The day is finally here, and it has been a long time coming. Today we have the opportunity to change the direction this country is going, hopefully for the better. In these past few months the focus on politics has been strong to say the least. In New York City, Obama has been displayed on posters, tee shirts, and the like. One of the more unusual usage of the Senators image in the somewhat disturbing storefront window display that has been up since a bit before Halloween at all the Brooklyn Industries. At this particular chain of clothing store, mannequins have had a disproportionate Obama likeness mask that eerily and gleefully gazes at passersby. It is bit creepy, I have to say, but nonetheless there is an abundance of support around these parts, and it is wonderful.
It is frightening, though, to realize that in many other areas of the country Joe Little Kid may have a cabbage patch McCain tucked under his arm, they really do exist. And apparently the Pallin wig is a big seller to Orthodox Jewish women who are modeling the look in a not so Tina Fey parodying way. When I was back home in Ohio, I overhead a young girl who had picked up a book about McCain, and addressing her mother, she confidently said “look, this is who you can vote for,” as if it were the only option. Driving through Pennsylvania seeing roadside signs ten feet wide and bumper stickers supporting the McCain and Pallin pair sent a chill of the reality that this may not be a change for the better. I am terrified to think what will become of this country if Obama is not elected, I just hope for the best, and pray that everyone realizes that their vote counts. It should be an amazing turnout at the polls, and hopefully it will turn things around.

Mouse Balls

I made up this job once where this boss would always ask me to do weird tasks. One invented day in particular he asked me to go into each office and clean all the mouse balls. Which was odd, you know, because if an office has a mice infestation problem I think there’s a bigger picture to focus on other than making sure that their genitals are clean. And those suckers, I imagined, weren’t easy to catch. Personally, I don’t have balls, but if someone was giving out a free wash job I don’t think I’d scurry away. I’d line up, maybe go twice, once for each ball. There’s two of them right? I’m no expert with that general genital area. One time whilst making an anatomically correct snowman, I put the cheese-ball balls on top of the twig penis, I thought they started from above and sorta worked their way down. This was in college, I could have benefited from a book.
Anyhoo, after I manifested a catching, a little bit of embarrassment was felt on my end when my “boss” came into the room where I made-believed that I had cornered and trapped the pretend vermin. There I would have been, had this actually happened, cotton swab in one hand and a gentle but firm grip on the little guy with the other. I have to say, the way I have the story going, the mouse did appear to be quite happy about his concocted circumstance, though I am not entirely sure about that one, again not an expert in that area. But he was much more hygienic than before I fantasy found him. And hygiene is important, that’s why I have a detachable shower head with multiple speed settings. Seriously a few clockwise clicks and strategic positioning, and you are well on your way to getting yourself very, very clean.
Um, back to the mouse ball stuff, apparently the boss from this fiction meant the little rolly things on the computer mouse. I can’t be held responsible when words mean two different things.
But on the serious, I have noticed that in New York there are a quite a bit of critters lurking about. The pigeons in the park and the rats in the subway are one thing, that’s the wilderness of New York City. But when they come into my personal space then I have some issues with the arrangement. Up here we’ve some big bugs; they look like an entrée from Fear Factor or something. Is that still on? (Better check my references.) Ooh, more apropos is that show with that guy who walks around with cameras following him while he eats the flesh of anything he finds, but I can’t remember the name of it, so Fear Factor is it. Oh but back to these giant bugs, I thought they were cockroaches but I have been informed that they are water bugs. I don’t care what they are called if you crawl over my face and you have more than two legs, we are gonna have some problems. Well one night, such a thing did in fact happen. After waking up and flicking something off my face, I see this beast of a thing scaling the wall. I grabbed a shoe to smash it(normally I am humane and do the capture and release thing, but this effer woke me from a Sarah Silverman sex dream and clearly he had to die. Now, she can crawl over my face whenever she wants to). So yeah, the bug, so I squared up and went in for the kill. Did you know these things could fly? One minute he’s in my bedroom the other he’s crawling on the tiles in the bathroom. Which I realize, New York apartments are crazy small, and it’s not like he has to far to go, but still I didn’t know they flew. I looked for another line of defense, grabbing what I thought was bug spray and sprayed the shit out of the thing and he still didn’t die because it was actually that Lysol Disinfecting stuff. Apparently I have a problem with things that look the same as well. But I figured its okay, you know, because if he crawled over my face again at least he would be 99.9 percent free of bacteria, and I’m fairly certain his balls would be a little cleaner for the journey

Brand New Day

So I should be busily writing and preparing for Tuesdays comedy show, but naturally I am looking up vocal performances of Megan Mullally on YouTube and downloading Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog on ITunes.
It has been five full days since I have smoked a cigarette, four days prior to that when nary an indulgence happened in the daylight, and only a puff at a party or a single cigarette that lasted for three days was what I had to owe up to.
In short I am quitting smoking.
But tonight, I caved. In effort to squelch the habitual companion to typing, I failed and lit one up and breathed it in. Ah sweet mystery of life....
Turn the count back to one. I feel a little guilt for failure.
Excuses a plenty.
Neil Patrick Harris, sing another song tonight, and tomorrow I will start again my plight the fight against nicotine. This fight I am fighting, harder than it may seem. Forces me into poetic writing, to distract me and keep me fighting from once again cigarette lighting.
Wish me luck.

(Neil Patrick Harris stars in the little downloadable musical vignette I mentioned, I just wanted to make clear my references.)

What's yout ETA?

I just flew in from Tennessee and boy... Oh how I wish it were that simple.
Apparently there was a bit of wind and foul weather Sunday in New York City.
I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here.
We departed the Volunteer state around eleven o’clock in the a.m. The plane was a cute little commuter that had propellers and everything that departed from the tiny tri-cities airport. About a half an hour later we land in Charlotte, a quick look and see in some of the shops and we arrive at the gate where there was another gift shop. I deliberated over a bag of cheese popcorn, only because the buildup at the register looked long. That’s the only good reason for forgoing day glow powdered fluffy kernels of goodness. By the time we had browsed the key chains and bobble head beaver pens, the line dwindled and snacks were purchased.
We lined up to board, avoided tripping over the wheelie cart that the woman in front of us was totting, oblivious to the extra space she took up with her tag along, all the while maintaining a comfortable distance from this hovering girl behind us who found in necessary to exist three inches over your shoulder at all times. I complimented my travel companion on her expertise at a smooth connection(perhaps as a buffer for switching my position, leaving her to the hoverer) and remarked what an easy flight it was. Yeah, I spoke to soon.
After we settled in for our anticipated hour and a half flight, we instead spent the equivalent and then some of that time on the tarmac, waiting for the go ahead to depart to JFK. Thank goodness for Cheese Corn and puzzle books to pass the time. Ah, but it was all in vain. Instead of a liftoff, we returned to the gate to “refuel.” As we readied ourselves to exit back into Charlotte’s airport, an announcement was made to make sure that we removed all of our belongings in case we decided to “change our plans.” Um, okay. “Yeah, no. I don’t really think I want to go home today; maybe I’ll just hang out here instead. I think I saw some rocking chairs with a view of the hanger and Bath and Body Works is having a buy one get one sale.” That wasn’t exactly what we had in mind, but seeing as how we were informed that our flight was cancelled as soon as we deplaned, it was what we got. Sure, “refuel.” A likely story.
Long line story short, we stayed in a hotel nearby. There was a free shuttle and a discounted rate for stranded passengers, so it’s not all doom and gloom. Plus there was a Mexican restaurant with margaritas nearby and the hotel had a pool. Our packing had not prepared us with proper swim attire, but we were determined to make the best of things, so boxer shorts and tank tops made do.
We awoke at the leisurely hour of 4:30 a.m. to catch the shuttle for our seven o’clock connection correction. The woman behind the counter told us that her driver hadn't yet shown up. “I can’t believe it” she stated, feigning sympathy, “actually I can” she added with a shrug, her less than concerned state of being was a little unerving. She finally called a cab, a single van cab for the five adults, two children, luggage, and cars seats. We figured they family of travelers would get it first, but the woman suggested to the other two adults that she went ahead with the two kids with us, and they could get the next one. I was shocked how democratically well handled the situation, when I found out she was Canadian and it became more clear.
We got there in plenty of time, and it was a good thing to. Both of us were “randomly selected for addition screening.” (I bet it had nothing to do with the SSSS’s printed on the corner. Maybe they think distressed passengers to be hostile. ) The search turned out to be nothing more than a slightly fancier because they used technology rummage through our bags, similar to what I encounter, sans swabbed analysis, every time I pass a random subway station search site. Seriously I’ve been searched almost every time I enter a set up. Maybe I look suspicious. I don’t know, but if that’s the case I wish someone should have said something sooner. But anyhoo, we actually took to the sky not to terribly long after our stated time, and everything seemed to be going our way until we were informed that Laguardia wasn't accepting any landings and we were being rerouted to LaGuardia, so we fell into a holding pattern and circled.. What I wouldn’t give to have gotten more cheese popcorn that day! After a few spins, they had to refuel. No sarcastic inferred air quotes there. I’ve heard tale that planes keep only what they need as far as gas goes for issues of weight control, and I didn’t want to test that theory by staying up longer than they intended. So it was good morning Baltimore, where we land at the pump and wait another two hour before heading back and finally landing at LaGuardia.
Oye. I wonder if they include all those extra bits if adventure into frequent flyer miles.

Feed My Dog

So it’s been getting pretty hot and humid these days, but it didn’t always used to be. A while back I got a correspondence from a friend of mine; it made me chuckle and then draw.
The story takes place in a cooler season, but not without complications. It’s one of those times that can be reflected upon when one is wishing away the hot and sticky days of summer, though I’m not knocking the winteriness either. There’s fun to be had then too. Like this one time when I made an anatomically correct snowman, I put the cheese ball balls on top of the twig penis. But that’s and another doodle and tale for another time.
For now here’s:
Writing by MEGAN RANDLETT Drawing by MOLLIE ROTH







Let’s see, the other day there was an icy, rainy, snowy mix.
Campus had a delayed opening until 11, but my class is at 1, so I had to go...it was great, there was icy water above people's ankles all over the campus.
I was walking around in the most ridiculous boots that soaked up the water completely and became icy sponges. I kept having to take my socks off and let them dry out.

That was Wed. , on Thursday, I left my apt. early to go get my students V-day candy, since I had to teach
at (name of school) . I walked out and instantly remembered I hadn't moved my car during the storm.

My car looked like one of those cars that gets abandoned by the side of the highway.
There was a huge snow pile blocking in my front passenger side car.
I had no shovel and 1 hour to free a car from icy snow. I borrowed a shovel from the liquor
store and started trying to shovel; the shovel was plastic and bending with every push. I was
minding my own business and thinking I would still make it to class on time when I hear someone talking
behind me. I turn around, and it’s this very strange man who walks his dog through my parking lot talking
to himself. I turn around and he’s yelling at me
"YOURE LAZY, YOU SHOULD HAVE MOVED YOURCAR!!!!"(Drunk man, smelling strongly of booze).
"I know sir; I guess I have to pay for it by shoveling myself out" (me)
"YOURE LAZY, YOU CAN'T SHOVEL OUT, YOU NEED A PICK, WHY DIDN'T YOU MOVE YOUR CAR!!!??!"
"I know sir; I'll get it out eventually."
He then grabs for the shovel and begins to "shovel" out my car but really he's so drunk that he’s just hitting my car 'cause he can't aim, (no big deal, the Saturn is made of all plastic component parts in case you didn't know) He then turns to me and says
"FEED MY DOG!"
"what?"
"FEED MY DOG!"
He hands me a piece of jerky and instructs me to break it up into pieces and feed his little Pomeranian while he's hitting the side of my car with the liquor store's shovel. It’s now like 620 and I know
I have to cancel class, but I don't know how to get away from this man. Then he says
"GET INTO THE CAR AND BACK IT UP"
"Sir really, its stuck, and I have to go call out from work"
"GET IN THE CAR AND BACKIT UP"
"But really, its stuck I have to"
"BACK UP THE CAR!!!!!"
I get in, it was totally stuck, I finally convince the man that I have to go call out of work, but thanks for his help. Before he leaves he says,
"WHERES MY DOGS JERKY!!!!"
(it was in my pocket, I have it back to him) and then he says to
me, the first thing he said not yelling,
"if you want a job, I'm a manager at Dunkin Donuts and
McDonalds"
I canceled class and my neighbor helped shovel me out. I have bruises and cuts on my hand
and it wasn't all done until 7pm and I started at
520. But on the plus side, after graduation, I think I have a job at McD's.

a poem. it rhymes.

There is a tree that I can see when I have myself a look,
it’s frame, the pane, of a window nook.
Surrounded by boxes, hastily packed, too much of stuff, and space we lack
Finding a place for things to go
some we keep
and others to the curb we throw
Items not needed but not past their prime
are left near the stoop for someone to find
so that whoever who happens to glance at the ground
might look upon and consider a treasure found
for recently fortune and I have in such a way met,
in the form of a discarded and beautiful five piece drum set
but before I can hear the rat-a-tat-tat or crash or a boom,
I have to find myself another room
so off to storage for a little while it will go,
until I find a room to rent, then on with the show.
But now it is me and the tree and she’s in the other room,
unpacking boxes, my help she will have soon.

Beer Bad.

"Beer is good but I have found if I drink too much it makes my belly round."

The drawing on the side there has been scanned directly from the sketchbook designated to the non neglective usage of my left hand. I am typically a right winger, unless we are talking about politics or ice-hockey, however, I have been making art with the south paw, that up there is an example.
The drawing/poem was done when, still in my line of vision, a condensation-forming bottle of frothy bodega bought beer stood as a still life.
As many of us know the consumption of this liquid tends to formulate itself in an ever present bulge above, and sometimes protruding over, the cleverly designed belt buckled waist line. Okay, so maybe it’s just me that has a collection of clasps that keep my drawers from drooping. (side bar, thanks to Kate H.C. for the new one from Texas.)
But anyhoo, there’s a little bit of ironicism in regards to revisiting this piece that was done awhiles back, taking into consideration the time at which it was drawn.
Back then, it was a bit of wit in words in regards to the beer belly syndrome.
Little did I know, the bulge I attributed to the beer I was drinking was actually a more complex reaction do to the ingredients of what made brew and many other foods I had been consuming.
Wheat and barley, to be precise.
...My nemesis.
Upon consumption my body attacks itself, seeing the contents as a toxin.
I have spent days after eating things with these constituents with pain and perilous poos.
There is no paper that says it, but a thing called Celiacs is what I have to blame for the last year of my life spent with too many days in bed with discomfort and an accumulation as thick as Pigpen’s dust clouding my head.
A blood test proved inconclusive, because there is no pink for positive, or blue for a no go procedure to either confirm or deny.
I opted out of the expensive endoscopic biopsy that had been scheduled, and realized that when I ate wheat or gluten, I felt bad, and when I didn’t, I felt better.
“Doctor it hurts when I do this,” as the patient pokes his eye, is what came in to mind, and the follow up is, “stop doing that”.
A prognosis without the papering of uninsured advice, and an old timey comedic classic. Works for me.
Which brings me to earlier tonight, more specifically dinnertime. Used to be, I was hungry, I would eat ...problem solved.
Thaw a frozen pizza, zap up some easy mac.
Done and dunner.
This wasn’t every night, mind you. But seriously some days it’s not just cause it’s easy to “run for the border.” Fact of the matter, sometimes that stuff just plain tastes good.
However, such an indulgence these days would leave me with a swollen, throbbing gut, and a body that lacked the ability to absorb the nutrients of the next day where carrot juice and a quinoa avocado salad was on the menu for lunch and blackened chicken with a pineapple, plum, peach, and papaya salsa served over spring greens was shared at dinnertime.
You may have noticed on the super market shelves these days, products protesting to be “gluten free.”
That means that the contents of the food does not contain wheat, rye, barley or oats(oats can be okay digestively, but are very often cross contaminated by wheat flours used in products made on the same production line.)
More and more, people are being diagnosed as gluten intolerant, 1 in 100, if I remember correctly from what I read, but it is a relatively “new” trend in diagnostics, so much so that if spelled incorrectly, Microsoft Word will try to tell you your trying to spell the name of this years NBA’s championship green jerseyed team. If you really, really can’t spell.
I just finished a book called Gluten Free Girl, an educational and inspirational read. It’s funny how things are easier to understand when you know more about something because someone else knows more than you, and you take it all in. And, I think I can agree with the characters from Joe G.I, maybe Scarlet (cause she was hot) on this one, that “knowing is half the battle.” And a fraction of the other portion was found in the meal that was prepared for me tonight in our gluten free kitchen. Fried chicken with a rice flour batter, drizzled with spicy gravy from a recipe that was gluten free, that also soaked the frozen (sans wheat) cornbread muffins that were complimented with a brown rice medley and steamed and seasoned broccoli goodness.

Initial entry

So this here is where you will find some of my writings and drawings, and some writings that have been inspired from other peoples drawings, and likewise drawings that have spurned from the writings of others as well as a few of thises, thats, and other things. So, check back regularly.