I submitted a poem to a new journal; I got a somewhat terse rejection letter. Then, just to underscore the point, they sent me the same rejection letter a day later. Sort of an encore-type thing.
Then, finally, I get an e-mail welcoming me to “The Sub Club” asking me if I “Want Attention.” I swear I am not making this up.
Not even gonna touch that one.
I got halfway down the wrong street before the storefronts finally clued me in. (“Wow, was this furniture store always here?” “They put in a bakery?! Overnight?! Ohhhhhh … wait.”)
Yes, this is normal for me. I just function far better in low light. (And, trust me, I need all the help I can get.)
Think of me as a goofier Walt Kurtz. And a nyctophile. Melanophile? The difference is mostly lost on me.
And that is today’s portmanteau, ladies and gentlemen.
Hey, I’ll go you one better. A hard salami omelette is called a halamelette. That’s even more enticing. It sounds Kosher. (And “harlamelette” sounds too reminiscent of “harlot omelette;” I’m not sure what that would even be made of, but I can’t imagine it’s good.)
Please, no pedanticism about the correct spelling of “omelette,” because it’s too goddam confusing.
I suppose it is obvious that I have strayed from my avowed heart-healthy diet. I need to get back on that horse. (Back on the wagon? Getting to horse hitched to the wagon or something?)
I’m rambling again.
“I’m not a psycho. I’m an empath.”
Me: “You’re a psychempath.”
Portmanteau Nolan strikes again.
Circa 1992. With College Girlfriend, no less.
The young lady pictured was always a sublimely cool individual, so I will spare her the ignominy of naming her here. (We protect the innocent at this blog.)
Thanks to MWC Alum Rick Slagle for the photo!
Tonight I aspire to genius-level intelligence through massive ingestion of Smart Water.
THE WORLD IS MINE!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 