Tag Archives: Hotels

Less is More Advice

Being an accomplished white middle aged man in my sixties, it’s my burden to give advice to others especially when they don’t ask for it. They’re the ones who need my advice the most.

I was walking to work after stopping at Breadcraft for my tasty morning pastry and large iced coffee. Ordinarily I don’t see color. Like, seriously, this was the first time I ever saw a brown man on Church Street. He was walking towards me hugging a cardboard box to his chest, as if it held all his worldly possessions. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty and his hair was tussled, but not in a fashionable way like mine.

I always treat people with the respect they deserve so I told him, “Hey, you there, these possessions are weighing you down. You need to jettison them. Be fleet of foot and light of heart. Don’t chain yourself to meaningless things. They just slow you down. Oh, yeah, and get a job, okay?”

When I got to my office of many windows, where I can look down on the street people, I wondered. Do I follow my own advice? Am I weighed down by useless possessions? Of course not, I laughed. I don’t need that mountain house. I haven’t been there in 18 months. I’m perfectly happy with just my high-rise condo and my beach house. I could jettison that mountain home tomorrow. As for my Mercedes, I could get rid of that, no problem. I’d just drive my Range Rover or Lexus. And three girlfriends? I don’t need three. Becca’s a pain in the ass. I could jettison her tomorrow. In fact, let’s get started on that right now.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut.

Grease-Dipped Benjamins

Being an important, wealthy, and virile businessman, I frequently find myself in Washington, DC. I bring my banker, Titmouse Beak, and my lawyer, Treacherous Gulp, because I need to accomplish a lot in a short period of time. I also bring suitcases full of grease-dipped Benjamins. You can’t open doors on Capitol Hill without those. I’m joking, of course. No one uses cash anymore; all those transactions are done electronically, but you get my point.

Tuesday morning we were walking by Union Station towards the Capitol. You could smell fried legislative sausage everywhere. Treacherous, Tit, and I are prosperous middle-aged men, so we love watching people fight. We’ll pay fat stacks to see professionals brutalize each other and then bet larger sums on who will limp away and who will go to the hospital. It’s wildly entertaining, and as luck would have it an amateur fight broke out in front of us.

Two men of indeterminate age started screaming at each other. One man was short and worn out. All his worldly possessions were on a blanket next to him. It was a small pile. Another man, tall and emaciated with all his possessions on his back, appeared to have stepped on the blanket. It was difficult to assess if this was an intentional provocation or accidental. Both men were jittery and having trouble standing upright. Nonetheless, the fight was on, and we started placing our bets.

The tall skinny guy should have had an advantage, but he couldn’t throw a punch. He tried slapping the short guy but lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. The short guy went to kick him, but he too lost his balance and collapsed on his tiny pile of possessions. These fighters had no physical stamina, and neither tried to get back up. Needless to say, the fight was disappointing and hilarious, but it reminded me of how, in Washington, DC, you get what you pay for.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut

Enlightenment and Joy

Anyone who has read this blog will say it’s mostly pointless. Long ago I proposed changing its name to Masturbating Chimpanzees, because truth matters. A careful reader will note I said mostly pointless, and I did so intentionally because my posts are the only ones worth reading. So congratulations on reading this post. I bring enlightenment and joy.

As you know I’ve been on a campaign to alleviate homelessness in Roanoke. When I walk down Church Avenue, I encounter homeless people. I patiently inform them that they wouldn’t need to live on the street if they would just get jobs. Sometimes I give them a dollar as a jump start to a better life. So far this year, I’ve given away $8.43.

Last February, right before that vicious polar vortex, I encountered one homeless man in particular. I’d seen him before but I’d never had the chance to give him my pep talk. He was messier than most with a raucous grey beard, blank eyes, and ancient clothing. I told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and gave him a dollar.

I never saw him again. In fact, it’s been nine months since I thought of him, but last night was frigid and he appeared, uninvited, in my mind. That’s when I realized my pep talk and dollar must have saved him. I drove around Roanoke this morning, and he’s nowhere to be found. All because I gave him a second of my time and a scrap of my wisdom. It’s easy to make a difference in the world. All you have to do is care.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and some in Connecticut

Thoughts on the Dangers of Pretending to be a Poet (Part 5)

Delusions of grandeur. Pretend poets think they’re special. Which is ridiculous. Poetry never saved a life. It hasn’t cured cancer. I’m certain it never will considering how much liquor it drinks.

Have you read Lewis Carroll? Pure nonsense.

So this is a message to everyone who pretends to be a poet (and that is every poet living and/or dead): get a real job. You will be happier and so will your family. Poetry has never solved any problem. You know what has? Money and hotels.

If my lazy-ass son had a real job, instead of masturbating all day and calling it a poetry blog, he wouldn’t keep asking me for money. I wouldn’t keep telling him no, and I would love him.

Poetry is easy. I will show you. I literally wrote this off the top of my head three minutes ago.

The Ballad of Knowgood Carp 

I know damn well
when I cast my spell
I will be okay
on the Judgment Day
because I have more money
so I can buy God's honey
and if I want to bone ya'
what I'll do is phone ya'.

Do better than that, B.S. Eliot.  I defy you.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut

A Tender Heart Prone to Foolishness

If you have been reading my posts (and why wouldn’t you – you seem intelligent), you know I regularly give money to homeless people in downtown Roanoke. This year alone I have handed out a total of $7.00. However, I do much more than give pathetic misfits a dollar. I counsel them, so they can improve their lives. After all, money can’t buy happiness. It can only buy shelter, warmth, food, and medicine.

Today on Church Street, I encountered a filthy homeless man and decided to help. His steel-colored beard was long and wild. His pants and shirt were unfashionable and mismatched. He seemed unable to focus on what I was saying. Regardless, I forged ahead. I told him businesses all over town were hiring. He didn’t need to live like a greasy feral cat. Just as I was getting to the part about picking yourself up by your bootstraps, he turned and got on a rusty bicycle with flat, no-tread tires and rode away as fast as that decrepit thing could carry him.

I smiled at myself in relief. My tender heart is blind and prone to foolishness. I almost gave that charlatan a dollar. As you know, I only give money to homeless people. It’s my motto. Now call me old-fashioned, but I also prefer the homeless to be bikeless. There is just something intrinsically wrong about giving money to someone who has the ways and means of owning a bicycle.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of All the Hotels on Block Island (and Some in Connecticut)

Do You Pretend to be a Poet? Don’t Quit Your Day Job

Hello readers of this pointless blog. I am supposedly Luvgood’s father. That’s what I’ve been told, at least – even though every blood test has come back “inconclusive”. More importantly – I own every hotel on Block Island. But please don’t pigeonhole me. I am so much more than that. I am human, and I also own hotels in Connecticut.

When Luvgood informed me that he was going to devote his life to poetry, I told him don’t quit your day job. So then he quit his day job. And he has been asking me for money ever since. Being a good father, I have refused. He obviously needs to grow up and quit pursuing his dreams.

As an older, distinguished white man, I am burdened with the responsibility of constantly giving unsolicited advice. If you are pursuing your dreams, don’t quit your day job. I need workers. I need to support my lavish lifestyle. Don’t be selfish.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of All the Hotels on Block Island (and Some in Connecticut)