The OrphanAGE, Vol. 1.06
First Lines
The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there. —L.P. Hartley, The Go-Between
Petty vandalism. Theft. Spontaneous sexual liaisons and the insistent itch to just haul off and belt someone…. naught but a little run-of-the-mill seasonal tension building toward the spring snap and the breaking up of the ice (a fave Northern Exposure episode). Don’t suppose anyone’s up for a running of the bulls?
Peace,
Dante
In This Issue
- Haiku by playwright, Frank Higgins
- Kansas landscapes from Trenton Lee Tiemeyer (accompanied by a coupla impressions from adoring admirers)
- An Essay and a poetic plea for Teddy Roosevelt-ian intervention from w.e. leathem
a selection from
on Earth as it is
by Frank Higgins
spring blizzard
bison blowing hot breath
on the new-born
at the museum
tourists in front of The Scream
laughing at selfies
frosted windows
the sermon hot enough
to speak in tongues
hearing the wren
the old woman adds its song
to the quilt
Frank Higgins is a playwright, a haiku practitioner of some international renown, and a poet living in Kansas City. Copies of "on Earth as it is" may be found at Prospero's Books.
Landscapes
by Trenton Lee Tiemeyer
The mythology of tornadoes and twisting roads, of hill rise and gully wash, squirms like a T.H. Benton against middle-American skies so unruly they can’t sit still. Old places, out beyond the blacktop’s terminus, homesteads carved into flint hillsides, not so much forgotten as set aside for better times. New-fangled ‘mills stride the horizon, quixotically tempting, ever grinding the grist of air currents to fill the silos of a vast nation’s appetite for escape. Is that pump primed? Does the ol' jalopy still turn over? I guess you’ll just have to try-n-see. ~ Delbert Hinds
Paintings by Trenton Lee Tiemeyer, Acrylic on Canvas.
Close one eye. Put the other to the horizon. Spin the continent 'round 'til we tumble towards the middle. The soil and sky are mirrors and we circle like windmills, old tires, red-tailed hawks, the very eye of the storm. You will find us bejeweled with corn and cattle. You will find the round heads of sunflowers floating above the long stretch of road. You will find us driven by the incessant wind. Out here, we all know some place where the road noise disappears and the stars come out of hiding. Just ask, we'd love to take you there.
~ Maggie Ammerman
Trenton Lee Tiemeyer works primarily with acrylic on canvas. He lives in Kansas City. His work may be purchased at his website.
the INTERRUPTUS
by w.e. leathem
…then a ringing phone: Fuuuuck!
Molded plastic achieves terminal velocity, disintegrates against the plate glass that keeps the out-of-doors out along the front of the store.
It’s been balls all damn day. Outgoing sales jostling against incoming inventory….
Wait, too much MBA-speak...
Books (that’s better) …jostling against incoming books, LPs, CDs, DVDs, blue rays. Mad dashes to shelve the already cleaned and priced. Nor does that account for moments indulged with a customer to to ponder what next to read, let alone an idyl to discuss a favorite author.
Then, for the umpteenth time, the ringing asserts its shrill interruptus. I’m at the back of the shop helping someone decide between Emile Zola and Stephan Zweig. Mid sentence, I beg their understanding then dash to the front where the taskmaster shrieks from its cradle.
Am I speaking to the owner? — end call! We can save on your processing — disconnect! You have been selected — Slam!
How many is this: six…seven? It’s not even 2 o’clock!
Mine is a Pavlovian spasm born of an ill-spent youth. Three decades of politicking (back when I yet harbored the quaint delusion that politics was a noble endeavor pursued by those who gave even a modest flying-fuck about our nation or the well-being of its citizens). Three decades where at any hour a phone could ring. A phone that required answering ...to then be followed by urgent doing.
These days, its the water boarding of the sales call. Unsolicited. Robo. The voice on the other end, not even human!
How many minutes squandered? Productivity derailed?
Large corps have departments, a phalanx of staff to handle, to prevent the interruptus from penetrating the veil to where the work is actually done. Not so, small businesses. We, simply, must absorb the persecution or risk missing, or worse, alienating a potential client.
Ring — excuse me a sec, I should probably grab this… Ring — I’m sorry, I’ll be only a moment… Ring, ring — Arrg!
If the current infestation (if it ain’t, that ought to be the collective noun for the political class) of elected representatives wanted to do something to help the small biz operator — as opposed to simply posing like they wanted to do something — they’d figure a way to end the botheration.
Q: how many hours of productivity are lost to fielding unsolicited sales calls?
A: a Marchex analysis of 40 million phone calls, estimated the cost at half-a-billion in 2014 dollars. Other sources estimate that 20 million hours are lost EVERY year dealing with robocalls — $475 million in lost productivity!
Fact is, the real cost goes waay beyond call duration. Research shows that it takes minutes for a worker to get back into a given task following a single distraction.
We need to let the market do what it does best: suck out some money.
Someone should develop an app. Once an unsolicited sales call connects, billing commences: $4.95… $6.95… $8.95 (minimum of 3) per minute. Invoices issued with a 90-day receivable. If not paid, reported to better business bureaus, turned over to collection agencies and state Attorneys General for action. We could go further, and, like student loans, bring to bear the market force of Wall Street: bundle and securitize this debt, exempt it from bankruptcy…
In spite of the frustration of business associates, the aggravation of kin and friends, the myriads of missed booty-calls and invites to do really cool stuff, these days I mostly keep the ringer off. Only a muted Ping and the taunting Buzz vibrating on the table. The inner struggle to simply not pick up. Habitual. Instinctual. Annoyance becoming pathology, becoming long-term disability, scarring with its own iteration of PTSD.
I recently heard tell of a cafe’ that requires its customers to check their phones at the counter before being served. And there's that hopeful article noting increasing numbers of the conservatively self-proclaimed “building blocks of society” (families) demanding that kids and adults alike deposit handhelds in a basket before taking a seat at the dinner table.
Glory!
The tossing overboard of the cellular prison bracelet is but the inaugural Tea Party of e-emancipation. The next step may demand severe measures such as public shaming in order to sever the e-umbilical.
hold on a sec, would ya, someone’s calling…
Where's Teddy
(When You Need 'im...)
by w.e. leathem
To educate a person in mind,
but not in morality is to educate
a menace to society
~Theodore Roosevelt
Acting on
the good advice
of my trained
medical practitioner
under the careful direction
of my certified tai-chi trainer,
yoga coach and prayer group
chaperone
in close counsel
with my portfolio manager…
strung out
along the aggregate
back roads
of our great land,
pursuing wisdom
over a beer
in a bar
with a friend
on another lost
Saturday afternoon
our identities stolen,
all the capital drained
from our national ideals,
from our oft-cited,
deepestly held
mores, not to mention
our pension plans
all their equity squandered in
a 'friendly' game of spades
under the watchful eyes
of the folk over in
Tallahassee
DC,
Austin,
Jefferson City and Topeka…
And the Barons are back
drooling over access
in need of a swift boot
in the seat of the pants
[all sing]
Where’s Teddy?
Where’s Teddy!?
Where’s Teddy
when you need ‘im…
The Big Quiz
- What does the old woman add to the quilt?
- Just How many pick-em-up-trucks are there?
- What would make a good collective noun for the political class?
- Who's back in town?