Spaceman's Pancakes

Subscribing to the Cosmic Snowball Theory: A few million years from now the sun will burn out and lose its gravitational pull. The earth will turn into a giant snowball and be hurled through space. When that happens it won't matter if I write this blog


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The Re-Animated Podcast: The Secret of NIMH


What is the best-case scenario when you give an anti-aging, super-intelligence drug to rats? How did the Great Owl know Jonathan Brisby? Is Auntie Shrew a bad-ass? Why doesn’t Deck know the difference between Al Roker and Wilfred Brimley? We attack these questions and more as we go through the 1982 Don Bluth film, The Secret of NIMH


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Poem of the Day #23- 9/19/17


I don’t trust Vodka
It’s basically hairspray and I’ve had too many bad hair days
Gin I like though
On summer days
With lime and tonic
Something to steel me for the long boat to Mumbia and
Where there might be Tigers

I like white wine,
It doesn’t expect much of me
And I don’t expect much of it:
We have this special bond of modest expectations
With Red Wine, it’s not so easy.
She makes demands
She will not submit
She will aspire and she will fail
Or else inspire and seduce and leave me too disarmed
We burn up to the end and start again and
Isn’t that almost what love is?

Whisk(e)y I also love,
And why not?
It is, after all, the water of life and
We should all drink of that draught.
It saved Tim Finnegan too, you might recall,
And, for me, I expect it will do the same someday.
Mostly though it’s been nothing but trouble, but
Life can be that way.


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Poem of the Day #22- 9/12/17


Alone on the concrete
As the dawn begins
The echo of the ball against the pavement
Is the only sound
My head rises
As I cross the chipped paint arch
And press the ball harder
Down into the ground
Faster- Double time-
Two fast steps and I pull
Up from the cement
I rise-
     Feet pressing up
          Knees extending
               Arms gliding up
Until I am free of gravity
As the ball floats to the hoop
The world is silent
     Perfect
          The day in its rising arch
               And Fall
The rattle of hoop and backboard break the spell
And now it is time to work


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Poem of the Day #21- 9/8/17


Morning in Times Square
In the Canyon of Midtown
Harsh light glares from the East
Grey streets blow out
To blinding white
Tourists squint at the Marquees
And Flagship store.
Locals hide in sunglasses
Or bury their heads
Against the sun,
Walking fast to escape the morning crowd.
I am alone with my camera,
Searching for something else-
Not a landmark or tourist trap,
No blue-glass cage-
Searching for all that brings them out
Into this harsh morning light.