Comments In The Kitchen 2
Michael-Everyone has a little baby inside. 5/24/01
Michael-I wonder if someone in the world really is named Sponge Bob? 6/9/01
Jon- Thatís why Mrs. Billingís tv is always loud-Why? Because of the train in the air. 8/18/01
Jon- I love you what made me. 9/25/01
Jon- I wished you could eat with your ears. 12/3/01
Jon- Why does the potty like to eat poops? 1/6/02
Jon- After the kisses Iíll give you the money. 1/7/02
Jon- I donít want birthdays because they make you older and bigger. 1/10/02
Mike- People need to talk otherwise their mouths will get dried out. 1/14/02
Mike- Mama, snowflakes look how people really think. 1/17/02
Jon- First I thought salsa and taco sauce were the horrible mean bad guys of food. 1/20/02
Jon- I want that white drink that tastes like furniture (milk). 2/2/02
Jon- I wish there was no such thing as dead. Mike- heís got the same thing as me. 2/11/02
Jon- Mom, why do you still love me even though I said some bad words? 2/14/02
Jon- I wish we were made out of Legos. 2/28/02
Jon- I wish there was no such thing as game over. 3/5/02
Jon- (While looking at his own 4yr old feet). Feet look ugly. 3/19/02
Mike- She needs music to survive (about me). 4/3/02
Jon- The bigger you are the harder your nose is. 5/9/02
Jon- That Liam next to NYC (Tessaís), he actually has a book called Everybody Poops. 6/13/02
Jon- It was such a good party that everybody left everything. 6/4/02
Jon- That was a dangerous donut. It was squirting Mike in the face. 6/9/02
Jon- When I grow up I want to be a fish studier. 6/10/02
Mike- I donít feel so good- Why? I was spinning and I forgot to unwind. 8/2/02
Mike- (Sniffing Espresso)- Eew. It smells like it punched me in the nose. 8/8/02
Jon- Do bugs puke? 8/27/02
Jon- Today at Wheelock Gathering I got to see the Princess of Bus 14. 9/13/02
Jon- You have to try until you die. 9/19/02        
Contributed by a not-too-concerned parent-Mary Fridmann 9/19/02

I caught an alien once,
yes, I caught it by the thumb.
He was running around the kitchen
Acting really dumb.
I stopped him to ask
Just what the deal might be
He just told me "ookamookawee!"
Then he took my hand
And led me to a chair
Where he proceeded
To tangle up my hair.
He told me that my head
Was totally out of sync
And then much to my surprise
He threw it in the sink!
Once I awoke
In this very messed up pain
The alien was gone
And so was my brain.
Now I walk backwards
With sunglasses for eyes
For you see I did not have
The brains to yell "COMPROMISE!"

Aliens Replaced My Brain With A Human-Alien Hybrid! (I think he was confused) Anyhow, I was sitting there watching Big Brother 3, eating pringles, drinking beer, (indulging) when a bug-eyed Grey pops out from behind the couch. God knows how long heíd been back there, he looked as if he just woke up and blinked at me for a second.
ďGet the fuck outta here you little maggot.Ē I hate those things. To make matters worse, he looked really dumb, not the why-do-humans-cry-so-much kind of dumb but the are-you-a-human-or-a-circus-peanut kind of dumb (the most annoying kind of dumb). Somehow he figures out that I am NOT a circus peanut and proceeds to put the hex on me. At first I donít think heís strong enough and nearly break his eye lock for long enough to grab another beer when WHAM! heís got me.
Now Iím screwed.
I have no idea what his plan is and just pray he has that grace-saving ability to wipe out all memory. Moving very quickly, this little thing is all over me. I have no idea what heís doing, heís searching for something. Heís looking under my arms, in my ears, my bellybutton (he smells like old onions and wet dog, gross). Next thing I know, heís got this wiggling thing in his hand and heís trying to shove it up my nose. For some reason I canít feel a thing which is good because this thing is the size of a rubber halloween mask. Jeez, heís in some kind of hurry, Iíve never seen one go this fast! Heís stuffing so hard my head is whacking back and forth on the back of the couch, still canít feel a thing, but there are pringles everywhere, nice. Now, Iím really pissed and struggling like hell until finally heís got the whole thing stuck up my nose.
Iím thinking, What the hell is that thing I hope itís not some kind of new fangled mental probe kind of thing thatís going to
make me...when all of a sudden I get it. Heís put an† alien-human fetus in my head. This is bad.
In a matter of milliseconds, alien asshole has all the pringles stuffed into his tiny line of a mouth, (at least I donít have to clean that up) and then heís gone. Just gone.
I shake myself out of the trance and go to the kitchen, I need food. For some reason, strawberry jelly mixed up with raw eggs and poured over wet cat food sounds good to me (luckily I have all the ingredients).
From Sara Pulver

My chocolate mouth flower,
hold your teeth and laugh.
Goddess of aboriginal love,
returning like a dream-faced boomerang...
I see you driving cars in all directions,
stopping at view spots
chewing gum to radio songs of love.
Sara, oh Sara! Ask the question:
How high is heaven?
And why does the blossom fall?
Just donít touch the doorknob
or kiss a dying dog.
Find a regular job
and work on your art
and everything will be alright.
I live among empty rooms
of dust moldy clothes and beeswax.
Itís way too quiet
when breath has an echo
and curtains hang limp.
I only met you once
you were sitting on the ground.
I stood over you in a straw hat and scars.
I walked off with a sketch and address.
Eight years later Iíd lick your hand
if I could always call you friend
of my fingers,
Queen of my heart.

A love letter to you.


post script: Can't wait to see you on friday.
phil broikos

Dear all the names that are nice,
dear owner of list and labels...
a thousand names on both sides of the door.
I reach up and touch six of them that rhyme with candy and cookies.
I peel them off the door.
Well, my little lip spider,
well, names of food I like,
with the alphabet stretched
between lips and toes,
I weave in linen thread
on homemade boxes of silk
the whispered name in the hallway
that floats in bottles of milk.
The name, quiet and shy on the phone
bold poet on paper
a bandaged word for the broken hearted,
old and wise in gypsy ways
I love the things you say.