Oversight

“Bohemia”

Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney
Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney.
Playwrights and poets and such horses’ necks
Start off from anywhere, end up at sex.
Diarists, critics, and similar roe
Never say nothing, and never say no.
People Who Do Things exceed my endurance;
God, for a man who solicits insurance!

1927

You’ll find it here

“So That’s Who I Remind Me Of”

When I consider men of golden talents,
I’m delighted, in my introverted way,
To discover, as I’m drawing up the balance,
How much we have in common, I and they.

Like Burns, I have a weakness for the bottle;
Like Shakespeare, little Latin and less Greek;
I bite my fingernails like Aristotle;
Like Thackeray, I have a snobbish streak.

I’m afflicted with the vanity of Byron;
I’ve inherited the spitefulness of Pope;
Like Petrarch, I’m a sucker for a siren;
Like Milton, I’ve a tendency to mope.

My spelling is suggestive of a Chaucer;
Like Johnson, well, I do not wish to die
(I also drink my coffee from the saucer);
And if Goldsmith was a parrot, so am I.

Like Villon, I have debits by the carload;
Like Swinburne, I’m afraid I need a nurse;
By my dicing is Christopher out-Marlowed,
And I dream as much as Coleridge, only worse.

In comparison with men of golden talents,
I am all a man of talent ought to be;
I resemble every genius in his vice, however henious….
Yet I write so much like me.

Blanket

to the dozens of people who’ve emailed me, messaged me and invited me to their birthday parties as a result of the MySpace article. Really nice notes, and each one has made my day.

And, of course, thanks for the inordinate number of new friend requests. As Gawker wrote yesterday, I’m just a girl who can’t say no.

I’m off to San Diego for the holidays. Stay spectacular.

Poodle on a beach

And my blind dad is really going to like the blind poem. Seriously.

I know this is weird, but I read your article in the Post today about My Space and loved it. I have a really suckass (one word?) job and one of my favorite things to do is to look up really lame musicians like Justin Timberlake and then look at the profiles of the girls that send messages to them. It is creepy yet fascinating.

I first found your site when I found a link about the cat in the sweatshirt (sweater?) and have to say it was one of the funniest things I ever read, I don’t know why. Well, partly because it reminds me of this woman I work with who, I swear to God, said to a customer on the phone once “I love my dog Button so much I could suck on her like a mint.” Apropos of nothing. She is exactly the person he thought he was emailing.

Anyway, I am just a completely random person bored at work reading your blog occasionally and I don’t know you, yet all the same I am proud of you. The other thing I do at work is write bad poetry:

Blind Date

So here I sit across from my blind date and he can’t see me because, you know, he’s blind

Which is fine

For some reason I feel the need to make sure he knows how cute I am because, you know, I am

Which is fine

So, I am saying things like “Oh, that guy at the bar keeps staring at me” and “I have exceptionally nice legs, it’s genetic” Which, you know, is true

Which is fine.

He doesn’t say anything at all, he doesn’t seem impressed. He doesn’t even say anything about the cute dress I am wearing which is actually, you know, adorable

Which is not fine.

Blind people are shallow

***

Happy Holidays,
K

Me and Jay