another one bites the dust. . .

. . . trent lott will be ending his political career. Wish I could say I was sorry. But I'm not. I'm giddy with joy and glee.

Not because of that sleazy politician. But because I got no sleep last night. Why am I always in such a decent mood when the insomnia hits? Anyone have any idea about that?

In the car this morning on my way to teach: Butthole Surfers, Pepper. Analyzed the lyrics for potential metaphor lesson. Yes, class, it is true. There is a lot to be learned from BS. But then the kicker song came on - you gotta give props to Southern Culture on the Skids. They are so lyrically superior. Walk Like a Camel. How can I get that in the classroom? There surely is a way. Give me a day or two. I'll figure it out.

Mood: good.

it seems . . .

. . . that no matter how much time I have to get things done, I am always three days and forty bucks behind. (The forty bucks is random - the three days feels about accurate.)

Despite many very lovely invitations to Thanksgiving dinner, and a good lead on where to find some tofurkey, I ended up spending the day grading (yes, grading) and cleaning (a break from the grading). There were also many phone calls made, and the purchase of a secondhand coffee table. I only wish I could explain fully the reason I needed to replace the old one. Let's just say it involved a crooked leg, a negligent screw, and gerbil piss. My great-grandmother also figures into the equation, but let's leave the dearly departed out of it.

It is past midnight, and I am wide awake in some sort of post-vacation bliss. Let's face the reality: I have to be up at 7, and I am in complete and utter denial over that fact.

Been reading Milan Kundera's The Curtain, An Essay in Seven Parts. The man is fucking brilliant. It depresses me. In the total and complete jealous way, kind of like how I am in awe of Salmon Rushdie and his slight issues with fatwas. Anyway, Kundera reminds me of Simic when Simic talks about poetics and how he eloquently manages to make such poignant statements of opinion. So, when Kundera writes about writing he is like Simic when Simic writes about writing. What can I say, folks? It's late.

so much . . .

. . . to blog about. I've been busy (obviously), but the break is here, and that means playing catch up. Starting with the blog. Okay, really, it started yesterday with a bout of shopping and cleaning and making cookies. My feminine domesticity shining through. It was so nice to not have to consider what the next day required me to do last night. So, here I am. Boring the socks off of you.

One of the things I saw yesterday near the university on S. College was the following sign on the Checkers billboard: There here! Yes, something about some sort of food I'd never eat, and I should add, never will. Checkers isn't exactly my idea of food anyway. (And if it's yours, well, not everyone is perfect.) It really took me a while to figure out what they were trying to communicate. I actually put quite a bit of thought into figuring this out. I do that with license plates too. Anyway, yeah, brain cells I'll never get back. And neither will you, reading this.

So my students found my poem about masturbation online. It was only a matter of time. And that's fine. But they also seemed to neglect the entire premise of cow killing that goes on in the poem too. Whatever. Let's focus on auto-eroticism in a poem that has a poleax. It's fine. Sure.

This past weekend I feel like I practically lived downtown. I am starting to get familiar with the layout, where things are that I've heard about via the news/newspaper/drunken stories from colleagues and/or students.

That's it for the moment. All I've got. I just realized I am in need of a nap. Yes, a nap. That's right. When one is in academia, and one has a schedule that is conducive to having a midday siesta, and also when one is on vacation from said academic schedule, one can have a nap.

the lake . . .

. . . was apparently not calling. Started raining in earnest the moment I pulled out my sneakers. Figures. Taking a break from grading. It seems to be a good day for reading and drinking tea. Buddha keeps telling me "hello" and then the conversation sort of ends there.

In poetical news, I think I may have written my first prose poem. Perhaps. I don't know. It's a revision from a rather verbose poem and it seemed it would work better as a prose poem. I added a lot. I am always so wary of the new things I try. It seems sort of odd with my personality that I am so stubborn on certain things and yet so liberal with others. Had a student bring in a Frost book of poems the other day, and I bet my disdain was clearly written in a flashing neon sign above my head. (Yes, I know. I am one of those poets who find more interest in Frost's morbid life than in his poetry. I reserve the right to change this opinion in the future, of course.)

I may change the poem back into lines. . . although perhaps not. I don't know. I think I am daunted at the idea of revising the poem again when in this form. I base so many of my revisions upon the line break. This will be more a rhythm/flow sort of deal. The train of thought. . .

Roughly three weeks left in the semester. Then I am set loose upon all those lovely books piled in three stacks on my dining room table. And writing. Ah, writing.

finalist for fiction . . .

. . . which is way awesome, since I still consider myself first and foremost a poet. But this contest is really neat, and North Carolina is a hotbed of literary talent. I have to say, I do love living here. So thanks to Jim Shepard, the guest judge, and congrats to the other finalists, winners, etc.

It is that time of the semester where the work feels a tad bit overwhelming. So much do to, so little time to do it in. I think I need a break (although I haven't actually done anything but read the paper so far this morning). I hear the lake calling my name. . .

a more polite rant. . .

. . . there is no way I can post my real rant. So just know, I am ranting. Totally pissed off. At something. Because of someone(s). Because something happened which affected something else and it makes me feel some sort of something.

Jesus.

So, there is my rant. Because my self preservation clicked in before I hit post. Because I want a future. Because apparently, you can shut a poet up. Because sometimes there are things worth it. Because sometimes there are not. Just know that I am pounding on the keyboard in a mix of fury and amusement. The amusement is a recent development. As of five seconds ago. I may keep my mouth shut on this one. I may not. If something is wrong, you should say something right?

SOMETHING!!!!

randomness. . .

. . . well, the Juice is back in court. It's almost like deja vu. Wait a minute! Yeah. Still guilty as hell. Still dumb as shit.

The dollar is as popular as Bush these days. This irks me. With the price of a barrel of oil soon to reach a trillion dollars per, I am curtailing my much desired wish to return to Europe this upcoming summer. I blame Bush. Why the heck not?

On a positive note, the poetry is really coming along quite nicely. I cannot believe how close to the end of the semester we are. The revising process is insane. Mostly for the fact that I am seeing ways to rework poems that I never would have considered before. A way to realign the thought process in my poems that in inherent, if not always mappable. Now it may be both. Very exciting stuff. Indeed.

Other very important news: Lucy, my somewhat reticent/evil cat, is starting to warm up to the whole having her side rubbed. Her head no longer spins around and she isn't spitting out green goo anymore. The eyes still flash red, but whatever. Working slowly toward the whole belly rub thing. Who says you can't 'train' cats? Hah! I have the scratches to prove you can.

epoch . . .

. . . so perhaps another important decision made. One I am still thinking about, but have been pondering for ages. A compromise of sorts. A step in some direction. One I'll divulge only if and when it occurs.

The weather is expected to turn today! I am very excited about this, although bemoaning waking up to a chilly house. But whatever. It will be winter soon! Winter at the beach isn't exactly the same thing as winter next to the mountains. And I will miss a great section of it when I go home for break. Perhaps it will snow this year in Chattanooga. That would be fantastic. I've never done the Ruby Falls thing, despite living so close. Perhaps this year would be a good one to check out the Christmas lights. Do the Illumination downtown if I am there in time. Already looking forward to going home!

it's approaching like a welcomed (unwelcomed) hairy beast. . .

. . . my birthday. Granted, it's in January, so don't send the gifts just yet. But I've been thinking about my own gift to myself (something I instituted around the time of adulthood when relatives no longer consider you cute enough to hand out cash or even cards). I must admit that my own gifts to myself are usually fairly satisfying. I cannot recall any of them at the moment, but I blame that on my advancing years.

I am thinking of getting a tattoo.

Yes! Finally! I have wanted one since about as long as I have wanted the nose ring. And that has worked out marvelously well. I am in the stage of still considering what I want. I am afraid that there may not be an artist capable of rendering an accurate account of my beloved cat (see pic below), so I may do something with words. Which is kinda funny, because I asked one of my classes the other day of the ones who had tattoos (four), whether they were words or pictures. All of them had images. I would want a word. With no accompanying numbers or embellishments. No cute fairy hanging on the Y. No half moon cradling the OETR. (Obviously I am considering the word POETRY. But do I do it in English or French? Hmmm.)

This could take up copious amounts of my time. A huge decision. So prepare yourself world (i.e. Mom). There may be a little extra something on the body next year.

my typing assistant . . .