Five Questions

(Edit: Speling currected)

I left a poem on Blogzilla's site and now I have to answer five questions. We are fairly new friends so although I like her a lot, she is mercifully short of inside info on me. I have got off light.

Here they are:

1) My mom, after about the fourth gin martini, can be counted on to start reminiscing about Jimmy Flannigan, a rakish Irish fellow she knew in college. Depending on the quality of the gin (because we know quantity has nothing whatsoever to do with anything), she either engaged in a bit of chaste cavorting with him, or she lost her virginity to him they engaged in a bit of not so chaste cavorting. Either way, she clearly was ass-over-applecart for this guy. I have no idea why things didn't work out, but I theorize that we all have a Flannigan lurking in our pasts. Who was your Flannigan, why didn't it work out, and where do you suppose he is now?

On the love level: I wish I did have a Flannigan, but I was far too self involved as a teenager. I lusted after boys like they were ego decoration, it was all to do with appearances and my heart was never that far into it. I had crushes but never really desired anybody and I never ever noticed if someone fancied me until they got to the point, so I sort of slid into relationships - they just turned up.

On the individual men level: John was the thinker with plans, Tim was the tall one; tall enough that I could wear heels and tuck under his arm - he also had cyclists thighs, all defined and gorgeous. By the time both relationships were over I was conviced they were total weirdos - a character flaw which far outweighs any plus points.

On the regrets level: All my regrets centre around what I personally did not do and others (male or female) don't come into it at all

On the tipsy reminiscence level: When in that state I remember the stupid/funny/bizarre things. A little alcohol makes me lighten up. A lot of alcohol makes me decide the world needs an agony aunt, aka me, and promptly inflict that on them. I THINK I got very tipsy out of boredom at one of those subdued intellectual house parties, went up to a girl I didn't know who had one lazy eye permanently staring at her own nose, and told her to cheer up, that it made people look and see how pretty the rest of her face was, and that anyway a bit of makeup would help. I was being nice; honestly; but why she didn't kill me is anybody's guess.

2) My husband and I are arguing. Again. One of us claims that figure skating and gymnastics should be omitted from the Olympics because the scoring depends on judges. The other believes that if that's at all close to being the case, the only sports that belong at the Olympics are those sports that measure an individual's strength, speed and endurance, so football, hockey, basketball, and water polo are all out, too. Cheryl, whose side are you on, and how do I get that pompous ass wonderful man of mine to agree with me for a change?

Flip. I agree with you both, if I understand you. The original Olympics were staged on the site of some heavy duty Zeus worship, by a people who believed the gods only championed the super-strong. They were open to men only. The Athenians (?) took this a stage further and practiced euthenasia, leaving babies with 'defects' out on the rocks to die. Heck I think they left all the babies out on the rocks for a period, and only went back to the apparently physically 'perfect' ones and only collected them up if they still looked healthy. They were seriously, seriously into physical supremacy.
On the one hand sports judged by a panel of experts do mean that the winner is a matter of opinion, on the other hand if you are going to let in football and team sports, (or anything including women) then you have changed the original tenor of the games (a good thing), you have appealed to the masses, inclined more people to watch by increasing the chance that their country will have at least one Gold medal and therefore one hero and have generally succumbed to using marketing. To do that and exclude certain popular sports would be wrong and silly - wrong because of prejudice against skill sets, and silly because if its popular then you need it on the list to attract both the athletes and the punters and generally keep interest up.
But then again, if you think about it, that whole argument could crash down around my ears depending on when the relay race was introduced.

3) You're a quick and witty poet from what I've read, and I'm sure your more serious (less off-the-cuff, so to speak) poems are beautiful. Care to share a line or two from a favorite you've written, and explain, if you can, why or how poetic expression became a part of your life?

Thank you. Witty = silly = easy to be, I've had practice. My 'real' poetry, which I only had a stab at fairly recently (and only for a couple of months) tends to involve trying to express emotion, which involves recognising emotion, which my mother taught me was a 'BAD THING'. In out family its called belly button staring, is meant to be very unhealthy and incline you towards things like depression and is seriously frowned upon. If life gives you shit, you shovel shit or make shit castles, your choice, but if my mum caught me looking at the next kid with a pile of candy instead of shit and starting to feel self pity (or feel, for that matter), I would have got a proper telling off. "We're all different", "There are two types of women, lions and mice", "God trains his lions with bigger weights, or do you want to be a namby pamby mouse?" , "You can cry over the shit, or shift the shit -which way is going to get rid of it? Get moving." My mother doesn't ever say words like shit, but you get the gist.

Anyhoo - I often get angry when the trigger was sad and have to work out that I am expressing adrenalin and expletives because I feel tender instead of furious. Its awkward because the more in need of a hug I am, the more I appear to myself and the world as being indestructible and a bit scary.

I did try accessing emotion for poetry, but when it involves introspection I have these blocks to it, so I see my 'thoughtful' work as a bit 'off'.

Heres the last one I spent more than half an hour on, that sort of doesnt suck too much. I think I posted it on here a few months back. It needs work, the words arent all syrup yet, it ought to flow to work properly.

GLORIA

Languid, honeyed lyrics swim the lazy afternoon
As the tinny, tiny stereo so dominates the room
That the lilting little melodies it pumps into the air
Seem to dance the dusty sunshine with a sultry lack of care.
And the fluff beneath the sofa breathes a comfy sigh of peace
As the echoes of the broken clock implore that time should cease,
Yet summer seems eternal, as it swelters o'er the bed,
But Gloria's indifferent now, Gloria is dead.

It seemed so very crucial, to swallow all those pills,
And life seemed so unbearable with all her woes and ills,
And all her wasted chances, and all her guilt and shame,
But the radio keeps playing and cajoling just the same.

4) You bump into a mere acquaintance on her way to work and you stop for brief pleasantries. You notice that she has a small but quite noticeable piece of spinach, or maybe oregano, lodged between an incisor and a cuspid. Do you mention it and risk embarrassing her, or do you ignore it and risk that she'll suffer embarrassment at work?

I am eternally grateful to people who tip me off like that, whereas my husband becomes very embarrassed and even angry. Friend, yes definitely; acquaintance possibly not, sorry. I would tell anyone if their fly was undone, but somehow hygeine issues are more personal. In the UK we don't say things like XYZ, we say 'You're flying' or 'Bzzzzzzzzzz'.

5) Your home is clean, tidy and in good repair, your bills (every last one of them) are all paid in full, the shopping and laundry for the next week is done, and the kids are staying with auntie or granny or some other trusted and capable soul. There's a knock at your door and you answer it. A messenger hands you an envelope and turns on his heel, leaving before you can ask questions. You open the envelope. Inside: two hundred-fifty pounds, and a note that reads, "Cheryl, Have some good, selfish fun this weekend. Please use the funds herein, or they'll vanish in a puff of smoke by Sunday at six in the evening. Regards, An Admirer" How do you spend your weekend?

Ooh I'd start with having my eyebrows waxed, maybe a pedicure and a massage, or a reflexology session, its been years. I wouldnt go out with the husband, he doesnt party like I would like to, is far too sedate for me and he thinks things like taking dares or singing in the street or getting on fairground rides just to scream are embarrassing. I don't need to feel disapproval, thanks.

5 a) Oh, really?

Nah, not really. The nearest family member is 100 miles away and my house is never tidy; not that the latter would stop me.


OK now I am supposed to pass this on. Its a lot like Doris' 5Q4U but still, if anyone wants me to think up five questions about them then all you have to do is leave a comment here, saying either 'set me up' or 'be gentle', and I will do my best to comply with whichever version you choose.