Shari.com: As Abandoned as a Yat

Today, or what I've seen of it so far (ah sleep), was troggless due to chasing Jeremiah Cassidy. Jeremiah was born around 1790 in Pennsylvania, executed his brother's will in Kentucky in 1815, seemingly wandered on to Illinois with his children in 1830, and then he goes smack-dab missing for thirty years, eventually turning up again in Arkansas in a son's house, then a daughter's, then presumably dying after 1870.

Where were you, Jerry? And are your parents really Nelly and Daniel? And when will I stop typing "David Cassidy" into the search engine?

Today I also learned about the yat, a letter in the old Russian alphabet. (I also learned about the Russian spelling revolution that more or less coincided with its better known political one.) Then I learned about the Rusyn language. This led to learning about Rusyns. Later, I made tacos.

As Mike types away tonight on his reviews (he needs a masthead already), I've gone hunting for worthy writing exercises that I can do as penance for not wanting to drive to the store. (Our neighbourhood may or may not be in the middle of a "crime wave," so no more walks to the store after dark until we all know whether the alleged leaders have really been caught. Yeah, that's a post in itself, and the title would be "I Fucking Hate Fucking Taggers. And Rap." Just FYI.) So, Mike, not being a fan of vegetarian taco "meat," is simply not eating tonight until he can psych himself up for a can of soup. I guess he's on the "I Have a Mean Wife" plan. Maybe he will review it later!

This exercise looks interesting. Let's try it! (If you really do try it, feel free to put answers or links in the comments.) You're not supposed to spend more than five minutes on the first part. (Good luck with that.)

My responses for Step 1:

as blue as the pebble of sapphire in a young girl's promise ring
as rough as a 9 a.m. walk to Space Mountain
as lonely as a Band-aid in winter
as tall as three monkeys in a raincoat
as talkative as two empty-handed bookworms in the backseat
as eager as a first grader wearing half her fairy costume
crying like a tall glass of ice tea in August
praying like a teacher calling roll
reliable as a man standing next to a police officer
as expensive as other people's dirt
as mad as a little sister in the distance
milling around like marbles on a china plate
common as toes
regular as hamburger commercials
as pretty as a waiting lily
as reluctant as a sated cow
as smooth as socks on linoleum
as quick as the delivery truck when you're not home
running like a windmill
creeping like a minute-hand
as loud as the last class in June
as nervous as an empty chair
as green as an apothecary's bottle
as angular as a cut-up kite
as mellow as an outbred poodle
as sure as a slap in the face
shaking like a damp rat
as rich as toothpaste magnates
as perky as ponytails
growing like a clutter drawer

Step 2:

"Select six or eight of the most satisfactory similes you just created, and and mix them up. That is, move words from the right side of the like or as and connect them with the words on the left side from another line."

Their example is that if you say as common as dirt and as rich as Bill Gates, now you will say as common as Bill Gates or as rich as dirt.

I agree that the mixups are technically more provoking, but... okay, I'll just shut up and do it.

as green as other people's dirt
as expensive as three monkeys in a raincoat
as tall as glass of ice tea in August
crying like a minute-hand
as smooth as an apothecary's bottle
creeping like socks on linoleum

Step 3:

What? Now I'm supposed to turn this into a poem? No wonder kids hate English. Arrrgh. Maybe Mike will stop typing and want to go swimming. Maybe it's time for soup. Sigh. Okay, I'll be a good sport, but I'm not spending more than 240 seconds on it. (That will be my defense, and it will also be a lie.)

{flourish}

Mike's wearing that shirt
as green as other people's dirt
while he types at full throttle,
smooth as an apothecary's bottle,
I keep slacking off around him,
creeping like socks on linoleum,
crunching my tacos of digust
   you know they're
   as tall as
   a glass of tea in August
Some hammie's crying like a minute hand
(We've got our own nine-piece rodent band)
But I'm glad we're playing critic and poet -
   it's not as expensive as
   three monkeys
   in a raincoa't.

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