I must say again, that I hate Internet Explorer. But more to the point, a finally figured out a good–well, better–look for the haiku hut, and there’s even a new haiku to celebrate, called rhetorical.
You know, I read Paul Simon’s lyrics and I get shivers down my spine. I get goosebumps. Goosebumps, I say! I also get insanely jealous, because he can write amazingly good poetry, and I crank out stuff like, well, the stuff I crank out (or haven’t for the last two years… whatever). I really want to write some new stuff, and I just can’t find anything. It bites, but at least I get to call AT&T again today… that’ll provide some good comedic fodder, I’m certain.
I know, I could write a haiku about not being able to write anything for the poetism plaza:
simon is so good
grassmonk has severe blockage
whatever to do?
(For you out there who thought I could write no bad haiku, I think I just proved you wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Sigh…)
Also of note is that today realizes the long-anticipated release of a classic movie from my childhood: Flight of the Navigator. By the time I read this again I’ll probably have it in hand, wondering if it’s going to live up to my memories of it.
My parents taped the move off the Disney channel what seems eons ago, and I remember watching it over and over and over again, but somehow I remember little about the actual plot. Oh, I know the vague outline: kid goes for a walk in the woods, falls into the Cracks of Doom, and wakes up eight years later. His family’s older–his little brother is now his older brother, and Pee-Wee Herman is trapped inside a flying saucer, presumably hiding out while trying to contact his lawyer. But I can’t even remember if the kid actually gets to go back in time and reunite with his family. For a movie I probably wore out on an old VHS tape, I find that a little disturbing.
Then again, since I remember so little, it’ll be hard not to live up to my memories. Expectations, though–that’s another matter altogether. I hope those aren’t dashed against the rocks of, um, sharp shredding-ness. Or, more poetically:
dashed against sharp shredding rocks
bye bye my high hopes
I kill me.