Sarah Slean has put a new album out; her major label debut, only released in Canada. But through the power of the internet and the kind people over at HMV.com, I got my copy within a week.
I'm sure you may know my fascination with Miss Slean and this album has done nothing short of doubling it for me.
Epic is the word that comes to mind. Simply amazing. Every song on here is worthy of a grammy in some catagory or another, and believe me, she'd fill a good couple catagories with the songs on here.
I urge you to buy this album. If you aren't trusting of my opinion, then find a way to listen to some songs on the album "Night Bugs" and see your yourself.

I myself am at the end of my rope with work. Too many slashes on this whipping boys back. Something must break.

I've been hanging out a lot with John and Kate.
I have a good time but can't seem to relax all too well. Nothing comes out the way I think it should have.
My living arrangements have not budged an inch and I'm pissed. I'm also not doing much about it.

Nothing affects me the way it used to. Not that anything really affected me too much in the first place, but I am not angry, depressed, happy, or anything. Nothing's come out for about a year when I try to write. Nothing inspires me. Nothing motivates me.
I have become... comfortably numb. Except for work... that's REALLY pissing me off.

I get home tonight to find an interesting email. I don't get them much these days.

There's a poem on my "about" page. If you have any interest in me or this website, then you've seen it. If not, I suggest you question yourself and your psuedo-support of my life.
Underneath the poem I politely beg for anyone's help in finding the author of this poem. It's been there since day 1.
No one's ever commented on it, really. Not until tonight.
This email I got was from someone named Jessica. I don't yet know who she is or how she came about this site but she sent me the following information she's found on the poem. I am speechless at the information she was able to find and the gratitude she expressed by sending it to me.

Here it is (it is long):
=====================

I've found quite a variety of information about it, much of it conflicting.
The title of the poem:
� "May Your Sky Always Be Yellow"
� "ABOUT SCHOOL"
� "He Always..."
� "Yellow"
� "He Drew"
� "A POEM ABOUT NON-ACCEPTANCE"
� untitled
Who wrote it and what happened after:
� "This was written by a high school senior two weeks before he committed suicide."
� "written by Richard Karl Roberts, 2 weeks before he committed suicide."
� "This was written by a high school senior in Alton, Illinois, two weeks before he committed suicide."
� "This poem was handed to a grade 12 English teacher in Regina, Saskatchewan. It is not known if the student actually wrote it himself, it is known that he committed suicide two weeks later."
� "It has not been possible to trace the author of this poem, but it is known that he committed suicide when he was 16 years old."
� "the Kohler Co. is doing its centennial movie on this."
� One web page seems to claim it as the page writer's own; it's signed: "Mystif/Neandra 1984." I've emailed that person and will report back on that lead. The version on that page is missing the extra lines at the beginning, so I suspect it's not the original, but I could be wrong.
� One might be getting closer to the point with this prefaced description: "Authored by an adolescent male who had expressed discomfort that public school education prods its students on a one-way cattle drive." It gives the source as "Silverstone, 1997, p. 109-110" and the footnote reads, "Silverstone, L. Art Therapy The Person-Centered Way. (1997). London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers Ltd." If someone has access to this book it'd be nice to know what's on page 109-110, but I'll bet it says it's anonymous and from Saskatchewan or Illinois.
. Two websites both credit "R. Nukerji"...there is no other info on them
� One credits it "by Dr. Helen Goodell" who apparently has something to do with education at Lock Haven University in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, since they have a scholarship named after her.
Time it was written:
� One page dates it as having been written in 1972.
� A correspondent says he heard it from a counselor in Buffalo, NY, in 1973, only without the embellishments.
� Another correspondent got it 10-12 years ago (as of 2001) translated into Danish and passed off as a poem written by a Danish boy two weeks before he killed himself.
Path of the poem as passed along:
� "This story was included as part of a workshop presented by Joan Franklin Smutny, Dirtector, The Center for the Gifted at National-Louis University."
� Quoted by John Taylor Gatto in "Underground History of American Education."
� Passed along by Kelleen Griffin, Columbia MBA '99, given to her over 15 years ago, when she was in high school.
� "This poem was found in the New Environment Bulletin, the organ of the New Environment Association, 270 Fenway Drive, Syracuse, N.Y. 13224. U.S.A. I am grateful to its editor, Harry Schwarzlander, for informing me upon request that he had reprinted the poem from an "unidentified overseas source."
Format and wording of the poem:
� One version puts "He always wanted to say things. But no one understood." at the beginning.
� One version has the extra first line(s) as "He always wanted to say things -- But none understood."
� It's written as prose sometimes, poetry with varying line lengths most of the time.
� One web page says, "There was also a picture, which I will try to scan in some day and post it here as well."
I suspect from the first line(s) being missing on many versions that those first lines could have been printed in a different type face or on a different page in some early version.
The boy handed this poem to his English teacher. Two weeks later he took his
own life.

====================

Thank you Jessica. I am in your debt.
I can only hope we one day are able to find the true author (if he/she is alive) and shake their hand for the most depressing and beautiful thing I've ever read.

Good day, all.

Aaawwwrightty then...

Here are some common scenes of the Ritz/Camera Shop employees (or as our name-tags said: "Photographic Consultants")
while at our booth.

Photographic Consultants 1
Photographic Consultants 2

There are two new color photos from the Flowershow in the Photography section.

Natural Flavor just informed me that they will be using someone else.
I assume the $75 was an easy price to beat?!

Oh well.

I have new pictures from the Flower Show; some to add to my photography section and others for your entertainment. However, I can't post anything because my host says I'm out of room to store anything else... which is complete BS.

Coming soon... more stuff.

I've been busy with everything and everyone but myself, lately.
It's OK, really... I have nothing wrong to help myself out with anyway -- except the trash and laundry beginning to build up around me again.
Joel Perlish, a customer, friend, photographer, runner, cyclist, and many other things has begun his latest biking trip. Hawaii is the only state he's never biked through in his 22 years as a touring cyclist. Now he can cross that one off his list as well as mark off his 500th touring day, and crosses his 22,500 touring mile. Join him on his journeys through a little thing I threw together for him. I didn't design this page, however I did set it up and I help out by storing the pictures on my server space.
joelperlish.blogspot.com

Natural Flavor is a local band (philly).
I've known the lead singer for a couple years now and really dig their music. I offered to set up a site for them and they're still in debate on whether they want this design or not. I don't mind either way but I personally thought this was pretty damn creative.
Natural Flavor

Again, I worked the Flower Show on Saturday... and this was my day:

Woke up at approximately 5am. Got dressed and ready to fly out the door to catch a bus to 69th street terminal where I would catch the subway, just as I did on Wednesday with Chris.
Got the bus.
Got to the terminal.
I was met with a sign telling me that the El ("elevated train", for all you non-subway'd cities) was down for a number of weekends while the do maintenance. However, a bus was set up to take the people into the city.
That's great... but where the hell is the bus?!
I found the bus. It took me down through Market Street.
Now... Market Street is, well... Hell's Ghetto. Imagine the scariest street in the scariest part of your local ghetto and multiply it. I don't know how many times you should multiply it but I'm pretty sure it was at least *a little* worse then what you know. It's the worst I've ever known, even more so than Brooklyn.
So at 6 in the morning I'm riding down Market as all the normal El people are packing this little bus. Finally, we reach 40th street where I recalled we got off at on Wednesday.
I look around. Walk a few blocks... I don't see the stupid Convention Center. What the hell?! By this time I'm in University City so it's kinda safe. I can at least ask where Arch Street is. I knew I wanted Arch.
I can't find it. I call one of my associates at the Show and ask where the hell I am.
I was then informed that the Convention Center is actually....

...on 12th street.

My face dropped. I would get a call back telling me who, what, and when someone could get me. In the meantime... "you'd better start walking, buddy."

So I walked. And walked.... and walked.
I was around 19th Street when I got a call telling me they approved a pay-out for me to take a cab. I would be reimbursed for it.
But I had no money.

I found an ATM. I had a cab.
I was 45 minutes late to my shift. All I had to look forward to was a 15 hour work day in the middle of the busiest place in Philadephia that day.
Constant... flow... of people. But I made "mad cash."

But, but, but wait it gets worse!

I begged for someone to bring me home. I was NOT about to do that again.
I was offered a ride from an associate who worked at another store. I didn't know him.
He was very strange. He made a few wrong turns trying to find his way out of the city in his big white van, he placed a phony phone call to his phony girlfriend (trust me... the guy pretended to call "his girl" -- I wouldn't make this up, folks)
Then, he decided it would be easiest to take Market Street home.
MARKET STREET! --- SATURDAY NIGHT! --- 10:30PM!!!!
YIPES!
I gripped onto my armrests as we came to a stop at nearly every red light down the 15 minute stretch. Never has there been 15 minutes that's felt longer than they did this evening.
Stopped at a light, my driver had some gangsta rap station on and joked about how we shoulda stopped to get some 40's and spark up on our way through.
I locked my door.
At one light, we sat there... silent... as a handsome, young, ghetto thug's face was TWO FEET FROM MINE -- STARING INTO THE VAN!
Looking at the brilliant, dark, rusted scenery under the El, I slyly pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary and my pants were still dry.

The scenery opened up and we were back at the terminal, as I started telling him directions of how to get to my house.
And I'm home.
Surprisingly.... still alive!

======================
And I just HAVE to post this because it's one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.
Thanks to Dan for sending it along.



Have a good day, all.