I am Miguel Tejada,
brought to San Francisco to help an organization.
Some moves had to be made for us to get back on track,
hopefully.
He was given an opportunity.
Did it turn out the way we wanted to in the end?
Obviously not.
But it's time for both parties to move on.
I just thank them for the opportunity.
We didn't know who, or when it was coming.
At some point something had to be done.
It just did not happen.
I am Miguel Tejada,
designated for assignment.
I AM AARON ROWAND
I wish things would have turned out differently.
I wish things would have gone better.
I think it's probably the right move for both parties...
I think we knew eventually it was coming.
This team needed some changes.
I'm not going out here taking parting shots,
And wish each and every one of them the best.
We felt this was the right time to set them free.
We appreciate their efforts.
I am Aaron Rowand,
designated for assignment.
Direct quotes made by SF Giants taken from ESPN.com and SFGate.com coverage.
POOL PARTY
We were invited to a pool party.
An email went around.
Burgers and beer would be served.
If you can, please bring a side dish,
the email said.
On our way to the pool party
we stopped at Mollie’s for
some chips and salsa.
We grabbed a chip bag and contemplated
the other guests.
What if there already are tortilla chips?
We could get salsa.
We could get Circus Animal cookies.
And so we did.
Also, a 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
When we got to the pool party,
no one answered the door.
There was noise coming from the backyard, the sound of
splashing from the pool.
I tried the gate but it was nailed shut,
so we decided to knock
before letting ourselves in.
Truth be told, we were late for the pool party,
beyond fashionably.
The pool party was from 12-4,
and we showed up well after three.
Near the entry of the house of the pool party,
bags of clothes were strewn about.
We stepped over them toward the kitchen.
Through glass doors I could see
the backyard filled
with people by this point,
most of whom were in the pool.
We didn’t bring suits to the pool party.
We thought we’d be too late, and
to be honest, I didn’t want to swim.
I wanted to drink PBR and
maybe eat a little something.
Now, however, in the backyard of the pool party,
shaking the hands with guests,
surveying the situation, living it,
I wish I had brought my suit.
I mean, I can drink a cold beer from a can
and stand in a pool of water at the same time.
Instead, at the pool party,
I ate quickly and drank quicker:
Burgers and chips and pie and ice cream.
PBR after PBR.
I moved to the corner of the pool party
to get into shade.
I took my shoes off and sat at the pool's edge.
I was partway in —
The water was cool and nice, and some folks swam by to introduce themselves.
At the pool party,
there were two-pieces
and black and white baggy trunks.
Geometric shapes
and floral printed patterns.
Back hair and long hair
and pasted down curly wet hair.
I was partyway out.
Someone at the pool party said, This water is merky.
I swilled back a quarter of the can in hand.
Do you know Joe Pytka? someone asked swimming to another topic before a response.
I drank another quarter down.
My brother designed a spiky chair,
I'm drinking.
I had my fantasy football draft yesterday,
I bring the can back up.
I have a 75-year old physicist as a client,
the rest is spit.
It was a pleasure attending the pool party,
thank you for having us.
An email went around.
Burgers and beer would be served.
If you can, please bring a side dish,
the email said.
On our way to the pool party
we stopped at Mollie’s for
some chips and salsa.
We grabbed a chip bag and contemplated
the other guests.
What if there already are tortilla chips?
We could get salsa.
We could get Circus Animal cookies.
And so we did.
Also, a 12 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
When we got to the pool party,
no one answered the door.
There was noise coming from the backyard, the sound of
splashing from the pool.
I tried the gate but it was nailed shut,
so we decided to knock
before letting ourselves in.
Truth be told, we were late for the pool party,
beyond fashionably.
The pool party was from 12-4,
and we showed up well after three.
Near the entry of the house of the pool party,
bags of clothes were strewn about.
We stepped over them toward the kitchen.
Through glass doors I could see
the backyard filled
with people by this point,
most of whom were in the pool.
We didn’t bring suits to the pool party.
We thought we’d be too late, and
to be honest, I didn’t want to swim.
I wanted to drink PBR and
maybe eat a little something.
Now, however, in the backyard of the pool party,
shaking the hands with guests,
surveying the situation, living it,
I wish I had brought my suit.
I mean, I can drink a cold beer from a can
and stand in a pool of water at the same time.
Instead, at the pool party,
I ate quickly and drank quicker:
Burgers and chips and pie and ice cream.
PBR after PBR.
I moved to the corner of the pool party
to get into shade.
I took my shoes off and sat at the pool's edge.
I was partway in —
The water was cool and nice, and some folks swam by to introduce themselves.
At the pool party,
there were two-pieces
and black and white baggy trunks.
Geometric shapes
and floral printed patterns.
Back hair and long hair
and pasted down curly wet hair.
I was partyway out.
Someone at the pool party said, This water is merky.
I swilled back a quarter of the can in hand.
Do you know Joe Pytka? someone asked swimming to another topic before a response.
I drank another quarter down.
My brother designed a spiky chair,
I'm drinking.
I had my fantasy football draft yesterday,
I bring the can back up.
I have a 75-year old physicist as a client,
the rest is spit.
It was a pleasure attending the pool party,
thank you for having us.
BEE STINGS AND BANANA SLUGS
Up earlier than usual,
I take Heidi for a walk.
The world is vacant,
we had it to ourselves.
We walked a familiar street,
up the hill we know so well.
Stairs lead
to the street
that takes us to
our private park.
Placed in a pocket,
jammed into the let, and
cupped into the palm
of the hand,
the park is ours.
Heidi squatted,
like she does,
the park was, you see
also her bathroom.
So, with a bag,
I go to pick it up
(a dog owner's main objective)
when I'm shocked,
no wait, stung
by a bee.
Shot like a shotgun,
the bee got me
behind the ear.
I felt it
before I say it:
Jesus.
Fuck me.
I swat
and spin around,
and come
face to wrist
with the accomplice.
Black and gold and,
Is it dead?
I knock it off.
It hurts, oh it still hurts.
I looked down
and notice
another shade of gold,
a yellow, turd-like finger,
a slow moving,
Banana Slug.
I take Heidi for a walk.
The world is vacant,
we had it to ourselves.
We walked a familiar street,
up the hill we know so well.
Stairs lead
to the street
that takes us to
our private park.
Placed in a pocket,
jammed into the let, and
cupped into the palm
of the hand,
the park is ours.
Heidi squatted,
like she does,
the park was, you see
also her bathroom.
So, with a bag,
I go to pick it up
(a dog owner's main objective)
when I'm shocked,
no wait, stung
by a bee.
Shot like a shotgun,
the bee got me
behind the ear.
I felt it
before I say it:
Jesus.
Fuck me.
I swat
and spin around,
and come
face to wrist
with the accomplice.
Black and gold and,
Is it dead?
I knock it off.
It hurts, oh it still hurts.
I looked down
and notice
another shade of gold,
a yellow, turd-like finger,
a slow moving,
Banana Slug.
ON MY WAY TO WORK
The knob is locked,
And the door shut tight.
I make sure of this before I turn
past the statue
of Saint Francis.
I hop up the stone steps
to get to street level.
A car comes quick
—you hear em before you see em.
I let it pass before I start
down the sidewalk
toward 7-11.
Another car passes,
opposite direction this time,
an old man goes home as I
head to work.
I wait for the signal to change
at a crosswalk, then I walk.
On the other side
there’s a shortcut I’ve been taking lately
—a jagged path down the dirt hillside.
The path’s quite steep and my shoes,
my shoes are slick and made for skating,
my laptop’s under my arm, and
the headphones are in.
When I slip, I fall
all the way back.
The angle isn’t much—
A mere forty-five degrees.
My free hand’s hits first,
then the middle of back;
my forearm falls flat
on the ground.
As I get up and pat myself off,
I hear someone laugh,
but can’t make out who—
perhaps it’s all in my headphones.
I walk off as if nothing happened, and
if you saw me just after you might
think I was just dusty
While I realize this:
There are shortcuts in life,
but sometimes they
dust you up.
And the door shut tight.
I make sure of this before I turn
past the statue
of Saint Francis.
I hop up the stone steps
to get to street level.
A car comes quick
—you hear em before you see em.
I let it pass before I start
down the sidewalk
toward 7-11.
Another car passes,
opposite direction this time,
an old man goes home as I
head to work.
I wait for the signal to change
at a crosswalk, then I walk.
On the other side
there’s a shortcut I’ve been taking lately
—a jagged path down the dirt hillside.
The path’s quite steep and my shoes,
my shoes are slick and made for skating,
my laptop’s under my arm, and
the headphones are in.
When I slip, I fall
all the way back.
The angle isn’t much—
A mere forty-five degrees.
My free hand’s hits first,
then the middle of back;
my forearm falls flat
on the ground.
As I get up and pat myself off,
I hear someone laugh,
but can’t make out who—
perhaps it’s all in my headphones.
I walk off as if nothing happened, and
if you saw me just after you might
think I was just dusty
While I realize this:
There are shortcuts in life,
but sometimes they
dust you up.
TWO BLUE TOWELS
Oh no.
I noticed we’re using the same towel.
Both are blue and in the bathroom.
I washed my face and now I’m
looking at these two towels
in front of the shower.
Water drips from my face,
There’s soap even on my neck and
around my jaw.
I rinsed, so
It’s not like I’m blinded
Still, I don’t know which towel you’d
want me to use.
I took a shower early this morning and
used one of these terrycloth towels
that’s within arms reach.
It’s not as if they’re exactly the same,
but they are a similar faded sky
blue.
We’re a lot alike, you and me,
like these towels, I think, as I let my face to dry
Naturally.
We make a pair
like these towels.
Not a perfect match,
But one and one is two.
I’ve been blue,
and I know you have too.
Not like these towels.
Just sad sometimes, I mean.
Damp. We’ve both been that, too.
Just like these towels still seem to be.
Inseparable these towels seem .
Someone left these towels in my possession,
I think, as I my face becomes not that wet.
you don’t claim them to be yours at all,
then why are you using one then?
These towels are ours now.
That’s a funny thing to say.
We have things that belong to us.
Not mine, not yours,
They both belong to both of us.
So why do I stand here using neither of them?
Just thinking of these two blue towels
I’ve let me face become dry.
I noticed we’re using the same towel.
Both are blue and in the bathroom.
I washed my face and now I’m
looking at these two towels
in front of the shower.
Water drips from my face,
There’s soap even on my neck and
around my jaw.
I rinsed, so
It’s not like I’m blinded
Still, I don’t know which towel you’d
want me to use.
I took a shower early this morning and
used one of these terrycloth towels
that’s within arms reach.
It’s not as if they’re exactly the same,
but they are a similar faded sky
blue.
We’re a lot alike, you and me,
like these towels, I think, as I let my face to dry
Naturally.
We make a pair
like these towels.
Not a perfect match,
But one and one is two.
I’ve been blue,
and I know you have too.
Not like these towels.
Just sad sometimes, I mean.
Damp. We’ve both been that, too.
Just like these towels still seem to be.
Inseparable these towels seem .
Someone left these towels in my possession,
I think, as I my face becomes not that wet.
you don’t claim them to be yours at all,
then why are you using one then?
These towels are ours now.
That’s a funny thing to say.
We have things that belong to us.
Not mine, not yours,
They both belong to both of us.
So why do I stand here using neither of them?
Just thinking of these two blue towels
I’ve let me face become dry.
RETURN POLICY
I returned merchandise when I was young. That was my thing. Past 30 days, without a receipt, with no packaging, I was successful at taking things back.
Target was my favorite store. Their return policy was generous. My identification was innocence and white. My teeth were more crooked, my hair was blonder.
It started with a cordless phone. I was ten when I got one for my room. It didn’t come with everything. I wanted a new one. I waited in line by myself and Target exchanged it for me.
I became comfortable at the counter, and returned Gameboys games, electronic organizers, house fans, and watches I had. I got cash back and store credit. I was confident then, and became fearless at the customer service desk.
My dad doesn’t follow instructions like this. He can over react. Things break and words fly. When he wanted to watch TV without paying for it, he tried to install a coaxial cable to the antenna on the roof. He figured he could, so he bought the cable from the RadioShack up the street. He screwed one end of the cable to the TV. And on the roof, he forced the other into something wasn’t supposed to. He forced it. That paper clip wire inside got mangled to a curly cue, and then it broke off. Words dropped from the roof, and there was more yelling back inside. He asked me to return it for him, and said I could keep the money.
We grew up with RadioShack toys. I had a remote control 4X4 Big Foot. Rechargeable batteries. My brother and I had headphones, a boombox, a Walkman, handheld games, and all with batteries. The nice old lady that manages the franchise worked there a career. She was a pro, taking my information, my phone number. I had the receipt but she wanted the story.
I mentioned that the cable was too short and the wrong color. She wanted to talk to my father, so she dialed the number I gave her. I watched and waited. Dad picked up, and she asked him what happened. She held the phone for me to hear my father on the other end of the line.
The words, “my son, stupid as he is,” have long been quoted in the retelling this story. There was no mention of his faulty installation practices, or Dad’s lack of coaxial understanding.
I got the cash back. My dad called Jones Intercable, and had them install cable. It was immediately canceled when he noticed he could use their cable for the antenna, and my home didn’t have pay-TV again until I was in college, when my grandparents moved in.
Target was my favorite store. Their return policy was generous. My identification was innocence and white. My teeth were more crooked, my hair was blonder.
It started with a cordless phone. I was ten when I got one for my room. It didn’t come with everything. I wanted a new one. I waited in line by myself and Target exchanged it for me.
I became comfortable at the counter, and returned Gameboys games, electronic organizers, house fans, and watches I had. I got cash back and store credit. I was confident then, and became fearless at the customer service desk.
My dad doesn’t follow instructions like this. He can over react. Things break and words fly. When he wanted to watch TV without paying for it, he tried to install a coaxial cable to the antenna on the roof. He figured he could, so he bought the cable from the RadioShack up the street. He screwed one end of the cable to the TV. And on the roof, he forced the other into something wasn’t supposed to. He forced it. That paper clip wire inside got mangled to a curly cue, and then it broke off. Words dropped from the roof, and there was more yelling back inside. He asked me to return it for him, and said I could keep the money.
We grew up with RadioShack toys. I had a remote control 4X4 Big Foot. Rechargeable batteries. My brother and I had headphones, a boombox, a Walkman, handheld games, and all with batteries. The nice old lady that manages the franchise worked there a career. She was a pro, taking my information, my phone number. I had the receipt but she wanted the story.
I mentioned that the cable was too short and the wrong color. She wanted to talk to my father, so she dialed the number I gave her. I watched and waited. Dad picked up, and she asked him what happened. She held the phone for me to hear my father on the other end of the line.
The words, “my son, stupid as he is,” have long been quoted in the retelling this story. There was no mention of his faulty installation practices, or Dad’s lack of coaxial understanding.
I got the cash back. My dad called Jones Intercable, and had them install cable. It was immediately canceled when he noticed he could use their cable for the antenna, and my home didn’t have pay-TV again until I was in college, when my grandparents moved in.
TIPPER & LEO
Of the recurring characters
from the childhood stories my dad told
there is one I know the origin of
Carved in the wood of a gazebo
near the snack bar of the swimming pool
where my father and his brother went
were three names their fingers found
SIG
ALPO
LEO
Names of some juveniles
from another town
in another time,
a far away place
A bond was formed,
their friendships made this trio
excited this day, I imagine
in the middle of a summer month
young and innocent,
becoming
One of them brought a knife,
or maybe got out a key.
It was one of their ideas to leave their mark
their first names in the wooden post of that place
and the others who went along with it
It was that instigator—the way I see,
that brought the blade, and
who handed it to the others
that was the last
to lay his own name down
LEO
His true friend, however
the way my father told it
isn’t mentioned in graffiti
but is clearly
in the stories
that my father told
me and my brother.
His name was Tipper.
from the childhood stories my dad told
there is one I know the origin of
Carved in the wood of a gazebo
near the snack bar of the swimming pool
where my father and his brother went
were three names their fingers found
SIG
ALPO
LEO
Names of some juveniles
from another town
in another time,
a far away place
A bond was formed,
their friendships made this trio
excited this day, I imagine
in the middle of a summer month
young and innocent,
becoming
One of them brought a knife,
or maybe got out a key.
It was one of their ideas to leave their mark
their first names in the wooden post of that place
and the others who went along with it
It was that instigator—the way I see,
that brought the blade, and
who handed it to the others
that was the last
to lay his own name down
LEO
His true friend, however
the way my father told it
isn’t mentioned in graffiti
but is clearly
in the stories
that my father told
me and my brother.
His name was Tipper.
HOW IT STARTED
I started documenting what I was doing. That’s not entirely true. I’d embellish some things because what's happening isn't all that interesting. That’s how it started. I’d do something at work and then turn around and write about it — me as the character I. For example, my new supervisor told me of a policy the company had that I wasn’t aware of — chain of command communication. I missed telling someone something, or I told the wrong person something in the wrong order. I listened to her and nodded my head and said, “Oh, OK, that makes sense.” She turned around and made an excuse for not being able to finish this conversation at this point in time and return to her office, and I, in turn, went to an empty word document and embellish the story into an insubordination of sorts, where the disagreements, lead to plotting, and arguments, and undressing, and where the situation resolved with me storming out early for the day, heading to the cantina, getting drunk, and returning the next day with a real chip on my shoulder. That’s how it started.
RUNNING TO THE CLOUDS
When you come to,
it’s dark but clear
like a Herman Miller Aeron Chair,
True Black
Subsurface heat is meets
the cold
refreshing air
And you’re like a baby,
disoriented
cranky,
and naked
You feel a vibration
that’s in that space
behind your surgically removed
wisdom teeth
Without thinking about it
too much
you’re sitting up
on top of your sheet-covered rock
Feet feel
hard on the ground
Your greeted by
the animal who slept there
she jumps into your
not-ready lap
Look into her eyes,
they match
the fog that’s outside,
and your mood
Walk down to the water
where land ends and relief begins
this is the clearest view
of the top
Without knowing it right off
and perhaps too quickly
—you rushed to ready—
you start running
to the clouds
There’s a drizzle
rain, that’s not really falling,
just there in the air
stopped in time
and in space,
captured in trees
you see
as you ascent
You go for miles
up,
it isn’t easy
When you get there
you find a stack
of firewood—
the murderous remains of the lumberjack
Your pores open and feel new entry
As you descent,
to where you started
Home, where you’re heated
by the warmth of the stove,
which runs on natural gas
it’s dark but clear
like a Herman Miller Aeron Chair,
True Black
Subsurface heat is meets
the cold
refreshing air
And you’re like a baby,
disoriented
cranky,
and naked
You feel a vibration
that’s in that space
behind your surgically removed
wisdom teeth
Without thinking about it
too much
you’re sitting up
on top of your sheet-covered rock
Feet feel
hard on the ground
Your greeted by
the animal who slept there
she jumps into your
not-ready lap
Look into her eyes,
they match
the fog that’s outside,
and your mood
Walk down to the water
where land ends and relief begins
this is the clearest view
of the top
Without knowing it right off
and perhaps too quickly
—you rushed to ready—
you start running
to the clouds
There’s a drizzle
rain, that’s not really falling,
just there in the air
stopped in time
and in space,
captured in trees
you see
as you ascent
You go for miles
up,
it isn’t easy
When you get there
you find a stack
of firewood—
the murderous remains of the lumberjack
Your pores open and feel new entry
As you descent,
to where you started
Home, where you’re heated
by the warmth of the stove,
which runs on natural gas
NOT HERE
That singer is not here
The one that sings the song
That's in your head all the time
The garden is not here
That patch of soil you cleared and planted
Those seeds you worry about
The buIlding is not here
the latest design project
that's not quite finished
The girl is not here
The one I kissed
that I told you about
The bed is here, and
The blanket that covers us
that creates our world underneath
The one that sings the song
That's in your head all the time
The garden is not here
That patch of soil you cleared and planted
Those seeds you worry about
The buIlding is not here
the latest design project
that's not quite finished
The girl is not here
The one I kissed
that I told you about
The bed is here, and
The blanket that covers us
that creates our world underneath
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)