Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of April 15, 2018

• Former First Lady Barbara Bush is an inspiration when it comes to family. She stood by and supported her husband as he ramped up the War on Drugs and exacerbated systemic disadvantages toward people of color. And she was proud of her bumbling nitwit son as he committed heinous war crimes. If Barbara Bush can do that, then Katie should have no problem always having my back, and no matter what kind of human turd my son ends up becoming, I’ll always be proud of him. Thank you, Mrs. Bush, for being such a role model.

Finding Carl Kasell

“Has anyone seen Carl?”

The question chilled the blood in my chest. Anne, Tyler and I were up on the third balcony, placing Wait Wait…Don’t Tell Me! gift bags and Carl Kasell dolls on every one of the 1,850 seats in the Warner Theater. In three hours, every seat would be filled by fans looking to see and celebrate the final taping of the show with Carl as the Judge/Timekeeper.

Below, onstage, the cast and crew were running through a technical rehearsal — running jokes, testing microphones, adjusting lights.

And Carl was nowhere to be found.

The Boy Who Gave Up

He’s encouraged to live this way. He’s been told by his family that he has a heart condition and exercise could kill him. Even though they buy him energy drinks daily. But if he’s home constantly, all the family can leave their kids with him.

I Believe... [You Aren’t Boycotting Starbucks...]

...that, while the woman calling the cops to arrest the two black men in a Phillie Starbucks is complete and utter anal weeping, you aren’t boycotting Starbucks any more than you are deleting your Faceborg account or boycotting the NFL. And what would happen if you did? Would Starbucks cease to hire marginally racist white women as managers — in Philadelphia? 

Couplea Jerk Poets: In Conversation with Nic Souder

Chicago native Nic Souder is one of those people for me. A podcaster, a poet, poetry show host, visual artist and acquaintance (not at all in that order). One whom I admire because he manages to use his darker experiences and the everyday to lace everything he touches with a kind of mad hipster magic. 

He was gracious enough to let me steal him away after work for a few beers and a long chat, heavily abridged and presented here in celebration with National Poetry Month, about process and other creative curiosities…