NO WAY OUT (a words-and-picture story)

One:
When Keren and I agreed to attend the show together, an understanding was made that we were mutual admirers of poetry who felt safer walking at night as a couple. As we waited to cross one busy street, she held out her hand and I gave her mine. After we reached the sidewalk, we strolled through the plaza a block away from the show’s venue because we were early and had time to spare. She still held my hand as if she was doing so on purpose and I was concerned. She noticed my tense mood and asked, “What’s wrong?” I wondered, “How long do you plan to hold my hand?” She laughed and asked, “Why?” I said, “People will notice.” She asked, “So what?” I said, “We’re not a couple.” She responded, “That’s what you think.”

Two:
I was nervous and tried removing my hand from hers but she wouldn’t let go. I felt like I was caught in an unexpected trap. She was laughing as if we were playing a game but I saw no humor in the situation. My sole purpose in going to the show involved conversations with other women and I would feel awkward doing so while holding hands with Keren. She was wearing an attractive two-shirts-tucked-in outfit that aroused me but I was embarrassed about my feelings and chose to treat her like a mere walking companion. I said, “I’m not going to let everybody see us like this. If you don’t let go, I’m not going to the show.” She said, “We’re going to keep holding hands and you’re going to the show whether you like it or not.”

Three:
Her attitude was adamant and such made me upset. I cried and she showed no pity. She asked, “What now? Every time you go to the show, you read something depressing and it bums everyone out as if you want us to go, ‘Aah, poor Lee.’ I know it’s an act and you’re not fooling me now, either, with your fake whimper. We all have to grow up sooner or later and this is the day you stop being a child. Now, come on before you make me angry.” I felt bad and said, “I thought you were a nice person. Why are you putting me through this torment?” She said, “Shut up! It’s not torment! Quit being a creep.” I said, “Wait until I can get used to this.” My plan was to stand still until she got bored and went to the show without me. I could be here for hours, if necessary.

Four:
She asked, “Are you finished with your temper tantrum? Are you ready to show everyone how much you adore me?” I panicked and screamed, “That’s not true!! This is simply a matter of going to the show together out of convenience!! What are you going to do, make fun of me?” She tugged at my hand and started walking and said, “Everything will be okay. You’re just not used to having someone accompany you in public. Now, come on, my captive.” I was nervous and asked, “You’re not really keeping me prisoner, are you?” She said, “That’s a matter of interpretation. I choose to call it a long-term commitment.” I still tried getting my hand free but her grip remained tight. I was concerned about her sanity.

Five:
She said, “What you need is a good wake-up call!” She tried to kick me but I moved back just in time. The situation was turning scary. I said, “Hey! Stop that!” She said, “That’s nothing. Wait until you see what I do to you when we get back home.” I asked, “Whose home, mine or yours?” She said, “Either way, the damage will be done.” I yelled, “I don’t like how this is going!! You’re either totally twisted or you have a morbid sense of humor but I’m not comfortable with this treatment.” She said, “You’re never comfortable with any treatment. You act like a prince who pouts when he gets half-and-half in his coffee instead of pure cream. All fuss and no bite is what I say. You’ve met your match with me, sir. There is no way out.”

Six:
I had never been in such a nightmare before. I pulled my arm as hard as possible in yet another futile attempt at getting away but all hope vanished, allowing for despair to overwhelm me. Keren was not helping matters any by taunting me. Maybe karma was coming after me by saying, “Lee, your shallow-minded outlook has brought you here and is now turning against you.” However, I was determined to free myself on many levels, including relationships in general and her grip in particular. As soon as I escaped, I would be a better man who learned a hard lesson not to trust anybody. Appearances could be deceptive. For instance, a simple transference of change could lead to a vice-tight clenching of my finger… and so forth.

Seven:
I was angry and said, “I don’t know what I have to do to make you stop acting so irritating.” She asked, “Do you want to fight me, is that it? I can handle you.” I was crying and yelled, “Stop it!! This really isn’t nice!! You’re upsetting me.” She made a fist and said, “You’d better watch out, you big baby. I’m going to hit you and it’s going to hurt. You won’t know when it’s coming but it’s going to come and then you’ll have plenty to cry about.” I said, “Quit playing around! I really don’t like this!” She said, “I don’t care. I like it.”

Eight:
I kept pulling as much as I could and growled, “You’re making me furious!” All of a sudden, she turned serious and said, “Stop trying to get away from me! Maybe you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to go to the show with you! I finally have a chance to have my dream come true and you’re making it horrible for me! You’re treating me like I’m not good enough to hold hands with you! You’re insulting me! I won’t have it! You’re an awful person! You’re a beast! You’re a woman-hater! You’re pathetic!” I said, “No, I’m not.” She said, “Shut up.”

Nine:
I was embarrassed. She made me feel bad about myself as if maybe she was worthy of the sort of treatment I could not give her. Then again, the prospect of holding hands with her forever was a bit much. If we went to the show now, she would show me off as if I was a trophy and everyone would applaud while I felt like a prisoner. However, she was persistent and would do anything to make me walk there with her. I hid my face to protect myself in case there was a small chance no one would recognize me. She asked, “Ready?” I said, “Mm.”

Ten:
She interpreted my mumbling as a positive answer. She giggled ecstatically and said, “Yes! We’re going to the show!” Without warning, she ran and pulled me with her. I was angry because I couldn’t keep my face hidden unless I chose to trip or bump into something along the way. Keren finally achieved her goal in obtaining me. Maybe later she would set me free so I could roam and talk with others but, at the moment, my one concern was to prevent myself from getting exhausted as best I could.

another reason not to go sloppy

Okay... so the untucked/tucked issue is one that continues to be a semi-controversy with people. However, I must say that some women just look like they "should" tuck... if for no other reason than because I think they are attractive and I want to see how they look wearing that sort of style. Here is another untucked/tucked example and I would like votes on this, if you'd like to give them. The first pic shows her in a casual appearance of the shirt and the other pic shows a more layered and tucked look. Ooh!

untitled communication sage (conclusion)

Eleven:
We continued, on and on… as if nothing unusual happened. We went through a continuous rigmarole of how-do-you-do-I’m-fine-nice-to-meet-you-how-are-you-everything-is-good-put-it-there-buddy-yadda-yadda-yadda-yadda-etc. until there was nothing left to say. She must have been geared for the long haul, planning on never ever letting go… like a weird fairy tale or a practical joke consisting of her gluing our hands together. Such a situation would drive me insane if not for my ability to stay calm in adversity where anything of the ordinary can happen. Did she pretend to give me a quarter and then want to make sure I did not drop the coin so she gripped my hand as a precaution? Right now, all I could think about was how ours no longer remained a greeting but a fixed endeavor.




Twelve:
She hung on to my tree-of-a-hand like a piece of fruit never coming off no matter how many times one tried to yank it free from the branch. I swayed my hand to and fro as if controlled by the wind while she stayed calm and serene, holding securely my hand as if hers was a mode of meditation and mine was the still-life object focused upon. However, time was even more of the essence and I could not let the cultural differences between us guide our communication problem any longer. She was to let go of me as soon as possible and I would make sure I went towards all lengths to escape. My persistence was all I had left.




Thirteen:
DAMN IT!! She was a stubborn thing and I was in a mode of panic because I tried every which way – using all possible combinations – in order to free myself but there was no slack in her hold. I grunted like a caveman while she smiled, listening to me as if I was an avant-garde singer previewing a new song for her enjoyment. If nothing else, I was glad at least one of us could find such a situation amusing but the energy from her hand was getting more intense and I was apparently feeling her thoughts as they were pumping into me like blood going for the heart. A dance of the hands this was not, though she looked dreamily as though I was her faithful Mr. Trippy Fantastic and now I knew how weird our town could be. I made sure I would ignore her and walk away, regardless of her response.




Fourteen:
Something was holding me back. However, I persisted. For each struggle in life, there was always a way to overcome obstacles. She was an obstacle to my otherwise regular environment consisting of eating packaged noodles with garlic and tofu and hog jowls with an occasional drunken spree while listening to Mott The Hoople. Hers was a romantic la-la humdinger of a romantic conceptual world where people met each other and never let each other go. If not for her attractiveness, I would have no reluctance to do what I was doing. However, life – if not intuition – told me to scram.




Fifteen:
Well, okay… I conceded. She was now my new companion. We would go either where I wanted or where she chose but we would go places together. In our town – if one really observed fine details concerning how people related to each other – one could see other couples similar to us: people who held hands for a long time. Perhaps there were less extreme examples of our case floating around but every example was different. In the long run, there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. She shook my hand – giving me a permanent handshake – and I would have to live with it.

untitled communication saga (second part)

Six:
Gently – like a breeze on a summer’s day both metaphorical and comparable to the day’s climate – I bid my farewell and hoped she understood logic on account of her intelligent stance because of the books she carried. Conversation topics could go on and on ad infinitum – disregarding life’s responsibilities and other interests – if I was to continue on our aesthetic playground where the touch of a woman’s hand brought energy to the receiver. However, disappointments and conclusions had to surface, even if employed slowly but surely in the form of my pulling myself free inch by inch and slithering like a worm as a means of providing ticklish entertainment until the connection was broken finally and we could bow to each other and hope to see each other on another day. She apparently translated my intention by determining ours was a surreal teeter-totter of fun and she clung to me like a water drop reluctant to fall from the faucet. That was fine because tapering off slowly would result in a more amicable split. All evidence indicated I was right even if all clues were phantoms of my imagination.




Seven:
A one and a two and a… quick yank. However, nothing happened. My hand was caught and she was smiling mischievously, letting me know my plans would not converge with hers. She had that push-up-your-sleeve business woman attitude of insisting things would go according to her wishes and our business conference had not resolved successfully. Further negotiations would have to be presented by me. I imagined she would listen to everything I said and disregard all of it because I did not come from the sort of administrative training in which she was raised. For all intents and purposes, I could moan and gripe while she took it all in with a smug attitude and kept me at close bay. I was the insect caught in a hand trap cloaked by a soft feminine exterior with a clever ability to make situations more complex each minute. My next recourse was to figure out anything at all.




Eight:
I inspected where our hands were joined… looking for clues as if her fingers were tea leaves and the way they were gripping me would provide a key to my future. I was becoming a detective to a mystery that could not be solved unless I found an escape. If our situation was make believe or a script for a teleplay, I could think of anything I wanted as a next step in our plot but something about its realistic veneer and the sun and the weather and the street noise and the unexpected quality of the scenario made me more nervous each passing millisecond because I was unsure if I was in the next chapter of a meeting that started previously. We could have been good friends and long handshakes were our usual way of greeting each other unless I had decided smartly on alternative greetings while she ignored my requests. Right now, all possibilities were confusing me.




Nine:
Time told me to employ a poker face so my nervousness would not get the best of me. She wanted to keep me in suspense. Was she one of the women at the library who giggled at me and pointed because they knew I was looking at them? I could not tell but I knew that her persistence was more annoying than attractive. Ironically, such was how yin and yang worked. She had that silly girl mentality… making one irritated. I merely encouraged her to metaphorically tickle me and stay put like a shadow mirroring aspects of myself I did not want to face. She must have known I thought she was attractive and she was making me face up to such with every moment we were connected. I was wondering if I could go out with other women while she held on to me but such thoughts were my allegorical mirage while I trekked the fathomless desert of realization while the day moved closer to night.




Ten:
The ridiculousness of everything came clear: her behavior, my patience, the location and indifference from passersby. However, was “burden” the right way to describe this? I could define the moment as a bind because my hand was situated in hers like a tangle of string pawed by a kitten but there were far worse situations I could endure. I could use a word processor in a library, surrounded by a bunch of men breathing loudly or I could wander towards the downtown area and get approached by a panhandler begging for spare change. Whatever the reason for the final outcome, maybe fate was telling me what I needed to hear. However, I was not completely sure I could trust my judgment. I would have to cause further provocation.

which looks better on her: tucked or untucked?

Okay, for those of you who know about Ralph Lauren's clothes and how cool they are, you'll also know that there are certain visual images that accompany the clothes and the look is geared towards something sexy. There is a lot of hype in television commercials and other forms of media about the sexy cool look of the woman who wears her shirt sleeves rolled up and her shirt tails tied. Okay, I am starting to understand a little more how some people think the shirt sleeves rolled up look is considered sexy but, when I see a woman wear that look, I think to myself, "Damn, if you tucked in your shirt, you would look awesome!" When I saw the shirt tails tied woman picture of her in Ralph Lauren clothes, I yearned to see how she would look with a similar looking shirt tucked in. If you see this blog, you can voice your opinions by making comments. Okay, if I really had to make a technical judgment, I would have to say that both pictures look sexy enough. However, I still like the look of a woman who wears her shirts tucked in. So, there you go.

variations of me

Back when I read at poetry readings and did featured readings, I did a featured reading at a place located in the museum at UC Berkeley. The poetry series was called Touch Of A Poet and it was supposed to be somewhat prestigious because of the University connection. Of course, it was pretty much just another poetry reading that got lucky in securing the place but I still felt honored to be a featured reader there, even though there were problems like a rescheduling for the day I was supposed to read while the flyers still indicated the old date and the fact that I wanted to use the podium but the host and cameraman decided they preferred the poets not to use the podium. Also, there were other situations that annoyed me about the poetry scene in general, especially how others seemed to like my words more than they liked me and I did not get popular socially like some of the other poets who read in the poetry scene. Anyway, here is a picture of how I looked like back then and my picture - a screencap of my featured reading - is as dorky as my life back then.

Later, I found a solution to bring more popularity to myself and that was when I did handshake pictures and other stuff that involved other people as well as myself. Handshake pictures consisted of a woman and I shaking hands and I included poetry with the pictures and put it all in various books. I also had a more "tough" appearance even though mentally I was the same type of guy I was during the Touch Of A Poet series. Anyway, here is a picture of me with a more "macho" appearance.

Finally, as of nowadays, I have a more contemporary "television dude" appearance. Here I am in jogger clothing and looking more spiffy.

about Pham... Julie, that is

First off, the blog: lurancyvennum.blogspot.com Next off, the information: she is collaborating with me on a new chapbook. I have known her for quite a long time and she has put up with my weirdness - matching it with her own eccentricities occasionally - and I am quite surprised and delighted to know someone like her... principally because she is not against knowing me. The chapbook we are working on has to do with shirt-tucking and either the reasons for it or the actions after such. Tentatively, there will be a few final results coming from the foundation but one water leakage is taking the form of a series of poems of vignettes... like a small-town-tucker-girl-roaming-free-and-weird in her community. Many of the first poems for the first book have less to do with shirt-tucking than one might expect... except for how she does appear in a tucked-in outfit on each picture-page. Right now, I am too busy making noodles with tofu to do anything else in the form of a ta-da-it's-here completion but hopefully within the next couple of months there will be availability of the first book for whoever would like it (as long as they meet certain criteria).

She goes by Jooley (and I now seem to sometimes go by Gerstie) and she's a good writer of her own. Maybe she will send you - for instance - her poem entitled Oxidizer (I think a number was in the title but I'm too lazy to look it up). There are other things that she has written which made me think I wrote them and they were written during a time when nobody could figure out what I was doing. Even though her interpretations about the work weren't exactly what I had intended when writing them, but that's okay. I totally misinterpreted James Joyce and now I can write like him. (I hear you snickering!) Anyway - and parenthetically - I sometimes didn't really mean much of anything when I wrote stuff so the fact that Julie found meaning in some of it actually made me laugh because I have spent much of my time dodging the academic viewpoint as brought about by many university people... even though they are who I am writing for. I guess I'm like the drug-dealer who wants to give stuff to the druggies without using it myself... except in this case the drug is critical analysis. Actually, and in all honesty, she wouldn't have caught on to what I did if she was a fuddy-duddy.

I once wrote a poem called "I Remember Us" which was not COMPLETELY aimed towards her... but I guess I figured she would think about the POSSIBILITY and that was PROBABLY why I wrote it and I am STUPIDLY mentioning it now. Anyway, she wrote a companion piece called "I Remember You" and the two poems dealt with two people holding hands and walking on the beach (or at least mine did and hers was more surreal and [maybe] took place somewhere else). I guess I'm mentioning this because I feel good working on this new project with someone who is more than just a "model" but is a co-conspirator in art who trusts and respects my craft as much as I trust and respect hers. I have sometimes wondered how I would get along with the population in the area where she lives but that is because I sometimes think about how I would like to be someone other than myself (like Hugh Hefner or Pierce Brosnan) and I would also like to know what it would be like to live in a small town where there are very few things except for maybe a bicycle store, a place to buy sacks of beans and about twenty women who think I'm great.

I would not ordinarily go on and on about her but she wrote about me in her blog so I figured I would wink in return.

untitled communication saga (first part)

One:
Our social and cultural system indicates that two people can talk together much like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich where, regardless of differences between them, they can rattle off a smorgasbord of subjects relating to the city or the weather. If more bored than usual citizens, such topics as favorite movies and television programs can be elicited with mellifluous tones drifting off in operatic vapor. In the case of yours truly and the woman in question, my memory served me little as I tried to figure out exactly how we knew each other. One minute I was walking alone and the next I was engaged in a tête-à-tête. However, I was intrigued and not about to deny myself the opportunity with a librarian or bakery worker or politician or college student or any other choice of selection she fit in the questionnaire of our urban environment. Presumably, she wanted to know the time but something about her electricity prompted me to daydream about more.




Two:
An introduction and extension of hand was offered after such should have already happened. Mathematics is a subject that works on the printed or penciled page but life mixes and mashes its suppositions so the soup of fate never quite tastes the same way twice. She asked a few more questions that flew above my head because I was mesmerized by her obvious interest. A more subtle way to go about knowing me would have involved smoke signals or shouting into another’s ears until the information of her fascination came second-hand. However, as try as I might, I could not shake off the possibility my ego prevented me from seeing the truth. She could have merely chose to ward off boredom for a few seconds before telling her friends the extent of her charity work. Whatever the reason, I still felt anticipation on account of how she never approached me in the past.




Three:
Shaking her hand was an almost metaphysical possibility because now the question was posed as to if this was the resolution or the start of something else. She had not told me her name and I could guess she was either herself or someone else representing her. Most women similar to her ignored me so I would need to check a census report to figure out who was more of an initiator among the younger generation and who ignored me. She could give clues by the way her hand moved up and down but my training as a drummer did not provide a course in our momentary rhythm. Her grip was firm and evidence of what I did not yet know but was either willing or not willing to find out. I had errands to accomplish later but I always had those and this moment might not ever happen again.




Four:
She had a weird case of the shakes and went a bit overboard but I went along for the ride because I was feeling like a discoverer climbing a mountain of candy. She kept shaking faster and faster while time said excuse me and drifted off, presumably peeking to observe what was happening. Ours was a recipe for companionship however bizarre the approach. My assumption of her being a politician was making me more suspicious because our possible cultural differences could lead to her obtaining votes for a bill gearing up for potential legislation. If my acceptance of her generosity was the opposite of a veto, let it be known that I was unaware of devious practices within our government but, like a good citizen, I was willing to pretend I knew everything going on.




Five:
I explained that fun time was over because something about her enthusiasm warranted me to assume she mistook me for a celebrity, however much I have fancied myself in that position after having lived in our city for as long as I had. Many people must have noticed me from time to time and she could have peeped from behind a bush or while in a building, gazing from one-way windows. She seemed amused at my slow and constant reiterations that we should part company as if my orders were arousing her interest in how I would react in the next few minutes. Whether she pretended to get lost in etiquette translations, I could not surmise because my perception was getting shallower the more she held on. However, she made a start at relenting by giving a little tease and moving one finger. Perhaps she figured I was asking for a compromise only.

women are "tucking in" again

Today, I saw more women today wearing tucked in shirts. How cool is that? For a while, a lot of them didn't have an attitude one way or the other about tucking but I've now seen library workers tucking and even layered look with thick shirts that barely just fit in a tucked outfit. How cool is that... especially when these outfits are worn on women who usually don't go tucked? Maybe it's because it's my birthday month. Or: it could be the cold weather but it's still cool (as in "hip" as well as "air conditioning.")





Marcia (Maureen McCormack) on the Brady Bunch (1st picture) occasionally tucked - and she was good at it - but she tucked less frequently than Jan. However, she was fun to look at when she tucked.





I remember when I liked seeing Jan (Eve Plumb) on the Brady Bunch. Especially the episodes when she tucked... those were the ones I liked to see because of that. (Second picture.)


Sometimes, there's someone who's T-shirt is tucked in so tightly, I just almost faint with a feeling of a thrill. (Third picture.) I mean... just look at the tucked-in black T-shirt Japanese woman. She's just so... wow!



Since I don't have a lot of time to point out other tucked examples, I will just leave you with a good taste in your mind by pointing out how cool tucked-in sweatshirts can be, especially when it's in a situation you just don't expect and all of a sudden see a woman (fourth picture) who is wearing that rare but attractive college sweatshirt. There will be more comments on tucking later.

The Announcer Speaks After The Show

This was my original post that never showed up. I am now resurrecting the ghost. You really should have read this first before the other stuff but at least you can read it:
Welcome to my after hours show. For those of you who have attended concerts, everyone usually leaves after the group finishes the last encore. However, someone has to stick around to clean up the aisles and put away the equipment. Those are the janitors and other staff members. I am the announcer who has stuck around to talk in the mic to the few who look at this blog and I will be commenting on my life - the show - previous to this blog as well as what I want for my future. If you have come across this and find it interesting, feel free to come back on occasion

noodles and garlic and shrimp and tofu

I am now trying to cool it when it comes to restaurant partying. What I mean by that is I find it easier to get items at the restaurant for cheap instead of buying stuff to make at home even cheaper. So, I buy the noodle packets in bulk (and by "bulk" I mean how much I choose to buy whether I buy one or two or three or ten) and then I buy the tofu... not the kind already sealed in the package but the bulk kind that comes in tied clear bags next to the chili peppers. I get the bag of tofu for a dollar. The tofu provides the protein. The dollar-bowls of noodles also contain shrimp and the forty-nine-cents packages don't. I get both types. However, I add the tofu and it's quite filling. For extra flavor and health benefits, I add garlic. For those of you who don't want to spend a lot of money on stuff, this is one way to go.

Yeah... here I am

I am the announcer. My blog is supposed to be called The Announcer Speaks After The Show. However, I have had trouble with blogging so now I am just trying to get this damn thing to show itself and to appear before everyone else.

Those who don't know me will need an explanation: My name is Lee Gerstmann and I have been performing at poetry readings and open mic venues for over ten years and I have also written literature and music and now I am just trying to make a (popular) name for myself by mentioning my opinions with the hopes of others thinking my opinions matter. Tomorrow, I might be going to a show but I won't actually be going inside the building unless something wild and excellent happens. I will be outside lurking around... trying to talk with people and seeing if any of them have not known of me previously and are willing to give me a shot. For now, I will let what I just said be my first blog. If this shows up, then I can continue with other and more significant posts. Pip pip, everybody!