In Which Is Celebrated The Birthday Of A Legend

Know ye not it is Zzyzx's birthday now?
He goes, it's true, by other, common names,
Like David Steinberg, though I don't see how
That tells you more! Oh, how I miss our games,
The saying of the "Qwok," the strange road trips
To go watch Phish or other bands at play.
When'er the Muppet Show comes on, how skips
My heart - 'tis how we met on one fine day!
We had the greatest indoor soccer team,
And Plumb Awful the best band e'er at Bard.
When Spandex gave him knowledge in a dream
Of how mankind might be saved, though 'twas hard,
Did Zzyzx falter? No; the gospel spread!
The goldfish angel never shall be dead!

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Have A David Lynch Moment

At old beaudacious Bard, we used to say
Of those times when what happened got too weird,
One explanation only could hold sway;
One possibility 'mongst those that reared
Their heads could be the truth: that David Lynch
Was hiding in the room, mast'ring the scene.
The man who made Eraserhead to pinch
Our twenty-year-old brains, crafted the keen
Hilarity of that Blue Velvet flick,
And made of Dune a less coherent tale
(Though visually awesome) -- no mean trick --
Than Herbert did -- that David, without fail,
Had taken over the directorship
Of these, our lives, so suddenly a trip.

BUG WEEK: In Which I Share A (Sort Of) Secret

When I was young, e'en to my eighteenth year

I had a weakness easy to play on:

For nothing in the world gave me such fear

As insects, in the house, out on the lawn,

Once memorably in a campground sink -

Saturniid, there, I picture in my head.

The merest sight would make me scream. You'd think

Me stabbed. Now, "phobia" was never said

Though surely it was thought, as I could stand

A dragon- or a butterfly all right.

By college time it was, though, out of hand

And Bard is a most buggy place at night.

My cure? I took a course and learned each part

An insect has, and thereby lost my heart.