03/01 Direct Link
Ishka Mar,

Shka var hor, pa lartra va pubbit, ena var ka laiene. Mishka, var pa shorka va empere reine, par va breike va lar. 

Qua ka naieshei, lerte pa shtoma va karakae, ente larga oppenvoruspred. 

Var meisha (meishe Mar), Te var peppet te heggenswel, peppet te feltingwel, pe peppet Te kelt. Ryista?

Leppet en felting, pe karaka pe meshe.

Orba pe keltingswell pa florbit! Pa florbit, pe feltingwel; pe feltingwel pe “korgate laiene.” Pa lartra va pubbt, Mishka, va pa shorka aga. Eska shtoma.

“Qua ka meishe, qua ka te kelt.” Te var pitta te oppenvoruspred, ishka Mar.

— Ve
03/02 Direct Link
Isket Citibank,

Par vettet: 105-162-3434-9000

Vorset pa toccolot var tettit te $107.42 var Te pa Februaresket. Niffingwelt pe clartet ve martet var "fees" peppet niftingwelt pe zisket var 2010.

Dedde Te oppenstreinei vorshuska var tettit te $11.32; eska shtoma heiggenwelt par "federal rellet," par te Var. Ena. Niftingwelt. Eska. Shtoma!


Argetet var Te peppet/pebbetwelt var “Mr. Keller” qua pe roiene pe zisket pe 2010; Par pe eset felting par dedde 2012!

Tiffit, targuswelt ve vettet pedide, enrite pe stetite. Te var 2013 te oppensvelt.

Pret pe supstuvelt,
John Snyder

cc: Horowitz and Flanagan, esq.
03/03 Direct Link
Her sunbrowned shoulders and back were already bare. Still intoxicating.

To wine, yes? He fills her decanter with 2005 Torbreck Laird Shiraz, and pauses to admire the view. From there he pours again, and deep garnet warms a pair of crystal Riedel Vivants. Savory and spice notes marry the fruit, baring aromas Torbreck describes as hung meat, Peking duck, fertile loam, underbrush, tree bark, anise, cumin seed, menthol, dried roses and lavender over warm black cherries, crushed blackberries and fruit cake.

Next, the sandwiches: her boneless rump roast beef, shaved waver-thin, en baguette. With? Ah! In the pantry, mot juste: Skippy. 
03/04 Direct Link
Mr. Donagan says I can’t post no more bread recipes from on the job at Galveston Pipe and PVC. He says I gotta watch what I’m doing at the cutter, and that if I wanna post bread recipes or whatever, first it ain’t safe, and two I can do it from another job. I guess that all makes sense. He did tell me about it a lot of times, and this was my final warning. So I’m writing today only to remind you that if your mixture is dry, add one or two tablespoons of water, and you should be set.
03/05 Direct Link

1. "This here’s qi," the farmer explained.

2. "Did the children qi before putting on their socks?"

3. "Add another 21 points for me, thanks to QI.”

4. When he was ready one day, the frail, gray man, bundled beneath a quilt on his felted chair, with the Mets game somewhere insisting on itself gravely in the bottom of the ninth, closed fluttering eyelids—and drew a breath. In a Marseille flat with mademoiselle, both flushed and naked under cotton sheets, he exhaled it—“Tout était parfait!” And the runner slid home.
03/06 Direct Link
Home today—her place—tending to a sick kid and his brother, who’s faking, but I gotta respect the scam. It's heartfelt, if transparent. They're up in the master bedroom watching cartoons and laughing; I'm on the couch listening to Oum Kalthoum (At the bedside Havel) and dealing with my client's shitty copy: my squeaky-wheel client and his burlap sack of rocks and words he thinks is a book. I keep at it, of course, every day anew, a slave to scope creep and tiresome ingratitude. He doesn't realize what he has in me. A fucking theme, I guess.
03/07 Direct Link
Thanks, Tim. Good morning, everyone! We're honored to be here and demo for you our new Procrastinator 3000, engineered exclusively for the gorgeous new John Snyder, running the Cranky Pants quad core chip. 

And to help me show off this amazing new technology, I'm joined by our lead developer for not going to the gym, Garrett Ping—hello Garrett—who is standing by, he’s getting set up; and he's about to show us all why Procrastinator 3000, running on John Snyder and Cranky Pants quad, just blows away anything we’ve been able to bring you on previous John Snyders. 

03/08 Direct Link

In yanking a blazer out from under the books, tennis rackets, newspapers and magazines weighing down my car trunk the other day, finally at the dry cleaner, I found a microfine 0.3mm pen: a Pilot G-TEC-C3 rollerball, black. I love this pen. I remember buying it in September at Baker Office Supply in Greenfield. Line like a scalpel pull.

It’s a special purpose pen: not much good for signatures; probably intended to help me sketch, and think. I love office supplies, art supplies, hardware stores. In those moments of browsing, everything’s solvable.

But then, of course, the trunk.

03/09 Direct Link
And boy, could Dad eat fast! Guess how I just knew, like, Mom's noodles, or "pasta" — quotes required — stored Tuesday, utterly vanished Wednesday? X-rays! Yep: ziti.

Absolutely, bring corn dogs. Emily feels Grandma's help is justified (kitchens leave me nauseated) on providing quesadilla refill service to "unlimited" vacationers — will Xander "yak" Zoloft?

Africa became constitutionally divided entirely from Ghana having incited juju killings lately, making nations' overtures — "Peace!" — quashed. Remember, statesmen talk until violent… Washington? Xenophobic "yankee" zealots!

“Achieving ‘billionaire’ could demand each fellow grip his individual johnson, keep laughing, marry no obviously penniless “queens,” react simply to unloaded value.” — Warren Xerox's youngest, Zachary.
03/10 Direct Link

OK, preflight checklist. 

-- Roger, running the numbers. Gyros up; all involuntaries normal. I am showing amber on urine. I have that pegged to … 80 percent.

Rog., keep an eye on it, we'll deal inflight.

-- Affirm. Sensors up. I show ceiling, wall. Tactiles online. Temp nominal.

Roger that.

--  Ah, going for external self-check; muscles responding to the stretch. Good, good aaand, good.


-- Skip, I'm showing 90 percent on that urine now. Confirm 90, approaching redline. I would deal with this.

I copy. Will adjust flight plan. Let's just finish the checklist. 

-- Rog. Memories responding. Aaand, late for work.


03/11 Direct Link
I trust the woman on here whom this concerns will bear with me. I don't wish to embarrass her, and after this I'll drop it:

Amelia, my onetime business partner, you saw opportunities for growth I admit now I stupidly resisted. When your ex offered to hook us into his export cartel, I balked. Foolish pride. We should have gone after Europe, at least. And so it ended: you to teach at Wharton, me to slave at TBWA\Chiat\Day, and our warehouse of Elmo knockoffs lost at auction for pennies on the dollar. 

— My spreadsheet tattoo is for you.
03/12 Direct Link
Something fashioned me as wonderful warm sunny day, starting out with prayer. I am not sure—so many things to write! Spring break is over. I nearly congratulated the woman on here whom this concerns.

(He's staring at the phone: oh my brother.)

The funny thing about the Church: all I can think about is moving to Paris. Do we end up talking and writing? It's been five days and I miss him. 

(She remembers walking down the street with Sinatra. I wonder if speaking of the muse can bring her back.)

I'm caught up. I admit: I am a perfectionist.
03/13 Direct Link

I —

Ah, no. If we go at it … oy.

God, let ego ebb! Fed? Yep? Now, can you cut air, umm, max far? Pew!

Okay, true: pies, tart, cake, iced teas, pork stew dish with okra, make good grub. Fine. 

Sadly, mousy-poopy gases, blown aloft, plume wetly. Nasal alert!

Affect citrus. Aerify beauty. Repast simply. Advice: Repent gluten!

Airwise, sharing private bedroom “sickbed belches” (gossipy, apology) hobbles support aplenty, meshuga.

“Digested activity” climates nextdoor firebomb arboreal areaways, methinks. (Backside-backwash elicited feedback.)

Stenchful territory saboteurs, shoveling precursor coleslaws (smelliest!) triweekly — unceasing — virtually restricts peacetime.

Mousetrap! Forewarned. Sincerely.


03/14 Direct Link
Well, I have licensed (whew, I almost wrote "bought," and risked getting sued or arrested or no-fly-listed or detained or Ponzied or occupied or hacked or protested or Tea Partied or dropped or redistricted or Swift boated or misquoted or slammed or 4channed or photobombed or flamed or throttled or blocked or pwned or identity-thefted or petitioned or trolled or blingeed or Limbaughed or stalked or invaded or unfriended or wiretapped or Birthered or foreclosed upon or jihaded or parodied or wedgied by the powers that be) a copy of "Mexican Radio" by Wall of Voodoo. 

03/15 Direct Link


Insincere child + licking candy windows = defenestrated

Overly athletic child + throwing food = peppermint mallet to noggin

Picky eater + declining a free sample = turned into spinach

Tattletale + tattling = turned into Oompa Loompa

The know-it-all + correcting Wonka = parents audited

Fearful child + refusing boat ride = left behind

The horseplay kids + knocking over display = souls frozen solid

Having to pee + asking where the bathroom is = hour in the centrifuge

The adventurer + running ahead to next exhibit = felled by leopards

Don’t like to read + frowning = turned into book page; ignored

Underachiever + careless with candy wrapper = caramelized pants

03/16 Direct Link

In the tradition of Errol George, Godfrey Royal and A.O. Wayne, Douglas Porch is that rare actor who brings a role to life and makes it look not only effortless, but also inevitable. Since its 1968 opening in Brooklyn, “John Snyder,” Herman Hasp’s critically acclaimed realo following a talented, stricken writer with a heart of gold, has had only one leading man ... and 44 seasons later that man is at the top of his game. Art’s Melody Pebbler catches up with Porch on location to learn his hopes — and fears — for the character he illumines, but insists is not himself.

03/17 Direct Link

Q: I don’t know whether you remember me; we met once before, at a wedding reception.

A: I do remember you. George and Ankita’s, right? Oakland? You were with a banker.

Q: A stock broker. Yes. I’m flattered you remember. Your memory is said to be photographic; I was testing.

A: That’s what it was? A test? I was hoping you were flirting. [Laughs]

Q: Alas, I married the stock broker. 

A: Well, that’s that. Can’t win ‘em all.

Q: You’re in your 45th year of playing John Snyder. When does it end?

A: When should it? This is art...

03/18 Direct Link

...I realize the necessity of the question in the context of what’s happened to culture in only the past 30 years or so. Realo was never intended to compete with theater, with television, with the Web. Realo contains those things, as it contains marriage, shopping, crying. Your question, When does it end? presupposes commodification, objectification. "What else is on?" Very distressing. Realo simply is. That’s its universality, its particularity and its beauty. Zen enough for you? [Laughs]

Q: It’s a more defensive answer than I expected. Are you concerned for the future of your art?

A: “Attention must be paid...”

03/19 Direct Link

Q: This is Death of a Salesman. Linda Loman…

A: Yes. 

Q: You don’t find it ironic, resorting to —

A: No. It’s simply the truth. Whether we’re talking about Dustin Hoffman (or Philip Seymour Hoffman, God, that’s genius) as Willy Loman, or Bobby DeNiro as Jake LaMotta, or Douglas Porch as John Snyder, or for chrissakes Dan Castellaneta as Homer Simpson, you create a life. You tell that story. You live it for as long as the story calls for. In that time you, the actor, are irrelevant. John Snyder is a thing of beauty, as nothing as he is.

03/20 Direct Link

Q: By the same token, isn’t Douglas Porch a thing of beauty in his own right? Why privilege John Snyder? What are you sacrificing, and why?

A: What do we sacrifice when performing King Lear? Or kabuki theater? Despite the opportunity cost, the rewards are overwhelmingly compelling. Who cares whether Doug Porch wakes up, showers, punches in on a job? But this [character] is a rare and golden moment of intentionality. What this show achieves in quiet moments transcends the Sistine Chapel, Guernica, jazz. It’s an honor to perform. I will say, I plan to direct 2013. I’m very excited.

03/21 Direct Link

Q: By 2011 we’d seen John start to master the trauma of his childhood, and begin to embrace fatherhood, though apparently at the cost of his marriage. What kind of life does John want to live? What do you want for him?

A: We’re tying together most of the loose ends off of the depression arc, and giving John more a sense of permission to meet his own potential. He’d like to pay his own way, make amends with his kids and build out a world of rich fiction. Me, I’d love to see him solve crimes in Monaco. [Laughs]

03/22 Direct Link

Everybody’s favorite television program, Billy Baboon’s Comedy Capers, is loosely based on the real-life story of Dr. Euclid Baboon, founder of the American Association of Serious Grownups, which is headquartered in Baboon’s hometown of Ook, Georgia.

You’ve played “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” right? Well next time, try playing “Rock, Rock, Rock.” It’s an interesting suggestion from reader Barry Mussels of Rock, Missouri.

Nobody in Pulled Pork, Michigan, ever gets to do homework or any chores. All they get to do is play dumb old exciting video games and eat boring old delicious snacks. They have it pretty rough.
03/23 Direct Link
I can tell today’s 100W piece is going to be remarkable. Yep: totally. These words are flowing like quicksilver from my soul to my hands to the page.

Wow! The second paragraph is off to a rollicking start. Its second sentence really picks up the theme and runs with it, leading inexorably to (was that a comma? Amazing!) either a massive run-on sentence for dramatic effect, or. Yeah. It stopped short there.

What’s the word count? Yikes! Next graf has gotta wrap this up. And without a word to spare! Come on, baby, let’s stick that landing:

Another classic.
03/24 Direct Link
Five doors down the hall from Eisenbach, to the west, was Mawbrey’s. This was a heavy oak door like the rest, but uniquely bore no nameplate. The door was always locked, and no receptionist was assigned to its anteroom. Mawbrey was never seen to enter; never seen to exit, but one might occasionally overhear scufflings from within, and music. A clarinet: Brahms’s Sonata No 1 in F minor, Op. 120, No. 1.

From 1958 to 1965, Mawbrey was the nominal section chief. Porgas reported to him, as did Provençal, though not Johnson, whose detail — and budget — derived from Hoberman’s "envelope."
03/25 Direct Link

Well, I’ve been on the ship 19 days, and finally got my room assignment sorted out. I liked where I was staying, in that it was amidships and took the waves calmer; but they had me billeted with one of the harpooners, and we just never clicked. I don’t like harpooners’ songs, and they sing them all the freakin’ time. Plus, as I posted, I did catch “Dag” going through my desk on two occasions.

Now staying way aft, but at least it’s a single. Very small. Cabin C-337.

Otherwise fine, thank the Lord.
03/26 Direct Link

Had the day off today, so wandered around the ship for a while, taking it all in. It's really cool how all the rigging is arranged just so, and everything just works and does what it's supposed to do. People thought all this through over years of trial and error. I'm suitably impressed.

So I just missed what I gather was a big team meeting up on the quarter deck. The captain is offering some sort of cash prize for performance. Everyone's stoked. It’s nice that they’re gonna have these occasional incentives.

Maybe pasta tonight.
03/27 Direct Link

Although I stand by my decision to sign on with this whaling crew — the experience will look great on my résumé — I admit to a certain ambivalence regarding the hunt. I guess we need whales for the oil and blubber and whatnot, but it seems cruel to chase these gentle giants halfway around the world, then set upon them with harpoons and hooks.

Who was the first person to discover the uses of whale oil? What was that guy's deal? We’re an inventive people, I’ll give you that.

Met the captain yesterday. Wow, high-strung!
03/28 Direct Link

So I’m lowered over the side of the ship this morning, helping massacre sharks, and it hits me: what a golden opportunity we have — all us guys from all over the world way out here in the middle of the ocean — to form a public speaking club.

God, this proposal writes itself! There's precious little else to do on this tub other than whale, and “Pequod Public Speakers” (tentative) would be a great way to get to know each other, push beyond our comfort zones, and develop as communicators and leaders.

“Sharkbite Speakers”? Something catchy.
03/29 Direct Link

So we’re cutting in on a sperm whale yesterday: me, Barry, Lew and this other dude, and it’s messy, time-consuming, smelly work, and we’re just leaning into it, gettin’ ‘er done, lost in our own thoughts, and this dude next to Lew starts spouting off about cetology, mythology and the captain’s prosthetic leg.

I wish I could reproduce the gist of what he was saying; he was really eloquent. He even tied it in with stuff about Nantucket and the gods and whatnot.

He’d be a good one to approach about the public speaking club.
03/30 Direct Link

Newfound respect for Captain Ahab: He is frickin’ hilarious! Just overheard him on deck, dealing with the carpenter:

“Oh Life! Here I am, proud as Greek god, and yet standing debtor to this blockhead for a bone to stand on!”


That said, am giving up the idea for Pequod Public Speakers/Sharkbite Speakers. It’s just not gaining any traction among the men.

Maybe a newsletter. Something a committee of us can put together, solicit stories and briefs from the crew, maybe some free classifieds.

I’ll think of something.

In the meantime, we whale! “Yarr.”
03/31 Direct Link

So there I am on the porch, standing in a pool of earthy Taster’s Choice, gripping with distant, trembling hands the morning Cattersby Dispatch-Democrat, and lo, the angels had sung my numbers. Dear God, a miracle.

“Gladys!” I called. “Gladys, come see! Gladys!”

And sounds of god damn it, and rustling, and a gathering, and my wife of 32 years stomps to the porch, and the screen door slams behind her with a bang.

“Whut the hail is you brayin’ on about?” she says.

“Uh. Says in the paper, Sugar Bean. Big sale at Mervyn’s.”