Breakfast of Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut comes into the restaurant where I work every Sunday morning. Okay, not the real Kurt Vonnegut, but his doppelganger. Then again, would we really put it past Mr. Vonnegut's abilities to appear in a bar and grill in the Twin Cities postmortem?

He eats pancakes. So it goes.

Mobile phones and the downfall of common sense

Okay, anyone who knows me also knows that I'm not all that attached to my cell phone. Having a mobile phone, to me, does not mean that anyone and everyone will be able to get a hold of me at any time. It means that I am a bit more connected than if I still had a land line. So I've always found the reliance upon one's mobile phone a bit alarming and strange. But it has apparently reached epic levels. I've noticed that when a person walks into a restaurant to meet friends he/she no longer even looks for his/her friend(s), but rather immediately calls them to find out exactly where they are in the restaurant. Really? Has it become too much trouble to take a quick walk around the place? Use your damn head!!! And eyes for that matter. Cell phone 1, common sense 0.

Is it a complete lack of independence? Like, the majority of people could never imagine wondering around a public place alone for more than a nanosecond and without a specified destination. Or is it an over-reliance on mobile communication?

Either way it is ridiculous.

Also, when I'm out with people I like to be connected to them, the ones who are sitting right in front of me. I feel no compulsion to answer the texts and calls of those outside the situation. I will get back to you when I am not otherwise engaged. It seems the masses have lost the art of social grace and simple politeness. Certain situations are exempt of course, like when the mobile communicating is taking part with someone who is supposed to be physically present, for example.

Poetry...?

This is what I would begin a book of poetry with--in another world where I were published.

They told me that a compilation
of poetry had to have cohesiveness,
a common thread throughout.
So I loosely sewed the pages
together.

Poetry, I said, here is my mind,
make it your own. So it ran
to my bookcase and curled up
with 'Four Quartets.'
What a slut.

Poetry is the promiscuity
of style,
if you ask me.
To date no one has.

My pen may be mightier than the sword,
but it's no match for a publisher's scorn.
They returned my precious book of poetry
as loose pages with a post-it reading:
'What the Fuck!'
Exclamation point.

I sent them a post-it back reading:
'Use of the word "what" begs a question mark.
P.S. where is my thread?'

I received one more post-it:
'we wondered the same thing.'

Nomad's Dilemma

"Went to the porch to have a thought, got to the door and again I couldn't stop...I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave." --Modest Mouse

I have been back in the Twin Cities for 2 1/2 months now, a place that I love and very much wanted to be, and after just this brief time I am somehow thinking of everywhere else I could be. Suddenly I have ideas of moving to New York or Boston, Seattle or Portland, even LA (LA? Really? Why?) Should I join Peace Corps? Move to Africa--once I'm there it would be pretty cheap...London? Impossible Visa laws...back to Asheville? That is the most logical option. I know I love it, I love my people there, but I left because of the less than ideal job situation the first time.

Why not stay in Minneapolis? Fantastic question. And it happens to be one I cannot answer.

Is this a disease? Nomaditis? Am I just unsettled and restless, searching endlessly for something impossible to find? Or am I by nature an adventurous person with an innate need for change and new experiences?

What causes a person to be addicted to travel? Are we the lost ones? Or are we the ones who truly understand what life should be about?

"Am I or the others crazy?" --Albert Einstein