Tuesday, July 10, 2012

I Study the Muzzle of Perished Rubber

When I was in fourth/fifth grade my parents sent me to a speech pathologist because I couldn't er, as in farmah, buttah, mothafuckah. I was cured, though I can't trill my Rs so from me a Spanish dog is a but. The speech pathologist asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I said a play-by-play baseball announcer, so he played a videotape of a baseball game and had me do the play-by-play, stopping the tape, making me start over, when I said pitcha, catcha, battah. Very smart, I remember it like yestahday. I listened to Bob Prince broadcast the Pirates when visiting my grandparents. I switched allegiances to the Orioles first because of a girl but then because going to Memorial was a blast, Jon Miller was the voice, the best play-by-play man I've ever heard, if you've only heard him on ESPN you've no idea how good. Have I mentioned I once loved baseball? I've caught myself listening to Nats's games on the radio, the radio team was profiled in YFWP Sunday Magazine, and they're good. I remembered this story trying to not think about Sarah while falling asleep Sunday night.

Hey! if you'd looked at this shitty blog yesterday you'd have seen a clusterfuck-free front page (other than begging for a photo of the Fed's opulent dining room for Frances, no one has delivered), not a link, not a blurp, about the clustahfuck's actahs and enablahs, and nothing about United, who haven't played so long I'm going to rob a bank, not a word about DC United's ownership announcement today. Erick Thorir, an Indonesian business man, is buying a majority stake. The consensus is he wouldn't buy the club to move it to Baltimore, wouldn't buy the club without doing due diligence that a stadium deal with the District has proceeded beyond preliminary talks and some basic parameters have been agreed to even if brutal details need be hammered. My first thought was I hope Thorir doesn't order a Cardiff City on United and change the home kit to red for shirt sales in Asia. You heard it here first.


Robin Robertson

A figment, a thumbed
maquette of a cat, some
ditched plaything, something
brought in from outside:
his white fur stiff and grey,
coming apart at the seams.
I study the muzzle
of perished rubber, one ear
eaten away, his sour body
lumped like a bean-bag
leaking thinly
into a grim towel. I sit
and watch the light
degrade in his eyes.

He tries and fails
to climb to his chair, shirks
in one corner of the kitchen,
cowed, denatured, ceasing to be
anything like a cat,
and there's a new look
in those eyes
that refuse to meet mine
and it's the shame of  being
found out.  Just that.
And with that
loss of face
his face, I see,
has turned human.


  1. As we were driving on our vacation last week, a Mirah song came on the iPod ("Jerusalem"), and we said to our Mirah, "hey, do you know what this singer's name is? It's Mirah." And she just laughed hysterically and said "there's only supposed to be one Mirah."

    Kids makes a good point.

  2. I'll argue, almost--Oakmont is the Grove, though the school only feeds onto Oakmont and is in weird netherspace between my old hood and the Grove.

    I'd also argue that the amount of dope and basketball and other roughandtumble that we played with our homies from the Grove pretty much qualifies us.

    But what's more, you withhold! You are, in fact, a former music student of Elly his ownself. You should march in his little band. 80 fucking years old. Jesus, he must be a masterpiece of crotchety by now.

  3. Thanks for the link...those aren't my finest pics, pixel-wise, but those darned woodpeckers are hard to sneak up on.

  4. When I was in fourth/fifth grade my parents sent me to a speech pathologist because I couldn't er, as in farmah, buttah, mothafuckah. I was cured,

    Being NE boahn and bred, I think they broke you, making you mispronounce your ahs like that.

    I am with you on John Miller calling the O's games, best evah. When I lived in B'more years ago, I used to listen to the games on WBAL. Perhaps the biggest reason of all to hate Angelos was when he fired him.

    1. The best reason of all to hate Angelos is that he is Angelos. And this http://www.angeloslaw.com/

  5. They really are.

    DCU should really try and tap the Middle Eastern market with their quite famous brand name.

  6. I'm guessing that's a link to a Mothafucking Doors song, and even if it isn't, I ain't risking it. Nothing sucks more than the Mothafucking Doors.

  7. oh yeah, I hear you on Jon Miller, he is genuinely fantastic, but I grew up on Harry Kalas calling the Phillies, with Richie Ashburn doing commentary: tweren't anyone better anywhere ever

  8. I'm guessing that's a link to a Mothafucking Doors song

    You didn't peek?

  9. Where to begin...

    Like fish implied, you were adopted from Bahstin.

    There's no 'r' in chien.

    My dream job at that age, too, was to be a play-by-play man. I was better and quicker than the guys on TV. And there was nothing like listening to the Braves on the AM radio in bed after lights out. Still love b'ball on the radio.

    And that would be Jon Millah and the Doahs. Speaking of which, keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the whe-eel. Morrison Hotel did not suck. I suspect your thing is all about the image and L.A.

    Oh, yeah, and FUCK the Nat's. Fuck 'em fuck 'em fuck 'em. Four games at the break. Fuck 'em.

    1. I think I wanted to be dictator of Brazil at that age.

    2. My Uncle John and Aunt Paulette gave me *Waiting for the Sun when I was eight years old and I viscerally hated it immediately. I suspect my thing is THE MOTHERFUCKING DOORS SUCK! People can vouch I have always said so, correctly, for decades. Sucksucksucksucksuck. Jesus, they suck.