Nonnie and Drago Help Out the Economy

Haven’t written for awhile, but I’ve been busy spending money. My brother Drago and I had most of the floors in our house done in cool ( I mean that literally-underfoot temperature is important to pets and people during Florida summers) porcelain tile. Now the floors are Italian villa, the furniture is a mix of our late Mom and Dad’s Yankee farmhouse aesthetic, Drago’s sleek, slightly Asian bent, and my re-creation of the New York apartment I lived in during a past life when I was buddies with Dorothy Parker and her ilk. So the new flooring cost a bundle, but we happily spent the money knowing we were helping out small business in America, and because the wall-to-wall carpeting had to go-people, pets, and 20some years had done their thing. Writing was off the table, naturally, what with all the discombobulation of our house during our infrastructure project.

The second excuse I have for not writing is because I needed to help out the economy even more by buying a new Apple computer.  Oh, I know they have more money than the Federal government, but I WANTED A MACBOOK AIR! ONLY WEIGHS TWO POUNDS! The computer, the Airport Extreme WiFi thingy, an external hard drive for transferring data from the old ‘puter to new because the Migration Assistant wouldn’t work with the new WiFi box, (Adam from Applecare helped me with that-it was frustrating for him, too), and the gift cards I had to buy for other stuff I needed that the State of Florida won’t let you-oh, never mind-I still don’t understand that part of the process-all came in separate deliveries. Drago and the UPS guy were trading one-liners by the end of the week. Blossom, our dog, was greeting him with a wagging tail and no barks. After phone calls with Madison, Cesar, Phillip, ( the only snooty one), Carla, and dear Adam, I am now transferred to the sleek, beautiful, new Apple, and Drago is using my MacBook, so it’s still part of the family.

Yesterday I finally left the house, after avoiding the heat for as long as I could, to pick up prescriptions and run, well walk, errands.  I also paid a sad visit to Borders, which was plastered with “Going Out of Business” signs.  While driving back to our beautifully tiled home, I had NPR going on the radio and the talkers mentioned the 600+ stock market drop. Drago was home when I got there, watching CNBC.  I asked him if we’d have to sell Mom’s collection of Wedgewood Christmas plates. He laughed, said no, and I decided to take a nap.  Blossom and Sam, our cat, joined me on my elegant bed. I forgot to mention I’d also helped out the economy by buying a new bedspread and pillow shams. Online.

"Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants." -- Dorothy Parker

I spent most of last weekend working on a poem, but when I read it for the 110^th time on Tuesday or so, I dumped it.  Admitting it wasn’t any good was a relief, really.  See, there were a few lines I liked, but I was asking too much of them. You know, sometimes you can write a poem, and sometimes you can’t.

Yesterday I had a Nonnie and Drago idea-doing a blog about one of Drago’s claims to fame.  He’s one of the guys on the black and white “Village People” album.  My brother, wearing a sleeveless and sideless T-shirt  (a style he says he invented) stands behind the motorcycle and next to the Indian Chief.  In fact he had his hand on the Chief’s ass, but you can’t see that.  You can Google it and see what Drago looked like during the club crazy, disco crazy early eighties, before so many of the gay or drug-addicted village people died of AIDS.  I wanted  to write yesterday, but it would have been drivel.  My brain was thick, my fingers leaden.

I think it was the news that Japanese babies under a year old couldn’t drink the water-too radioactive.  Like a mother would feel okay giving her 13 month-old baby tap water.  Like anyone on that sad, sad island would feel okay drinking the stuff.  Maybe that was why I couldn’t write about all the funny things that have been going on around here since I last blogged.  And there’s Libya and all.  Dunno, but *“so it goes.”  Hope you’re okay.

*Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five. (He might be able to write something these days-if he weren’t dead, if he wanted to.)

With a Bow to Dorothy Parker

When his fingers sped along the keys,
I’d need to sit. I’d such weak knees.
I thought him charming, tall, and able,
then he overturned the table.
Chili, crackers, cheddar cheese
crashed on me-he’d been displeased.
I screamed, sighed, cried and cried.
To keep me home, he rhapsodized.
He sweetly played a Chopin etude,
while he cursed himself for being rude.
I forgave him, (oh, yes) and took a bath,
soaped off the food that sparked his wrath.

We again enjoyed unwedded bliss
as long as nothing went amiss.
Light toast and eggs, once over easy,
no cats or dogs--they made him sneezy.
But it seemed to me that stray he might,
sex had slowed to once a night.
One day I woke up twenty-two-
the sky and I waxed moody blue.
I found a note that he’d been smote
by the pulchritude of some other.
Now I’m on my way to Santa Fe
to find one way or another,
a man with flair in the western air.
Why not? A cowboy lover!