3.31.2020 – comedy errors

comedy errors
bungling, incompetence – not
amusing mistakes

I hear comedy of errors used so often to describe the current situation in the USA.

I typed comedy of errors into the Google and learned that it is a “Phrase of Comedy – a situation made amusing by bungling and incompetence.”

Lots of comedy lately.

Lots of errors.

Lots of bungling.

Lots of incompetence.

Lots of mistakes.

But amusing?

I see lots of people striving to find the amusing and I appreciate it.

But when it got right down to it, there isn’t that much to be amused at.

Comedy of Errors is also an early play by William Shakespeare.

In the play, Big Bill writes:

Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advised?
Known unto these and to myself disguised?

Sleeping or waking?

Mad or well-advised?

So much confusion.

Not amusing at all.

And if not amusing then what?

Thinking of Big Bill, it comes to mind that this isn’t a comedy at all.

But a tragedy.

Tragedy of errors.

3.30.2020 – obsessive madness

obsessive madness
read, watch everything or avoid
news completely

If you like Pete the Cat (and you should, or is it a Georgia Thing?) you will LOVE First Dog on the Moon.

Don’t miss today’s Obsessively consuming every morsel of information about coronavirus? Or trying to avoid the news completely? (The headline of which inspired today’s haiku).

I am tired of this news cycle and I am beginning to question the global over reaction.

I am suspecting that this pandemic is related to the first global danger in the social media, insta-news era.

I am reminded of an article I read about the ‘British Enclave’ in Hollywood during the 30’s.

The detailed the life and times of the group of actors and actresses from Great Britain that had relocated to California.

The article related how one actor, I want to say C. Aubrey Smith, but maybe Henry Stephenson or maybe someone else altogether.

It was noted about the actor that the only paper he would believe was the Times of London.

And not just the Times but the SUNDAY TIMES.

As the Sunday Times was published only on Sunday and then had to be shipped over from London, the feller was always about two weeks behind.

Something appealing for some reason.

3.29.2020 – No where to run, hide

No where to run, hide
The heartbreak I know will come
No where to run, hide

When I lived up north, I read about hurricanes in the south.

Now that I live in the south, I read about blizzards up north.

Living in the east, I read about earthquakes and drought out west.

Living in the United States, I read about the economic trials in Europe.

Living on Earth, I read about rovers on Mars and exploding stars in other galaxies.

I read about these things, but I never think they are going to happen to me.

Optimist?

Head in the sand?

Head in the clouds?

Won’t face reality?

I don’t know.

I do now, I just don’t think it will happen to me.

How many TV sitcoms can I count where the hapless victim stares at the camera and says, “You read about these things but you never think ….”

Almost any other story line and I can escape the heartbreak.

If I was stuck in a hurricane, I evacuate and go north.

If I was stuck in a blizzard, I could go to Florida.

If I was stuck in a drought, I could go back east.

If I was stuck by Brexit, I could leave Europe and go home.

If I was stuck on Mars, maybe a rescue mission would be organized to save me.

The virus is here.

The virus is there.

The virus is everywhere.

Got no where to run.

Got no where to hide.

Baby!

So much heartbreak already.

So much heartbreak to come.

How is this going to end?

Not sure.

When it does, I am organizing the biggest block party this neighborhood has ever seen.

Speakers are going in the windows.

Volume is getting cranked.

Martha Reeves and the Vandella’s are the first group on the playlist.

Not their song, No Where to Run though.

But another one of their hits.

3.28.2020 – Where do homeless go

Where do homeless go
to stay home? Hoping, praying
for someone to care?

Every day heartaches grow a little stronger

I can’t stand this pain much longer

I walk in shadows, searching for light

Cold and alone, no comfort in sight

Hoping and praying for someone to care

Always moving and goin’ nowhere

I know I’ve got to find

Some kind of peace of mind

Thank you for dear, sweet Motown.

What Becomes Of The Brokenhearted
Jimmy Ruffin – released on Motown Records’ Soul label in the summer of 1966.

As I walk this land with broken dreams
I have visions of many things
But happiness is just an illusion
Filled with sadness and confusion

What becomes of the broken-hearted
Who had love that’s now departed?
I know I’ve got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
Maybe

The roots of love grow all around
But for me they come a-tumblin’ down
Every day heartaches grow a little stronger

I can’t stand this pain much longer
I walk in shadows searching for light
Cold and alone, no comfort in sight
Hoping and praying for someone to care
Always moving and goin’ nowhere
What becomes of the broken-hearted
Who had love that’s now departed?

I know I’ve got to find
Some kind of peace of mind
Help me

I’m searching, though I don’t succeed
But someone look, there’s a growing need
Oh …

This version by Joan Osborne was recorded with the Funk Brothers for the Standing in the Shadows of Motown Documentary on the Funk Brothers – The unnamed musicians with the most grammy’s in record label history.

3.27.2020 – what happened today

what happened today
happened yesterday and will
happen tomorrow

The sameness of everyday.

It is Friday.

The day I wear blue jeans and cowboy boots to work.

The day before the weekend.

The day before I get to sleep in.

At least, it used to be.

I got up.

I got coffee.

I got my morning reading in.

I got to work in our back room.

End of the 2nd week of working at home.

In the book, The Caine Mutiny, by Herman Wouk, the part that takes place in late 1944 comes to mind.

Wouk writes, “The ship’s life remained a static vexatious weariness.”

“August dragged and dragged and expired into September.”

I am stuck.

Don’t get me wrong.

I do appreciate that I do have a job and I am working and getting paid.

But to be stuck.

Stuck without an end in sight.

Stuck in a never ending of newscycle of wash your hands.

Stuck in an ever shrinking world of staying at home, mandatory curfews and quarantines.

Who has had the flu.

Who has the flu,

Who will get the flu.

Yeah yeah yeah, I know and I know and I get it.

Stuck in a static vexatious weariness.

Such perfect words.