Do you read E over at *E* Deconstructed? She happens to be one of the brightest (as evidenced by a spate of recent impressive test results) most adorable (as evidenced by her occasional photo posts) bloggers in the either. Her taste is impeccable.

And she just gave me this here award.

Thank you, my dear. What a nice thing. I’m from the Midwest and graciously accepting a compliment is not something we’re very good at. Being comfortable with a compliment is a sure sign that you have grown haughty, so this is difficult for me but thank you.

As is required by law and as part of my budding participation in Buddhism I, in turn, award this prestigious honor to the following people who provide a seemingly endless stream of entertaining prose. If you wish, feel free to pass it on to others who are equally deserving.

daisy fae who is, after all, my blogmother.

nurse myra, who teaches me about medical things that you won’t learn in any University.

nuttycow, who was one of my first regular readers and the first person to correspond with me off line.

jo, who makes me wish the Themes Thames was outside my window.

fwengebola: Is it okay to laugh at your misfortunes? Because I do.

anniegirl1138: Perspectives on the writing life.

a free man: life in Oz filtered through American eyes.

and

my newest discovery, fuck you, penguin. At least one laugh in every post.

Yesterday I did a short throw-away post about a sandwich I like to have for lunch. (See photo below.) I assumed it was pretty much an Ohio/Midwest thing that would nauseate anyone who wasn’t from that area. (It did!)

In today’s New York Times Dining section, there’s an article about the recent peanut butter contamination scare here in the U.S. In it, they interview a customer at Peanut Butter & Co., a Greenwich Village RESTAURANT whose menu is made up of PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICHES! The customer is quoted as saying:

Even pregnant, she had no qualms about the safety of her grilled peanut butter sandwich layered with honey and bananas. “I think if it wasn’t safe they wouldn’t be selling it,” she said. “Besides, I just really wanted a peanut butter sandwich.”

Hey! That’s MY sandwich! It’s called “The Elvis!” (See menu.) Awesome! I didn’t know it had a name. Yes, Sid, we Americans can’t seem to get enough peanut butter. Don’t fight it.

A lunchtime treat. Peanut butter, banana and honey on whole wheat bread with a tall glass of cold milk (milk not shown).

You are:

A. Nauseous

B. Jealous

You can take the boy out of Ohio, etc.

I got this idea from anniegirl1138. You’re supposed to post a poem today, February 2nd.

Charles Bukowski has a reputation (much of it self-manufactured and not wholly deserved if you ask me) of being a callous, drunken lout who hated women. Well, get a load of this beauty.

confession

waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed

I am so very sorry for
my wife

she will see this
stiff
white
body

shake it once, then
maybe
again:

“Hank!”

Hank
won’t answer.

it’s not my death that
worries me, it’s my wife
left with this
pile of nothing.

I want to
let her know
though
that all the nights
sleeping
beside her

even the useless
arguments
were things
ever splendid

and the hard
words
I ever feared to
say
can now be
said:

I love
you.