003-mega-kafka-dittos

Dear Diatribe; O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad! notice I didn’t cite that quote? That’s Shakespeare; and don’t consider this a citation of the source; I just give him mega-dittos. I quote him all the time; need I be carrying the damned yoke of citation? I learned this from a cousin. It’s not that he directly expressed the design to me; he just practiced it. In an e-mail he spouted his opinions about a possible US Military action.

At

least saber rattling which he said was justified. His words didn’t give any feeling of originality. I did a quick search on exact phrases. Not his thoughts at all. They came, nearly word-for-word from America’s best-known right wing, AM Radio Carnival Barker. I found that his followers never grant citation when quoting him. There is a sense that “He says exactly what I would say”. So there really is no need. It’s like this as I see it. If I were to sit out on a sweltering August day with my good friend Al, he might say “Damn it’s hot!” Am I then relegated to MLA or APA style if I too

mention the heat? Do I need footnotes? Citing him makes it sound like I don’t agree, or might not agree. I’m on the same page with King Lear in the above line, and this actual speaker is fictional. By this model, when you get the chance to speak to the poobah you should verbally offer “Mega-Dittos” as a form of oblation. Dittos refer to quotation marks; Mega-Dittos provide enough punctuation to cover their whole rap sheet of petty grammatical sins. What if my buddy Al were to speak of his suspicions that the reason Russia didn’t support the American preemptive war was that AK-47 rifles were both made in Russia and used by the upcoming enemy? He wouldn’t say that, but what if he did? How is that different from “Damn, It’s hot”? I could say the machine gun thing the same way. Somos simpatico I would just like to offer up my Mega-Dittos to the Bard of Avon. He says the exact same things that I would. The difference is … … his wording is different, his words aren’t in the same order and they sound more Elizabethan than mine do. Not that my words aren’t at all, I have been known to speak in same poetic

sixteenth century style. quoting Shakespeare.

That however is usually when I am

Our thoughts are still the same. They are

probably the same because his stuff has become a standard in its more than three hundred years on the page, stage, and screen and even in Diatribes written by crazy crackers in Chicago. That bloke is a language-wide standard for thought and comparison. Billy, you’ve got dittos to spare. No citations for you! You have too many already! Share the wealth Willy! ----------When writing in a journal, by definition, one should discuss the goings on of the day. I do love to rant here and there. And there, and there It’s been a week and I am still trying to face up to the fact that I’ve been shit-canned. That’s not actually true, not in the most technical sense. I was a contractor. I have been for a few years now.

The reason that companies hire contractors is

so they can shit-can them at any time. I guess that’s the beauty of it. It’s a relationship with an open door to dump someone and not feel bad about it.

Things are different for Geeta. If my wife were in a position where she was a contractor, she would evoke such love and adoration from anyone, doing any job, it would be impossible to show her the door. Someone reading this might think that I am singing her praises. I guess in a way I am, but if you could hear me saying it out loud, it would be more evident that I see something disingenuous in those who consistently win over others. Now I will be gig hunting like a whirling dervish. With all of the technical, cyberspace bullshit that I have access to nowadays, the daily employment quest is at a maximum of about two hours. So you would expect that I would be able to really get our apartment in shipshape during the remaining eight or so hours I have, while Geeta is gone. That would not be taking into account all of the neurotic silliness that a man is socially indoctrinated to engage in. You must work, and if you don’t This daily assembly of a cognitive bricolage can sap as much inertia as Geeta’s full-time job and three graduate classes.

You would think there’d be some respect for all of shvitzing I am required to do. Even with her progressive multicultural orientation, estrogen seems to block any sympathy from her. To her, I guess. I’m just being lazy. “Do you know that you really have to find work soon, or we will fall behind on bills?” Really? … No shit? I was completely unaware. I just fret so much over the fucking ugliness of our sofa all day that I miss the basic circumstance of existence. I hate that sofa!!! I am shamelessly mocking her with the sofa line. She has told me that she ‘hates’ that sofa. I can understand that. I only need to do is relate the way that she feels about our sofa to the way that I feel about racism, disease, and various forms of injustice, that kind of thing. We are going to dinner her boss’s house. I get to meet the distinguished Dr. Gerhardstein. ”I’ve told him all about you, he’s really interested in meeting you, I told them about your open-source drug thing”.

Lately I’ve been in the Franz Kafka self-esteem club (thanks Woody), I guess I’ll gain confidence talking to some overeducated, overachieving, self-actualized sort. It will give me a break somewhere between my dread of night and dread of not night. Tribal Title: MEGA-KAFKA-DITTOS!!!! From a notebook he kept nonetheless. This job that she has is the kind of thing that you get when you have a daddy at Harvard. Another guy from Harvard, this Gerhardstein, got hired by the University of Chicago to start an AIDS research center. I’m surprised they don’t have one already. This guy is an M.D. and has a Ph.D. in biochemistry. I’m hoping to get out if this thing early. Von Freeman is a great old tenor man, kind of sour, in a bluesy sort of way, while playing bop. He is playing that night. Geeta saw it on the calendar on my phone and bemoaned my interest. She wouldn’t go. She has before, but we have always left early. I don’t leave early. Nor do I get anywhere late for that matter. Perhaps I am wound a bit tighter than I should be. But I have a real mellow vibe when I am on time. For me there is a lot of tension in the car or train to

some horribly crowded neighborhood worried that I won’t get a table. Why would I do that? If I were early, they have drinks there; they have a decent pianist long before the act comes on. That is relaxing. There; … I’m good. In this town, being prompt will cost you a few dollars, but “that’s how they get ya”. My ex… Let’s call her my former love flame chicky, she didn’t go that way.

She wasn’t my wife, I’ve had but one of

those. When I would push to be on time, she would fondly reminisce about times when she was late. How she showed just at the right time to meet the band or something. Hang out with them, had a great time. Oh … and fucked them. So being late can be magical. From the reading of these last few lines; you’d probably call me a punctual and surly bastard. I’m being nice about this boss meeting. Gerhardstein, by the way, is really all one word. I guess I am going to meet this kraut of hers. The Germans are nice people one on one. Together they tend to rally.