February 12: Big Week, Grammy Awards, Classic Saint Marty

Sunday night.  I'm sitting on my couch, watching the Grammy Awards with my daughter.  David Bowie just won a Grammy.  There is justice in the universe. 

It's going to be a big week.  On Tuesday, I tape an episode of a local news show where I find out if I am the next Poet Laureate of the Upper Peninsula.  Frankly, I don't think that I'm going to win.  Up against an old friend and classmate.  I would be happy if she won.  She's a fantastic poet.

Tonight's episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired three years ago, as I was preparing for Valentine's Day.

February 14, 2014:  Fudge and Bed

I am pretty tired tonight.  I'm sitting on my couch, watching the Olympics.  Skiing. Skating.  Snowboarding.  I'm drifting in and out of consciousness.  My sister bought me some Mackinac Island Fudge today, so I'm also snacking on really good chocolate, too.

Pretty soon, I'm going to be stumbling off to bed.  After the Russian ice skaters.  I'm going to try to see the women's snowboard competition, too.  Don't know if I'll be able to stay awake.  I may just have to Google the results before I brush my teeth.

Not much going on tomorrow for me.  A slow day at the medical office.  Pulp Fiction in my film class.  A couple of hours in my office in the evening, waiting for my daughter to get done with her dance classes.  I'll have plenty of time to read and write.

Saint Marty's got a little Valentine's Day project to complete.



I do have a poem for you guys this evening.  Something I wrote a few years ago:


On Your Good News

by:  Martin Achatz

I once stood on a beach covered

With elephant seals from horizon

To horizon, as if the Pacific

Just had enough of their barks,

Their breath of rancid eel and squid,

Their eclipse of blubber and proboscis,

Coughed them up on the sand

The way my sister coughed phlegm

Into a basin in the hospital

After the surgeon removed her gall bladder.

I once watched a deer the color of marble

Cross my street in a blizzard, each step

A ballet of hoof and wind and hunger.

I once sat mute in a room with Vonnegut,

Unable to ask about Billy Pilgrim

Or Dresden, just watched him,

Stooped and bored and old, be a god.

I once ate an ant on a bet, jumped

Into Lake Superior in January.

I once saw the World Trade Centers

Against a full moon, nine months before

Ash and grief and Ground Zero.

I once followed a monarch in a field

Of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace,

Stalked stained glass

In August thrum and heat.

And now I've heard you

Tell me your good news.  Egg.  Sperm.

Collision.  Life.  I listened, gave thanks

For your voice, full of grasshopper

Wing and leg, the hunger to consume

This new love with cumin or curry.

Or maybe something sweeter,

Like the honey I once sucked

From a comb under a halo of bees.

February 15: Blindfolded, Grammy Awards, Quincy Troupe, "Eighth Avenue Poem"

In the eighteenth century, when educated European tourists visited the Alps, they deliberately blindfolded their eyes to shield themselves from the evidence of the earth's horrid irregularity.  It is hard to say if this was not merely affectation, for today, newborn infants, who have not yet been taught our ideas of beauty, repeatedly show in tests that they prefer complex to simple designs . . . 

It's a question of beauty.  Is beauty in simplicity or complexity?  Certainly, it's easy to find beauty in, say, a glass of water.  There's less to take in, consider.  A mere eight ounces of liquid and light.  But nobody in his or her right mind would argue that a glass of water is more beautiful than the Pacific Ocean.  Like a newborn infant, we would all choose complexity (Pacific Ocean) over simplicity (a glass of water).

I have been sitting in my living room, watching the Grammy Awards.  There have been some really great moments (Adele, tributes to Glen Frey and Lionel Richie).  Moments that touched beauty.  Then there have been other moments that simply made me feel old (performances by Kendrick Lamar, Justin Bieber and Skrillex).  I didn't find a whole lot of beauty in the latter.  Art, however, does not need to always be pleasing,  It can be challenging, upsetting.  It can make me feel like a Pope Benedict at a gay wedding.  There may have been beauty in the Biebster's act.  I just didn't see it.

But, that's the way with all art--music, paintings, poetry.  The song doesn't always have to be "Ave Maria."  The portrait doesn't always have to be a Norman Rockwell.  And the sonnet doesn't always have to be by William Shakespeare.  Sometimes there's a Kendrick Lamar or Jackson Pollock or Gertrude Stein.  Art that pushes the limits of beauty.

Quincy Troupe is Poet of the Week.  Troupe isn't always beautiful in what he writes.  He can challenge and confound.  But he isn't Justin Bieber.

Saint Marty is not a Belieber.

Eighth Avenue Poem

by:  Quincy Troupe

on eighth avenue
between 116th and
121st streets
some of the junkies
have feet so bad
they could step
on a dime
and tell you
whether it's
heads or tails

She must have seen Justin Bieber on the Grammy Awards, too . . .

February 8: Radio Interview, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

I'm sitting here, watching the Grammy Awards.  My daughter is watching with me, thank goodness.  When I don't know who a singer is, I turn to her and say, "Who's that?"  Then she'll roll her eyes and say the name.  Sam Smith (for the record, I knew who he was).  Ariana Grande.  Iggy Azalea.  Paul McCartney just sang with Kanye and Rihanna.  I'm feeling a little old at the moment.

Tomorrow morning, around eleven, I'm going to be interviewed on the radio.  It's part of the whole wind-up to the announcement of the next U. P. Poet Laureate on March 16.  I'm a little nervous about the interview.  The other nominees are so accomplished, so published.  I'm just hoping I don't come off sounding like an idiot.  I'm going to go with my poems and try to have fun.  I mean, this will probably be one of my last chances to bask in the possibility of being named Poet Laureate before somebody else wins.

So, watching the Grammy Awards is like rehearsing for the moment when the envelope is opened and the current U. P. Poet Laureate says, "And the next U. P. Poet Laureate is . . . not Marty."  I'll just watch Kanye and see what he does when he loses.

Tonight's Classic Saint first aired two years ago. 

February 8, 2012: Heroes, Kids, Mythology

Today, I tried to get my mythology students to talk a little bit about heroes.  We're wrapping up our reading of Ovid's Metamorphoses, and I wanted to get into a discussion of heroes, ancient and contemporary.

"Who are your heroes?" I said.

Blank stares.

"Who do you look up to?"  I said.

Blank stares.

"Why are you in college, studying the subject you're studying?"  I said.  "Who inspired you?"

Blank stares.

"Are you all in college just so you can get a degree and make a lot of money?"  I said.

Blank stares and some nodding.

I stood there staring at these kids. 

Finally, a guy in the back row said, "Isn't that why you're here?"

I thought for a few moments, choosing my words.  "Yes," I finally said, "that's exactly why I choose to be a part-time adjunct instructor in the English Department."  I looked around at each kid in the class.  "I'm in it for the money."  I let that sink in for a couple of seconds.  Then I said, "If the only reason you're here is to get a degree that will get you a job that will allow you to make a great deal of money, I really feel sorry for all of you."

Blank stares.

Saint Marty lost a little hope for the future this afternoon.

Confessions of Saint Marty

January 26: Awards Show Junkie, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

All the schools in the area are closed tomorrow because of the polar temperatures.  We're talking 35-below-zero wind chills.  My kids don't have school.  The poetry workshop I teach for the community schools is cancelled.  My son's religious education class is called off.  The only school that hasn't succumbed to the weather is the university for which I teach.  But I'm ever hopeful.

Tonight, however, my main focus is watching yet another awards show.  I am an awards show junkie.  The Tony Awards.  Emmy Awards.  NAACP Image Awards.  Soap Opera Digest Awards.  Academy Awards.  It doesn't matter.  I've even been known to sit and watch the Kid's Choice Awards.  This evening, I am partaking in the Grammy Awards.

Now, I'm not particularly "up" on all the current music.  In fact, I will probably be asking my daughter who a lot of the nominees are.  But, it's an awards show, and that's good enough for me.  Plus, Beyonce is going to be on it.  It's a win-win.

I do have a Classic Saint Marty for you guys tonight.  This particular episode originally aired exactly two years ago on this date.

And Saint Marty still thinks it's feckin' hilarious.

January 26, 2012:  Something to Laugh At, Cheap Flights, a Friend

The members of my book club left just a little while ago.  The house is clean.  The dishes are washed.  I'm ready to call it a night. 

This afternoon, a friend sent me an e-mail with a video attached.  My friend wanted to make me laugh.  I'm blessed by friends who share their laughter with me.

Tonight, after a long day of work and an evening spent with more good friends, I want to share my laughter.  Below is the video, called "Cheap Flights," that my friend sent me this afternoon.  Just a small warning:  the video contains some PG-13 language.  Be careful where you watch it and with whom you watch it.

Saint Marty thinks it's feckin' hysterical.

Confessions of Saint Marty

February 13: Facetious Temper, Irritations, Stupid People

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew.  Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself, and in more facetious temper than was usual to him.

I love the word "facetious" in the above passage.  Using it to describe Scrooge's temper, Dickens gives the reader a picture of a man who kind of revels in his bad mood.  Scrooge has just dissed the two guys who came to his office seeking a charitable donation.  He's feeling pretty good about himself.  Of course, he has yet to encounter the specter of Jacob Marley and all the Christmas ghosts, so he doesn't know what his "facetious temper" has earned him in the afterlife.  In short, Scrooge can abuse the two gentlemen, make fun of the poor and hungry, bully his clerk, chase a Christmas caroller with a ruler, and he can feel good about doing it.  (He sort of sounds like a Republican presidential candidate.)

I'm in a terrible mood this morning.  It may have to do with the fact that I stayed up late watching the Grammy Awards.  It may have to do with the fact that I had to stop at Wal-Mart (also known as the tenth circle of Hell) before I came to work.  It may have to do with the fact that I have so many bills to pay today, and so little money to do it with.  It may have to do with the fact that Whitney Houston died this weekend.  It may have to do with the fact that I have so much work to accomplish this morning, and so little time to do it in.  It could be the accumulation of all of these irritations.

Or it could be the fact that I enjoy being ill-tempered, just like Scrooge.  I don't think that's the case, but my friends and family may argue otherwise. 

Pretty much says it all

I deal with a lot of different individuals, all day long.  Patients.  Students.  Doctors.  Doctors' office staffs.  On days like today, when I start out with a low supply of good nature, I tend to run into a lot of stupid people.  People whom God seems to put in my path just to piss me off.  (These people aren't really stupid.  Well, most of them aren't.  It's all about my skunk-ass mood.)  Unfortunately, I can not be like Scrooge and simply insult these people.  I have to be nice, kind, gracious, helpful.  That's the nature of my occupations, even if I'd rather be mean, spiteful, rude, and dismissive.

Saint Marty better watch his step today.  He may end up on the wrong side of crabby spirit.