wal mart greeter

le cinq du vendredi
  1. I looked back at my output here over the last little while and realize it’s shit. And not in the shitpost fun way; actual shit. One-liners, reblogs with lame jokes, selfies. The only thing that tempers my shame is the fear that my brain is succumbing to entropy. It’s understood that cognitive function declines as we age. I search for words. I can’t concentrate. The spark of randomness that is the root of creativity is dulled or absent. And I wonder, is this the beginning of the end? Or, worse, did I peak 10, 15 years ago and this is the middle of the end? What next? Where did the smart go? Can I still move the needle?
  2. I have another conversation with a head hunter today. There’s been an uptick in interest in me recently, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just seasonal, or a cosmic ray struck a database at LinkedIn. But I worry there, too, about these conversations with recruiters or employers. Am I still sharp enough? Relevant? A 50-year-old nerd with crusting-over skills needs to be especially charming and glib to get the kind of gig I want. I wonder if that ship has sailed, too. I look forward to being stuck here until this place goes out of business, and then I can see if Wal-Mart needs a greeter about my size.
  3. The regular season ended in baseball this week and playoffs start tomorrow. There has been a ton of off-field drama this year. We have a kid who is a real asshole, and several problematic parents. It boiled over into a shouting match with one of them last night. Look, I understand the urge to defend your kid at just about any cost, but if someone like a coach or teacher told me my kid was a disrespectful asshole, I’d want to know the details instead of just blindly defending him and accusing the other party of being a liar. Maybe that’s why the kid is an asshole. He’s learning from a real pro.
  4. Today is the day they announce the all-star team for the summer tournaments, so if you’re looking for me, I’ll be refreshing my email every 13 seconds. I honestly have no idea which way they’re going to go, though two dads I talked to who are neutral think my guy’s a lock, and that I’m insane for even worrying about it. We’ll see.
  5. American cheese is fucking gross, like the rest of this place right now, come to think of it.

This is for the fat girls.

This is for the little brothers.

This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.

This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.

This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters. Shake the dust.

This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,

for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,

for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,

for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders who are trying to fly. Shake the dust.

This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god. Shake the dust.

For the girls with the brothers who are going crazy,

for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,

for the kid who’s always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,

for the girl who loves somebody else. Shake the dust.

This is for the hard men, the hard men who want to love but know that it won’t come.

For the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for.

For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.

Do not let a moment go by that doesn’t remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.

Do not settle for letting these waves settle and the dust to collect in your veins.

This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,

for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.

For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers’ singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner’s shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who’ll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.

This is for the biggots,

this is for the sexists,

this is for the killers.

This is for the big house, pen-sentenced cats becoming redeemers and for the springtime that always shows up after the winters.

This? This is for you.

Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.

Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out a part of myself to give to you.

So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has never been for me.

All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls for you.

So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.

Make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all.

Walk into it, breathe it in, let is crash through the halls of your arms at the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.

So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob and open on up, running forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.



I had the pleasure of fighting with Stephen Colbert on Friday night, although I wish I wore the pants that make me taller when I’m sitting.

Even if you love Stephen as much as I do PLEASE SUPPORT LOGIC and vote TOOTH FAIRY over Bigfoot:


And WAL-MART GREETER WITH A CROSSBOW over Apple Genius with a switchblade.


That is all