Gingerbread Man

September 1 marks the start of when most graduate schools will accept applications.  Now regardless of your application’s place in line, they all claim that there is no “line” and that each application is read and considered fairly.  But I snuck all of mine in just under all of those respective deadlines last year so…  getting them in sooner than later is a good thing.

But in typical procastination fashion, I set that September 1 date as my deadline and missed it horribly.  Missed it like a third grader misses his mom at summer camp—that’s just a saying, not a, uh,  personal history or anything…

So you would think I would take this (acknowledging of my application suckitude) as a sign to get moving on this stuff, but instead I wrote this poem to an old AmerCorps buddy who’s moving to the Phillipines shortly.  Tomato, tomato, right?  Hmm, that doesn't really work here.  Anyway, it’s the only thing I’ve had time to write this week so please enjoy this non grad school related blog;

Ode to a Ginger

Henning or Henningway?


No Earnest, you are not,


Because he wrote books and junk,


And you just move your shit a lot.



What's that a shot of?  Penicillian?

From Sacramento to St. Louis,


And Ethiopia to the Philippines,


Forget shot glasses and T-shirts,


You just come back with STDs.



EOCing and HIV prevention,


That’s your gift to humanity,


That and the ten red-headed babies,


Left behind  you in each and every city.

Upon referencing the dictionary,


Your name can be seen,


It's the second definition of "tramp",


Right after Charlie Sheen's.



To say you're global lothario,


Doesn't quite fit the bill,


Because you've screwed more people around, 


The world than BP and Cargill.



You are crude, brash, and arrogant,


Without even an ounce of shame ever shown,


You struggle to stay clothed in public,


And you're one of the greatest guys I've ever known.



As much as a try, and I don't,


I can't seem to deny the facts,


Most of my good stories include you,


And that's you without wearing slacks.



I guess Buffalo just got too small for you,


Heck, it’s barely in the US of A,


It would have been great to come up to visit,


But it would have been wrong to want you to stay.



It's basically Souther Canada, or Junior America.

See you're not like most people I know,


With wives, and mortgages, and commitments,


You just see life so much clearer,


And seize it without hesitance.



I know this could have been,


Perhaps, our last chance to meet,


But you're one of the only people for whom,


I'd spend 30 hours in a plan seat.



Honestly, my only reservation,


In making this Pilipino journey,


Would be the cost of and time lost...


In finding a good international attorney.



So Henning, you are certainly no Hemmingway,


And I can't seem to fake a poet's tale,


I wish I could be there this weekend, but I'm not,


So remember to call someone else for bail.