Things to Do in Houston When You're Dead

I don't know how I found this, but give it a try. I know what I'm going to try to see the next time I'm in Houston: Dead Marilyn.

http://www.slickandhisruin.com/LateMonroeGraveYard.html

Nice scar. Reminds me of this local band in Dallas I stumbed upon called the Necro Tonz. I remember them covering "Suicide is Painless" as a lounge tune.

And I wonder why I always run into weirdos wherever I go.

The "Tax for People Who Failed Math"

Seen the new Texas Lotto commercials with Emmit Smith and Troy Aikman? Some tight-ass at the Dallas Morning News is all up in arms because she believes that Troy and Emmit are encouraging poor people to gamble. Really.

I maintain that the real reason to play the Lotto is not because you have better chance of being struck multiple times by lightning; rather, the true reason to play the Lotto is that for one American dollar, all of your problems are solved. Think about it: you fork over that buck to the foreign person behind the counter of the 7-Eleven. What is immediately on your mind (other than 'No, I want the soft-pack Marlboro Lights')? You start spending the prize money in your head. You pay off all of your bills, you move into a better neighborhood, you buy a new practical car and a new fun car, you pay for six more months' worth of maintenance on that machine that keeps Uncle Frank alive, you set up a trust fund for your kids. Every problem that you have is temporarily lifted from your shoulders, at least until the lottery numbers are chosen. But who cares? It's a palpable feeling of optimism and relief, and it's cheaper than smoking, healthier than booze, and it won't make you go blind.

If you still need a better reason to play the Lotto, you can win a cocktail table Pac Man game with the new Pac Man scratch-off. Go for it. You know you want to....
http://www.txlottery.org/scratchoffs/activeticket.cfm?gnum=664

Keith and Shannon Black, Congrats

My good friend and colleague, Keith Black, got married yesterday at the Sons of Hermann Hall in Dallas. His officiate for the proceedings was Pinky Diablo (found here: http://oneandonlypinky.blogspot.com/) .

The ceremony was broken into parts, one of which was a poetry reading. Three established poets were read, as well as a poem by Mr. Black. "The Elephant is Slow to Mate" by D.H. Lawrence, "i carry your heart with me (i carriy it in" by e.e. cummings, and "This is just to say" by William Carlos Williams. Keith read an original poem, "First Born Unicorn (Shannon sonnet #3)," but he didn't read the one that I thought he was going to read called "My Heart--Your Love." With all rights reserved by Mr. Black, I reprint the latter for your consideration:

My Heart--Your Love
by Keith Black

My heart is a high performance fuel injector--your love is the name brand
fuel additive that keeps my nozzle clean.

My heart is an empty patch of earth--your love is the Garrett Juice (tm)
infused mulch that keeps my soil nutrient rich.

My heart is a gossamer haute couture designer gown--your love is the
buxom, sultry starlet that wears my heart to the red carpet event (and
gets on the cover of two weekly entertainment magazines as a
result).

My heart is a small child allergic to mosquito bites--your love is the kindly
old neighbor who insures that there is no standing water on his
property, for standing water is a breeding ground for
mosquitoes.

My heart is a promising young basketball player who unexpectantly
collapses on the court--your love is the uh... the medical
machine, you know, the one with the paddles that people rub
together and yell "clear!" before using, you know, the one that
hums--your love is that thing--the thing that keeps me alive.

My heart is a character in a movie, it is a faux-nihilistic, burned out skater punk--
your love is yet another character in the same movie; it is a
wizened, patient old lady who after an adventurous, emotional
road trip together teaches my heart's character that there is, in
fact, truth, beauty, hope, and most importantly, love in the
world.

My heart is a nonundisinflated child's pool--your love is the air and lung power that
muscles through the hyperventilation to inflate my heart so that our joy, in
this case the kids that have been alternatingly crying for no determined
reason and spasmatically jumping and spinning with ecstasy, can use my
heart for non-structured play time.

My heart is--your love is

My heart--your love

My--your

M--y

--

So, you got an internist?

Went to Baylor's emergency room today for chest pains. It was not a heart attack, but it was "a warning shot." I'll be seeing an internist on Wednesday. Long story short: eat your oatmeal and pay attention to your blood pressure.