The UnTexan

PURPLE MAJESTIES, FRUITY PLANES AND THE MEANING OF AMERICA

It took me a long time to understand what we were singing about when we sang "America the Beautiful" back in the Boys Choir. What in the hell are "purple mountain majesties" anyway? Piecing together the meanings of "purple" and "mountain" and "majesties" back then, I figured we were singing about America being king of the hill. That seemed logical enough. Hadn't America almost single-handedly saved the world from the Germans and the Japs (we thought so back then). But "fruited plain?" What is a "fruited plain?" I thought the words were "fruited plane" and decided it had something to do with Chiquita Banana flying DC-3s packed with golden bunches my way from somewhere in Central America. Naughtier friends in the Boys Choir speculated that the words were actually "fruity plains" and had something to do with "queers" (as we called gay people in those days) in the "plains" where all of those "amber waves of grain" grew. Frightened, homophobic, mostly pre-pubescent boys sabotaged the song and sang "fruity plains" and giggled as if we understood what we were saying. It was our only defense against the mystery and thrill of it all (and against the homosexual farmers waving and tending all of that amber grain). We must have learned other verses, but like most Americans I only remember the purple mountains and fruity planes parts.

It turns out there are seven more "O Beautifuls" after that. And for what?

• "...for pilgrim feet" (and the pilgrims' "stern impassioned stress"), wherein God is invoked to stitch up some flaws and "America, America" is asked to "confrim thy soul in self-control..." (those damned stern pilgrims and their big-footed self-control!).

• "...for heroes proved," wherein God is once more invoked (this time as some sort of gold smelter) touching "America, America" with "divine" gains (I suppose this verse has something to do with the cost of freedom, God, and the bargains at Wal-Mart).

• "...for patriot dream..." which includes "alabaster cities" (more on this later) and entreats "America, America" to practice more "good and brotherhood" and rhymes "dream" and "gleam" (those alabaster cities gleam) and "years" and "tears." And God's grace and "crowning" (Americans are crown-haunted people, apparently in fear of becoming Canadians) are in there too.

• "...for halcyon skies" with more "amber" grain and "purple mountain majesties," (repitition already) only this time the plains are "enameled." Enameled? Why? Maybe God knows how to smelt gold AND enamel plains, but how can enamel plains grow amber grain? Maybe it's a trick those homosexual farmers know. There is more of God's grace "on thee" followed by the lines, "Til souls wax fair as earth and air/And music-hearted sea!" Waxed souls, Earth, Wind and Fire (and musical seas)? Come on. I think the writer needed a word to rhyme with "thee" and somehow misplaced her thesaurus.

• And again "...for pilgims' feet..." (and more "impassioned stress" of course) only this time thought control is thrown into the mix as "paths are wrought through/wilds of thought" by those pilgrim feet (actually "By pilgrim foot and knee?"). Apparently those stomping, kneeing pilgrims play dirty when it comes to mind control in the name of God and America. Pilgrims sound like Scientologists.

• Then we come to "...for glory-tale.." which introduces American self-justification but also the notion that "selfish gain" just might be a "stain" on the "banner of the free" and that there might be some evil lurking in the comingling of God, democracy and capitalism (But who believes that? Wal-Mart isn't in the stain remover business).

• And finally we return to that "...of patriot dream" of "alabaster cities gleam" (those alabaster cities gleaming again), only this time the dream looks to a future when "nobler men keep once again/Thy whiter jubilee." This seems to be a clear reference to the powerful desire among Tea Partiers and other white people (the ones who always deny that they are racists) to dump Obama, put the crown back on the white guy's head where it belongs, knee the homosexual farmers right in their fruity, enameled plains, restore some good old-fashioned pilgrim self control (and thought control while we're at it), wax some souls, play some Earth, Wind and Fire, shop at Wal-Mart, pretend there are no greedy stains on the banner of freedom, and stomp the shit out of Katie Holmes. America! Beautiful! Hallelujah!

That's it. Everything we are.

But how was a pre-pubescent choirboy supposed to understand all of that "America, America" stuff was leading up to a big white jubilee (not only white, but "whiter"). Who knew? Let's boogie children.

UNEMPLOYED: PAIN AND JOBLESSNESS

I lost my job.

Now

I have tennis elbow.

But

I don't play tennis.

Though

I have time to play.

Since

I lost my job.

MY BIRTHDAY, MY TATTOO

Today is my birthday. And I have a new tattoo. Actually it is my first tattoo.It was a gift from my wife. It looks great. And I don't have to worry about how it will look when I get older. I am older. My mother
always told me that only trashy people had tattoos, but she said lots of things that have not turned out
to be true. And so far I have not detected any urges to engage in trashy behavior or go live in a trailer park. In fact, the only urge I have felt so far is the urge to get another tattoo.

Why a wheelbarrow? Because of this poem by William Carlos Williams called "The Red Wheelbarrow" that first appeared under the title "XXII" in a book called Spring and All. The book and the poem changed lots of things for me and have remained important for many years. I think anyone who wants to write should read Spring and All. Here is the poem:

"so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens."

It is what it is, just like my tattoo.

A FRIDAY TOAST TO THURSDAY'S DEAD

Here's to Michael's face and Farrah's butt
and to an America that's utt
erly drowning in this freaky stuff -- it's a glut -- but
can't get enough of Michael's face and Farrah's butt.

TELEVISION NEWS: THIS JUST IN AGAIN AND AGAIN

Anna Nicole is still dead

And Britney has shaved her head

And an astronaut drove really far

A woman, wearing a diaper, in a car,

With a wig, a steel mallet and some tubing,

A B-B gun, pepper spray and a yearning

To confront her rival

(But was she really her rival?)

For the affections of astronaut Billy-O

(That’s what Lisa called him, her Billy-O)

She drove 900 miles to Orlando

And said she did it not quite for love, no.

Whatever it was, when she got there

She put on her wig to cover her hair

Then stepped out of her car

And went much too far

When with pepper spray in hand

She spritzed the rival for her man and

Was jailed

For trying

To kill her.

Oh Anna Nicole is a corpse

But Britney’s still with us of course

Her pudendum (and then some) was news

The Internet tallied the views

Now nearly everyone has seen it

And seen it and seen it and seen it

So Britney’s cut off all her hair

She’s bald as Sinead but who cares?

She’s already showed us her bottom

And I mean ALL of her bottom

Now she’s a bald twit with a twat

and tattoos. So what?

She’ll have to do better than that.

(We’re bored)

Sinead did it better than that

Anna Nicole is still dead

And Britney has shaved her head

The astronaut made bail

And got out of jail

But Anna Nicole is still dead

This just in

'I': A POEM FOR STEPHANIE KLEIN

(The following is constructed from fragments of reader responses to a single Stephanie Klein blog post entitled double negatives about not being pregnant – again. Most of them depend on the word “I” as most responses to S. Klein do. And the red wheel barrow? It just depends.)

SK IS NOT PG

Every time I read your posts about pregnancy...

I can’t help but understand you…

i know it doesn't help you...but i understand.

I always get this from your blog, and from other readings of yours

 

I've only ever commented once before and it was the same thing I'm going to say now.

But like I and others have said before,

I have to reiterate

because I read your blog all the time

and what you write always makes my day feel I've felt

-- interesting.

I can identify with your feelings and nothing irritates me more

 

Will you ever cease bitching and garnering sympathy from strangers?

You've been pregnant before. You'll do it again.

Believe me -- I do it on a monthly basis!

 

I’m sorry –

I’m trying to say, I understand

I’ve felt a millimeter

(My husband and I are "repoductively challanged")

 

Have you tried one of those electronic ovulation predictors?

I have friends that swear by them.

I have a love/hate feeling for those kinds of dreams.

All I can do is offer a sympathetic ear

 

I found out I was pregnant about a week after my husband and I went on a wine tasting tour.

And I happened to be much tighter at the beginning of my pregnancy.

Worked for me twice

That's how I got my Tukey Pie.

That's how I got my Tukey Pie.

 

When I stop obsessing

(I could

I am

I like

i got

I'm sorry

I only read

I can

I have been

I have

I guess

I missed

I'm just curious

I wish

I hope

I know

I am)

My reasons are sound

 

When I stop obsessing about something

that's when I get what I want

without telling my mother

although. Everything is relative.

my mother

your father

my Tukey Pie

the Period Fairy

a red wheel

barrow.

 

I've never taken a pregnancy test

I could never decide which one was best.

it's no consolation.