The Midnight Snack – Tuesday

Your friendly neighborhood Prof is a little under the weather today. A delightful mixture of nerves, anxiety, and insomnia.

I love when pitchers bat. I don’t care if you do or not.

Fredbird had a birthday recently and like most other mascot birthdays, he had a big party. One of these days I, too, will attend a mascot birthday party and will hug every mascot. Because I am a dork. Three of my favorite mascots were in attendance!

[Also pictured are KC Wolf from the Chiefs, and Louie the St. Louis Blues bear.]

And why is this funny?

Probably because I’m deliriously tired. Good night, fam.

One thought on “The Midnight Snack – Tuesday

  1. That’s not a ghost, that’s a plasma field. You don’t know that because you go to sleep before the really good movies come on.

    And it’s great to see Lady with one of the tools she used to help destroy her voice. Not many singers could get by on pure technique and enunciation the way she did at the end of her career.

    The Day Lady Died
    by Frank O’Hara

    It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
    three days after Bastille day, yes
    it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
    because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
    at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
    and I don’t know the people who will feed me

    I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
    and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
    an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
    in Ghana are doing these days
    I go on to the bank
    and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)
    doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her life
    and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine
    for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do
    think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or
    Brendan Behan’s new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
    of Genet, but I don’t, I stick with Verlaine
    after practically going to sleep with quandariness

    and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
    Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and
    then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
    and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
    casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
    of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it

    and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
    leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
    while she whispered a song along the keyboard
    to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing


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