using the word "stuff" here because of literary laziness. I am using it as a nicer word for crap.

Classroom Dormouse

In following with the Lewis Carroll theme, I noticed that sometimes I pull a "Dormouse" in class.

That is to say that, similar to the dormouse during the Mad Hatter's very merry unbirtday party, I have a tendency to do this: pay no attention in class, then suddenly pop up with a question or comment that is based on the very last thing someone said. I do this usually in an attempt to cover up staccato bursts of sleep.

This habit is reminiscent of the Dormouse from Alice in Wonderland who delivers a bunch of drunken-sounding lines that are related only to the last sentence someone has said, and are otherwise completely senseless. In fact he even delivers a few lines while sleeping. And the comparison continues; at one point he even recites a ridiculous poem called Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat (please see my entire blog for reference to my ridiculous poetry).

However, unlike the Dormouse I am graded and often judged on what I say in class, and I spend the rest of the lesson sitting there and wondering if I have just made a total fool out of myself. The mouse never seemed to mind either way.

Dormouse poem:

Comments are thoughtful,
Conversation is dense.
When I have just woken,
I make no damn sense.

H1N1, the remix

Apparently, no matter what country I am in, I will continue to hear about the swine flu until my ears bleed. Diagnose that symptom, medical community.

Airports are scary,
Bathrooms are too.
Wash your hand frequently
To ward off Swine flu.

August is Great, September is better

Happy September everyone!

The month of changing leaves (if you don't live in Texas) or beginning school (if you haven't graduated or were crazy enough to go back) or a new poetry type (if you read my blog, which you clearly do).

Seriously though, September is a great month! Lots of people vacation in August so people are generally still relaxed in September. Moms get some extra "me" time when their kids go back to school. The weather becomes less devastatingly hot (again, particularly for Texans). There is some good fall food, particularly fruits, that I find delicious.

So on to the announcement: The official poetry type of September is (virtual drum roll please) "Roses are Red" poems! Ok let me explain, these poems will be based on the basic poem:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Sugar is sweet,
And so are you.

In plogging* this month, I am going to follow 3 rules:

1. My poems will be four lines.
2. My poems will have the rhyme scheme ABCB. (So the end of the second and fourth lines will rhyme.)
3. The first two lines will have to follow the "Something is/are something" format.

An optional fourth, I am going to try and stay within the basic cadence of the original. No promises there. First September poem:

August is great,
September is better.
Because sunburns are red,
But apples are redder.

* Plogging = Poetry blogging. If you didn't know that you are clearly behind on reading my plog.