October 4: Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

Wow, Saint Marty has only gotten 18 page views so far today.  Usually, I'm upwards of 30 or 40 by this time in the morning (5:44 a.m.).  Where is everybody?  I keep thinking of a line from that 1960s song, "Where have all the flowers gone?"  I guess even loyal blog stalkers have to sleep in every once in a while.  Well, it's time to wake up, people.

Twenty-four hours until Saint Marty's Day.  The excitement is in the air.  Tonight, I'm sure, children will be hanging their Saint Marty's Day stockings by the fireplace.  Maybe families will gather around the plasma screen to watch a Saint Marty's Day movie or TV special--It's A Wonderful Saint Marty's Day or A Charlie Brown Saint Marty's Day.  I, myself, will find it hard to sleep tonight, thinking of all the wonderful Saint Marty's Day festivities about to take place around the world. 

And it's only two more days until I win the Nobel Prize in Literature.  It's going to be a great week.  Right now, the American writer whose name I keep reading more than any other is the poet John Ashberry.  He fits the profile.  Venerable (81 years old).  Respected (whatever).  Prolific (a show-off).  Male (I have a penis, too).  However, I'm refusing to give up hope.  Just because my name doesn't appear on any prognosticator's radar doesn't mean I won't win.  It just means that, when my name is announced on Thursday, the whole world is going to have to line up to kiss my...feet.  Yeah, feet.

Tonight, I'm going to a reading by the poet Amy Nez at the university.  It should be good.  I haven't been to a poetry reading since the summer, and then I was one of the poets reading.  I'm looking forward to hearing her.  Not too familiar with her work.  I'm hoping she's worth the effort.  Of course, when I enter the room, all the attention will be on me.  People will be whispering, "There's Saint Marty" and "Happy Saint Marty's Day" and "Thursday" and "Nobel Prize."  It will be embarrassing, but I'll act humble and gracious, as always.

Don't forget to say a few prayers for my friend's job interview this morning, people.

Now, go out and finish your Saint Marty's Day present shopping.

John Ashberry, who cares?