thanks to ondemand hbo style, to a sister that has cable and a small case of insomnia i saw the first three episodes of "Big Love" last night. just in case you don't know, "Big Love" is the new hbo series about a mormon's life with his three wives and seven children. like every hbo series i have thus seen, (six feet under, sopranos, carnival, and sex and the city) i enjoy the originality of it and am intrigued to see more. while watching it though, i kept finding myself getting frustrated. three wives all fighting for their husbands attention, naturally fighting and only getting upset at one another, never really getting mad at their husband. it was as though none of them wanted to bring up issues that needed to be addressed in their relationship almost in fear of making him mad. the only wife who seemed to have the balls to say anything in a straight forward, truthful manner (not trying to manipulate him with lies) was the oldest wife. i think the hardest thing for me to watch was the women always competing with one another and how that (in a way) was keeping them oppressed (this situation i saw the most between the two younger wives). but the frustration that i got from watching wasn't a bad thing, it made me think more about balances in relationships. the only complaint with what i have seen so far is the sexual focus of the relationships between the three wives and their one husband and the lack of the other dynamics of relationships. at one point i remember thinking that "Big Love" should be renamed "Big Sex," it was so fixated on the subject. but then again it is hbo.
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Garage Sale. Saturday.
I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills.
A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch,
some plastic daffodils,
the cutlery and coffee cups I stole from all-night restaurants,
a sense of wonder (only slightly used),
a year of two to haunt you in the dark,
a wage-slave forty-hour work week
(weighs a thousand kilograms, so bend you knees)
comes with a free fake smile for all your dumb demands,
the cordless razor that my father bought when I turned 17,
a puke-green sofa, the outline to a complicated dream of dignity,
and a laugh (too loud and too long).
For a place where awkward belongs,
or a phone call from far away with a "Hi, how are you today",
and a sign that recovery come to broken ones.
Or best offer.
2 comments:
love the poem, keep expressing and sharing.
i think i should clarify; i ain't no poet. but i do listen to the weakerthans! :-)
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