Jennifer Connelly Sestina
By Terence Winch
The boy returns home with blue hair.
The dog understands everything we say.
He is wearing an lampshade around his neck.
His left hind leg is stapled closed.
The veterinarian says there is no reason for God
because the universe is just a dog's dream.
We can all agree that Jennifer Connelly is a dream.
Almost naked, in a thong, cloaked in her long black hair,
her every move is proof for the existence of God.
The boy with blue hair is not willing to say
why his lips are sealed, his mind made up, his door closed.
I am not wearing a lampshade around my neck.
My wife once owned a jacket with "Great Neck"
printed on the back. Before we met I had a dream
about her name. I waited until the restaurant closed
to tell her she had dazzling movie-star hair.
In fact, she is just as beautiful as, let us say,
the astonishing Jennifer Connelly, so help me God.
The boy and the dog are friends with God.
They claim they feel his hot breath on their necks.
Unfortunately, they don't like what He has to say.
I'd like to take this occasion to daydream
briefly once again about Jennifer Connelly's hair
and the rest of her: extraordinary. That's it. Case closed.
When I got to the church at midnight, it was closed
tighter than the eyes and ears of our good friend God.
Frankly, in that proverbial foxhole, I'd take Madalyn O'Hair
over the Pope. The boy's upstairs playing bottleneck
guitar. The dog is drunk on painkillers, dreaming
that if he could talk, he'd know just what to say.
O Jennifer, there is still so much left to say
but my time is up, it's late, everything is closed.
I want to crawl into bed, past the dog, and dream
of the sex palaces of Heaven, where everyone is the God
of love, and you and me and my wife are racing neck and neck
with the erotic angels of Paradise, but I win by a hair!
New Orleans, like you, is now a dream. Maybe I'll call this "The Hair
of the Dog," who, by the way, has become an incredible pain in the neck.
What more can I say, except that in Waking the Dead, you played God.
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I found this poem here while looking for a sestina by Stephen Burt and just could not resist it. "Cloaked in her long black hair." I wonder if Paul Bettany has read this.
I kept seeing animals Tuesday -- a red-headed woodpecker on the tree next to my neighbor's house, a great blue heron inexplicably flying over the highway, geese around the lake near where I had lunch with
Watched parts two and three of Brideshead Revisited and I must tell certain people who insisted that Charles is straight that when Sebastian's father's mistress goes on at length about how it's good that he fell in love with a boy before he ever fell in love with a girl, it really doesn't help your case much. Not to mention the fact that the loose women assumed they were fairies. *g* It's an incredibly beautiful miniseries and I love all the discussions of love and beauty, but at the same time, I am doing a very poor job feeling sorry for the poor little rich aristocrats who just can't manage to find religious or emotional satisfaction in their country estate or their London house or their Venice hotel...I know, I must be terribly insensitive not to see how rough things are for very, very wealthy Catholics and somewhat less wealthy proper schoolboys in snobby England. If only they could be poor and happy like the dutiful servants, or something.
And of course also watched Boston Legal and the Crane, Poole and Schmidt reunion! How did Shirley deal with being the only sane one on the letterhead? I'm surprised she hasn't demanded putting Lewiston on just for balance! She looks embarrassed, when "Edwin Poole!" "Denny Crane!" "Name on the door!" "Mine too!" are admiring their names and she has to add the "Schmidt!" to their love-fest. (Though she does tell Edwin that he's the only certifiably sane person at the firm, after he shows her framed proof of his sanity in the form of his release from the mental hospital.) Edwin says he likes to remember them being carnal; Shirley reminds him they were never carnal, but he says it helped him get sane to think about it anyway. Of course, five minutes later he's being insane again, this time noticing an obese techie who works for the firm, deciding his obesity is the responsibility of the junk food he ate, and holding a press conference to blame a company that's a cross between Little Debbie and Hostess.
Meanwhile Alan is in trouble: he's arrested for aiding and abetting fugitive, the guy he advised to run rather than go to prison for attempted murder. Denny says will handle the case, since Alan called him, but really Alan only wants Denny for the killer closing -- he thinks he has no defense, he broke the law, but needs Denny to convince the jury to let him go. ("There was a time when all you had to do was say your name." "That's still all I do...I blow solar flares out of my ass.") The judge raises an eyebrow and points out that last week Alan was in the courtroom defending Denny, to which Denny replies, "That's right. He gets me off, I get him off." It's the finicky judge who hates jibber-jabber; he insists, "I don't want to hear another poop out of you" after Alan pleads not guilty by reason of the DA's insanity. When Denny finds out that the attempted murderer took a two-year prison deal for agreeing to testify against Alan, Denny is furious and says "We know where your family lives," but Alan accepts the man's apology and is glad he only got two years.
The crack-free storyline continues as Edwin sues the sweet treatmakers for abuse of high fructose corn syrup, sparking a countersuit when he claims the equivalent of Hostess Twinkies are more poisonous than cigarettes. Shirley wants to settle quickly and easily, but the lawyer from the snack food company is incredibly nasty to the overweight computer guy, taunting him about his weight, and Shirley decides she no longer wants a quick resolution, calling the lawyer "you skinny little bitch." At the hearing, the skinny little bitch says all the information the guy needed to control his weight was on the box, and then Shirley reads the ingredients -- not just high fructose corn syrup which blocks a protein that signals the brain to tell you that you're full and stop you from overeating, but carmine from beetle carcasses, animal fat, ground bones and other loveliness. Then she cites child obesity statistics. "And you have the temerity to accuse my client of not taking responsibility?" They plan to meet in court. What they're going to do about Edwin remains an open problem.
Alan puts his own character on trial and talks about his client trusting him to tell him the truth -- that running is his only option to keep himself free -- he's thisclose to losing, though, until Denny pulls down his trousers to show his ass to the jury to prove that if you beat the DA too often, the DA's office comes after you -- he has a bullseye on his boxer shorts to prove it, and says Alan has a bigger bullseye on his ass. Later, when they're drinking together, Alan says, "Thank you, Denny...you pulled it out of your ass I guess." Denny gloats that he's still undefeated -- never lost, never will -- and tells Alan (who is sorry his onetime client still has to go to jail for two years) that if he doesn't have the decency to celebrate his own victory, he should celebrate Denny's. Then they ponder the errors of their ways. "I shoot people," Denny says. "I bribe them," Alan chimes in. "I'm unfaithful," adds Denny, but Alan insists, "Not to me."
Speaking of fidelity, Denise is still trying to convince herself -- that is, Brad -- that the sex they had on the floor last week meant nothing and is over, over, over. She doesn't like the fact that Brad says "relations" and "intercourse" instead of "hot monkey sex", though she insists that she won't have any of the above with him again since they work together. To impress her, Brad announces, "We had sex!" and Denny overhears, but Denise continues to tell herself -- that is, Brad -- that sleeping with someone from the office is too messy and too complicated. She tries rejecting him on the grounds that he's Buzz Lightyear and she wants someone who'll drink wine in a hot tub with her. Later he announces that she's right that they're wrong for each other; he's into biking and sports and wants a woman who can keep up with him physically and mentally and is also incredibly hot. Mrrooow!
They agree to go back to being friends, but after seeing Brad with his shirt off when he's changing to go to court, Denise gets a little drunk and goes to talk to him about how there are different kinds of friends...the ones you go to museums with, for instance. She has very nearly convinced herself -- that is, Brad -- that she wants to go to a museum with him before she gets around to explaining "friends with benefits" to the man who can't say vagina. "We would help each other out when in need." "In need of what?" "...intercourse." "Which would be the..." "...benefit." Brad decides that he can imagine circumstances where it would be beneficial to have such a friend, like tonight, and the minute the work day ends they're all over each other. Again. Whoo!
Yesterday ABC announced it is renewing BL, which nearly doubles its lead-in audience, though it is cancelling Commander in Chief. No surprise on the latter and no real disappointment; my disappointment is that it wasn't a better show. (If only the real commander in chief could be yanked due to low ratings!) But yay, another year of Denny and Alan!
He was injured, which is why he had not been freed, and appeared more interested in sleeping than socializing, but he was very cute.
The National Zoo is getting rescued sea lion pups! I want to see them! Oh, and Trek news Tuesday was yet more J.J. Abrams and Threshold coming to DVD! I hope we get the episodes they never aired.
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