chanticleer

Helen Losse reading at bookstore

2009-01-19T19:09:00.000-05:00

Dictionary Drive!

2008-12-18T13:21:00.003-05:00

My bookstore is holding a dictionary drive from now until the end of January 2009. We are collecting dictionaries for The Rowan Correctional Center. There are over two hundred inmates at this prison camp, and there's a shortage of dictionaries. There are over 2 million people in prison in our country. More than 80% of them will eventually be released. Education helps reduce the likelihood of re-incarceration. If you'd like to donate a dictionary, please do! Send it here:

Laughing Sky Books
123 E. Innes Street
Salisbury, NC 28144

Unhappy dogs

2008-11-03T15:10:00.001-05:00

It’s probably a good idea for me to update my blog regularly considering I’m not writing at this time and haven’t written in months. It’s a problem. I did write a prose poem a few months ago, and I wrote a scene for a story, but other than that? Sigh . . .

I’ve been reading Milan Kundera’s The Curtain--essays on the novel. It’s quite good. Cerebral, little aphoristic like sections about literature. But I forgot it at home. I read half of it yesterday, wanted to finish it today at the store, but it looks like I won’t be finishing it until tonight or tomorrow.

Friday night I went to a Halloween party. I’m not sure what I was, but I wore this bright pink wig, pink eyelashes, and a long flowing pink dress. I didn’t dance because I didn’t want to. I didn’t drink myself into a blackout. I saw a friend I had been worrying about and he was okay. I laughed. I heard some wild stories. I talked to my friend until 1:30 AM. Then went home.

Saturday. I had to pick up my friend at 9 AM. I tried to start my car and realized I’d left the lights on all night and the battery was dead. I searched for jumper cables, but found none, so I took the other car and picked up my friend and called someone and asked if they had jumper cables and they said yes so I drove over and got the cables and went to the house and jumped the car and then I couldn’t turn the car off so I drove to Kannapolis and looked for books. I found Gertrude Stein, Cormac McCarthy, a neat perfume book, Edgar Allen Poe, Annie Dillard, Louis L’Amour, Philip Roth, and a few others for the store.

On Sunday I ate entirely too much Halloween candy. I ate at least 12 mini chocolate bars, along with Swedish fish, Sweettarts, taffy, tootsie rolls, sour bears, and Starbursts. I was so sick I almost barfed. Then I crashed from the sugar and felt utterly depressed. I also took a long nap, which made me feel worse instead of better. For some reason, naps always make me feel more edgy and restless than usual. I try not to take naps for this reason, but sometimes, especially if I’ve been reading for a few hours, sleep is inevitable.

Someone has tied their dog to a lamppost across the street and the dog is not very happy about it.

The best thing about the bookstore is recommending books to others. It’s deeply satisfying to me when someone walks out with a book I loved reading and I like to imagine that person will enjoy it as much as I did and it will change them like it changed me, because books change the way you see yourself in the world.

1

2008-08-04T08:05:00.002-04:00

I don't wish to touch hearts, and I don't even want to effect minds very much. What I want to produce, really, is that little sob in the spine of the artistic reader. -- Nabokov

Be back in the fall!

2008-07-09T09:16:00.002-04:00

books . . . for women

2008-07-08T10:38:00.003-04:00

One of the unfortunate side effects of being female is the constant marketing of products as specifically “for women.” It’s not just deodorant and cheap pink razors. There are books, and then there are books for women.

[ . . . ]

Seal Press defines women as tattooed 20- and 30-somethings who use alternative menstrual products and think that working in the sex industry imbues you with Wisdom.

from Women's Studies by Jessica Crispin

I suppose that's one way to look at it. Another way would be that Seal Press gives a voice to those who have had marginalized experiences and perhaps even to those who dare to think unconventionally. I mean their subtitle is Groundbreaking Books. By Women. For Women. I think it's self explanatory enough. Seal Press has created a niche in this very competitive publishing market and they are smart to target a specific audience. It sets them apart from the bigger publishing houses and makes them competitive. That just sounds like smart business to me. There are other publishing venues who target specific markets. Hazelden publishes books on recovery. There are a dozen small presses that publish books aimed at Christians. There are several that target the gay and lesbian audience. Seems if you're going to make a point about it being somehow wrong to target books at women, than you should also feel the same way about presses who target their specific audience. I mean, after all, if women don't need "special" books about their experiences, than why does anyone else? And what about "Women's Fiction"? Isn't Women's Fiction targeted at women? The fact is, How To books and other books targeted at women are nothing new. The major publishing houses have been cashing in on these books too. It's not just Seal. The difference is Seal often offers an edgier narrative, something a little less vanilla and more provacative. Am I not going to read a good book because it's categorized as "women's fiction?" Of course not. Am I not going to read a good book because it has the word "woman" in the subtitle? Of course not.

Here's another excerpt from the article:

A large percentage of the books Seal publishes are how-to guides. How to run the marathon, as a woman. How to grieve, as a woman. How to save money, as a woman. How to be a creative spirit, as a woman. How to find balance, as a woman. How to choose which books to read, as a woman. How to find “your true self,” as a woman. How to buy a house, as a woman. How to masturbate, as a woman. OK, actually, that last one is fine.

How many How to Run a Marathon books have been published? A quick search on Amazon tells me quite a few. If sorting by relevance, the first page has 12 titles. Of the 12 titles, only two have been authored by women exclusively. A few women coauthors, but largely the books have been authored by men. The two books authored by women are also specifically aimed at women. One of those books was published by Seal Press, and I assume is the book Crispin is referring to. It's called The Nonrunner's Marathon Guide for Women: Get Off Your Butt and On with Your Training by Dawn Dais. The other book is Runner's World Complete Book of Women's Running by Dagny Scott Barrios. Barrios is a professional athlete. Dais is not. So the question is not whether Dais' book is aimed at women because Runner's World has one too. The question is, can Dais add anything new to this subject and do women face different challenges as runners? I would say yes on both a physical and social level. I mean, when the majority of Americans think of athletes and athletics, women aren't the first people to pop in their heads. So can Dais offer something new on the subject? I would say yes, she can. Her book is different from Barrios because she's not a professional athlete. She offers her audience the "fish out of water" experience, and some women might be more comfortable with that approach because they don't have a background in marathons or professional training. In other words, they can relate to Dais. I see absolutely no problem with that.

Any thoughts?

By the way . . .

2008-06-27T13:27:00.004-04:00

If you were planning on buying my chapbook (and even if you weren't) PLEASE order it before the release date--July 11th! My pre-pub sales determine my press run and it would be very, very sweet of you to buy my chapbook. Thanks to those who have already bought it!

Reasons to buy my chapbook:

1. It has a platform shoe on the cover!
2. It has over twenty pages of poetry!
3. Chapbooks are cool!
4. I'm extraordinarily cute when I beg!
5. I'll send brownies!

BUY HERE: STRIP By Jenni Russell

smooches!

F'n Heat

2008-06-10T18:03:00.003-04:00

Well someone finally came and fixed the AC today. The upstairs is now tolerable. Not totally cooled off, but tolerable. I swear it must've been 110 degrees upstairs for the past 4 days. Our thermostat stops at 95 and the little red thing was above it, as far as it could go. Now it's 85, which is by no means perfect, but it does mean that I can sit at my desk and type up this blog post without sweating my f'n ass off.

I need coffee.

Say what you want about Victoria's Secret, but I love their clothes. I ordered two summer dresses, and I'm about to order another along with some tops and shorts. Super Cute!

I'm reading a very good nonfiction book called GHOST STRASSE by Simon Burnett. It's about Germany, and Germans, and West Germany and East Germany and is very interesting.

I was thinking today how easily one forgets what their life was like several years ago.

This post is sort of rambling aimlessly, I know. No, I don't.

We have wild pink roses. They grow along the road and smell wonderful. I see them on my walks, which I normally take at night. We also have domestic farm dogs that bark like crazy and occasionally follow you. Those aren't so great. The honeysuckle is nice though; it grows in the ditches. A few days ago I picked some and found a toy gun covered in mud.

Tomorrow I start a serious rewrite of a piece I never finished--prose. I finished a draft but never finished the revision. I LOVE revising. I hate first drafts. That old saying, "Just get the first draft down" is so true for me. I hardly care what the hell it says. Just get the damn thing over with pleeeeeeze.

So, what's on your mind?

rude horses

2008-06-04T22:47:00.003-04:00

I go for my walk around 7 every night. It's getting to hot to walk during the day, and usually I just want to drink coffee in the morning, though walking naturally energizes me and it's more healthy . . . anyway . . . tonight our neighbors across the street and down a ways have blindfolded a few of their horses. Anyone know why horses need to be blindfolded? One of the blindfolded horses was quite rude. Imagine a blindfolded horse staring at you. I know it was because its head followed me. Sort of rude, really.

So Lyle suggested readers guess what my new project is about. I'll give a big hint: it's NOT about the circus. Feel free to guess, and whoever comes the closest will recieve a special prize!

I've been very interested in retellings lately--you know fairy tales, riffs off famous stories, poems, etc. I've written a few retelling pieces lately. One's in the vein of Roth retelling Kafka, same situation but with a different form of the character, and when I went back to it today, I decided it was just too close. I made it my own, and it had an allusion to the original, but it still doesn't quite work. The other is more of a folkloric retelling, and it was was just as bad (lol). I tried to use facts with folklore and it just didn't work. I'm still trying to figure it out. But I think it's interesting, and dare I say that ugly word (postmodern!). I may try a cut-up with the first one, which was a riff off a prose poem--possibly even taking the original and doing a sort of cut-up. . . or taking a part of the original text and making a sort of "found poem" within my version. Holy shit, am I becoming experimental? Post-avante?! How did Burroughs do his cut-ups? I may try something like that. Another good source for retellings is American Indian folklore. I love their fables. I think fairy tales are dated. They've already been done to death. Same with the Greek myths. Anyway, it might make for an interesting short story collection--a series of retellings in drastically different forms with drastically different approaches.

But no, the new project is not a retelling. The shorts are just something I like to tinker with when I finish my daily word count, 1000 words.

A real blog post!

2008-06-02T19:52:00.002-04:00

I haven't written a real blog post for some time now . . . I sort of got burnt out on the blog. I mean I've had it for almost 4 years. What else could I possibly have to say about great rock mysteries, budgies, working out, etc.

It's hot as hell and our air conditioner isn't working upstairs. We have seperate control panels for upstairs and downstairs. It's nice and cool downstairs. Upstairs it's friggen roasting. So I've got a guy coming in this Friday. They couldn't get me on the schedule any sooner. It's nearly 90 degrees every day now. Yeah, pretty miserable.

Our cat, Belle, is stone cold. The other night we were sitting on the upper porch and she chased a baby bunny across the lawn. It was just barely old enough to be on its own. It started crying. I'm not kidding--it made these terrible little squeaking sounds and I called and called but she wouldn't stop. Jack was like, "Just let nature take its course." Fuck that! It's a little baby bunny. It's natural to want to stop nature from taking its course. Don't you think? This isn't the first time she's caught a baby bunny. She brought one to the door a few weeks ago. It was still warm. Looked a little like a mouse. So Belle caught the bunny. I heard the whole thing and it was depressing as hell, and then she struts all over the yard with the thing in her mouth, but by that time it was too late.

I started a new project today. Long one. It'll take me the whole summer and some.

Oldest Profession

2008-05-30T07:32:00.002-04:00

The latest issue of MiPOesias, The Oldest Profession--poems and stories with a sex work theme and edited by yours truly, is available for free download pdf and will be up on amazon in a few days for purchase.

Enjoy!

I have a cover!!

2008-05-22T11:43:00.002-04:00

Thank you, Didi for designing it! Now that I have a cover, it's more exciting! yay!

Strip

2008-05-13T11:19:00.001-04:00

My chapbook, Strip, is available for pre-orders at Finishing Line Press! You'll have to scroll down to find me, and my cover isn't up yet, but you can still buy it (if you want.)

Ivans

2008-05-09T20:35:00.002-04:00

Today I went to the Verizon store and got internet anywhere! I simply hook a little adapter up to my laptop and presto! I'm online. I can connect anyplace where there's a cell phone signal. Is that cool or what?

So Jack and I are at Ivan's. This is our favorite spot. It's a rustic, fine dining place. Ani and Ankush have been here before. I got a new laptop last week--(go tax refund!)--and it has a webcam on it.

I just ran into my old philosophy professor. He and Jack are talking about the antipathy of the outgroup. And Goddamer. Now they're talking about Foucalt. This ought to be "interesting" . . .

2008-05-06T10:14:00.002-04:00

2008-05-06T10:08:00.003-04:00

Hannah Montana or Lolita?

2008-04-28T12:06:00.010-04:00

Quite the controversy over Annie Leibovitz photographs of Miley Cyrus (Hannah Montana) for Vanity Fair. Miley, 15 years old, wears a bedsheet (?) in the photos and her red lipstick is smeared halfway across her face, not to mention the bedhead! Here's the photo:

Granted, you'll see more skin on a 15 year old at the beach, but the beach has the context for skin. Vanity Fair lacks that context, which is why I think people are so upset about this photo. I don't, however, think Annie Leibovitz meant any harm in taking this photo--she's very well known for creating photos with sexual overtones. She is probably shaking her head this very moment and thinking, "It's art for crying out loud!"

Other famous photos by Annie Leibovitz:

Demi Moore

Lennon and Ono

Whoopie

Angelina Jolie

Compare the Jolie to the Cyrus photo:

The difference? 18 years. So, if you subtract Cyrus' age from Jolie's age, it equals the legal age of an adult, which Cyrus is not . . . huh . . .

So what do y'all think? Inappropriate or art?

The Horseshow!!

2008-04-23T08:00:00.009-04:00

Caroline participated in the horseshow this past weekend. She did really good!

Getting ready to start!

Walking to the barrels

Back from the barrels!

Go Caroline, GO!

Woohoo! #27!

Kick Caroline!

Almost there!

Finally finished!

Ribbons! Two 2nd Place and a 3rd Place! Yay!!

still alive

2008-04-19T00:15:00.003-04:00

So Caroline gets off the bus today and she has a friend with her. This friend has spent the night several times. Here's the twist: I did not tell C she could have a friend over, she just told her friend this week at school it would be okay. Then she plays it off (smart kid) and is like, "You said she could sleep over, right?"

I already know what my house is going to be like when C is a teenager. It will be the gathering place for all other teenagers. I will have like 5 teenagers in my house ALL THE TIME. I suppose I could try to prevent it, but really, is it possible to stop fate? Go with the flow, that's what I say.

Jen and Crow and Lynze and two teenagers were here last weekend. It was a great time! We had lots of fun.

I have all the poems and stories picked out for the OP issue. Collin--did you get my email?

Other than the above, I have been enjoying the marvelous weather . . .

deep cleanzzzzzz

2008-04-03T17:05:00.003-04:00

Today I went and got a deep clean facial. It was basically an hour of having cold creams and warm cloths rubbed on my face in a very relaxing way. She also extracted black heads. That hurt! Pretty gross too. But now my skin is shiny and smooth!

*

I'm reading Kleinzahler's latest book, Sleeping It Off In Rapid City.

*

Jack wrecked our car today. Luckily no one was hurt. Guess this means I need to go car shopping.

*

What was that sound?

pretty periwinkle

2008-04-01T19:55:00.004-04:00

In the Light

In the Dark

The Horses: I didn't paint them; they were born that way

paint

2008-03-26T08:14:00.000-04:00

Well it’s starting to warm up! Today is supposed to be in the 70’s as is the rest of the week (I think). If you sent me poems for MiPo’s summer issue, Oldest Profession, you should be hearing back from me soon. Also don’t forget about the chapbook contest. Deadline is April 1st.

My parents were here for Easter. We painted my downstairs hallway and half-bath. Painting is so relaxing. I really enjoy it. It’s almost like meditating. Just doing the same thing over and over. I’m thinking about painting my bedroom or maybe the workout room. I’d love to paint my office but I have all those darned bookcases and it would take me longer to move them than it would to paint—although I could do a wall at a time . . . hmmmm . . . but what color?

Lookie Here . . .

2008-03-14T14:15:00.006-04:00

August Kleinzahler has an essay, What Is Left Out, about Robert Creeley. I enjoyed the essay, but I must admit I was even more excited to read this:

August Kleinzahler is the author of “Cutty, One Rock.” A new collection of his poems, “Sleeping It Off in Rapid City: Poems New & Selected,” will be published in the spring.

Yay!! New poems by Kleinzahler. I have every one of his poetry books and his memoir. Really love his writing. Can't wait for the new and selected.

*

Ben Ehrenreich has a very thoughtful essay up about the poet Frank Stanford:

In ways that counted, though, Stanford chose to stay outside. He avoided big cities, never gave readings, never taught or even finished a degree. “He thought you could do what you wanted to where you were,” Wright said. To that end, Stanford founded Lost Roads Publishers while living in Fayetteville in 1976.

*

My week has been busy busy nonstop. Looking forward to the weekend. Caroline has a birthday party to attend tomorrow and maybe I'll get some laundry done (then again, maybe not.)

another totally bogus memoir

2008-03-05T10:19:00.002-05:00

Totally bogus gang memoir

I think she should start a new memoir, but this time a TRUE one: how she kicks her sister's ass for narkin' her out then catches a plane to Europe, pigs out on yummy foods, meditates, and sleeps around. While visiting Bangkok, she meets Ankush, a mysterious spiritual guru who talks her into trying "saanp dung," a snake bite on the tongue which produces powerful narcotic effects and catapults her into a voyage of unforgettable self discovery as she traipses across India in search of willing snakes and a decent place to get a manicure. She could pitch it as Eat, Pray Love meets Once Bitten, Twice Shy.

My kitchen has been taken over by Webkinz

2008-03-01T08:37:00.004-05:00

Last night I told Jack what I wanted for my birthday: a DIAMOND. See, Jack and I bought our wedding bands at K-Mart (don't laugh) we were kind of broke at the time and they were on sale, so I never got my DIAMOND, damn it. Actually the story gets even weirder but I won't go into detail. Let's just say I didn't even get a wedding band until a few months after we were married, and as for an engagement ring? Dream on. So for my bday this year, I am getting a diamond . . . it's a very unique one, as yall know how much I love diamonds. They really are a girl's BFF.

*

LOVE this ad by Kenneth Cole. This girl's tats are sizzling hot. You really got to click on the picture (bigger view) to fully apprecite them!

Thunderdome

2008-02-29T07:25:00.003-05:00

The other night I watched the presidential nominee debate. I am not overly familiar with the resumes of either Clinton or Obama, though I am more familiar with both of them now.

Clinton came out with a fighting spirit that lost points with me immediately. I thought her complaint was pretty silly—she didn’t want to “go first.” Can you imagine Ms. Clinton pulling this crap with something more serious, like foreign policy?

“Can’t Russia GO FIRST? I mean why does the USA always have to go first? First on the moon, first to drop the atomic bomb. What about China or Argentina? When’s the last time THEY went first anyway? I mean my husband was President first and now I’m running for President. Don’t you GET it? Just because I was the FIRST lady for 8 years don’t mean I always want to go first, okay? Listen, I’ll be in touch after I release my tax returns to the public. Later—”

Obama was much more poised, but he showed clear symptoms of “President’s Hands.” This worried me, as he’s not President yet but already showing symptoms of this strange disorder. Is it psychosomatic or a glimpse into the future? According to the Medical Journal of American Hands, it affects nearly 98% of all Presidents, and is characterized by little fists, trigger finger, come-to-mama, and other hypnotic animations. I found myself turning to Jack several times and saying, “Did you just see that? The left one looked just like a Monarch butterfly!”

The highlight of the debate was an argument over semantics. Great fun for a dork like me. Obama said he “denounced” Louis Farrakhan's anti-semitic comments and Clinton immediately suggested that he “reject” them completely. Obama responded by both denouncing and rejecting the comments with a haunting sweep of his President’s Hands.

After watching this debate, I do not believe Ms. Clinton will bring our troops home as quickly as she can. She will stall for as long as possible to pacify the republicans. During the debate, I decided Hillary Clinton was a “Democrat Lite,” or a “Diet Democrat.” She also went on to say several times how she was a “fighter!” and that Americans needed someone who would “fight!” for them. Personally, I’m sick of America’s need to “fight” amongst ourselves and with others all the time. Her entire diatribe brought this truly GREAT American song to mind . . .

weird question

2008-02-26T10:08:00.003-05:00

If a person lost a finger, could they use a parent's toe as a donor for reconstructive hand surgery?

I know you can get a relative's kidney if it is a match, but a toe is a little different . . .

Anyone know?

Destroy Nabokov's Final Work?

2008-02-23T11:39:00.006-05:00

Read about it here.

As much as I LOVE Nabokov (who is one of the best writers in the past 100 years)(in my very arrogant opinion, of course), I say respect his wishes!

To me it is like not respecting a person's burial wishes. Uncle Harold requests to be cremated, but his family demands an open casket for their sake.

No! Too bad.

*

Funny email from Didi this morning titled:
"somebody from MiPo works at sex.com"

and the email reads:
"And it is not Jenni..... (link)"

Surprise! lol.

*

You Are a Semi-Colon

You are elegant, understated, and subtle in your communication.

You're very smart (and you know it), but you don't often showcase your brilliance.

Instead, you carefully construct your arguments, ideas, and theories â€“ until they are bulletproof.

You see your words as an expression of yourself, and you are careful not to waste them.

You friends see you as enlightened, logical, and shrewd.

(But what you're saying often goes right over their heads.)

You excel in: The Arts

You get along best with: The Colon

What Punctuation Mark Are You?

I think I'll just keep adding to this post as the day unfolds...

Daring, sexy, fun!

2008-02-20T17:03:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I'm going to start having a regular column on MiPo. It will be daring, sexy, and fun! It may also be dorky, academic, and serious. Here are possible topics for the first column:

Jenni reviews a poetry collection (bo-RING!)
Jenni reviews sex toys!
Jenni discusses alcoholism and relapse (a-GAIN?!)
Jenni discusses favorite sexual positions!
Jenni ponders religion vs spirituality.
Jenni ponders a French manicure vs an American.
Jenni boasts of favorite living writers.
Jenni boasts of writers she'd like to have sex with!
Jenni contemplates the challenges of monogomy.
Jenni contemplates the challenges of being single again.
Jenni wonders if the memoir is the new novel.
Jenni wonders if Victoria Secret's butt lifting jeans really work.

It might be interesting to have 2 parts to the column--one that is daring, sexy, and fun and another that is dorky, academic, and serious.

So of the topics listed, which would you pick?

80

2008-02-18T10:38:00.003-05:00

I'm supposed to have my stitches taken out tomorrow but they still hurt. I've also got some other sickness now, and I can't stay away from the fried foods. I'm falling apart! I will be 33 in a few weeks. My sister heard this and told Mom, "She's THAT old already?" Sigh. I don't really mind turning 33, although it's halfway to 35, and 35 is halfway to 40, and 40 is halfway to 80. So in some strange way, turning 33 is somewhat like turning 80, and if I actually turn 80 one day, well I think that'll be awesome, considering I'm already having issues with cholesterol and I smoke entirely too much.

*

Skippy, the parakeet, has really become a noisy little thing. His chirps are very sharp, almost painful to listen to at times, and there's no telling what will set him off on a chirping spree. Phone calls almost always do it. He hears me talking, and he probably thinks I am talking to him, and this makes him chirp like crazy. The person on the other end of the phone almost always says, "What's that noise?" Others are used to it now, and like me, they barely even hear him anymore except for when he becomes extraordinarily piercing and sharp. One thing he does that's very cute is he fluffs his feathers when you talk to him. He slowly poofs out, like a puffer fish, until all his feathers are separated, and then he shakes them back into smooth order. I take it as a compliment. I think it means he is fond of me, like how someone straightens their back and smooths down when you walk into a room. Makes you feel sort of good when people do that sort of thing. Anyway, it's a pretty day and I have all the windows open. This makes all of us a little more whimsical and wilder than usual . . .

off to the gym!

Dr Visit gone from unpleasant to unspeakable

2008-02-13T15:27:00.006-05:00

Today I had to go to the Dr. and have this lump removed. It was really disgusting. The lump was on the back of my neck. It didn't hurt or anything, it was just gross. So they gave me 4 shots in my neck. It freaken hurt like hell. Then I had to lie on the table, on my belly, and they covered my head with this huge gauze thing. I couldn't feel anything really, except for this pressure and pulling, like they were really struggling to get this thing out of my neck. It was horrible. I mean it. But that wasn't even the worst part. After he sewed me up and disinfected me, he told me that my cholesterol was too high. I asked him what that meant.

"No more fried foods," he said. "It's eggs, cheese, and milk that sneak up on people."

"But I have eggs and cheese for breakfast every morning."

"Not anymore."

"But I'm not overweight!"

"Your bad cholesterol is still too high."

"What about pork chops?" I say.

He shakes his head. "Sorry."

I like my Dr. He's a cool guy. He removed the disgusting lump from my neck and it hardly hurt except for the shot, which really hurt like hell. But suddenly my cool Dr. goes from kind, gentle sensitive human being to the ENEMY.

"But I thought they were the other white meat," I say.

"No pork chops, no fried chicken, no fried . . . anything."

"No Bojangles?"

"No Bojangles."

I leave the office bewildered and numb. Numb from the shot and numb from the restrictions suddenly placed on my diet. But at least he didn't say anything about chicken McNuggets or coconut shrimp. That stuff isn't really fried anyway, it's just sort of battered.

That's all

2008-02-11T09:15:00.000-05:00

Louise Gluck has some marvelous poems in the latest issue of Poetry.

Fill in the blanks

2008-02-10T16:59:00.000-05:00

1._______________

2._______________

3._______________

dreams

2008-02-08T09:06:00.000-05:00

Ever since I quit working, I’ve had recurring dreams about going back to work. The same thing happens in all of them: I have no heels, only one outfit, and I’m scrambling to figure out what I’m going to wear for stage. I wonder if this dream is similar to the one people have of being naked in public? Only my anxiety isn’t about being “naked,” it’s about what I’m wearing before I get naked. In last night’s dream, I was in the dressing room, trying to buy an outfit from a dancer—this isn’t far-fetched, most girls have some outfit they’re willing to sell or trying to sell. The problem was there were only two other dancers working and one was extremely petite and the other one was somewhat large. I tried the small girl’s outfit on first and it was too tight. I tried the larger girl’s outfit on and it was too big. Finally I decided to buy part of the small girl’s outfit and part of the large girl’s outfit. The small girl’s top was tight, but it sort of fit and the large girl’s G-string was too big, but I figure I could cut the strings on the hips and tie them so it would fit better. Also, I have only enough money to buy these clothes, so I need to make this outfit work. I get some scissors and cut the small girl’s top so I have a little more room. Then I cut the G-strings and tie them on the side. Presto! It works! But what am I going to do about heels? I have no heels. Why I came to work so unprepared is beyond me. I ask the bartender if she has a pair of heels I can borrow. She doesn’t, but she says there is a lost and found box in the dressing room and that I am free to look. So I end up digging through a trunk of ratty heels and dirty G-strings trying to find two heels that match. Finally I find two that are the same color, but different sizes—one is a size too small and the other is a size too big! This makes it difficult to walk—as I’m adjusting one side of my body to balance on a stiletto that’s too small and the other side of my body on a stiletto that’s too big. How the hell am I going to dance in these fuckers?

That’s when the DJ calls me to stage.

dollywood!

2008-02-07T08:29:00.000-05:00

Only one comment regarding last night's Idol--I really like the "tone" of Alesha Stelzl's voice too--although she tortured the Dion song and could've done better on Islands in the Stream.

But for learning the song in such a short period of time (and not even knowing one Dolly song)I think she did pretty good, though that whole skit was totally corny!

Her voice reminds me a lot of Allison Kraus. I can totally hear her singing something like this and sounding really good:

a-CHOOO!

2008-02-07T07:59:00.000-05:00

I have a terrible cold. I rarely get sick, so I'm a big baby about it when I do. It's a sneezy, congested head cold type thing. Luckily I have a Dr's appt today (for something entirely different) but while I'm there maybe I can get something for this too. Even Skippy is sneezing a bit . . .

company

2008-02-05T13:32:00.000-05:00

I hear the dog bark a few seconds before the knock on the door. I’m still in my PJ’s and think maybe it’s the woman who walks up and down our street—she’s a little “soft” in the head, but very warm, harmless, and nice. I don’t mind her stopping by, as she doesn’t do it often and when she does it’s to return my cat’s broken collar or a doll Caroline dropped by the fence while feeding the horses. But I know it’s not her as I’m going down the stairs. The distorted figure through my glass door window is too tall and dark blue—looks like a suit. I consider sneaking back up the stairs until this stranger goes away, but the dog is tearing up the door with her claws and barking. I tuck her under my arm like a ball, crack the door just enough so the person outside can see my face and right shoulder.

“Ma’am, do you ever wonder why there’s so much suffering in the world?”

The first thing I notice is his light blue tie because it’s directly in front of my eyes—he’s like a 6’4” building, and his face hangs in two rather large jowls, and his heavy eyelids are half closed as if from the gravity of how very tall he is.

He hands me a booklet that reads, “Is There a CREATOR Who Cares About You?” with the word CREATOR in large garish print and that tacky lowercase "a" next to it—the only lowercase in the sentence. The booklet has a strange picture on the cover too—almost blackish-teal with three vapors of curdling gas. There’s a little citation underneath: Eagle Nebula (M16) “Pillars of Creation.”

M16 . . . isn’t that an automatic weapon? Like a machine gun of some sort?

“What I mean, Ma’am,” he continues, “is do you ever wonder why God would allow so much violence in the world, like crime, war . . .”

The dog is going absolutely berserk under my arm. I make a muzzle over her mouth with my hand. I had just been reading an article about internet pot dealers—they ship bags of pot to your house that you can order online, but something tells me this guy has not come to sell me a joint. Suddenly I am aware that under my loose tank top I’m not wearing a bra, and the strawberry tattoo on my right shoulder is clearly visible. I’m not worried about it. I’m simply aware of it. And then I am aware that I am aware of it. This is more uncomfortable than the fleeting thought of trying to hide it. At this point I’d simply like to hide my awareness, but it seems too late for that.

“Sure, I’ve thought about it,” I say.

He nods sadly. I can tell he is very concerned. This isn’t something he does because his church tells him he’s supposed to or because he thinks it’ll earn him a golden ticket to heaven. There’s a realness about his faith that is so intense that I feel he must remember every person he meets behind the door, every single face, and if I saw him next week at Wal Mart he might come up to me and ask what I thought of the booklet. He also has an air of being turned away many times. It tenses in his shoulders when he says, “I know you are busy” and relaxes when I say, “That’s okay.”

For some reason I think about a time early last summer when a young guy knocked on my door and asked for a jump. His van had died. He was rugged and scraggly looking—dirty hair and clothes. I was extremely hesitant because I saw another guy waiting in the van and I was all alone in the house. But I looked right into his eyes— pretty lightish green—and then I drove my car to his van and left the rest up to fate. My window was rolled down and it was one of those hot days accompanied by the strong sound of insects whirring in the field. He hooked the jumper cables up to my car and gave me a hand signal to turn over the ignition. The guy sitting in the passenger seat smiled as soon as the van started up. I drove back to the house, trusting life a little more, and specifically thinking that people are mostly good and then thinking right afterwards how even with all the horrible things I’ve seen and done in my life that in some ways I’m still hopelessly naive and maybe it’s a small blessing. Occasionally I still see that van driving by my house, can’t miss it—rusting grey, late 70’s model, moon-window. This guy at my door reminds me of the young kid because they both brought me a little hope in their own way—this Bible man with his genuine concern so heavy it weighs down his whole face, and that young kid who made me trust something besides myself for a minute.

The missionary tells me his name and I tell him mine. He mentions he may be back and I thank him for the booklet. He walks down the path to my driveway and pauses. His shadow is long as a tree’s. Think I’ll go warm up a cup of soup now.

my pretty amaryllis

2008-02-05T07:46:00.001-05:00

sand

2008-02-04T08:22:00.000-05:00

I spent most of this weekend working on three different ideas for memoirs. Not including the first memoir about strip clubs—that one’s already in the bag. The challenge, of course, is to make it interesting for others to read. But the same can be said of any other genre.

*

Why is the synopsis so damn hard? It makes laundry sound like fun . . .

*

On my schedule:

1. Gym
2. _________
3. Synop (FROWN)

*

I want a vacation. Just a short one—by meself—for a long weekend. Here are possible destinations:

1. Key West
2. Jamaica
3. Barbados
4. Grenada

It’s strange because the Keys are the same price (or more expensive) than visiting any of these other places. Jamaica is actually fairly cheap, and I’ve wanted to go there forever.

what superbowl means to me

2008-02-03T22:37:00.000-05:00

-- sweating beefcakes cavorting around in tight pants

-- scooping up weird chili concoctions with Frito chips

-- commercials that are more entertaining than game

-- “football butt”

-- double upset in post-superbowl sex!

THE CATFISH

2008-02-03T14:52:00.000-05:00

THE CATFISH
Franz Wright
Marick Press
30 pages

The very first obvious thing in this chapbook is a celestial quality. The poetry has a level of abstraction variant from earlier books. It is like someone who has gone to the edges of seeing and is “without margins.” Approaching the edges of seeing means to come to abstraction, as in the poem, “Unwriting,” where the opening line, “The universe is mostly made of thought,” is analogous to later Wallace Stevens around the time of “The Planet on the Table.” Notice the word “planet” in Steven’s title, while in Wright’s poems we have cold stars, the heavens, black holes, galaxies – high, far and wide words, analogs of the soul, that bright thing “without margins,” and at times frighteningly distant. It is as if he were searching through feeling for his version of a summation or a later poem which follows the completed sense of his previous books—fragments that follow completion— cf. Rilke’s French poems after the Elegies, or Mallarme’s “Tomb for Anatole.” The approach is highly personal, and the personal is at the verge of anonymous, like the reference to Simone Weil at the beginning of the poem, “The Balance,” in which she states that she’d like to be “a crippled no one.” When there is a material image, it has a sense of freshness, since it is bracketed by abstraction. Compare the closing lines to his poem “Hospitalization,” with lines from “High Windows” by Philip Larkin:

He was so high he was dead.

I feel just like a window with light coming through it, he said.

--Franz Wright.

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

--Philip Larkin.

The Larkin poem has a somewhat grand or antiquated rhetoric to it by contrast, although that is not so much a critique of the poem as it is recognizing that Larkin’s poem is no longer absolutely contemporary. In the Wright poem, note how the rhyme of dead and said is peculiar and avoids flatness. The extreme simplicity of the window image is like the abstract simplicity of the line before it.

Each poem in THE CATFISH becomes a celestial body, avoids touching the ground but the speaker is still fully aware of exactly where he is: “He was so high he was dead.” A certain universal fear—that we can get so high we almost disappear, or even a state of nirvana in which a higher consciousness is the elimination of “self,” a well known goal of Buddhism. In western culture with its Christian underpinnings there is a fearful or ambiguous quality to the idea of nirvana which may not exist in the original Eastern context. With Wright we are still very much in the tradition of ambiguousness and conflicted selflessness—the loss of the self is a burial of materiality, of the desiring, sentient self. So the material world is indicated in somewhat of a buried fashion in these poems, yet words themselves are material things, and the speaker is aware of this, as in the poem “Staying After Mass” in which he asks:

Are You
just a word?

Or in these lines from the poem, “After Absence”—

God’s words translated into human words
are spoken and shine
on a few upturned faces

Simone Weil said, “Our action is never that of a creator, it is that of changing one thing into another.” And yet she was aware of a grace from beyond that could translate itself across this world of heavy gravity. Language, for Wright, is dictated from a higher consciousness, God, or whatever “word” you’d like to describe it:

I am setting down these words (slowly pronouncing each one under my breath with my halting and nearly immovable tongue) precisely as they were recited to me a few moments ago before waking into this, the strangest dream of all, so soon over and deleted, I am telling you. I just say what I have been told, don’t blame me.

--from, “Dreamed Voice.”

This relates back to the idea of the poet as someone who receives inspiration from the muse in a dream, except Wright adds a surprising twist: the “real” world he wakes up to is even more of a dream.

The word inspiration comes from “inspire” or “breathe into” and is a Greek conception of the poet having been spoken through, with the writer no longer the source but rather a receptive vehicle. This allows the source of the poem to be located somewhere more pure and less restricted than the self. A well-known example is Coleridge in his poem “Kubla Khan” in which the poem came to him (like Wright in the excerpt above) through a dream. The end of “Kubla Khan” fades out fragmentarily because there was a knock on the poet’s door and he forgot the lines from the dream. The Persian poet, Rumi, was said to participate in euphoric dances as a “whirling dervish” where he’d dance around and receive heavenly dictation, literally chanting forth his poems that a disciple would transcribe. The Delphic Oracle, temple priestesses, would answer questions by standing over volcanic vents and inhaling psychedelic vapors. Heraclitus described the oracle like this: “The Delphic Oracle doesn’t say yes or no but gives a sign.” And so the inspiration or reception of the words from a source elsewhere, from otherness, is accompanied by mystery.

Similarly, Wright’s poems don’t give answers, but “signs” that baffle logic, resist rationalization, are evasive and fertile, and there are no didactic meanings one way or another. One gets a true feeling of otherness, mystery, and even mysticism, like in these lines from the poem “After Absence”—

I will show you what no eye has seen
And teach you to say
What no ear has heard

You can pick up a copy of THE CATFISH at The Marick Press Bookstore or on Amazon.

No Sop, No Strange February Light, No Medical Marijuana

2008-01-31T07:46:00.000-05:00

Doing a lot of writing lately . . . just not on the blog. Started a couple essays, wrote a poem, revised a chapter of my memoir. Lots of notes for 4 different personal essays I'm going to write in the next few months. One is called, "No Possum, No Sop, No Stripper Pole." It was inspired by Jack walking into my study and finding me hanging upside down on the stripper pole while reading Wallace Stevens. Plus another essay on a poetry book. Also got my proposal in the best shape it's ever been in. It's hard to tell with things like proposals if they're the "best they can be" -- I thought it was the best it could be last October, seriously, and now I've rewritten the entire thing. With stuff like essays, poems, memoir drafts, I really CAN tell--but not with the proposal--maybe because it's a more technical kind of writing. Not sure.

*

It's a lovely morning--the sunlight is the estranged, gold color of February. There's a rich distance to it, and the horses are grazing on little lighted patches of pasture in between the shadows of trees.

*

I've been reading a lot about medical marijuana lately and trying to figure out how I might get some. They use mostly indica strains for medical marijuana. Personally, I like indica better than sativa. Sativa's a little too "trippy" for me. When I was like 14 or 15, I met this girl named Liz. She was in her early 20's. Anyway, her dad was a botony professor and he grew some of the best pot--pure indica--the most mellow relaxing high. Made you hungrier than hell. He would just give it to us because he said he'd rather us smoke it than something off the street. They were a weird family--also circus people--they had a mini-circus set up in their yard, trapeze and everything. Liz's mom used to get real stoned and walk the tightrope--no kidding--she always made it across too. I don't ever remember her falling.

chase

2008-01-23T17:48:00.000-05:00

Today I bought a chase. I was supposed to buy something else but instead I bought a chase for my study. I’m going to put it by the window. It’s so pretty! It’s this nice golden fabric that is super silky and has little paisleys and flowers on it. The furniture place is delivering it at 10 a.m. on Saturday. I can’t wait. I like to lie down when I read, and I always have to tote my books into the bedroom. Now I'll just park my ass on the chase. I’ve already cleared the spot and vacuumed. Now I just need a space heater. See, my study is above the garage and it’s a bit cooler in the room than the rest of the house. I guess this isn’t unusual, as a friend of mine has a room above the garage in her house and she says it’s colder in there too. I’d like to paint but that would mean moving all of the bookshelves and it would take hours.

The one I bought looks almost exactly like this, except a different color.

Ivans

2008-01-19T13:17:00.000-05:00

Jack and I went on a date last night. He's been travelling SO much lately. I've seen him for maybe an hour in the past few weeks. So I really missed him. First it was TN, then SC, then Texas. Hopefully this travel stuff is over.

So we went to Ivans, this really nice little place very close to where we live. It's sort of a "fine dining" place but with a rustic feel. We go there quite a bit as they have awesome food. Caroline spent the night with her friend so it was cool to just hang out and be a couple.

Holy cow . . . it's snowing again! I'm loving all this snow.

Meet "Carl"

2008-01-17T18:50:00.000-05:00

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens

web designers?

2008-01-17T09:22:00.000-05:00

Anyone know a good and reasonabley priced website designer?

gasp!

2008-01-17T08:36:00.000-05:00

Caroline woke me up at 4 a.m. this morning and told me to look out the window.

It was snowing! Like really snowing—not just pinpricks that melt as soon as they touch the ground but big thick fluffy snow that sticks. She wanted to play in the snow, so we got up around five and she went outside. I stayed in. Snow is nice to look at--but from the window of a warm house.

She played for about a half hour and then wanted hot cocoa. At around 5 a.m. her principle called and said school was cancelled.

Last night we were coming home from the store and Caroline told me she started a “club” at school. I asked what the club was called and she said she couldn’t tell me because it was private. The only way I could find out was to sign a contract! Everyone in the club has to sign one and she keeps them in her desk at school. I asked where she came up with the idea and she said, “Daddy.”

At least we don’t have to worry about lawsuits . . .

Commercial Break

2008-01-16T10:04:00.001-05:00

American Idol

Watched the Idol auditions last night. I must say I’m a little bored now of the “bad auditions” and wish they’d show more of who they’re sending through to the next round. Maybe I am bored because now I know that during the preliminary audition, before the singers ever see the judges, they are selected by a screening. The screening goes something like this (and don’t quote me because I’m going off memory): Five singers get on a platform and all sing the same song at the same time. The screeners listen for the best and the WORST. So those who make total fools of themselves in front of Paula, Randy, and Simon have already made it through the initial screening. For some reason this feels a little mean. So I don’t really enjoy the “bad singer” auditions, as these people have been deceived in a way, and that’s just not very entertaining to me. Only one singer really caught my attention—the girl from Oregon (I think?) who trains horses. She sung Amazing Grace. She seems like a final twelve to me. The others were simply “okay.”

Rock of Love

Bret Michaels is back and looking for love on VH1. I have already confessed my affection for terribly vulgar reality TV shows like Flavor of Love, I Love NY, and Rock of Love. So I’m definitely looking forward to the catfights, binge drinking, pole dancing, and streaking from these tattoo laden and somewhat jaded hotties.

midnight

2008-01-14T23:57:00.000-05:00

I went to the dentist today. Whatever I have done in my life that was wrong I paid for. That’s what I was thinking while some stranger tortured my mouth until it throbbed and was beyond pain. You can get beyond pain. There is a special place reserved for beyond pain. It is almost a room you enter, naked and terribly vulnerable. I hate people fucking with my mouth. It feels like they can see all of my secrets. It is so private and invasive. But then again, the entire time I felt it was a cleansing experience, almost like confession. I worry about these things. I worry about god and reality and death. Not death so much. Not god either. Mostly reality, and pain is so tangible—I like pain in a way because it makes me feel so real. There’s really nothing else that feels more real than pain. It lets you know exactly where you are and what you’re doing. Pain never lies. I was sitting in that dentist chair and I was thinking about the night—how when the sky is dark you can see the whole universe, all the stars and beyond—see further than in the daylight—and how suffering allows me to see things I don’t see when I’m feeling okay. But then the daylight comes and I forget . . . I’m forgetting now. You can believe that.

pampered

2008-01-14T13:23:00.001-05:00

I had to buy Baby some doggy diapers because she's becoming incontinent. As you can see, it's somewhat of a humiliating experience for her.

The doggy diaper has a little hole for her tail. She seems to be able to move about fine, but the diaper does create new challenges when she runs for her ball.

She will, hopefully, adjust with time. She's managed to get the diaper off twice now. I really didn't want to put her in diapers, but she keeps peeing on my floor no matter how often I take her out. For now, the diaper is the only solution to this problem that I can come up with besides keeping her outside, and she's way to pampered for that.

fire in the trees

2008-01-08T12:25:00.000-05:00

Borat

2008-01-02T08:47:00.000-05:00

Ankush insisted that Jack and I watch Borat this weekend.

Borat is a "mockumentary" and absolutely gonzo. It's offensive, politically incorrect, vulgar, and totally hilarious. Borat is a character, but the other people involved are not actors. Most of them have sued Sacha Baron Cohen, the actor who invented Borat.

The most hilarious parts of this film for me were the maybe the least shocking ones. I really liked when he went to the zoo and asked what kind of "dog" this huge turtle was. And the bear of course! I loved the bear. And the ice cream truck. My very favorite part was when all the little kids were running toward the ice cream truck and the bear stuck its head out the window and roared at them! Hahahaha! I must be pretty sick to find such cruelty to children hilarious.

The film is incredibly crude, somewhat artless, and mostly in bad taste. Those qualities are also what make the film so insightful at times.

I dunno . . . there's something about a film with multiple lawsuits that appeals to me.

Anyone else watched it? What did you think?

Saanp dung

2007-12-30T16:12:00.001-05:00

Our friends, Ani and Ankush, are visiting. Ankush was telling me that in Bangkok you can go to this place and get “saanp dung,” which means snake bite. Basically you stick out your tongue and a very thin snake bites it. He claims it is an incredible high, like the best opium, and that he has gotten saanp dung several times.

I was supposed to go buy a car today and then I found out they sold the bastard! Sigh. I was going to get this black Jag, even though I sort of have an aversion to them because I dated a guy with a Jag once and he was a real asshole. But I figured buying a Jag might be a good way to work through that resentment. So I’m looking for another. I don’t want a new one, but it at least has to be a 2004.

ruffles

2007-12-27T10:10:00.000-05:00

I got a microdermabrasion kit for xmas (sort of—Jack said “Go spend some money,” and I said, “No problem!”) Anyway it’s the home one by Neutrogena. So far I really like it, makes my skin silky smooth! Great exfoliation too. I was thinking about getting microderm at the spa, and I have done that before, but then I read some reviews on the Neutrogena kit and it’s supposedly just as good and 1/10th the price. Besides, micro-derm at the salon hurts! It feels like your face is being pricked with needles. It’s honestly painful. I did six sessions a few years ago and it did make my skin look wonderful—it glowed and my pores were smaller. Not sure if I’ll have those results with the home kit, but I’ll keep yall posted.

Today is my first day of “quiet time.” Parents are gone, Jack is at work, and Caroline went to horse camp. I am relishing it. I haven’t had alone time since Sat, which is a long time for me. I am used to having five days a week from 7 a.m. to 3:30. My mind is jonesing. I need to work on my outline. I just about have it finished. I’ve been doing it slowly, an hour or so a day, but it adds up after a while and now the story is much tighter. It was wandering all over the place there for a minute. I had to cut my favorite chapter, go figure, but once I cut it the rest sort of fell into place. I’ve actually cut quite a few chapters since I started—enough for a collection of stories maybe . . .

Jack and I found out yesterday that we may own another piece of property. It was our seller’s property and apparently Jack’s name is on the deed. A guy stopped by our house last night and wanted to buy it. Jack was like, “Huh?” It has a house on it, but it’s very old and would need to be torn down. I guess it’s down the road a ways, not really sure. Neither Jack nor I have any clue where this other property is. Funny!

a real one!

2007-12-22T15:56:00.000-05:00

I'm getting on his nerves

2007-12-18T07:24:00.000-05:00

I have been cyberly connected to Nick Carbo's nerves at La Fovea!

*

The bare trees in the morning sort of look like nerves against the sky.

*

I'm having some weird company this weekend. Long story short: My mom ran into my aunt recently when she was up north. This aunt is my biological father's sister. Aunt told Mom that her son lives fifteen miles away from me and she will be here for Christmas. Aunt and cousin (I have not seen or had any contact with this side of my family since I was five) are coming to my house. Such a bizarre coincidence. I'm feeling a bit nervous.

*

I have an extra copy of the latest NYQ and will be holding another nerve-racking wine glass contest soon!

gribbit

2007-12-17T09:05:00.001-05:00

Someone is very curious about my "height," how "tall" I am, and rest assure, weary reader, I will satisfy your curiosity in this post! But first, some funny search terms lately:

"pitchers of budgies" --how cute!
"frogs with wings"--even cuter!
"jenni crocker"--as if!
"see threw frog"--lol. what's up with all these frog hits?
"loveland frog"--another one!
"frog big eyes"--and yet another!

I don't know WHO searches my blog, though sometimes I wish I did, but then again, ignorance is bliss!

I am *drumrole* Five foot eight. 5'8"

so there!

AlieNation

2007-12-14T13:38:00.001-05:00

I’ve been looking at rides. I don’t like the Prius—it’s boxy and ugly. No offense to any of you who have one or like them, just not my cup of tea. But Honda has a hybrid that looks “normal.” I wonder why the hybrids have to look so weird, like something from the Jetsons? I’m not into that spaceship look. I want a car that makes me look HOT, dammit, and not like an alien.

I made this little alien pic of myself, but it's just too embarrassing.

lights!

2007-12-13T18:55:00.000-05:00

Guess I'm not a total grinch . . . I did run out of lights on the top balcony though . . . looks a little weird . . .

Wizdom

2007-12-13T14:58:00.000-05:00

We’ve been getting a lot of Christmas cards. I haven’t sent any Christmas cards out—Grinch that I am! Today Caroline got a Christmas card from a friend! I hope this doesn’t mean I’m supposed to send her friends Christmas cards. Caroline was telling me the other day that she is the most popular girl in class. I asked her how to be popular and she said, “You have to tell good jokes and wear a lot of jewelry.”

She also told me a boy had a crush on her. I asked how she knew and she said he gave her “shiny rocks and flowers.”

What girl doesn’t like shiny rocks?!

These kids figure this stuff out really early . . . Good jokes, jewelry, shiny rocks, and flowers—that about sums it up.

C

2007-12-12T13:43:00.001-05:00

swoon

2007-12-10T11:42:00.000-05:00

My celebrity crush is beyond a shadow of a doubt: Matthew Mcconaughey. He just fills me with . . . passionate thoughts. And I love the Texas drawl . . . it's really too much. I have these fantasies where he's just an ordinary person, not a movie star, and we meet and run away to an island where there's lots of fresh berries and parakeets.

diamonds

2007-12-07T17:28:00.000-05:00

So I have this trip planned for January. I told my sponsor about it and she highly recommended that I cancel the trip. You’d think I’d be mad or upset, but I honestly don’t really care. I’m not sure why, I just don’t. At certain times I feel isolated, but most of the time I’m pretty happy about it. I truly enjoy my solitary life. I worked in fast places and hung with fast crowds for so long that I just don’t feel the need to live that way anymore, or even have the urge to be in touch with a lot of people or have a huge social circle. The only thing that I’m really disappointed with is that I wanted to buy some diamonds at Tiffany’s. Diamonds are a weakness of mine. Just looking at them makes me want to have sex. They’re so lovely. Anyway, I may not have to cancel the trip entirely, but if it comes down to that than I will just go on doing what I have been and probably feel quite okay with it. I know that for certain people, something like the AWP is a huge deal, but for me it’s just not. And in a certain way I’m very repelled by all of it. I honestly find the entire thing a bit disgusting. I’m sure it’s just me and my own issues, but nevertheless it’s there, and I can’t ignore those gut feelings. I’m going to lose money if I cancel, and it almost feels good that I’m paying NOT to go. That’s how ambivalent I am about these things. It reminds me of today at the meeting—we were talking about Christmas and how wonderful it is. Well I don’t think Christmas is wonderful. I think it’s the phoniest time of year. There’s something very superficial about it. People being nice to one another just because it’s Christmas doesn’t strike me as completely genuine. It bothers me a little. If someone is going to be nice to me just because it’s Christmas, well I’d rather they just treat me as they normally would. Fake niceness is more annoying than genuine disregard. I can tolerate almost any emotion as long as it’s genuine, but once that fakeness creeps in, I’m out of there. I can’t tolerate that fake shit. And I feel like AWP is a lot of faking, from a lot of people, and I suppose that’s what I find disgusting. Not ALL people, of course, but I think everyone who reads my blog knows what I am talking about. And that’s why I’m not too disappointed, although I would like some diamond earrings.

Horrorscope

2007-12-06T17:47:00.001-05:00

How would you go about relocating Tanzania's Mt. Kilimanjaro to the south of France? How might you undo and fix the debacle of America's occupation of Iraq? What steps could you take to creatively disrupt the pathological family patterns that have knocked you off-center for years? In 2008, I predict that you will have extraordinary potential to solve impossible problems like those. More than ever before, you will be able to attract the help and summon the inspiration necessary to accomplish goals that have previously seemed beyond your power. And it all starts now, Pisces.

from Freewill Astrology

sickie

2007-12-05T13:51:00.000-05:00

Caroline is home from school today. She walked in the bedroom this morning and said, “Mommy . . . I’m—“ and then she threw up on the floor. She’s in my bed, watching cartoons, and she says she’s feeling a “little better.”

So I called K and told him I couldn’t pick him up for the noon meeting. He was new to AA right before I stopped going. The last time I saw him he was a train wreck—nervous, jittery, moody, pissed off. Four months later he’s a completely different person—articulate, balanced, insightful, calm—it’s been really good for me to hang out with him because I see the transformation, and it’s so dramatic it’s almost indescribable—plus we are around the same age and have the same sponsor—a woman who has over thirty years. We went to a meeting last night and I was telling him how it’s sort of weird that he’s the more stable one while I’m a fucking mess. Anyway, we’re neighbors—as far as one can be out in the country—he lives about three miles away and doesn’t have a license. So it’s a good arrangement. I make sure he gets to a meeting by giving him a lift, and he makes sure I get to one by asking for a lift.

I’m rewriting my memoir proposal. I want to start querying agents again in February. I have a list of ten that I think would be a good match, but I have to nail the proposal first. This time I’ve got some outside help though—which is awesome! If I can figure out the “formula” for the book proposal—and it really is a sort of formula—than I’ll be able to write solid proposals for the other projects I’ve been thinking about—one is an anthology and another is memoir.

marathon! holy shit!

2007-12-02T19:10:00.000-05:00

Tonight Jack and I went out for dinner and had an extremely important talk. See, Jack is very sensitive, just like me, in fact we’re the most sensitive couple I know. That’s why the conversation was so important. It probably saved our marriage, and I was glad he brought it up. See, Jack thinks the VH1 reality shows are scripted. I don’t watch much TV, but I do watch the VH1 reality shows like Flavor of Love, I Love New York, Charm School Girls, and Rock of Love. The people on these shows are the kind of people I used to hang out with. So Jack was trying to convince me they’re all scripted—this weekend VH1 had a Flavor of Love 1 & 2 marathon—both seasons all day. I was in heaven! I’ve already watched both seasons, but I was only too happy to watch them again, and I made Jack watch them with me. Well, I didn’t make him, but he was sitting next to me and doing some work on the laptop.

I don’t believe the shows are scripted. I do think it’s a type of acting that is maybe similar to improvisation. People on these shows probably do get into “character.” But I don’t think they have scripts. We were talking about how the “star” of the show always picks the most BORING person. Flav picked Hoopz (yawn!) and then he picked Delicious (zzzzz …) Bret Michaels picked that totally boring girl with pink hair (yawn!) and New York picked that Ninja Turtle guy over Chance! WTF? Chance was SO adorable. A bit of a bad boy, sure, but holy cow Ninja put me to sleep. And now New York has to pick from the new guys. I have a feeling it’ll come down to Buddha, Tailor Made, and Punk. Here’s a sneak peek of tomorrow night’s episode. Hope it works . . . okay it doesn't exactly work, but if you click on the big empty box you'll see it.

I want Tailor Made or Punk to win. I can’t STAND Buddha. He’s an arrogant prick.

2007-11-29T17:36:00.000-05:00

2007-11-29T17:33:00.000-05:00

2007-11-29T17:22:00.001-05:00

2007-11-29T17:21:00.000-05:00

2007-11-29T17:20:00.001-05:00

2007-11-29T17:16:00.000-05:00

Coffee, outline, coffee, outline!

2007-11-25T11:20:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I finally buckled down and started an outline for my Part 3. I hate outlining, but I had so many threads and characters in this last part that I knew I needed to get it down on paper in a very unsophisticated and technical way so that I could figure out which threads really mattered and which ones could be spared. I do hate letting little stories within stories go, but I can always use them for something else later. So I cut a lot of characters and storylines that were not essential and so far my outline is around 7,000 words. It will end up being around 10-15 k. Part 3 will be around 35,000k. Very detailed outline, much of it taken straight from my notebooks where I collect this stuff. Most of the outline consists of scenes and there is some chronological order to them but that will need more work, along with transitions and so forth. But I definitely know how it ends. I’ve known for some time now, but now I know how I get there, which is quite a bit different from just knowing. So the outline has been useful: grumble, moan: it’s a real pain in the ass, but maybe a necessary one at this stage. It’ll make writing the last part a lot easier, I know that much. I’m drinking entirely too much coffee and chain smoking. For some reason I need those two drugs to push out words. Could be worse though.

I’m reading “A Fan’s Notes,” by Frederick Exley. What a tremendously lovely writer he is. It’s like Nabokov meets Gatsby. He has the lyric quality of Fitzgerald coupled with the freshness of Nabokov’s imagery. His character is immediately sympathetic and likable, though I sort of like him for all the wrong reasons (isn’t that how it usually works with characters though?) –he’s too smart to be such a loser, and yet he is, and that’s why I like him. I love characters for their vulnerabilities. Isn’t that odd? I wonder if others are like that. And the writing is wonderful. I’d probably keep reading even if I hated his character because the writing is so lovely. I am like that with DeLillo. I don’t care for his characters, they all sound the same to me, but his narration is so fluid and graceful that I’ll read on even when I’m bored to tears with the “story.”

Hives and Roses

2007-11-23T12:49:00.000-05:00

So I got a signed copy of Franz Wright’s gorgeous new chapbook, ADDRESS (Vallum Chapbook Series, 2007). I think these poems may be some of my favorites of his. What I admire so much about his work is that it absolutely cannot be paraphrased. The poem lives in this very mysterious space between what’s real and what’s imaginary, what’s tragic and what’s funny, what's material and abstract, what’s seen and unseen—(and sometimes they are one and the same, no?) The following poem was one that I mentioned on my blog some time ago—

WHY DO YOU ASK

I breathed on the window and made my initial.
It’s true, and then there was the dream
Of being present
At my parents’ wedding.

That’s right: I breathed
On a little black fly-
Husk there on the sill
And it came back to life,
Why?

My body is lying in bed
All this time,
I know that.

I can see.

You say it’s been there for a while?
You have no idea.

There’s also a fabulously funny poem about Baudelaire. And the title poem ADDRESS is so incredibly beautiful you want to memorize it and take it with you everywhere. There is somewhat of an eastern flavor to these poems-—minimalism, clarity, allusions to Basho, Chinese characters, and lovely aphoristic-like lines that sing, such as in the final poem:

SOLUTION

What is the meaning of kindness?
Speak and listen to others from now on
As if they had recently died.
At the core the seen and unseen worlds are one.

Oh and hives and roses . . . lots of hives and roses . . .

New Issue of MiPo

2007-11-21T08:56:00.001-05:00

Is live: Mipoesias: I have an interview in it with Billy Collins. Enjoy!

squat girl

2007-11-20T09:42:00.000-05:00

Denis Johnson Got the National Book Award for Tree of Smoke, which I have not read, but the cool hippy guy who owns the bookstore in town was raving on and on about it, and he usually has impeccable taste. I do think Johnson is one of the best living writers--period--and yes, I am egotistical enough to make such grandiose claims. So three cheers for Denis Johnson. hip-hip . . . hooray!

*

Suzanne F's first book will be coming out next year! Can't wait to have a SIGNED copy in my hot little hands. Another very cool thing is that MSR is very close to me and I will provide crash pad, yummy food (via carry out), and crazy wild unforgettable times!

*

Injured myself yesterday at the gym. Pulled one of those thin, long muscles in my inner thigh. Yikes that hurt! Did you know that your thigh muscles are made up of all these strands that are braided together? I believe I pulled one called the "gracillis." It's in the very inside of the thigh. Really, deadlifts, squats and lunges are all you need for lower body. One good squat burns like 16 calories. I squat 80 lbs--4sets, 15 reps. For lunges, I carry a 30 lb barbell on my shoulders and do walking lunges--4 sets of 20 lunges. For deadlifts, 40 lbs, wide stance, 4 sets of 15. If that doesn't make you burn the next day--something is terribly wrong! Squats are also fabulous because they force you to tighten up your core and tone those abs at the same time. The deeper the better. I love squats and lunges--they are my favorites. My trainer thinks I'm totally nuts. He often tells me how he has never had a client who DEMANDED to do deadlifts, lunges and squats. Hey, they work!

pretty

2007-11-19T08:51:00.000-05:00

Trimalchio? uh . . .

2007-11-15T08:32:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I went to the book store and bought F. Scott Fitzgerald’s letters and another copy of The Great Gatsby. Both of my copies are trashed. I was highly tempted to buy a nice hardback copy, but the way I am with books—sigh. I tend to read the same books over and over. It is maybe like music, how one listens to the same songs or has favorite songs. His letters are very interesting, especially the exchanges between him and Hemmingway. He gave Hemmingway some harsh critiques and most of the time H took his advice. I loved those letters because you can actually learn from them—why something doesn’t work. Very interesting.

So everyone hated the title of The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald had a few alternative titles:

Gold-hatted Gatsby (Blech!)
Trimalchio in West Egg (YAWN)
The High Bouncing Lover (Puke!)
On the Road to West Egg (Borrr-ring)

Such awful, horrible alternative titles! Yikes!

He also adapted a phrase from Keat’s Ode to a Nightingale into The Great Gatsby:

Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

From The Great Gatsby:

“He lit Daisey’s cigarette with a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall.”

Fitzgerald was extremely fond of that poem. He also got the title from his other novel (Tender is the Night) from that excerpt. The poem is mentioned more than once in his letters. He also has the loveliest handwriting, it is like calligraphy, loopy and feminine, so very light and charming, especially for a man. Is that sexist? Oh well!

Me and Skippy

2007-11-12T14:38:00.000-05:00

This is my new parakeet, "Skippy." He loves to play! And I got a new camera. It is so awesome. It's a Casio Exilm, and I highly recommend it. Super awesome camera.

a love interest

2007-11-10T16:53:00.000-05:00

Today we went to Jack's coworker's farm. They have a huge farm with horses, ponies, sheep, rabbits, chickens and roosters, like five really cute dogs, and an alpaca.

It was a lovely farm owned by a Cuban family. They had at least twenty acres and four different houses on the property--one for each family, though the grandmother lived with one of the families. Several family members work at the law firm with Jack. One of them is his assistant. She was telling me how much of a slob he was and I was cracking up.

The alpaca took quite an interest in me. Alpacas look like llamas, but they're not llamas. Anyway, the alpaca literally followed me around everywhere. I don't know what this alpaca saw in me, but sheesh this alpaca wouldn't leave me alone. Everyone was cracking up over it. If I walked one way, the alpaca followed. He rubbed his nose on my sweater than he stuck his nose up my sleeve and started licking me. It was a little embarrassing. He wouldn't let anyone else really near him. Caroline and Jack both tried but he ran away. No such problem for me. I couldn't get rid of him. At one point, one of the family members was like, "That alpaca is in love with you." I was wearing my special bootyliscious lotion, which is supposed to give off pheromones, but apparently it also works on alpacas.

I wasn't the only one to find love at the farm. There were five other dogs and Baby was quickly pursued by an elderly chiwawa named Taco. Taco would kick up the dirt with his legs and Baby would do the same. They chased each other around and played and wouldn't let any of the other dogs play with them.

So it was a nice, quiet day. I sort of wandered off with the alpaca and a few ponies. I felt very relaxed and at home. I like animals, I could just be around them all the time. They are so innocent.

good country song

2007-11-08T23:02:00.000-05:00

You may say i'm a dreamer

2007-11-08T22:04:00.000-05:00

for jack, Happy Birthday.

more tunes

2007-11-08T21:50:00.000-05:00

Shelley Jan 2003-Nov 2007

2007-11-07T15:27:00.000-05:00

Shelley Jan 2003-Nov 2007

Well today I had to put Shelley to sleep. I noticed in the past few months that he was acting a little tired but I figured he was just getting old. But then his foot stopped working. It was like he was paralyzed in his right foot. I noticed this on Sat and it just gradually got worse. So I took him in at ten and the vet found a tumor. At first he thought it might be an egg because it was so big. But the X-ray showed it was a tumor and the poor little guy was suffering. I cried. It was just very sad. So finally they take him into the little room to put him to sleep. I was thinking on the way home how he was chirping along to the music on the way there and on the way back there was no chirping, just my little bird in his box. So Caroline and I are going to bury him now.

makes sense to me

2007-11-06T19:14:00.000-05:00

I am still somewhat at a loss for blogging. Partly because I feel my best blogging is behind me. I mean, where does one go after a post like The Great Rock Mystery? Not to be arrogant, but that post is a hard act to follow. I mean the complexity and magic . . . the layers . . . the social commentary . . .

Sigh.

I am so desperately and wonderfully torn lately between my head (which knows better) and my heart (which feels better). Emotion is so irrational, illogical. Reason is so gutless, static. The first draft of my memoir was more of an emotional experience. The revising is so much more reasoning and logic, putting things into order. I like to feel and think later . . .

Sigh.

And what about inspiration? Have you ever written something and you know it's good, may be a little rough but it's there damn it, and you start to wonder if it will ever happen again? There's a possibility it won't. It may happen again, but not as intensely, fully, or passionately.

This is what tortures me lately, if you must know.

Tahiti!!!

2007-11-03T13:41:00.001-04:00

Thank you Didi!!! I LOVE her. She's beautiful. I've been given a lot of gifts, but this one is so special. It's tough to beat a really sexy Brazillian looking woman.

Disturbing

2007-11-02T13:44:00.000-04:00

So I was going through Caroline's Halloween candy, just to make sure it was okay, and I found a candy she got from school that is a little bothersome. I know it came from school because it was inside a treat bag that had her teacher's name on it. The name of the candy is called BODY PARTS. It is a jelly candy and smells strawberry flavored. I thought this book by Apollinaire was an appropriate background . . .

Here it is inside the package:

And here is a close-up of it:

Is it just me being perverted again or is that a candy weenis?

Last Time

2007-11-01T21:24:00.000-04:00

1st day of Nano! I did complete my word count goal. Here's my first page. It's obviously a first draft. (This post is subject to disappear within 24 hours--maybe less!)

Last Time

Mom helped pack and we piled brown trash bags on the sidewalk. The last thing we hauled out was the blue mattress, stained with years of fighting and fucking, stinking of sweat and breast milk and tears. We propped it against the trash bags. They were full of old bills, receipts, newspapers, phonebooks, toiletries, food that would spoil on the twelve hour drive and so many other things I didn’t want because they reminded me of everyday life, a life that had failed. Dad started the truck and Mom buckled in the baby. I glanced at the yellow duplex one last time. My nosy neighbors were out front, crouched beside a bicycle.

I had regrets, sure. But what I kept thinking about was those tall Georgia Pines waving out back. They were waving the same way one July night during a storm. The thunder woke me. I crawled naked out of bed and went out on the screened porch. The sky flashed every few seconds and lit up those trees. I could see every ridge in the peeling bark and the smooth layer of wood below. Rain pounded so hard I couldn’t tell if the drops close to the ground came from the sky or from puddles splashing. Then a giant whip belted across the sky and my heart leapt. I screamed and turned around. Chad stood in the doorway. He came over and pulled me on the cement and we fucked right there with rain dripping off our faces and our bodies filling with all that glorious light and terrifying noise.

But that’s not how love ends. Love ends on the sidewalk on a cold Monday in February. It ends with your neighbors spinning a bicycle wheel and acting as if it could never happen to them. It ends in a pile of rubbish. It ends with your baby laughing as the truck backs over the curb. It ends with you worried about money and the future. And it ends with all your hurt projected onto something as stupid as a blue mattress that’s too soiled to give away.

fire pants

2007-10-30T06:05:00.000-04:00

I have on my very comfy "fire pants." They are velvet pj bottoms with orangish-red flames. I feel pretty hot in them. I'm actually an in the buff sleeper. I can't sleep with clothes on. Well I can, but I prefer not to. No clothes, lots of blankets. I also sleep on my belly. I'm sure you're all very interested in my sleeping habits. (Rolls eyes.) I had a hell of a time sleeping when I was pregnant because I couldn't sleep on my belly. A month or so before I had Caroline, one of the things I looked forward to most was being able to sleep on my belly again.

I've been a bad blogger lately. *looks up* I just have nothing to say that's very interesting. I'm going to be even worse of a blogger in November because I will be writing part 3 of my memoir. I thought I had a first draft, but I don't. I'm missing a section. My memoir has 3 parts. I know this now. I did not know this until last week. I'm going to use Nano as an excuse to write a draft of it, although nano is 50k and my part 3 is only about 30k. But that's alright. 1,000 words a day is not very hard, so I'm fairly confident I will be able to do it. Sort of nice to rip through a first draft like that too. The real writing is all done in revision anyhow, at least for me.

Caroline is going to be a unicorn for Halloween.

Gifts of Love

2007-10-25T20:05:00.000-04:00

Gifts of Love
By Yehuda Amichai

I gave them to you
for your earlobes, your fingers. I gilded
the time on your wrist,
I hung lots of glittery things on you
so you'd sway for me in the wind, so you'd
chime softly over me
to soothe my sleep.

I comforted you with apples, as it says
in the Song of Songs,
I lined your bed with them,
so we could roll smoothly on red-apple bearings.

I covered your skin with a pink chiffon,
transparent as baby lizards--the ones with
black diamond eyes on summer nights.

You helped me live for a couple of months
without needing religion
or a point of view.

You gave me a letter opener made of silver.
Real letters aren't opened that way;
they're torn open,
torn, torn.

3 apples

2007-10-23T14:26:00.000-04:00

I fed the Appaloosa three apples today. I love Apps. They are very pretty, spirited horses, although I had an awful experience with one once. I had a crush on this stable boy where I went riding. He wore these suede black chaps that really framed his cute little butt. Every time I saw him, things just moved in slow motion. I always rode Dotty, a frisky Appaloosa who loved to race and if you didn’t keep her in line, she would jet when you got about a quarter mile to the barn – if a horse knows its way back to the barn or if it can somehow sense the rider is not fully in control, it may, if spirited and a little rebellious, decide to ignore the bit or take the pain because it’s worth the prize. So the guy, who I will call Romeo, asked one day if I wanted company on my trail ride. He saddled up his Tennessee Walker and we headed out. Romeo led, which was fantastic because I had a great view. So we were about three quarters through the trail and coming to a straight stretch of gravel. At the end of the stretch, we would turn left into this very dense and steep wooded area where you had to be careful for fallen tree trunks – in other words, you had to slow down or your horse might trip. Well the long straight line of gravel was very exciting for Dotty, especially with Romeo ahead, and his Tennessee Walker galloping a little faster each time we started to pass them. Eventually this made Dotty totally bonkers and she just flew by Romeo and I couldn’t stop her. I had no intentions of bailing, as I thought I could get her under control before we took the turn into the woods, but she just kept going. Once we took the turn and she showed no signs of stopping, and this part of the trail could be very dangerous, for both horse and rider, I decided to bail. I picked a grassy spot and jumped, but I miscalculated a little and I ended up landing on the trail. This would have been fine if Romeo wasn’t right behind me. Luckily, Romeo’s horse jumped over me. But I still cracked three ribs, got a gash on my arm that had to be stitched, and basically looked like an idiot. I always sort of wondered if he was the one that got away . . .

The Oldest Profession

2007-10-22T09:31:00.000-04:00

This is an unofficial call for poetry and stories-- basically a head start for those who read my blog. It has not been announced by MiPo yet. I will be editing this issue in 2008. It will appear online.

Call for Poems and Stories : The Oldest Profession

MiPoesias will be seeking poems and stories with a sex work theme or twist. Poems and stories do not have to be written by sex workers or even from the perspective of a sex worker. They do not have to be overtly political—for or against sex work—maybe a sex worker is a character in the story or the speaker of the poem is making an observation about pornography, phone sex operators, peep shows, prostitution, stripping, pimps, brothels, a massage parlor, courtesans, etc. Perhaps the character in the story frequents strip clubs. They can also be based on religious or historical figures, like Mary Magdalene or Mata Hari. Also feel free to write response poems or use characters from paintings, poems, novels, and stories featuring sex workers. Think broadly. Van Gogh’s lover was a prostitute. Prostitutes were often the models for paintings. Dozens of poems and stories feature sex workers as characters, objects of affection, pity, and scorn. I tend to prefer writing that humanizes sex workers rather than makes moral judgments. Sex workers are not limited to women. Men are sex workers too—think Chip and Dales, male escorts, porn actors: gay, straight, and transgender. Also feel free to play with the definition of prostitution—is it limited to sex work or are there other forms of prostitution in the broader public sphere that do not include sex?

Deadline to be announced. Issue will be published Summer 2008.

steaks and nano

2007-10-15T16:15:00.000-04:00

We had a good weekend. Lynze and Rick and her son and his friend came up from Fla. Jack was on his uh . . . worst behavior? Not really, but after a few whiskeys he was pretty much bouncing off the wall. What a lightweight. I actually tried to cook dinner and it actually turned out fairly decent. We all sit down to eat in the dining room we never use and Jack starts his typical shenanigans. First he cuts a chunk off the kids’ steak sitting next to him while the kid was in the kitchen getting some ice. Then he cuts a piece off his steak and trades pieces, trying to put the kids’ steak back together with a different piece so it looks as if it’s not cut. Jack’s steak was well done. The kids’ was medium rare. Then it’s like ten toasts in a row, most of which are Jack reciting some quote from an obscure poet in translation or a line from a really dumb action flick. Understand, I’ve been cooking for two hours and I just want to eat my damn food. But it was fun.

I’m doing Nano (National novel writing month) in November. I have two stories to choose from—one which is really just an image at this point—an opening scene. The other I actually outlined! I’m not sure which one I want to try. Nano is 1700 words a day, total of 50,000 words at the end of the month. It’s a quick first draft and I suppose doing it this way has its bonuses. I know a couple people who’ve published Nano novels—after extensive revision of course. But it’s sort of nice just to do a stream-of-conscious first draft and see where your imagination takes you. For this reason, I may write the one where I only have an opening scene. That’s the problem with writing poetry and prose—in poetry I write to figure out what I’m writing about. In prose, you should already have a decent idea—though I never really do. I just get an image in my head, or a character starts talking to me and won’t shut the fuck up.

Belle, our cat, is home. I just saw her running through the field. She must chase mice or hunt in the pasture. When she comes home, she runs right under the window where my office is and starts meowing loudly. No kidding. It’s like she won’t stop until I go downstairs and let her in. Smart cat.

jenni's jukebox

2007-10-13T23:12:00.001-04:00

Guess who wrote this while they were in Spain

2007-10-13T22:44:00.000-04:00

dragggggging on

2007-10-09T21:41:00.001-04:00

Beep beep

2007-10-09T21:34:00.001-04:00

wake up, wake up, wake up

2007-10-09T21:21:00.001-04:00

how deep?

2007-10-08T21:57:00.000-04:00

for Didi

footsy

2007-10-05T09:56:00.000-04:00

"Thank you all very much for coming out today . . ."

Probably not the best opening for Sen Larry Craig, who was charged with lewd conduct (later dropped to disorderly conduct) for trying to pick up an undercover cop in the bathroom in June 2007.

According to the officer:

At 1216 hours, Craig tapped his right foot. I recognized this as a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct. Craig tapped his toes several times and moves his foot closer to my foot. ... The presence of others did not seem to deter Craig as he moved his right foot so that it touched the side of my left foot which was within my stall area. Craig then proceeded to swipe his left hand under the stall divider several times, with the palm of his hand facing upward.

Despite my personal feelings about Sen Craig (which are largely negative) I fail to find what he did illegal. If I walked into a bar, sat next to some guy, and started playing footsy with him, would that be a crime? No sexual activity took place in the bathroom. Whether or not Sen Craig would have performed sexual acts in public is based on speculation, not facts.

So, my post has nothing to do with the morality of his act – I don’t care who he wants to make out with in the bathroom. I’m more concerned with the government’s interest in legislating courting rituals – because that is how I see it what he did, as a courting ritual.