Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine, Number Nine . . .

Twitter Sonnet #9

Richard Pryor knew about booze and crabs.
A hungry day of pitas and hummus.
It seems sort of vaguely good for my abs.
We need more Jack Kerouacs among us.
Motorcycle cop sneezed on the freeway.
The sushi bar waitress loves War and Peace.
I made a powerful pita segue.
Quiet trivial tasks shall never cease.
3am Denny's has some big gangsters.
Opened new hummus to find it like clay.
Something's not quite in range of my sensors.
I do know to-morrow is Saturday.
Now last night's headache is like a flat drone.
Doesn't hurt but my brain feels not my own.

I'm finally starting to envy my sister for the free Coachella ticket she got from her friend who works at a radio station. I keep reminding myself of how miserable it was when Trisa and I went, but it's hard when I see Amanda Palmer tweet today;

"@alyankovic i want a head-butt!!! had no idea you were going to be there, let's eat some industrial organic vegetable together in catering."

This in reply to "Weird Al" Yankovic twittering earlier an offer to head butt people at Coachella. So, with both The Cure and Morrissey being there, this Coachella is starting to sound like the Impossibly Great Easter Basket of Bands. The thing is, I still think I'd mostly just be miserable, sitting under a vicious hot sun all day with sleep deprivation.

I thought maybe the headache I had last night was related to the fact that all I'd eaten yesterday was a bowl of oatmeal and a pita stuffed with hummus. I'm starting to wonder if I could be not getting enough sodium. Usually when I wonder if there's a deficient element to my diet, I'll go for the Denny's trough to see if there's something mixed in that hits the right note. I went after 2am, and found the Denny's in Mission Valley, which I hadn't been to in while, was staffed and patronised almost exclusively by enormous young Mexican gang-bangers. There was only one girl, who was very loudly holding forth about how someone was a whore. When my waiter forgot my check, he said, "Shit, it's back there, hold up." It was so great.

My comic's kept me from browsing the internet too much for the past several days, so to-day I spent time trying to catch up with my Live Journal friends list, which proved to be a bit of an impossible task. I always feel like I should talk to my friends more, but mostly the only entries I could think of anything to comment on were food related. I guess we can all discuss food easily enough, which is perhaps one of the secrets "Weird Al" Yankovic has handed down to mankind.

I read Chris Walsh's review of the Disney animated Tarzan. He liked the movie a lot more than I did, but I do remember liking it. It's once again a movie featuring a mysteriously clean shaven Tarzan.

I guess without making a movie that's 90% nude scenes, there'll never be a really faithful adaptation of Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan, anyway. Which is the same trouble with adapting his Mars series. Though the 1934 Tarzan and His Mate deserves kudos for this scene (NSFW);



I'm doing my own part to make audiences more comfortable with nudity (and, to a lesser extent, men with facial hair) with to-day's new chapter of Venia's Travels.