For last years contribution see here and the year before that and the year before that.

The Sloshed Shadow

A key player was missing from the scene,
Groundhog, she grumbled, paced to and fro.
Months had flown by with no word or post,
Where was that damn Shadow?

For upon arriving in Scotland the Shadow had fled,
She saw him fade away past baggage claim,
The groundhog she shouted, she shrieked,
she protested, but the Shadow wanted no part of their fame.

For every Second of the Second month of the year,
The Groundhog becomes the dog’s bollocks,
All flock to her flat bearing cookies and poems,
To lure her to come out and frolic.

Woodchuck, marmot and whistley pig.
The names are far and ranging,
But the wise, prophetic Groundhog,
will decide if the seasons are a’changin’.

But the Shadow was missing, she was half of a whole,
So Groundhog bundled up and raced into the night,
To search all of Edinburgh - pub to pub,
She’d make Shadow realize her plight.

Groundhog trudged on in the misty damp,
Her face defeated, now wrought and pale,
Wandered into one last pub for the evening,

And there sat the Shadow downing his ale.

*

Hardly believing she’d found him at last,
She accosted him with words of abuse,
But the Shadow nodded, smiled and giggled,
The drink had made him rather obtuse.

“But it’s February first!” cried the Groundhog alarmed,
“You must see the the obligations to which you are bound!”
She shook him sternly by the collar,
The Shadow grunted and ordered another round.

He slid down a glass towards Groundhog distraught,
And gave it a nod with adoring admiration,
Groundhog, she sighed, wrung her paws together
And downed it in her frustration.

February Second came long and at last,
The crowd gathered waiting with fear.
Their foreheads were damp, their voices shook,
Wondering if Spring was near.

They knocked and they hollered,
They hollered and knocked, but Groundhog appear she did not,
For she had drowned herself in bucket loads of beer,
And quite frankly had just plumb forgot.

But then this woman walks in. We’ll refer to her from henceforth as SOB, an acronym which will becoming glaringly clear in all too short a time. She’s carrying with her two sweaters. One, a size medium, she has already purchased via the catalog. She has picked up a small today to see if it fits better. Reasonable enough. SOB comes out of her fitting room and calls me over to evaluate the sweater in size small. It is a black, snap-button, three quarter length sweater/blouse with about four layers of white lacy ruffles regaling the front of it. Not gonna lie (to you, Dear Reader), it’s fondly grabbing at her chubby bits on her stomach. Of course such comments as these are not helpful to the consumer. Instead, I inquire about her comfort level and whether or not she can breathe.

“Okay, well let me just show you the medium too, so we (yes, WE, we are a team now, it seems.) can compare. Let’s see… yes, now, here’s the medium…” And before I can utter the happy two syllable word that is universally understood all over the world as a word of assent and agreement, before I have the blessed two second opportunity to leave the room, in a flurry of white ruffles, button snaps and wrinkly skin, SOB has WHIPPED off her shirt. What presents itself to my eyes, what is now seared into my retinas is the the sight of SOB: SAGGY. OLD. BOOBS. (hurrah more google hits!). SOB has apparently discarded the idea of wearing underwear all together. I tremble at the thought of her trying on trousers. The thoughts running through my head are in large capital letters, perhaps in a lovely shade of vermillion: “MY EYES!!!! MY EYESSSS!!! WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU NOT WAIT UNTIL ME AND MY PRECIOUS, ONCE YOUNG, FUNCTIONING AND VIVACIOUS EYES HAVE LEFT THE FITTING ROOM!??!?!!? WHY, WHY SOB?!?! WHY?!?!”

I gather my eyeballs up from the floor of the fitting room, fit them rather hastily and uncomfortably back into my head and turn and shuffle from the vicinity, rather scarred and taken aback. SOB leaves a few minutes later, but not before thanking me for my enlightening, wonderful assistance.

Lesson of the day is: Chances are, those jeans that you’re trying on? That adorably cute top that you just brought home? SOB tried it on, danced around the fitting room a bit and she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Wash your clothes, Dear Reader, wash your clothes. Her chariots could not have swung much lower without falling into the ocean.

I took a typical Japanese style tour with four friends all around Hokkaido last year. It was unbelievable and I saw far more snow than I ever imagined existed in Japan (the land of Sweat, Swamp-Ass, Humidity, Fish and Mayo). Japanese tours are fun in that they pretty much solely involve the following: viking meals (i.e.- you stuff yourself Silly with succulent, savory TRULY OISHII food), lazing on buses, over-garrulous tour-guides speaking in a language you only mildly comprehend and taking group photographs in front of signs stating exactly and precisely where you are. So with that in mind, I give you Hokkaido’s Snow Festival 2008.

Snow Festival - Hokkaido, Japan from Nicole Cleary on Vimeo.

This is something I have yet to run into myself, despite feeling at times that I live on the F train. I do hope that he’s all right…

Polyethylene Bag from Alex Itin on Vimeo.

And on a Happier Note. NY in slow motion (something hardened NYers never experience since we move at the speed of light):

New York 2008 from Vicente Sahuc on Vimeo.

Time Lapse Round One from Sean Stiegemeier on Vimeo.

And this is fantastic because it’s exactly how I see the world without my contacts/glasses.

Off Union from MNiro on Vimeo.

You Put The ☞ “FUN” ☜ in Adventure Central! ☂ from Karen Abad loves Dinosaurs. on Vimeo.

John Cleese Twitters

I’m not as timely this year as I would have liked to have been, but here is 2009’s poetry contribution for this lovely holiday. I looked to Edward Lear’s children’s poem for inspiration. The title of which I don’t want to type out because I already get enough spam on this blog as it is. Click it if ye feel so inclined.

Here are last year’s and the previous year’s contributions.

The Shadow’s Sweet Tooth

The Groundhog and his Shadow lived together
In a burrow snug as can be;
They ate and slept, and records they kept
Whilst studying winter meteorology.

And so Groundhog came back, treats in a sack,
Guilty for neglecting his duty, forsooth
Shadow forgot his rage, his anger assuaged
For indeed he had a sweet tooth
Sweet tooth
Indeed he had a sweet tooth.

Her Morning Elegance By Oren Lavie from firstladypatate on Vimeo.

And oh yes, don’t forget to blink.

This is Japan! from Eric Testroete on Vimeo.

I’m going to let my eyes rest a minute and then watch it again.