Criticism. Essay. Fiction. Science. Weather.
1A piece removed. 2Come eat it.
Or don't. 3Wine, Shoulder, Bolt, Socket. 4Mothbombs 5On the road with your only soul. 6One woman's trash is another woman's treasure 7Aliens! Right here in America! 8It's not as crazy as it sounds
or, music is as music does 91) Sign.
2) Hope for the best. 10A friendship in a bottle. 11A five-year-old tries his hand at action adventure. 12Will the circle be unbroken. 1390ways' first Quaterly Review rages on:
2 samples of Fiction. 14Muscles and fat.
A thin layer of sweat. 15Fiction goes serial.
Part 1 has sex and drugs.
You know you want to stay tuned. 16Our fiction serial concludes to cure your
vertigo from last week's cliff-hanger. 17An iced-out 21-speed sensation: The Moves are
all up on your handlebars. 18We're all in this together.
Except those bastards in administration. 19Jilted, laughed at,
and in the air. 20Swirling and swirling... 21You can't make yourself like them, but you have to pretend because they are your family. 22How well do jewel cases retain odor?
About as well as you stink. 23It's black and white. It's old world.
It's photo time. 24Piggy calls, wanting to sell you insurance.
This is what's on the other end of the line. 25A long pause, then, 26Fiction's Second Qaurterly Review
can speak Italian. 27It's only bread, after all. 28It's job search time at 90ways. 29George W. Bush's resting heart rate and a bum in a green sweater. 30Antique weaponry and teenage angst.
Together at last. 31One-hundred-fifty-three syllables
of October fun. 32there is only
self 33She's cold to the touch.
Cold and pebbly. 34Gut-wrenching love.
And wallabies. 35Building a habit out of ivies and orange flowers. 36A 90ways exclusive sneak peak at the
new and groundbreaking Alphabet Book. 37Type it with one hand and
see what happens 38A face any susbsitence farmer could love. 39The Quarterly Review: read it again for the third time. 40For every task, someone is the best.
Sometimes that's impressive. 41I didn't get a computer;
I moved to Indiana. 42A piece removed. 4390ways has new concerns about identity theft. Lock up the children and your sense of self. 44time. eyes. deep sighs. 45I know there's a place 4690 stars are born. 47I had to ask. 48It's about sex.
But isn't that always the way with classical music? 49The epistolary form in the 21st century.
Complete with neuroses and unpunctuation. 50There is no end to the party. 51Rockin to the sweet sounds of prepared food. 52Of or pertaining to. 53Including spaces, this blurb is 90 characters. Ways, words, characters. It is a leitmotif. 54Minnesota. Miami. Poetry in 90ways' Fiction.
It's the best of all worlds. 55It lives and breathes and is hungry for carnival food. 56A piece removed. 57The curtain is being pulled back... 58Up in the Fiction house! It's a bird. It's a plane.
It's an illustralogue! 59The hat, in all honesty, is a private matter. 60Putting up with all the doth. 6190words strike terror into the hearts of the longwinded. 62Return of the illustralogue! 63Take one down, pass it around,
blow your nose. 64A piece removed. 65The First Quarterly Review wants
you to meet its little friend. 66From our servers to your ear buds!
It's misguided enthusiasm, in podcast form! 67Questions for the man himself.
Plus, the podcast adventure continues. 68No one would ever use Starbucks
to define their identity. Right... 69Don't you remember the rose clipped under my windshield wiper like a butterfly under a pin? 70Oh, it's nothing.
Oh, it's life-threatening disease. 71It's not you. It's me.
And my Eurasian captors.
72Root, root, root for the brisk
sale of anything possible. 73Look within the very bowels of the soul.
Or at least your mother. 74We're not strangers any more. 75He knows of what he speaks. 76I find that often times I'm quite
mature enough to enjoy a few beverages. 77He is licking me.
I don't like it one bit. 78Our favorite stuff is coming 'round the mountain, again. 79A wooden-back brush and a homemade bowl of oatmeal. 80A man's home is his... 81Fack to the Buture. 82This dude pulled back on his nose
and mucus and unleashed a city. 83The polls are in. 93% of respondents do not approve of the monkeybone lodged in their lower lip 84Like a thirsty man in the desert 85Taxpayer dollars wasted on broken egg. News at eleven. 86She loves her red octopus.
She will chew it to death. 87Bubbling, gurgling, fighting a moment to stay afloat. 88Molting our pasts into the air... 89The Return of 90 Words 90It comes but once a... ever. 91Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, the end of the Fiscal Quarter. 92The 540 word circle is now unbroken. 93An emptying out of the animus, perceived as tranquility
94All roads lead to South Dakota. Or at least the I-90 does, anyway. 95He laid down his whittling knife and he and his brother took up arms in rage. 96Drinking manhattans made with a good bourbon, and strong. 97Living white and pudgy, I never expected much for myself. Now, I could tell that was true. 98A few gestural lines towards the thought of death. 99Rest in peace.
I know I will. 100And then we played baseball and then we played army and then we were best friends. 101We torn holes in sheets and became ghosts for each other's pleasures. 102I looked at the pictures of you, twenty years old,
sometimes skinny and sometimes your face a soft moon.
103Fingers clutching little trinkets of the day... 104All roads lead to South Dakota. Or at least the I-90 does, anyway. 105Everywhere signs of an interstice arriving. 106What you see and what you believe are two different things. 107It was as if a million literary ghosts poured from its pages, moaning to be set free. 108So what if too many times we have been here, both
lost in our machinations...
How I Came to be Dressed
Okay. So it seems like we all agree that increased profits are the way to go in the revenue department. That sounds good.
Next on the agenda is an item I added just this morning based on some elevator sniggering and a few snarky comments I overheard in the men's: Point 4.A -- How I Came to be Dressed Like This.
Since I have spent a good deal of time with this subject matter, I will begin. For the sake of efficiency, I'm just going to work my way down my body.
The hat, in all honesty, is a private matter. One that involves my own struggles with a receding hairline, an argument with the D.A., an ill-advised visit to the dry bar, a sharpie, and enough personal and intimate details that I must ask, as your leader, that you simply look the other way on this one. That being said, if anyone has a hat in the office that is decidedly less in the bird-of-paradise style, even something as simple as a bowler or derby, I would happily make the substitution.
The tie also has a straightforward explanation. It was a gift. I myself am not a huge Elmer Fudd fan but my daughter is. I trust no one in this office is too cynical, too slavish to the Paris Fashion Machine, to begrudge a nine-year-old girl her love of a glabrous hunter with a speech impediment, a dismal track record, and an unsettling but rarely-mentioned bloodlust. No, I didn't think so.
Next up, my upper body-wear. The series of events leading to the lack of appropriate attire in this department was also responsible for making me fairly late this morning. As such, I called Melinda from the car and dictated to her the minutes of my morning should anyone want an official record of my tardiness. I will read from them now:
"9:00 a.m. -- Enjoy a bowl of cereal. Tie falls in milk.
9:08 a.m. -- Upstairs to shred documents before work.
9:17 a.m. -- Wet and heavy tie slips into shredder.
9:18 a.m. -- In panicked effort to free tie, accidentally feed blazer cuff into shredder.
9:33 a.m. -- How my wife does not hear my screams for help, I still do not know.
9:57 a.m. -- In last-ditch attempt to free self, accidentally feed shirt cuff into shredder.
9:58 a.m. -- Mercifully, shredder overloads and burns out.
10:00 a.m. -- Free. Tie salvageable. Blazer and shirt in ruins. Already late."
So, just the undershirt today. Or wife-beater as my driver called it. A charming colloquialism that, after my incident with the paper shredder, was surprisingly apt. Again, this is a situation, where, if anyone has a spare shirt or jacket I would happily borrow it.
The snap bracelets. Unless I'm very much mistaken, these bad boys are making a comeback. Very in right now. Very hip. I feel good about them.
Moving on to the trousers. This is nothing new. I've known of the jests for some time but as long as we're putting all my sartorial cards on the table.... I've had Karl do some digging over the past few weeks and as usual his report is exhaustive and comprehensive. I'll read you a few of the pertinent bits:
"Being the fourth of four boys brought you increased attention from your mother (loving) and your older brothers (resentful and mocking). Perhaps in reaction to their athleticism or because of your own natural proclivities, you took to the classroom more readily than the playing field. Your high marks and bookish tendencies earned more praise from your mother and ridicule from your siblings. As much as you thrived academically the taunts about your height (too little) and weight (too much) apparently took seed. While it remains unclear today how much of your goodwill toward your older brothers is born out of true forgiveness and how much is condescension rising from your material success, it is clear that their derision has left an impression of your daily pant selection. The almost unbelievably tight cut of your slacks and your dogged devotion to pinstripes (even in combination with the most unlikely of jackets) seem designed to be slimming and elongating. This bit of childhood vanity, so obviously misguided and counterproductive, is comprehensible if not entirely justifiable."
Illuminating. Thank you, Karl.
Which brings us all the way down to my toes. This one is purely business strategy and horse sense. I have an afternoon meeting with Yerkowitz from the bastards who do our accounts. He always has that damn yarmulke on and I'm pretty sure it's just to taunt me, implying that I don't have the same moral fiber as him or some such truck. Well, last night I was watching the History Channel. Gandhi was on and he was wearing those Jesus sandals of his. It occurred to me that that's how I can do Yerkowitz one better: wear sandals. They're pious and non-denominational. I'm thinking about making them part of the company dress code.
That should do us. I think it's safe to adj -- Oh, oh. I nearly forgot. The Groucho Marx glasses/nose/mustache novelty item. I think there may be a warrant or two out for my arrest this morning so it's important to stay incognito for a couple of days. Right? Right. Okay. Meeting adjourned.