mono as in one or me. rail as in to vent or complain. thus monorail.


what i'm looking for

what i'm remembering
what i'm eating
who i'm looking like
what i'm coveting

what i'm reading
me vs mla's top 100

me vs afi's top 100

what i'm hearing

The Net
what you're wanting


page me

MONORAIL: MONTHLY VIEW [current]   [random]
TRAVEL (permalink) 02.28.2007
i'm not in missoura anymore. kansas neither.

i've been ignoring you. reason is a more attractive option came along. her photo is above. but worry not, ours is a frenetic love and we all know those burn out the fastest.

and for sport, i've got a shiny nickel for anyone who can guess what city that is in the above photo.

KIDS (permalink) 02.23.2007
a house full of things on borrowed time

this is exhibit A. until 10am exhibit A was a stylish and comfortable-enough mission chair worth a few hundred dollars. after 10am exhibit A had a street value between four and eight dollars depending on how badly the customer wanted to build a fire at the moment of purchase. exhibit A is part of my argument against recent or soon-to-be parents investing in nice and/or expensive products for their home. fact is, i would recommend against acquiring anything you will care about in any way, form or fashion until your children are old enough to, oh i don't know, buy their own home.

exhibit A is a product of alex's most recent play-date. we didn't see exhibit A bite the dust, but we heard it, a full floor away. as marty gazed at the splintered wood on the living room floor, the two boys stood quietly at her side. after a few moments alex turned to his cohort and softly said "my mom is angee." he at times demonstrates great acumen in sensing the moods of others, especially when that mood is 'angee'.

should you be curious how many exhibits will be part of my presentation, i can give you a hint; a lot. i cannot be more precise because my bank of accountants have not yet finished itemizing the heap of tangled objects piled in the far corner of my basement. problem is, the collection is growing faster than they can complete their paperwork.

thus far i've learned this; you can love your stuff or you can love your children, but you can't love both.

FOOD (permalink) 02.21.2007
eat rite or don't eat at all
next month marks five years that walt and i have been planning our family meals a month at a time. in recognition i've added several recipes that have been solid staples on our table. hope some of you get to enjoy them in your own kitchen.

Korean Bulgogi
Salt and Pepper Chicken Thighs
Hot Ham and Cheese Rollup
Spaghetti Bolgnese

KIDS (permalink) 02.20.2007
where's the big-gulp when you need it
before having children somewhere in my body existed a bucket that held my patience. pre-kids it wasn't so much a bucket as a thimble. now that i'm almost six years into the journey my thimble has been stretched, pulled and contorted into a larger container, now approximately the size of a dixie cup. when i wake up from a night's rest, the cup is full. as the day wears on its contents are slowly drained. by the time the kids' night routine is underway i'm typically running a finger along the sides hoping to find even a trace amount of residual moisture. sunday night, my circling finger found nothing but parched, dry surface. the scientific term for this parental state is 'screwed'.

i had just filled the tub and called the kids to the bathroom. after noisily entering the small room i instructed them to strip. alex started raising his shirt over his head and quickly got tangled in the maneuver. while i was extracting him bella noticed the steamed-over mirror, climbed onto the pedestal sink and began drawing a picture in the sweat. after getting alex naked and in the tub i addressed bella.

bella. get naked.

one minute.

you've already had your minute. i want you down, naked and in the tub now.

one minute dad.

that's two bella.

i said one minute. i'm drawing a lamb.

that's three. you just lost a book.

BELLA (wheels around to face me)
father! i said one minute! you don't have to be so harsh with me!

i paused, lowered my head, drew in a breath and felt a few drops mysteriously fall into my cup of patience as if someone mercifully wrung the water from a cloth above. i sat on the side of tub facing bella who was now off the sink and undressing. as she moved to get in the tub, i stopped her and said she was right and i didn't have to be so harsh with her and i was sorry i lost my temper. she leaned in and hugged me saying it was ok giving me a few consolatory pats on the back. she then moved past me to climb in the tub excitedly asking alex if he wanted to play the find-the-soap game. many days i feel outmatched and ill-equipped (tiny-ass patience cup) in this game.

KIDS (permalink) 02.16.2007
for breakfast you can have shoe-leather, dirt or mashed-up slugs
as i cut the the french toast into kid-sized pieces i was planning my defense. you see, i've been watching this sorry slice of toast bounce around, unwrapped, in the freezer for almost a week now. several times i found it lazing about in the ice tray to which i'd pinch a hardened corner and wing it to the opposite end of the shelf. other times i'd find it sitting on top of the bryer's real-vanilla-bean vanilla ice-cream and would send it elsewhere with a flick of my finger.

as i poured syrup over the now bite-size squares, i thought how just six days ago this texas-thick slice was piping hot on the sunday-morning skillet, a butter-pat dissolving on it's face. it could again melt butter thanks to a forty second trip through the microwave. bella had resurrected it, saying it was the one and only thing she wanted for breakfast.

i was certain that when the first bite touched bella's tongue she would animatedly eject it from her mouth, sending it well beyond her plate. she'd yell an exclamation you only ever see spelled-out in the sunday funny pages (and followed by numerous exclamation points). i was sure all of this was moments away, which is why i'd been preparing myself to handle it in a way other than barking, "i told you it would taste like shit, but noooooh, you just had to have desiccated cardboard for breakfast and now you're going to eat it!" but she didn't spit it out and she didn't scream AAARRRGGGGHHH!!!! instead she thoughtfully chewed and swallowed the cudgel, smacked her lips and proclaimed it to be the BEST piece of french toast she's ever had. i leaned against the door-jam with my head lowered and rubbing my temples as i sometimes do in the pre-coffee hours. in my mind i pictured the paternity-test billboard out by the airport and wondered if five-years in is too late to know. my rumination was interrupted by alex, who pointed across the table and said he wanted what she was having. i matter-of-factly explained that it was the last piece and i didn't have one to offer him. he was audibly non-plussed over this truth.

it appears i was preparing the wrong defense on this morning.

KIDS, QUOTES (permalink) 02.14.2007
a new TROYSCRIPT was posted today.
don't feed the animals

QUOTES (permalink) 02.13.2007
only one of my 93 blocks of highlighted text
I never tried to hurry anything all summer. Not in the porch swing, or in the pine woods, or on the float at night when we swam out, or in the roadster. Everything that happened came to happen as simply and as naturally and as gradually as a season coming on or a plant unrolling a leaf or a kitten waking up. And there was a kind of luxuriousness in not rushing things, in not driving toward the hot grip and awkward tussle and the leer for the boys back in the dormitory when you got in, a new sensuality in waiting for the massive current to take you where you belonged and would go in the end. She was young — she seemed younger to me then than she did later on looking back for that summer I was so sure that I was old and jaded — and she was timid and sensitive and shy, but it wasn't any squealing, squawking, pullet-squawking, teasing, twitching, oh-that's-not-nice-and-I-never-let-anyone-do-that-before-oh kind of shyness. Perhaps shyness is the wrong word for it, after all. Certainly it is wrong if back behind that word there is any implication or color of shame or fear or desire to be "nice." For in one way, she seemed to be detached from her very slender, compactly made, tight-muscled, soft-fleshed, golden-shouldered body, as though it were an elaborate and cunning mechanism in which she and I shared ownership, which had suddenly dropped to us out of the blue, and which, in our ignorance, we had to study with the greatest patience and most reverent attention lest we miss some minute, scholarly detail without knowledge of which everything would be wasted. So it was a period of the most delicate discrimination and subtle investigations, with her seriousness mixed with a graceful gaiety, ... a gaiety to which the words didn't mean much but the tune meant everything, a tune which seemed to come from the very air as though it were full of invisible strings and she simply reached out at random in the dark to pluck them with an idle familiar finger.


We went quite a long way, that summer, and there were times when I was perfectly sure I could have gone farther. When I could have gone the limit. For that fine, slender, compactly made, tight-muscled, soft-fleshed, golden-shouldered mechanism which fascinated Anne Stanton and me, which had dropped to us out of the blue, was a very sensitive and beautifully tuned-up contraption. But maybe I was wrong in that surmise, and maybe I could not have hurried the massive deliberation of that current in which we were caught and suspended, or hurried Anne Stanton's pensive and scholarly assimilation of each minute variation which had to be slowly absorbed into the body of our experience before another could be permitted. It was as though she was aware of a rhythm, a tune, a compulsion, outside of herself, and devoutly followed it in its subtle and winding progression. But wrong or not, I did not put my surmise to the test, for if I myself was not truly aware of that rhythm and compulsion which bemused her, I was aware of her devotion to it, and could find every moment with her full enough. Paradoxically enough, it was when I was away from her, when I was withdrawn from her context, back in my room at night or in the hot early afternoon, after lunch, that I was savagely impatient of the delays and discriminations. This would be especially true at those times when she wouldn't see me for a day, the times which seemed to mark, I came to understand, some stage, some milepost, we had passed. She would simply withdraw herself from me, as she had done that night after we first kissed, and leave me, at first, confused and guilty, but later, as I came to grasp the pattern of things, merely impatient for the next day when she would appear at the court, swinging her racket, her face so smooth, young, healthy and apparently disinterested, though comradely, that I could not equate it with the face I remembered with the eyelids drooping and the damp, starlight-or-moonlight-glistening lips parted for the quick, shallow breath or the unashamed sigh.
excerpt from robert penn warren's All the King's Men

PHOTO (permalink) 02.07.2007
a new GALLERY IMAGE was posted today.
february 2007

WEB (permalink) 02.06.2007
there's nothing artificial about that intelligence
my work often takes me into the infinite world of stock photography. anyone who has poured through the online stacks knows how the hours drift into the air while you look for that one image which meets the need. fortunately today's search engines do much to help you find that one perfect graphic. that is they are a great help except when they aren't.

the below page was the result of a search on the term 'statue'. the main image at the top seems spot on. it's the SIMILAR IMAGES at the base of the page which raised my brow. i can't say if i find their system's intuition to be highly flawed or impressively intuitive on knowing what my mind was really looking for. although, what the hell is up with the solitary pic of glasses?

click to enlarge

click to enlarge

QUOTES, BOOKS (permalink) 02.02.2007
i love me some purty words
i have been quite neglectful of my reading commitment for almost a year now (new job + new baby = no read). for about the last ten years, it has been my personal goal is to read 25 pages a day (and 50 on weekends). back when i used to ride the subway to work, this was easily achieved. my subway ride has been replaced with a walking commute and three children, so, i've slipped, drastically. but beginning this month, i'm dusting off the precariously tall stack of books sitting on my windowsill and committing to getting back in the game.

additionally, i've decided to raise the stock of what i choose to read. i've always justified plugging lots of tripe into my reading rotation by saying i needed the fluff pieces to give my mind some downtime. then i considered all the terrible television and film i subject my ever-softening brain to and feel it is already spoon-fed generous quantities of pointless information and would benefit from being forced to get off the couch with a little more frequency. also, i liken reading authors who know what the hell they are doing to listening to the amelie soundtrack in a dark and quiet room. in example, here's a few bytes from my current tome, All the Kings Men:
There were a good many folks in the store, men in overalls lined up along the soda fountain, and women hanging around the counters where the junk and glory was, and kids hanging on skirts with one hand and clutching ice-cream cones with the other and staring out over their own wet noses at the world of men from eyes which resembled painted china marbles. The Boss just stood modestly back of the gang of customers at the soda fountain, with his hat in this hand and the damp hair hanging down over his forehead. He stood that way a minute maybe, and then one of the girls ladling up ice cream happened to see him, and got a look on her face as though her garter belt had busted in church, and dropped her ice-cream scoop, and headed for the back of the store with her hips pumping hell-for-leather (*) under the lettuce-green smock.
or this example:
   I took the card out of my pocket and gave it to him. He looked at the card for a minute, holding it off near arm's length as though he were afraid it would spit in his eye, then he turned it over and looked at the back side a minute till he was dead sure it was blank. Then he laid the hand with the card in it back down on his stomach, where it belonged, and looked at me. "You done come a piece," he said.
   "That's right," I said.
   "What you come fer?"
   "To see what's going on about the schoolhouse," I said.
   "You come a piece," he said, "to stick yore nose in somebody else's bizness."
   "That's right," I agreed cheerfully, "but my boss on the paper can't see it that way."
   "It ain't any of his bizness either."
   "No," I said, "but what's the ruckas about, now I've come all that piece?"
   "It ain't any of my bizness. I'm the Sheriff."
   "Well, Sherriff," I said, "whose business is it?"
   "Them as is tending to it. If folks would quit messen and let 'em."
(*) on the first excerpt, while i've heard it used, it occurred to me i hadn't the slightest notion what 'hell-for-leather' actually meant. even so, my mind could somehow picture the vigor behind that hip-charging woman. but, remaining mystified by the the phrase, i located the following explanation:
Hell for leather is a statement that is often confused with "Hell bent for leather". Hell for leather, in American vernacular, refers to an arduous walk that may have been strewn with difficulties and was a strain on footwear. A long and difficult walk, such as over rough terrain, might be referred to as hell for leather because of the abuse the leather footwear sustained during the walk.

"Hell bent for leather" has many uses and the most popular american use goes back to the 19th century american west when a particular livestock animal, such as a cow, bull or horse would be particularly difficult to handle. One of these troublesome creatures would cause their handler so much trouble that the owner or handler considered slaughter of the animal and turning the carcass into leather. When a horse or cattle became difficult to handle they were called "Hell bent for leather" meaning that the animal was hell bent to become a leather good.
source :
oh, it feels good to be off the bench and on the court again. i can already sense the irregular dance-steps of those neurons moving about.

< Jan 2007 Monorail Archives

View A Random Post

Current Monorail
Mar 2007 >
Welcome Professional MonoRail TroyScripts Gallery