poethussy

moving again . . .

2011-05-11T08:24:00.003-05:00

. . . to this new blog! It's been a long time and I'm excited to get back in the groove of blogging. Visit me at jenniferannfarmer.blogspot.com.

See you there!

watching pointless television . . .

2009-12-03T11:02:00.002-05:00

. . . and pondering the book. Baby is down for a nap and I could be writing, but the time is not yet right. I dislike this part of the writing process. The thinking part. In some ways it feels a bit like cheating or procrastination. But it is so close, with the research coming to an end, that I should not even worry. The writing part will come soon enough. Until then, I have the holidays to keep me busy! And then the move to Asheville . . . busy, busy, busy.

always a matter. . .

2009-11-06T22:50:00.001-05:00

. . . of time. And money. And the economy, and other schedules, and priorities.

The story is parked for the moment. In my head, where it is sitting like a ripe tomato. I am so afraid it may tumble from the vine and rot away somewhere in a tuft of overgrown grass. Ugh.

cool weather is . . .

2009-10-14T20:42:00.002-05:00

. . . here, finally! We have a fire in the fire place and apple crisp in the kitchen. It is incredibly sad to say good bye to summer, but nice to enjoy the fall. I love sweater weather.

The writing is now at the plotting, planning, research phase, which I am enjoying immensely. Naturally, there are not enough hours in the day.

Soon, I will be moving again . . . this time hopping cities, landing in Asheville. It will be a great place to raise the baby, write, and do all those other lovely things life has in store. Definitely in a benign mood!

it's the thought . . .

2009-09-28T09:41:00.003-05:00

. . . that counts, right? Because I was just about to post, but I hear stirrings in the nursery. (Does anyone say nursery anymore?)

Anyway, the baby's up. But the important writing is done. Until next time. . .

ahhhhhh. . .

2009-09-22T20:58:00.003-05:00

. . . decisions are being made, website design is going on, and today was the first day I haven't done any major writing. A break was definitely needed there. Back onto it tomorrow.

I'm a huge Top Chef fan and yay for the new season in Las Vegas. It is rocking so far. Also watching Hell's Kitchen now, and I must say that Gordon Ramsay should take a note from Tom Colicchio about keeping his cool. I'd be far more afraid of Colicchio's displeasure than the constant bufooning of Ramsay. (Okay, it shows I'm more of a Top Chef fan, but in our house we watch both.)

First day of fall and I was delighted to see the rain, but disappointed with the humidity. Oh well. You can't have it all.

And the best news of all: Gemma is cutting her first tooth! Very exciting. She's being super good about it. Babies are wonderful things.

keeping in mind. . .

2009-09-17T13:59:00.003-05:00

. . . the meaning of rough draft. It's meant to be rough. Rough to write, rough to read. When things get sticky, I change gears and think about the website I want to develop. If anyone knows of any really great writer websites out there, let me know.

Summer is slowly exiting. I love fall. I love winter. I'm definitely a sweater type of person.

the writing is. . .

2009-09-16T10:00:00.003-05:00

. . . going well!

So well, I barely have time to grocery shop or do anything else.

In support of my writing, I got a surprise from My Significant Other. A brand new MacBook Pro. A Mac! I have been wanting one of these since forever, and it really is just an amazing computer. It arrived this morning and I wished instantly for a nanny so I could start playing on it right away. Gemma wasn't up for that though, so I had to wait. Dying for Justin to get home so he can see what he got me.

Sometimes things just fall into place and go the right way. Today is one of those days.

Even the weather is cooperating.

the baby is. . .

2009-09-02T18:16:00.003-05:00

. . . napping for a few minutes and I am catching up online. Back to reading other blogs I enjoy and checking out websites, gearing up for submissions again. My significant other is already prepping for Halloween. It is funny to think that in a few years Gemma will be old enough to understand and enjoy dressing up and doing all the trick or treating. It was never really my holiday. I do recall though that one year I got to dress up as a call girl. I had no idea what that meant and I am sure my teacher was horrified when I told her what I was (honestly, I could have said gypsy and the outfit would have passed either way). Yay memories! Christmas is much more up my alley with the decorations and songs and merriment. This one will be good, of course, but the next one, when Gemma is closer to being two, will be the one to end all. Paper to rip, gingerbread to make, and songs to sing.

Yesterday I finished up a short story that has been in my head for at least two years. I don't know why it has taken me so long to commit it to paper, but the general concept has been lurking about and I finally worked out the particulars and luckily an ending presented itself. Not sure I will keep it upon revision, but it is there for now.

This puts me ever closer to the bigger picture, the larger project. It is so nice to finally be able to write again, even if only twenty minutes at a time and with innumerable interruptions.

no matter how. . .

2009-08-30T15:28:00.002-05:00

. . . much I fight it, things really do come in balance. Since only the lovely side of this matters in the long run, I am excited to announce that my little story "The Triplets" has been given second place in the open fiction contest by Prick of the Spindle. I love these folks, and they obviously have wonderful taste, so you should stop by and peruse the site. Thank you Spindle folk!

Yesterday we took the dogs to a dog wash event that was collecting funds for rescue. Bean was a terribly good sport, in his element with all those hands on him and treats to be had. He even likes the water. Poor Sam on the other hand was experiencing the same event as a molestation of his person. All I know is that meant one less chore for me, and the smell of wet dog in the car on the way home.

Cooler weather coming this week. I can't wait! Open windows! Fresh air! It's about time.

all things that . . .

2009-08-27T13:59:00.002-05:00

. . . can be good about summer: going to the beach in lovely 80 degree weather; baking fresh honey wheat bread from scratch; going out of town; reading a biography on Virginia Woolf; visiting a favorite grocery store not in Wilmington that has gorgeous heirloom tomatoes. All of these, I have done in the past week. Including the collecting of shells and sand for Baby Gemma. Someday, she will have these mementos and wonder why on earth her mother saved them for thirty years.

Woolf has long been one of my favorite writers and I am convinced that if she were alive today she would enjoy blogging. She'd have a voice beyond the demanding ones of her intimate group. She'd probably get herself in a bit of trouble, but she'd be championed into something beyond the strong personalities that Bloomsbury afforded her. I also think that my other favorite writer, Flannery O'Connor, would blog. I've thought a lot about this lately. Many not-yet-known writers blog, but I'm hard pressed to think of any well known writers who do. Maintaining a website is different - something I think writers who are getting recognition finally for their work start to transition toward with an element of blogging involved. I'm not sure what is behind my own urge to blog except that I enjoy it and it gives me a space to write. I am, of course, hawking my book about (although not strenuously by any means as the demands of motherhood are more vocal than the demands of the book), but I feel in a year that I will be in the website mode. . . as things change and progress and I am able to be more serious in this internet endeavor. It also begs a lot about the privacy/public question. . . the internet being this vast and forever thing.

If only Woolf and O'Connor had websites where I could ask their opinions on the matter.

everyday feels like . . .

2009-08-06T14:52:00.002-05:00

. . . a completely new beginning. What will we be doing today? Will the baby be interested in an outing? Will I get any writing done? Will Wilmington stop being so humid? I can think of three life-changing events I am working on right now and I am equally excited about all of them and I also wish at the same time that I had a little less to deal with at one time. But then it occurs to me that this is actual life!

Right now it is storming here and the windows are coated with rain. Amazingly enough, the dogs are rather chill about the thunder, although Sam's usual MO is to freak out. Last night we watched Marley and Me, and it made me absolutely appreciate every dog I have ever had, even when I've had seven at one time. There is no way on earth any of my dogs were as destructive or disobedient as Marley. Kathleen Turner as the dog obedience instructor cracked me up! I saw that whole episode coming from a mile away.

Julie & Julia is out and I confess I want to see it. Meryl Streep is a favorite of mine, and Amy Adams has proven to be extremely talented in every movie I have seen her in. As for books, yes I am reading! Finding time somewhere (stealing fifteen minutes from sleep, in the bathtub, during baby naps when I should be folding laundry). My ultimate recommendation is for The Elegance of the Hedgehog. I didn't want to finish it. Ever. The voice of the main character is so entrancing, so likeable in her attempts at mediocrity. Another stellar read is Middlesex. I've been wanting to read it having been a huge fan of Orlando by Virginia Woolf. The main character in this is also fascinating. Both books propel you to want to know what is going to happen next, which is something I have been thinking about in literary fiction lately. How does great literature assume that same plot-driven feel of, say, a thriller, and remain essentially a character derived novel? Hmmm. More thoughts on this later.

slowly, like the . . .

2009-05-30T15:48:00.003-05:00

. . . last drop in a bottle, the writing is coming along for a project I've been thinking of for months. Perhaps longer. Time seems muddled when you hit thirty. It no longer runs linearly, but categorically. Anyway, the project has a name, is somewhere around 40% written, and contains a general concept of flow. I'm very excited about it. The neatest thing about writing is when you crest that hill from a mere inkling of thought to a viable entity. However, I am also sadly burdened with a terrible lack of commitment to finishing my fiction (doesn't everyone have three dozen starts for three dozen different novels?).

Loving the warm weather too. It seems to encourage writing with the windows open and the fans blowing.

Time to work on a table of contents. . .

parenting by poetry . . .

2009-05-06T07:35:00.003-05:00

. . . is something I plan on doing. (Although this does sound like it would require some memorization on my part, and let's face it - you can only quote the red wheelbarrow to your child a few times before the mystique wears off.)

However, this handy little tome may provide other options: Shut Up You're Fine: Instructive Poetry for Very, Very Bad Children. I was delighted to find this title, and even more delighted to find the poems were, well, instructional (read: hysterical). Pick it up.

perfect . . .

2009-05-05T11:57:00.000-05:00

packing has begun . . .

2009-05-05T11:44:00.003-05:00

. . . in preparation for the move to the new house. This is very exciting. Mostly exciting in the way of dashing from room to room to deal with the baby's needs and the pets' needs while attempting to toss things in boxes in some sort of coherent fashion whereby aforementioned things do not break.

On another note: I have been reading the word "lighted" an awful lot lately. This word irritates me. As far as I know, the correct use of the word in the context I read it in, is "lit." As in, she lit the cigarette. She lighted the cigarette? Hmmmm. It sounds wrong. It sounds as though somewhere the grammar was lost. Not that I am an expert. But if anyone knows the correct way to use the past tense of light, please enlighten me. (Then would I be enlit?)

Two new links to report on, by fellow MFAers who are super talented and have books either on the shelf, or forthcoming. It is very encouraging to see folks from workshop publishing in the big po-world.

i have been . . .

2009-05-02T08:24:00.002-05:00

. . . working on fiction. Short stories. By working on, I mean I have been writing voraciously inside my head and have yet to transfer that onto the page. There is a mental block with fiction writing for me that stems from my long affair with disliking revising my work. I would have to say that the one thing I pulled from my MFA experience is the embracing of revision. Poems no longer scare me. I can write a shitty poem and feel confident that I will be able to go back and make it less shitty. And then again. And again. Sometimes I even go back a version or two. Whatever. The point being, revision is that epoch of a piece of writing that pushes it over the edge. This can take time. I don't always see the revisions at first. I have a poem that I am in love with (always a dangerous prospect) and it has only seen one begrudging revision, and even that felt somehow dirty and cheap. (Why? Why did I force that one? The thesis, of course.)

With fiction, however, the concept of revising a story blocks me. Perhaps it is because there are so many more words, and the threads of events feel so much denser; mess with one early on and you pretty much kill where the story landed the first time. Perhaps this is really just me experiencing my usual procrastination. I don't know. What I do know is that inside my head, these stories are alive and vibrant, the characters vying for attention, the conversations taking off, the points of view establishing themselves, the tone and the pacing are practically dancing. . . and all I need to do is sit down and write them out.

where have you . . .

2009-04-28T12:17:00.003-05:00

. . . been and where are you going?

I have been around. Around. Doing things. Finishing the thesis. Growing life. (No, really. Growing life.) Giving birth. Being a mommy.

Yes, that's right.

And now?

And now I am back in the swing of all things blog. Which means baby pictures. And writing tirades. And sending out the book. All in all, things are just pretty fantastic at the moment. (I'm waiting for Sam the cat to poop outside the litter box so I can yell at Bean and Sam the dog for eating it. I didn't say life is perfect.)

More posts to come!

no title needed. . .

2008-10-31T13:30:00.003-05:00

. . . the pumpkin is being carved, the seeds are baking in some olive oil, salt and creole seasoning. No idea how many trick-or-treaters we will have here - hopefully just enough to drain the candy bowl. No need for leftovers.

I've done the early voting thing - and can't tell you how incredibly wonderful and liberating it was to cast that vote for Obama. I had to tell myself not to grin while voting. That may have seemed suspicious. I'm ready to be done with McCain and his ideas, and Bush and his actions. Time for something new!

And next week is UNCW's Writers' Week - a chance to play catch-up on grading, read, and of course, go to readings and events! And, let's be honest, a chance to sleep in all week. Now that is heavenly.

dirty, dirty words. . .

2008-10-14T15:21:00.002-05:00

. . . and finally, someone says something about it! Campbell Brown (besides having a delicious name) of CNN actually posted an opinion piece on the whole calling Barack an Arab thing. And yes, while it is super nice of McCain to set that ignorant-in-desperate-need-of-more-than-just-a-hairdo woman at his rally, the whole point of the matter was missed. Being an Arab isn't a bad thing. Talk about this double standard - McCain won't touch the Wright controversy because that would be to bring up race (the black one), but he's quick to offer up the Ayers controversy because that brings up the other race (terrorist, which leads in this country to all things Arab).

People are just going to have to come to grips with their inner prejudices. All those out there who are terrified because Obama is black are going to have to take a deep breath and realize that he's a person, just like they are, only he isn't going to discriminate against them the way they are against him. Same thing with all the Republicans. Democrats aren't that bad. Without them, there would never have been legalized voting for women, blacks, and you can kiss public education good-bye. So relax. The Democrats managed to live through eight years of Republican policy and so far, no one has died. (Well, that's kinda a big lie. There is the war, the Recession, the complete chaos we are currently experiencing, in which case, why would anyone want to put a Republican leader back in control? It's okay to switch it up every now and then.)

We need more than two parties. Which is why I am neither. Because there really has got to be a third or fourth option. Someday we may get there. But first we have to get past the idea that calling someone an Arab is a dirty word, or the opposite of calling someone an American. Until our political leaders can see that difference (talking to you here, John!), we'll not progress into a more politically balanced country.

so here's the . . .

2008-09-12T14:17:00.002-05:00

. . . goal: twenty new poems this month. I'm on my way with four or five. Today is the 12th, so that should give me plenty of time to rack up fifteen more. Fingers crossed, of course. This is all part of my thesis strategy. Which is why one goes to school to get an MFA. Forget the degree part. Forget the teaching experience. It's all about having someone hold your hand while you unconsciously put a book together. Like physical therapy for beginning writers.

It was mentioned to me the other day that I seem like I've been writing for a long time. So I thought about it, and yes, I have. I've been writing seriously for over ten years. I have half a dozen published poems to show for it, and I'm excited about where I am going. Maybe the MFA is really just a rite of passage some people need. I was reading in P&W about David Rhodes, the long lost writer who was rediscovered and is now publishing his first book after thirty years, and he did an MFA which gave him pretty much the same thing it is giving me: writing time. I don't have those connections everyone talks about -no lifetime friendships have emerged. So this semester holds a really tight importance for me to cherish that extra writing time. After next year, I won't ever have that again.

After next year, I may be moving to Canada. Or France. Because let's face it people, there is a shot that Obama may not win. How can people be so stupid to vote for McCain? McCain and Palin are out there blatantly lying (stopped the bridge to nowhere! sold the governor's jet for profit!) and Obama is talking about the issues. Like education. Health care. The war. The other war. It is so irritating to see this country once again go down the path of least resistance. The path of reality TV and fake butter on popcorn. No point in telling them to wake up. I think I finally understand what my high school history teacher told me once about losing his idealism. He said that when you get to a certain point, it feels futile to care so much. The stakes are so high here that apathy may be the best path to survival.

Or we can send Obama to the White House.

Choices, choices.

Reading Rodney Jones, Salvation Blues. Divine! One of my favorite poets out there. His poems make me want to write, which is always a great thing. He also has this incredible lexicon that weaves in his poems, making me lament my own limited use of language. (But then I think of James Wright, and I'm all square again on that front.)

i've been reading. . .

2008-08-27T12:10:00.003-05:00

. . . divisadero by Michael Ondaatje. You must read this book. There is no excuse to not read this book. This book will change your life. It may even do your taxes and finish the laundry.

This is the second week of class, the first full week, the week of never ending changes to my roster. More want to add than want to drop. A nice problem to have, the downside being the complete and utter lack of chairs. Whatever. We can still have wonderful conversations if we must sit on the floor. So far, class is going swimmingly.

And now that I've established what type of teaching semester it is going to be, I am excited to see how my writing is going to go. Jack Myers, our visiting professor for the semester, will soon be in town, and the writing will be on. The critical look at what the heck my poems are actually doing. What are they doing anyway? Sitting in my hard drive, napping.

It is raining here, the remnants of Fay, and there are sirens galore outside. I can only imagine what sort of car crash has ensued with this rain. It is madness out there. Office hours seem trivial today. . . but we'll see. The cats are all reposing themselves on the bed and even the dogs seem tuckered out with the weather.

I'm reading a biography on Henry VIII. What I find most interesting is the amount of detail about daily life the author has put in. All the stuff you secretly want to know but most textbooks won't hint at - how did Henry use the bathroom? Did they eat with forks? How on earth could Henry afford to feed his household of 1000 folks? What the heck does the Queen do all day? Super interesting stuff. Not a time period my hygiene loving soul would have wanted to live in. Especially considering the kitchen conditions and what they ate. It feels good to be reading some history as a change to all the novels I've been consuming.

More thunder . . . what a good reading in bed day.

oh, won't john . . .

2008-08-07T11:13:00.003-05:00

. . . mccain please just shut up? I am so tired of hearing his exact same speech addressing his "friends" about how he likes to use Ronald Reagan's comparison of congress to a drunken sailor, and how a drunken sailor emailed him (really? really, Mr. McCain?) not liking the comparison. Oh, how it hurts to hear the man speak. He really drives me crazy.

Not to let Obama off the hook either - I'm not so thrilled with his turning around on off-shore drilling. Yes, we little Americans have grown too big for our gas-needing britches, but that doesn't mean we need to do more harm to an already wounded environment. I think of this as a test of how America is going to handle the green movement. Is it just a fad, or are we really going to screw ourselves in the end?

If McCain wins, I am moving to Canada. Seriously. I cannot handle more conservative politics that hold down the social movements of the people.

Ironically, I am reading Wicked right now. Politics galore. Which is ultimately what the Harry Potter books are about as well. (Infinitely more so than religion, I think.) Before I go a-ranting again, I feel I should go change the channel. I think Kathy Griffin is on. Phew.

what a fabulous . . .

2008-07-09T11:56:00.003-05:00

. . . book! Just finished reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith. It is completely worth your time to read! I'm still thinking about it. It has such an abrupt ending, which is completely apropos for the theme of the book, that I want more. I want to know that Howard is okay, that Kiki gets what she needs, that Levi stops being so Levi, that Carl is doing better things, that Zora gets to take a moment to dismount that high horse of hers. I feel okay about Jerome though. He'll make it.

I think one of the things I so loved about this book was how incredibly close you can get as a reader, so involved in these small/big issues that they are dealing with - and yet you are forced to stop and see each of these characters from the perspective of another character, which lends so much insight into what it really means to be human. Everyone's flaws are there to be judged, and there is never resolution to what it means to get at the truth of who a person is. People are so complex! This is something I try to convey in class, but I'm not sure it ever gets across. It is easy to write stock - it is hard to write original.

So I am onto another book as of this morning: The Epicure's Lament by Kate Christensen. So far, so good. She's whipping around language like scrambled eggs. Reading these two women writers makes me wonder why on earth anyone needs me on the scene. Some seriously beautiful stuff going on here. I'm in awe.

okay, so here . . .

2008-07-07T10:58:00.002-05:00

. . . is an interesting post over at Harriet. D.A. Powell brings to our attention the question of poetry readings. I'm always excited to see certain poets read, because I am always entertained or deeply moved: Gerald Stern and James Tate are two of my favorites. I think they certainly fit the "poet greats" category. Every semester when it comes time for Writer's Week and I have to send my young and impressionable students out to see their first reading, I always balk. It's instinctive. Will all of my energy and enthusiasm for the written word die upon the proverbial boring poetry reading? Well, cripes. It can't always go well. I've been bored at readings before. But not for lack of depth or anything. Usually the boredom is a result of poorly planned events. Ten readers in two hours is enough to bore anyone. Or one reader for over forty minutes is pushing it. (Unless we're talking about a reader who likes to pontificate and happens to be gifted at doing so.)

It seems that there should be a happy medium in all this. Everyone has an off night. I'm willing to hear a poet twice before judging. But after that the judgment will be swift and mocking.

Lots of writing going on, but they are all starts. Half starts. No ends. No middles. No real progress. Just a lot of . . . potentialities.

dakota, mid-yawn. . .

2008-06-26T10:12:00.001-05:00

. . .

yes, it is. . .

2008-06-26T09:58:00.003-05:00

. . . true: my summer class was cancelled. I've had two former students email me about it, lol. Okay then. Let's just say, that enrollment seems to be down all over the board. The economy isn't so great, lots of students who previously were considered credit-worthy are no longer making the grade with lenders, and it goes from there. All I can say is that I am glad I wasn't counting on this job for my bread and butter this summer, otherwise times would be very, very tight.

Other news: mourning George Carlin, of course. Smart, smart man. One of the most astute people of cultural phenomenons and the general tomfoolery of humankind.

I am gathering words, so if you have any good ones, send them my way. This is my new attempt at poetry making - taking words I like, and starting there. Starting anywhere. Current words in the works: gravitas, sequention, and looky-loo.

I am also writing some other stuff. This is good. Fun, actually. I'm not one of those writers who actually enjoys writing. It's rather like pulling teeth for me, so anytime I look forward to writing as a verb it is indeed a grand occasion. Writing is like exercise - when I am disciplined about it I tend to enjoy it more (or dread it more, whatever). I like the afterwards effect of feeling accomplished though, so perhaps that is impetus enough to get back in the groove.

two cheers for . . .

2008-06-20T21:04:00.003-05:00

. . . the best book I've read so far all summer: Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. It was superb, and I highly recommend it. It is the kind of book that makes me want to be a writer.

And here is a tribute picture of Yummy, who did pass away and was finally buried this past weekend. (It was an extended wake, held in the freezer; hold your horror there.)

changes and stagnations. . .

2008-06-18T14:57:00.006-05:00

. . . which I just spent twenty minutes writing about and Blogger lost. So instead, I will simply tell you that there is a very naughty squirrel messing about my flowerbed in the front window. He likes to dig around my mulch and store things. But he doesn't but the mulch back. And now he is looking at me as though I should be happy to see him, tail all aflicker.

Humph.

the drought extended . . .

2008-06-11T19:00:00.003-05:00

. . . to the blog. Well, really it is more of a time issue. And then an inspiration issue. And then the issues kept piling up. Neglect, etc. It's all very clear in my head.

I've been absent.

But two days ago, I woke up to the composition of a poem going on in my head. It is a beautiful thing.

Teaching summer session soon. I've picked up two amazing books for the next semester: Poet's Choice by Ed Hirsch and The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry edited by J.D. McClatchey. I can't open one without wanting to consume the other. The Vintage one in particular is as close an anthology I've encountered to what would be in my own if I ever endeavored to compile one beyond the xeroxes I currently live by.

i am officially a little old granny lady . . .

2008-02-09T13:30:00.000-05:00

. . . with an impending hump on my back. Okay, not really. But it feels like it. I have managed to somehow injure my neck, and this time it was without the help of a horrid hick woman from Polk County running a red light. A very red light. But I'm not still bitter over that. Luckily. Anyway, yes, I can barely move my head. My body is protesting the schedule that my mind thought would be good for the old psyche - keep busy, engage in my surroundings, volunteer to do extra things.

Enough whining. So I got the house, and am moving. Or, at this point, soliciting help from large burly men who will be able to pick up my little green velour loveseat circa 1970 in one beefy hand. I'm excited. The house has a yard. The house also has the ugliest door in all of Wilmington. I like to joke about there being an Ugly Paint Store, but this door only proves that there is one, and I have never shopped there. Anyway, the door will be painted. And there is a yard. A yard! A huge yard. I'm very stoked about having this. The only downside to leaving the apartment is losing the pool. Whatever. I'll live. (Maybe.)

Dakota is sleeping on my lap right now. She managed to get herself locked in the closet under the stairs the other night when I had to pull out the vacuum. Spent all night in there and when I got up to feed the kitties, it took me several minutes of picturing her lifeless body in the jaws of an alligator before I figured it out.

So how about this political process? I am still torn between Obama and Clinton. Super Tuesday didn't help me any. NC doesn't vote until May - by then, hopefully I will have some idea of who I want, although I want them both. Can we have co-presidents? Neither of them can be the VP. It simply cannot be. But this is such a polarizing event, and people are actually interested, and if nothing else, at least the terrible presidency of Bush has pushed people into some sort of action. That is his legacy. Not a bad one - getting people to care and vote - but he will go down as one of the worst presidents ever. And he earned it.

the worst . . .

2008-01-31T12:53:00.000-05:00

. . . week ever. Included being sick, a bleeding bird, falling down a flight of stairs, and turning in my notice to my apartment. Hah! Take that apartment living! No longer will I be subjected to the randy behavior of my once-a-week neighbors. No longer will I be irritated at 3am by your cacophonous flow of inexplicable traffic past my window. No longer will I be subject to your domestic housecalls by burly police officers in triplicate. No longer will I suffer the neglect of beige carpet on my psyche. No longer!

Assuming, of course, that I get the house.

So the bird. Buddha picked a blood feather. He had blood dripping off his beak, all over his foot, and there it was, a huge (bird-sized) flow of blood on his wing. I, naturally, freaked. Called vet.

Me: My bird is bleeding!

Office Person: Do you have any corn starch?

Me: Who the hell cooks with corn starch these days?

Office Person: Better bring him down right now.

Once at vet's office, he'd stopped bleeding. Of course. He did get a nail trim though. Phoebe got a wing clipping. Vet told me not to worry about the feather plucking. Not much I can do about it, despite my new Bird Talk magazine that filled me with hope that one day little Timmy would walk again! No - wrong mag. One day little Buddha would let his feathers grow! What can I say? He likes the naked look.

Um, falling down the stairs. Yeah. I have the bruises to prove it. Not going into detail. I think I have told you too much already. Let's just say, it was through no fault of my own, and I wasn't drinking.

On top of being a bit under the weather, this has all basically served to reinforce my belief in long, extended vacations.

(All misspellings are the fault of Blogger. The button won't work. Figures.)

4000 . . .

2008-01-27T11:31:00.000-05:00

. . . dead American soldiers and counting. When did we get over 4000? I didn't even know this until I was watching Face the Nation this morning. Seems that the war has dropped off the radar lately with the recession. Carolyn Kennedy endorsed Obama. Just the other day I was mentioning how he reminded me of JFK. The energy, the youthful boyishness with a twist. I still cannot decide between candidates. I doubt I am the only one. The thing is, I would support either Hillary or Barack. Fully. With Hillary we get Bill. With Barack we get to watch those two adorable kids grow up. (Yes, I know, that is not an equal comparison. Get off my back already.) Still interested in the support that Ron Paul has with the general public, and still baffled why on earth this man selected to run in the Republican party. Except that as a GOP candidate he has a better shot. He should just pull a Ross Perot.

Heath Ledger is dead and Amy Winehouse is in rehab. What is it about talent that pulls some people under? (This is a rhetorical question.)

Poem accepted the other day. A fabulous publication. Two friends in it as well, and honestly, I have no idea who else. Will announce shortly. What pleases me is that it is a poem that I took huge experimental risks on in workshop last semester. Then I switched it back to a more Jenesque style. But they accepted the wild version. Giving them the option of the other, and we'll see which they prefer.

House hunting this weekend - there are some really amazing homes in Wilmington. And then there are the not so. . . But it is time to get out of the apartment, to get a house with a yard. Dogs! Lots and lots of dogs! I'm excited. The cats. . . not so much. Dakota would prefer to live a dogfree life. (Speaking of which, I think I may have found a way around that pesky tattoo quandary. More on that later. Maybe.)

Off to write.

trying to write this . . .

2008-01-19T10:37:00.000-05:00

. . . without sounding, well, how I can sound. There's this commercial. About how you can pay your taxes if you are an illegal. They give you a "number" and you can file your taxes like the good American you want to be. While still remaining illegal. Am I the only one who questions this?

Oh, and apparently the American dream is to pay taxes.

Twist: I am so for taxes. That's right. I think everyone should pay. I think the poor shouldn't have to, the rich should pay more, and the middle class needs to stop whining (I can't, sniff, afford my four thousand rent and still go out to Olive Garden every night!). Um, socialism, not that bad. You know, caring for thy neighbor. Whatever. It is way too early to start in on the religious right wingers. I haven't even had my coffee. I usually try to wait for the second cup before I intentionally start to offend.

Good morning!

po-blogs . . .

2008-01-18T19:41:00.000-05:00

. . . so I was adding websites for my poetry students as additional resources, and it occurred to me that out of all the blogs I frequent, only two are consistent about posting on poetics: K. Silem Mohammad and Reginald Shepard. (Links added to the left.) Surely there are more out there in this vein, and I invite you to kindly send me in their direction. (I should also add that the resources for my students do not include my own blog, but rather Blackboard for those of you in the know of academic networking.)

And, yes, it also discourages me with this blog, because ultimately I want to open discussion of poetical matters as they are pertinent to my own growth. So what am I working on now? Ideally, my thesis. I am halfway through the program, with one full semester before I have to start pulling it together. I am not worried about it the way I was before. Basically, I have a million poems. (Not really.) I figure I'll just pull out the poems that seem to have a conversation going on with each other, arrange in a way that feels conceptual to a mood (am I even writing in English anymore???) and naturally this will all happen the night before it is due to my advisor.

Please, don't burst my bubble. Let me live in this fantasy for a bit.

Seriously though, we are looking at Levis in workshop. (I think Levis is going to follow me the rest of my time here. This is the third time I've been 'exposed' in grad school to his work, and I am not complaining. I wasn't ready for him in undergrad. There was something off putting about his poems and how they think. I couldn't wrap my mind around them. I was too enraptured with Phil Levine.) The difference with this reading of Levis is that we are looking at his body of work, and how he evolves from the first book to the posthumous one. More on that later.

Once again feeling the push and pull of poetry versus fiction. I am very excited about this short story I am writing. Not because it is fantastic and great, but because I am actually enjoying the writing of it. Usually, I dread the act of writing fiction. (But not poetry - it pleases me to write in that frame of mind.) But this story is working well for me in term of pleasure. Which is what it is all about right?

Long weekend. Already need it.

changing . . .

2008-01-14T12:43:00.001-05:00

. . . the blog's focus. From now on it is going to center around my failing relationship with my car. The thing is, we've been together for a while now. Going on eight or nine years. And I guess I feel like it just isn't meeting my expectations anymore. Moaning and groaning when I turn it on. (Which is usually a good thing, mind you.) But this new sound is more of a wailing, chuga chuga chuga. The type of sound really old muscle cars make - you know the type. No paint, dents from every angle, the sound of the car arriving ten minutes before the actual visual....

I hate to break up, but these sort of things can happen. When you're on a first name basis with your mechanic, well. . . therapy may no longer work.

Teaching in ten minutes. Komunyakaa. Yes, he rocks. It's okay to say it.

school . . .

2008-01-11T23:29:00.000-05:00

. . . has finally started. Thank God. I was about to go out of my mind. As all procrastinators can attest, I do better with structure.

For some reason, I really want an orange.

That's all I've got.

rats! . .

2008-01-04T19:10:00.000-05:00

. . . climbing up my chair. They are so cute. Seriously folks. Need to post a picture here. Mason currently going for the wallet. (I'm onto that game - rats know money. That's all I'm sayin'.)

So - one rejection, one acceptance. Will let you know about the acceptance as soon as I send the contract back. My first ever contract, and my first ever acceptance via letter. Was that ever weird. In a so-good way.

Obama won the Iowa caucus! How intriguing. I personally have yet to decide who I will vote for, but you can believe they won't be from the Republican ticket. Not that I fully support the Dems either. But they are way less evil.

Computer is fixed! This thing I have been dreading (long lines to talk to my own personal geek at Geek Squad, having to leave my precious writing and all the other crap for an extended period of time, getting it back only to find they erased all the precious writing but spared the crap, having to take it back sometime mid-semester and the nightmare goes on. . . ) but it was all fixed in ten minutes. Insane. Seriously. It now works. So here is what I learned: if you have Vista, and you have iTunes, the two do not always work well together. They have a patch. Which you can't find online. Which you must go to a geek to get. But go. Seriously. It takes five minutes. Okay, ten. Whatever.

Must write syllabus! Must get books! Must establish office hours! Must find office! Is there furniture yet? Will I really and truly have a cubicle? A place in which to leave my backpack while I teach so I feel all grown up and not like some impostor? (Funny the things one wants in order to fully do one's job, but never even thought about until one is actually doing the job.)

Must also reorganize apartment. Too much poetry stuff hiding upstairs, too much clutter downstairs. Pointed out to me the other day and I must say, I agree wholeheartedly. There is a well defined pathway around the house. It would help if I could keep my bike outside, but since I am rather fond of it, I think I will keep it inside. Bikes have a way of just walking off in my neighborhood.

Back in Wilmy, by the way. Excited to be so. Things fabulous in Chatty also. Had a lovely Christmas. Very marvelous to see the dogs.

seriously . . .

2007-12-23T19:29:00.000-05:00

. . . folks, it's vacation time. I don't think I have done a single thing that I haven't wanted to since I turned grades in. I've shopped. I've read. I've dreamt. Lots going on that I naturally won't blog about (I like remaining the enigma in certain situations, like life), but right now life is simply splendid. Going to see my best friend for the first time in about two years - which is too long of course. Way too long, but that is life. People move away.

I do have pics of the rats, but can't upload them on this computer just now (long story involving a messed up drive and irritation at calling HP's help desk, etc.).

Wolfie is sitting here on the couch next to me, which he knows he is not supposed to do, but really, we don't get to see each other much, so I cut him slack. Such a sweet dog. He doesn't know it yet, but I suspect there is a bath in his future.

Yeah, I know. I don't blog for a while then I do and I dish about dog baths. Fun stuff. I'm off until the new year, unless something earth shattering to report.

Merry Christmas!

packing. . .

2007-12-12T11:34:00.000-05:00

. . . the menagerie to head out to Chatty tomorrow. It's eighty degrees outside. In December. Do I need to make the global warming reference? Do I? Huh? (Hello Mr. Bush! Talking to you.)

So, yes, I have acquired two new household residents. Pictures later today, if all goes well. I am so excited to share them with you. I finally found their names: Schooner and Mason. They've been going by The Boys, and I've had numerous requests by various parties to just name them already. They are amazingly cute, and excited to be living here. Such attitudes too.

Oh, did I mention they are rats? Rescues of course. I knew if I held out long enough I would find a rat that needed a home somewhere here in Wilmy. And then I found two. And they are so funny - this morning (and yes, you are going to be subjected to many tales of how-cute-are-the-rats), when I came downstairs they rush to the corner of the cage to greet me as usual, and Schooner kept pushing Mason's head away in his excitement. It was too precious. Seriously. Like first graders pushing each other out of the line to be the first to go to recess. Ah, The Boys!

Okay, back to packing. Can't wait to get to Chattanooga. The dogs! The dogs! I know it - I am giddy. It's disgusting. I am going now, before this gets out of control.

the car . . .

2007-12-06T17:38:00.000-05:00

. . . drama continues. The freaking door. Always the door. I should have gone with my original plan, and had them remove the door instead of fixing it. Yes, it would have a bit chilly driving around, but here is a perfect example of how global warming could be working for me.

Going away for the weekend. Luckily, not with my stupid car.

Will possibly have pictures of the thing I was going to tell you about, but haven't yet, soon. Maybe early next week. We'll see. It all depends. On various factors having nothing to do with anything real or even imagined. I just like messing with you.

i should add. . .

2007-12-02T13:06:00.000-05:00

. . . that I did something I will eventually blog about, but not just yet. Let's just say that no, I haven't lost my mind, and yes, it was a good decision. Crap. Will tell you shortly. (Definitely.)

so busy. . .

2007-12-02T13:02:00.000-05:00

. . . that I haven't had a chance to blog. Or bathe. Or read for pleasure. Or shop for Christmas. Or clean.

Okay, kidding about the bathing thing.

Grading and listening to UNCTV and their pledge drive, which means the horrid crappy pledge pleas in between the programming. Whatever. Right now they are doing the Doo-Wop thing. How is it that I know every single one of these songs? It isn't like I have ever intentionally listened to Doo-Wop. But I love it. All of it. Great stuff.

Okay, back to the grind. And the coffee.

another one bites the dust. . .

2007-11-26T11:27:00.001-05:00

. . . 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 . . .

2007-11-26T00:12:00.001-05:00

. . . 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 . . .

2007-11-21T12:34:00.000-05:00

. . . 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 . . .

2007-11-15T15:26:00.001-05:00

. . . 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 . . .

2007-11-15T10:18:00.001-05:00

. . . 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. . .

2007-11-13T10:17:00.000-05:00

. . . 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. . .

2007-11-08T22:17:00.000-05:00

. . . 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 . . .

2007-11-06T11:36:00.000-05:00

. . . 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. . .

2007-11-05T11:32:00.000-05:00

. . . 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 . . .

2007-11-03T18:04:00.001-05:00

ridiculous. . .

2007-10-31T10:07:00.000-05:00

. . . is how I would describe my current ride. As in, no, my car wasn't stolen, but yes, it is still being cantankerous and more parts had to be ordered. So I have a rental. All so I could make it to class today to show my students the documentary, Baraka. (Which, incidentally, I came across at a Meacham party, courtesy of Ata. It is truly amazing. The baby chick part had them all horrified. I think it's one of the most beautiful parts. But then again, isn't terror a direct correlation to beauty?)

(Kunta Kinte on the iTunes right now.)

Anyway, back to the ride. A completely decked out brand new luxury SUV. That's all I'm saying. It is insane to drive. Bumps mean nothing. Places in the road where before I would leap joyfully up in the seat, I don't even notice. What is even crazier, is the whole "rich" feeling, one that I am not entirely sure I am comfortable with. I actually like my own car better now. Yeah, it's old. Yeah, it's falling apart. And no, it hasn't been washed in a few months. (But, we're in a drought people.) But all those quirks are just part of the car. I've had it for six years. It's outlasted every relationship I've ever had. I think it deserves some new stickers or something. Anyone direct me to a place in Wilmington where I could attain some of these?

the birds . . .

2007-10-30T12:22:00.001-05:00

. . . are tearing up the freshly laid newspaper at the bottom of their cage. The gerbil is looking at me askance, because here I am, available to watch and make sure he doesn't get eaten, and I haven't let him out of his cage. The body shop has temporarily misplaced my car and the tech who was working on it. I am about to miss my window of opportunity to go walking around the lake, because soon I will be in that natural 'downtime' that occurs every day. May also possibly miss class again this afternoon.

But it's all good. Really. Surely. Halloween is tomorrow. I really dislike this holiday. My brother and I were talking about that yesterday. I don't eat candy, I like the idea of dressing up, but not really, and this is the anniversary of a death of a dog I absolutely adored and loved and miss terribly. She was hit by a car. I found her by the roadside, and carried her back to the house. It was a long walk, and she was very heavy. I put her in my brother's old room, in his bed. (Oops. Don't think I ever mentioned that to him. Oh well. He'll live.) Read her all sorts of his old childrens books and just cried. So yeah, Halloween sucks.

Hmm. Been twenty minutes and no word from the shop. My car is being joy-ridden down College Road. Whatever. Hope he enjoys it and remembers to put some gas in it when he brings it back. Which should be shortly once he finds out how shoddy the shocks are. Hah!

amid the pile . . .

2007-10-29T16:53:00.000-05:00

. . . of rejection slips, a very lovely acceptance. The Red Clay Review will be publishing one of my poems in their inaugural Spring 2008 edition. Very exciting! Check them out.

oh, it's sooooo on, baby. . .

2007-10-29T09:00:00.001-05:00

. . . that's right. My car and I are duking it out. I say OPEN! and it replies NO!

My key won't work. But the culprit is the door or locking mechanism or whatever. You may recall my earlier post and how I was crawling through the passenger side, yada yada yada. So now I am completely locked out. Better than being locked in, but whatever.

Had to cancel my classes, which really saddens me. Was looking forward to the stuff I had planned. And now, here I am, with hours at the dealership looming ahead of me (as soon as AAA comes to bail me out) and really bad television. Really bad. It's the tenet of all car dealership waiting rooms to provide you with the worst possible channels in the hope that you are sufficiently stupefied when they hand you the bill and you hand them your credit card. Nothing looks as bad after hours of daytime talk shows.

But it's okay. Really. I enjoy waiting. Do it well. Prefer it to be in airports, but you know. I can pretend.

girls vs women. . .

2007-10-27T13:06:00.001-05:00

. . . taking a break in my poetry writing to contemplate something I read in the paper this week. It was an article about how adult females tend to refer to themselves as girls, as opposed to women. As in, "Hey, I'm hanging out with the girls tonight." The author had all these possible reasons for this word choice, including that females of today have a hard time living up to their mothers, and suggesting that perhaps the maturity level isn't quite up to par.

So, hey, Woman! (Author is a woman/girl/female.) You missed the point, honeydoll. When have you ever heard a male say "I'm going golfing with the men today" - you don't! They say 'guys' - "The guys and I are going to get waxed today."

So why is this? Simple. The letter S is a surefire pluralizer. In a language when educated folk use the word fishes to describe multiple fish, it is no wonder such ambiguity crawls into the use of switching an E and an A. Man:men; woman:women. Sucks. But the use of guys and girls is more pleasing to the psyche.

Case closed. Next?

uh, duh. . .

2007-10-24T22:31:00.000-05:00

. . . who is shocked that Dumbledore is gay? I mean, come on! In reading the books, no one ever made the connection? I wondered about Minerva too. It isn't like the teachers at Hogwarts had family suites. Anyway, it'll just give the book-banning nazi cows more ammo to keep those pagan witch books out of schools. Must protect the children!

Whatever.

So John Updike was here yesterday, and he was quite delightful. He did a private Q&A with the CRW department students in the afternoon, before the night reading. He recalled his amazement at learning that a sentence had anatomy - he could even recall the name of the teacher who taught him that. More importantly, he recalled how she had this thing with messing around with her bra strap. Apparently, she was ill-fitted. We all laughed, of course, because it was funny, but then I instantly started to wonder if I have some odd behavior that I am unaware of but that my students will remember years from now. Ah, that Miss Weathers! (Some of them refuse to call me Jen, despite my repeated requests.) She always had her finger in her nose! Must've been the nose ring.

Yes, teachers have come quite a way from the days of slips and oxford shoes. Thank God. I guess I am a hair tosser. (Back to the odd habits. Keep up.) I always have my hands in my hair. I've gotten better about not twirling my pencil in my hand. . . I know that is distracting to others. Although it is so calming. Do I wiggle my foot too much? I also am a chair rocker - but only in the classrooms with those red chairs. . . hmmmm.

Too much to do tomorrow. I am already behind with all the extra stuff on my plate this week. And all I really want to do is write.

now available . . .

2007-10-23T18:05:00.000-05:00

. . . at The Pedestal Magazine: my poem (and others as well!). The intro by Jared Smith is an interesting read. Take a gander.

the unforgettable fire . . .

2007-10-21T16:34:00.000-05:00

. . . in the cd player, finally replacing Amy Winehouse. Although, I must say, I do go through phases with music. Amy's been in there since school began basically. But every once in a while I get on this U2 kick - older U2, when they weren't popmarting themselves with lemons in zoos. This is nostalgic, longing, mournful music. Thinking music.

Although I think I have found a way to get Amy Winehouse in the classroom. My 8th grade history teacher, Chuck, would bring in music to elucidate a lesson. Studying the Civil War? How about a little Guns 'N Roses. Dealing with the Depression and the Dust Bowl? Nothing like Bruce Springsteen to really bring the lesson home. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I see how many of his classroom techniques I actually use. Although, I've never tossed a chalkboard eraser at student - not yet. I should add that he was throwing it at two of his favorite students (me and a friend) who were probably shooting off at the mouth (yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that) and it was a friendly throw (it hit the blinds, in a cloud of dust). My aim is so bad though - I'd probably wind up beaning the wrong student.

In another twist of irony, speaking of that old friend, I just wrote a poem that pretty much has her as a central figure, although I haven't really thought much about her in years. But it was this thing she used to do - and it somehow caught my imagination. It probably isn't the nicest portrait of a person, but it sure does explain a lot about human nature.

And poetry - I have come to the conclusion that I am not good at scanning poems. My ear refuses to hear the stressed/unstressed part of meter. I can pretty much tell just by hearing if it is iambic, but in trying to deduce if there is a trochee or spondee tossed in, I can't really rely on how I hear it. Maybe this is one of those things that requires years of study, of tuning one's ear to the nuances of the language. Surely it was easier for poets who were writing back in the day before free verse took over, and everything started to sound like iambic, regardless of how the poet tried to make it sound. I am rather irked about this, because it is something I want to actively consider in my revisions. But I already know I don't hear things quite the way they sound sometimes, which can be rather annoying when I am trying to say certain words. (Measure is always a problem.)

football season . . .

2007-10-20T18:26:00.001-05:00

. . . means that the weekend news gets the shaft. But I am not bitter. I know the news: the world's in a shithole, and we're having weather.

I realize that lately my blog entries may be reflecting a rather, shall we say, morose outlook on life. Au contraire! Various good things that have been going on in no particular order:

1. Finished grading, and if I can get my act together the rest of the evening I will be done with all my weekend homework. (Homework is not the best word to use for grad school stuff, but whatever.)

2. Read the most delightful short essay by Lori Soderlind entitled "66 Signs That the Former Student Who Invited You to Dinner Is Trying to Seduce You" which had me laughing out loud at several points. I was in B&N, so I went ahead and bought it. She unfolds the story by numbering - like Barthelme in his glass mountain short story. This style gives great weight to the irony and humor. Must try it.

3. Figs are still in the store.

4. Have been writing a lot of poems lately.

5. There will be something besides Lawrence Welk on television tonight. Of course, I won't be watching, but I like the TV on for background noise. But all those flashy blue suits and bubbles bouncing around the stage are very distracting. I don't do well with silence when I am trying to work. I like cafes, bookstores, the lake, beach; places where there is constant noise. The best sleep I had this summer was in Munich, in this little dive hotel with these huge windows that opened to the noise below. Munich doesn't sleep at night. It was great.

So there we have it. Five things. All good things. Also reading Chuck Palahniuk's book of essays Stranger Than Fiction. It is the first thing I have read by him, and yes, I know, Fight Club is on my list. I loved the movie. Brad Pitt does indeed rock. And yes, my new mission in life is to write a great book that Hollywood wants to option and cast Brad in. After all, it happened to Chuck, it could happen to me. (Don't be all judgmental on me now. This would be for purely altruistic reasons. My mother wants to meet him.)

Onto more reading and poetical analysis!

another enters the fray . . .

2007-10-19T10:13:00.000-05:00

. . . of the blogosphere: Ecotone, the literary journal of UNCW is casting its net here, with a host of devilishly creative writers.

Speaking of blog updates, if you haven't been keeping track of Harriet, the Poetry Foundation's blog, you should check it out. There have been some really interesting posts, particularly by Christian Bok on writing and failure, which you can read in the archives under his name.

The weekend is here, and I am grateful. It has been a particularly trying week.

life should come with a foreign accent . . .

2007-10-18T18:11:00.000-05:00

. . . today I went to the lake to write, organize some thoughts, revisit some poems, and when I arrived at one of my favorite spots, there was a man already there. I sat down anyway (it is a large covered pavilion right on the lake) and opened my notebook. He got up a few minutes later, and wished me a good day, in a lovely Australian accent. It was a beautiful thing.

fallen . . .

2007-10-17T21:06:00.000-05:00

. . . walked to car after teaching and doing office hours today, only to find that my rearview mirror had fallen off the window.

Sometimes, it is just that kind of life.

it . .

2007-10-16T22:23:00.000-05:00

. . . gets better, right?

what is this. . .

2007-10-14T16:07:00.000-05:00

. . . finally finished Kim Addonizio's book of poems what is this thing called love? It took me so long because I kept rereading each poem as I came across it. This book was written for me, despite whatever impetus Ms. Addonizio may claim!

Actually, what I like so much about it is the way the images work inside the poems, so softly but so starkly that they are glossed over. The poems all feel organic, but never rough or halting. I am not a huge fan of the form, but I admire what she is able to do with it when she tries - whether the poems are successful or not is another matter, and since I can't get past the admiration of her poems, I leave that to the individual reader to decide. But hands down a keeper. Such a keeper, that I have been hard pressed to leave the house without the book or remove it from my immediate vicinity. You never know when you may feel the urge to read a particular poem again.

I will most certainly be buying her other books. I have heard via the grapevine that she was at UNCW a few years back, and I lament the loss of not being here then. But hopefully there will be a future opportunity.

Other news: read Pope's Rape of the Lock again, after two or three years. I still love it. I think what I love most is the circumstance of his writing the poem, and the stately grandeur with which he handles the situation at hand. Talk about taking things out of proportion.

I think I may have discovered why I react so vehemently about rhyme in poetry. Rape of the Lock does rhyme, of course, in couplets, with a few slants tossed in now and again. Spenser's Faerie Queene rhymes, as does anything by Shakespeare, so on and so forth - but the big difference between why I like these particular pieces and not the ballad or other shorter rhyming poems (exception of the bard), is that they tend to aim for a colloquial iambic pentameter, and they are epic. It is the story, the way the lines progress with clever wit, and a keen eye to the limits of language. But mostly it is the story. This is part of the transition of poetry from an oral tradition to a written one - the loss of rhyme (thank you Milton, thank you!) and the shift of focus to the line break as a higher measure of the art and the limits of the English tongue (another huge thank you, dear, most difficult language) that render rhyme obsolete.

So, when I read Addonizio, and I don't detect the rhyme initially, I am gleeful at the skill it takes to use such an historical tenet of poetry, and modernize it so fully that it becomes invisible.

I am also fully aware that I may change my mind about rhyme in future. And I do like children's books that rhyme, mostly because they love the musicality of the language and when one is learning to speak it is easier to have that sing-songish sound to help the brain unfurl those complexities.

Onto the rest of my Sunday. There are more poems to read.

have lost my voice . . .

2007-10-12T16:12:00.001-05:00

. . . and also apparently my sanity. Or sense of decorum? Or impeccable sense of character? (Hah, if I had that, well, there are books that can be written on the time and trouble I would have saved - mostly in high school, but in other patches of life too.)

Doris Lessing has won the Nobel. I know her by name, but not by work, and so I am sort of glad a lesser known writer has taken the prize because it will help shoot her out of obscurity. Looking forward to reading her work.

Also, Al Gore won. Of course. Can you say validation? Because honestly, I don't which upsets me more - the ignorant people who voted for Bush (you know who you are, and we both know you aren't reading this blog), or the ignorant people who don't give a shit about the environment (you know who you are, and many of you are reading this blog, and honestly people, you can't shit in your bed and expect it not to get messed up).

On tap for the weekend - copious amounts of studying and other various domestic chores. I should write more.

Oh, and official thanks to the guest poetry editor Jared Smith at The Pedestal Magazine for selecting my poem to be included. They have been amazingly supportive - go check them out.

genocide denier

2007-10-12T12:01:00.000-05:00

so when bush starts ww3. . .

2007-10-10T10:08:00.000-05:00

. . . who will stand by us?

The possibility of Bush attacking Iran sounds laughable, right? Because clearly the American people see this as a bad idea, and Bush respects the wishes of the people. We don't currently have the manpower in our armed forces to set up a school cross walk, let alone invade another country. Clearly, Iran is not speaking for the majority of the Middle East countries. So it is absolutely absurd for me to posit the thought that we could very well see the next world war on a nuclear/biological level in the next two years. Right?

Well, no. (If you don't already follow my sarcasm, the above was an example). McCain, on his bid to reinvigorate a dead campaign, is actually going to the far right Christian evangelicals. Bill Moher had a special on this the other night. I didn't catch it, but heard about it. The gist seems to be that they are starting to drum up support for a war with Iran with the US equivalent to Muslim extremists. (Uneducated people are ignorant, no matter what their religion is, and those ignorant folk are the dangerous kind. The ones who start shit.)

Recently Hillary Clinton and her fellow campaigners were questioned about a bill they voted for that gives Bush power to strengthen sanctions against Iraq. The questioner accused Hillary of once again giving Bush the authority to invade a foreign country. Hillary denied that the bill would do any such thing. Iran is certainly on the radar of many though.

Bush obviously doesn't respect the wishes of his countrymen, or we would not still be in Iraq. (I never wanted to invade in the first place, but I was outvoted.) The lack of military might isn't such a problem either. The draft still exists. We could very well see it come back to use. By drumming up support with the religious right, a huge obstacle is overcome to public feeling. Iran is seen as a much bigger threat than Iraq. (Because they are, realistically speaking.)

A war would certainly help the economy. Think of all the factory jobs that would be created. Bullets, bombs, aircraft, hummers, all sorts of equipment would be needed in a short amount of time. The US economy soared during WW2 with all that production. Everyone had a job.

So who would stick by us? England. France. Italy, Germany. Other Eastern European nations. Israel.

Who wouldn't? The entire Middle East. Even countries who may wish for neutrality (Egypt springs to mind) will be hard pressed to not come to the call of their fellow Arab. Russia. China. North Korea?

This isn't sounding like a good thing, is it. The more I think about it, the more surreal it seems. But it also is resonant of how great the rhetoric of Hitler was. He put Germany into such an atrocious position, but it was so gradual, so slowly done, so righteously presented. I am not comparing Bush to Hitler (although many would I am sure), but what I am saying is that there is a feeling of complacency among Americans. We don't believe Bush would put us in such a bad spot. We really are secure in the memory of Vietnam that the draft will never be used again. We are naive. The evidence is mounting. It is being seen by people, but kept quiet.

I would love to be wrong on this one. I would happily eat crow (tofucrow). But I don't think I am. I think things are escalating and if they continue there will be a point where we find ourselves in another war, not quite knowing how it came about or why. You need a passport these days to get into Canada. Just remember that.

behind . . .

2007-10-09T15:17:00.000-05:00

. . . not sure how this always happens to me, but it does. I get spectacularly ahead in certain areas, and then fantastically behind in others. Never a happy medium. I have an eight pack of paper towels in the cupboard, but I'm almost out of cleaning spray. (Yes, organic, geranium scented. It is my personal theory that all the germophobes out there who use harsh caustic chemicals are somehow partly responsible for cancer rates soaring. Germs are okay. Tumors a little less so.)

I received a rejection notice today in the mail which is odd. I won't mention the journal's name (because the person who sent this was obviously a very green editor who didn't know what she was doing), but it was the usual form letter, with some wording to the effect of 'don't forget your SASE.' This contrasts with their website instructions, which I always follow (with the exception of simultaneous submissions). Anyway, she'd underlined that part twice, and then, to make sure I got the message, hand wrote out a note that next time I submit to be sure to include my SASE. My poems were included in the envelope.

Now, why would I want those poems back? Firstly, they were stapled. I know better than to send anyone a stapled set of poems. Secondly, they had been handled by who knows how many people and were wrinkled and creased, recreased. Why would I send out to another editor a set of poems that had clearly seen rejection once before? I don't include a SASE if it isn't required. Call me cheap. I figure if you like my poems enough to want them, I'll hear from you via email. And if not, please recycle my poems.

Since I am on my soap-box, let me just tackle the simultaneous submission policies of many publishers. I figure they are sort of like a really feeble lock on a henhouse to keep the foxes out. They nudge it, the door stays shut, they move on to the neighbors. The smart fox ignores the lock and goes in through the open window. My advice? Don't tell them you've sent it elsewhere (even if they invite you to do so - you'll be at the bottom of the pile), and don't worry about it. I know it sounds harsh, but honestly. Most likely you are not being paid. Most likely they are not being paid. They do it for the love of finding great new talent. You do it for the love of being the great new talent. Editors who bitch about them or flat out refuse to deal with them are normal. Everyone complains about their job from time to time. (I complain about writing all the time.) It is the writer's responsibility to ignore the editor on most things. It is the editor's responsibility to find great new talent. It is how it is.

Just read the end of King's On Writing where he writes about the practical side of publishing and agents and all the business that goes with being a published writer. I find it to be a really refreshing take on the business side of things. (Of course, King is always rather open with his ideas and in a no-bullshit manner. Love it!)

I feel that now (after I have insulted people with cancer and magazine editors at large) my work is done for the day. I can revel in the rest of this latte, look at some student poems, and relax in the mellow glow of the fading sun. (Yeah, the sun was a bit much.)

Ken Smith

2007-10-08T20:52:00.000-05:00

There is nothing I can say that several haven't already. Obviously, Ken touched many lives. He was a presence in the room, and his laugh was infectious. He will be sorely missed.

Other (more eloquent) posts on Ken from former UTC students Laurel Snyder and Paul Guest. Anther alum, Bradley Paul, had a great memory of Ken and his wife on the sun porch of Rick's house during Meacham - he posted that on Paul's blog.

If there is one memory to take away from Ken's life, for me, it would have to be the absolute love between him and Madeline. They were in love. True, lifelong, romantic love. You didn't have to know them to know that. They exuded it wherever they went.

lovely news . . .

2007-10-07T11:57:00.000-05:00

. . . this morning. Exactly how I like to start my days. It makes up for yesterday which was a minor run-in with disappointment.

No classes Monday or Tuesday. Fall Break. A marvelous invention. Reading selected stories from Sixty Stories by Donald Barthelme. I never would have picked up this book on my own, mostly based on the fact that they are short stories and the less than lackluster title. However, I am very grateful I did pick it up (for a fiction class), and read the intro by David Gates who addresses the title of the collection. I must say that overall, I am very impressed with Barthelme's titling propensities, being that I am myself rather title-challenged. I am going to start naming my poems Bob. Bob 1, Bob 2, Bob 3, so on and so forth. Okay, not really, but I do feel that titles are an area I really have to work at. I find them rather difficult because they are almost expected to be summations of a poem, or they draw uber-attention to a certain aspect of the poem. Perhaps this is why I am fond of long illustrious titles that bounce back off the poem or first lines that play immediately off the title.

Also finished The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova, and found out that she will be a visiting writer next semester. I hope I am able to take her class. I think of her book as being more in the pop fiction vein, and since I have had my students read Stephen King's On Writing this semester the idea of literature versus pop fiction has been on our collective minds. I haven't read any reviews of her book, but I suspect it was well received. I was more than happy to follow her down the path she took, and was pretty enthralled the entire book, and then found the ending to be almost anti-climatic. But part of me is hoping this is because she has a second follow-up novel in her sleeve, which I will tentatively call The Librarian. It seems only fitting.

Also reading Kim Addonizio's What is This Thing Called Love. Pretty much loving it. I am amazed at how she is using form in this book. Rather experimental and incredibly colloquial at the same time. Some are more successful than others, but when she is on, she is dead on. Amazing moments. I will definitely have to read her other books.

I wrote four poems last week (inspired by Addonizio), and two of them seem to work pretty well, the others need some serious life support. I like this bout of prolific writing, although the product may be somewhat questionable. It still feels like a good balance. Read a book of poetry, write four or five poems.

Considering all the news that the movie of Khaled Hosseini's book Kite Runner is getting these days, I may try to read it this week before I become immersed in knowing too much about it (which I sort of feel I do already). Of course this runs the risk of not liking the movie then, which is usually the case (books are better with the exception of Lord of the Rings, yeah I know, but come on - one can only read so many fake folk songs in horrid iambic trimeter/tetrameter).

drama . . .

2007-10-04T22:10:00.001-05:00

. . . with my car. Today. At a strip mall. Couldn't get in. Door lock sticks. Door lock is automatic, only responds to the key if key is inserted and twisted the right way. Key lock is a fickle lover.

Me (in my head): Oh my God, no.
Me (out loud): Fuck!
Me (in my head): I hate this car, I really, really, really hate this car.

My passenger door unlocks. [This is a new occurrence that only started happening when the driver's side door stopped working. But why? I don't care about my passengers. If there is a fire in the car you can bet your ass I'm getting myself out. ]

I decide not to look around to whomever could be witnessing my struggle with the lock. Crawl in through passenger side, over huge lumpy armrest (which does move, but I forget). Furiously poke button from inside of door. Still won't budge. Effectively trapped.

Still need to drive to store. Store is in same parking lot. Drive over, with nonchalance. Surely, during the ten seconds it takes to make it to Harry T's my door will miraculously work again.

I park, shut off engine. Bush button. It doesn't work. Am officially trapped. Parking lot is rather busy, and I feel expected to make a normal exit from my car. Frantically turn to cell phone, randomly look through numbers. No one to call. Revert to pretending I am listening to messages (ah, how low we sink) and trying to ignore the fact that the car is now heating up and I am about to die in a parking lot full of people because I am too prideful to crawl out the passenger side and would prefer to look as though I know exactly what I am doing and in what temperature I am doing it in.

Look hatefully at door. Push button again. It unlocks.

grizzly bears . . .

2007-10-02T21:34:00.000-05:00

. . . that is what is on the state flag of California. I miss it actually. Thinking about it a lot today. There was a smell that reminded me of this potpourri that I used to have when I was a little girl. I don't know how I got it or why, but the smell is rather like faded roses and crisp branches. Then driving to class today it softly rained in this field that has a lot of bitter weeds in it - you know the type that bleed milky white when crushed. The smell was amazing.

Ah, California. What a tempestuous relationship we have. I should work on going out there this summer. Doing some reading, writing. Hanging out on the boardwalk in Santa Monica. Visit a Borders. Have some real Mexican food. Figure out if that is where I want to go after graduation. We'll see.

What is that great line from Cannery Row? Something about the stink of nostalgia. . .

ugh . . .

2007-10-01T12:34:00.000-05:00

. . . day is just not going well. There is a disconnect that I cannot figure out. Somewhere, something is not jiving. Something is missing. I have this feeling it is something right in front of me, but for some reason, I am just not seeing it.

We talked about passive voice in class today. How it lacks authority. (And fragments can be good.) Which makes me wonder how passive I am in life. (All things writerly can be ascribed to life in general, I think; poetry is life.)

Passive is an easy way to be. Non-committal. And who wants commitment during an MFA? It is so much easier to not deal with those sorts of issues. To not have to deal with them. I'm lucky if I can commit to an entire book of poetry these days.

But. . .

I did commit to a wall color. That's worked out pretty good. I commit to reading novels outside my classes. I even finish them. I'm so committed to my pets that I end up spending way more resources (time, money) than I have to give. Somehow it all works out.

And let's face it - all those bumps in the road are worth it. The time with the cats, the birds, the gerbil; the not having to look at white walls; the new stories. . .

Okay. So I am not really a commitment-phobe. So what all is going on here?

(Basically, this is me talking to myself. If you're reading this, and have insight, by all means, let's hear it. Otherwise, you can ignore my drivel and be glad I didn't post the earlier draft of my rant on all things evil about Paula Zahn. Now that was scary. And I may put it up anyway. In the future. If I can commit to it.)

no grading . . .

2007-09-28T13:54:00.000-05:00

. . . to do over the weekend. What a lovely occurrence. However, there is a multitude of reading to be done. But no errands, no need to be any place, no need to change out of my pajamas. How glorious! I have nothing else to add. That's it. The weekend lies ahead in all its shining promise.

ten . . .

2007-09-27T22:18:00.000-05:00

. . . today consisted of grading, planning new class focuses, and listening to Pearl Jam. I bet I haven't listened to Ten in over a year. It is my favorite album they ever put out. Anyone who knew me in high school is avidly aware of my Pearl Jam affection. I don't think there was ever an empty space on my book covers that didn't have I (Heart) Eddie Vedder. Which is kind of cute, I guess. A healthy obsession. Unless you are the one being objectified - I can see how that could become wearisome depending on your outlook.

Three new poems written this week. But nothing incredibly noteworthy yet. A few interesting images to ponder. Thinking in fragments a lot. Obviously. Lots of energy lately. Bright outlook. Mind seems to be in ten places at once.

hunting for poems. . .

2007-09-26T10:01:00.000-05:00

. . . last night led me to a few boxes I haven't yet unpacked, despite living in my apartment for a year. Anyway, it was quite a revelation, because not only did I save all of my undergrad poetry folders packed with weekly packets of everyone's poems, but apparently I also saved my stuff from intro to Creative Writing. Needless to say, it was quite an eye-opener. And very embarrassing to see my stuff from that class. It was quite painful. But I won't dwell on it. I suppose I am keeping them because you never know when you may get shit-faced and feel the need to read incredibly embarrassing past writing with your friends.

However, the other packets, the poetry ones, I also find intriguing. There is the natural curiosity to see the path my own poetry has traveled, and also how closely I stick to certain images and ideas. But then there is the curiosity of my fellow undergrad classmates. It's no secret that there are some mighty fine poets out there who came from the same workshop a few years ahead of me.

Anyway, what I was really doing in those boxes was searching for poems to excite my students with. The stuff that worked on me back in the day. And I was so happy to find it still does. I have to say for the most part that Rick Jackson has impeccable taste when it comes to poems. A few exceptions. He's a huge Marvin Bell fan, and I couldn't care less about the dead men poems. Talk about beating a dead horse. (Serious pun intended.) He's a bit more strung on Berryman than me - Dreamsongs. And then it occurred to me that what I really have an issue with are the serial poems. But I dug the Book of Orgasms. (But come on! How can you not like those??)

So I suppose I should revisit those poets and figure out what it is that isn't doing it for me. Likely it could be a lack on my part of reading them inaccurately. I am often guilty of that. That is why it can be so hard to read a Tom Robbins novel, but so incredibly satisfying afterwards.

Okay, I am really just procrastinating here. I need to be writing a poem. A better poem than the one I have in front of me that will be submitted if nothing more striking comes along. Blogging as avoidance.

two new poems . . .

2007-09-23T11:23:00.000-05:00

. . . over at Prick of the Spindle. They do a lovely job. Here and here.

is it wrong . . .

2007-09-22T22:58:00.000-05:00

. . . to be so amused by Reno 911? Because I am. Deliciously so.

i had always suspected as much . . .

2007-09-22T10:11:00.001-05:00

. . . this just in: scientists now believe that the velociraptor had feathers. Well, anyone who knows my darling birds, Buddha and Phoebe, can attest to the fact that "terrible lizard" should have been "terrible bird" instead. I feel strangely vindicated. For what, I can't say. Perhaps Buddha's feather picking is an attempt to show his more macho, reptilian side. (Actually, he is letting the feathers on his epaulets grow back, which is a miracle in itself since they've been missing for years.)

Still trying to finish Owen Meany. Will try to do it today. It is such a good book, and somehow I managed to get sidetracked by school and other things. But I have a whole stack (or three) of books to read that are in no way related to school. I have three unread New Yorkers sitting on my desk. Still haven't finished the latest P&W. Although, I did read the Edwidge Danticat article, and I was quite horrified by the treatment of her uncle. Americans simply do not realize how foreigners of any color not white are treated. It is shameful. Immigration is the worst run government office. Imagine the DMV, with lines five times as long, officials behind counters who move as though they are underwater and haven't cracked a smile in ten years, and then magnify the paperwork twentyfold, and add to that the glare of security cameras, and security guards who are hopped up on espresso. It isn't the most friendly of places. I blame lack of training, lack of bilingual staff, lack of care on the part of the government. How did I get on this subject? I can soapbox all day long on this sad state of affairs. I must stop though. The birds/raptors want their breakfast.

rhin . . .

2007-09-19T14:39:00.000-05:00

. . . itis. It finally floored me today. I now have some sort of medication that the pharmacist assured me would work. In a week. A week without breathing. Somewhere in that there is a poem.

Now reading Fire and Flower by Linda Kasischke. Her other book, the one I am supposed to be reading, Housekeeping in a Dream, is going for $100 on Amazon. And only on Amazon. So if you have a copy, won't you let me read it? I'd be ever so much obliged.

I am also on the prowl for more music. Musical suggestions. I don't listen to the radio. Why? Because all DJs are dumb. Because all radio commercials suck. Because I can listen to exactly what I want on the net, without DJs or commercials. Technology is amazing. But I'd still rather vote on paper.

Speaking of voting, local elections are almost here. I am sort of amused at the bickering that goes on between council persons. This can't be a Wilmy only problem because Chatty has it too. People are funny sometimes. Predictable. Ultimately, always predictable.

randomness. . .

2007-09-18T19:12:00.000-05:00

. . . busy week. Thinking a lot about religion. Haven't had the time to be able to dip back into The History of God. I do have another book of poetry that I will start tonight. A lot of things going on in my mind, but nothing I can yet articulate. A theme with me recently.

why . . .

2007-09-13T20:47:00.000-05:00

. . . does my profile pic keep disappearing? I am being electronically erased, and I am taking it as an ominous sign.

Reading a plethora of 16th century poetry, and that damn iambic pentameter of English verse is making me think in that meter. It won't get out of my head. (Must think unrhythmical thoughts.)

So I hear James Frey has a book deal. A fiction book deal. I am delighted. I haven't read his other books - but considering the amount of controversy surrounding them, I find it nice that a talented writer can find a book deal despite such a spotty background. It is like politics, but with a better vocabulary, and less sex.

I am starting to be enticed by poetry once again. This is for several reasons, but also includes the book of poetry I am currently reading, which I think every person who has a heartbeat should read: The Book of Orgasms, by Nin Andrews. Amazing prose poems. Daring, lusty, and all around fabulous. I completely love this book. Book of the year. Well, at least book of the week. I am also doing this thing on Shakespeare's Sonnet 144, which is my all-time favorite sonnet of his, and I think he would highly approve of Andrews' book. (For the uninitiated, Sonnet 144 is all about venereal disease. You have to love Shakespeare. What a sport.)

and . . .

2007-09-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

. . . home now. Things are slowly unwinding.

everything is . . .

2007-09-10T12:57:00.000-05:00

. . . amped up. There is a tension in the air. At home, right now, Buddha is screaming his ear-shattering I HATE THIS WORLD scream, which translates into the Oh my god, my neighbors are going to complain and I will be forced to move out tension. Then there is the tension that seems to be permeating around others that I can't quite figure out but it translates into the Am I experiencing more or less stress than the person next to me type of tension. Then there are these allergies, which I have never had before in my life and I hate them and want to whine about the two options they present: take some antihistamines and have a vague idea of what is going on around, or the second option of not breathing. Both are less than desirable.

I have class soon for which I am woefully under prepared. Or I am too well prepared and am just too much of an overachiever to understand what that really means.

The weekend was a bust. A terrible bust of wasted time, lack of rain, and moldy bread. I cleaned. Again. I have these great big piles of trash bags sitting by the front door waiting for me to take them out when I leave. I am in no mood for class. I am cranky, stubborn, and tired of people. I should wear a sign that says "Touchy. Subject Should Be Handled Gently."

I am sure I will be over this bout of whatever it is the moment that fourth cup of coffee kicks in. Maybe this is all just sleep deprivation.

is it, or isn't it . . .

2007-09-07T17:25:00.000-05:00

. . . going to be a hurricane? So much for my theory that hurricanes are less stressful in that you have plenty of notice whether or not they are coming. This system sitting on the ocean at the moment is irritating me with its non-committal attitude. Figure it out already.

I have finished grading papers. Which means my weekend is suddenly a lot brighter. (If the above would figure itself out it could be even better.)

Rearranged my furniture last night. I don't know why I like to do this so often. I have been a chronic furniture-rearranger since I was a kid. The couch is always better on the other side of the room. I may keep it like this for a while. It works well. The birds like it.

Cryptic news: I am brooding over something. And the duck flies at midnight. Okay, that was bull. But the first part was true.

I am . . .

2007-09-04T22:56:00.000-05:00

. . . in that restless mood where I want to write something, but I am not sure what. I think this is sort of like jungle fever for writers. I have been journaling for the past hour or so, and all that I have accomplished is to run out of things to say to myself. So here I am. Trying vainly to find some sort of newsworthy or entertaining morsel to tempt the blogger gods.

I have been meaning to talk about grey hair. I have had this post in mind for a while, and so why not espouse on the topic of follicles? To begin, I have decided I like my grey hairs. They are not grey, per se, but more silvery white. This seems reasonable. It is also inevitable, so why not enjoy it? There seems to be this dichotomy of social thought on grey hair. On one hand you have the growing number of women who are shunning chemicals to alter their color. On the other hand, you have my all time favorite commercial: Just for Men.

Now, my grandmother used to use Just for Men in a shade of brown, so clearly, it is mislabeled. But I can forgive them this for the simple fact that I find their current commercial unbelievably entertaining. This is the one with the two sportscasters (former players in some sport that apparently did not set them up well enough with retirement which led to their participation in said commercial) in the bar. Anonymous guy with grey beard approaches snotty woman with blonde hair. The sports guys, in unison: "RE-JECTED!" And then, the ultimate in rhyming reason: "No play for mister grey!"

How can you not love that? Especially since mister grey goes into the bathroom (where there is an apparent abundance of Just for Men hair products) and emerges, newly browned, to approach snotty blonde. This time - yes, this time! - she practically mauls him on the spot. Score!

Yes, I love this commercial. It never fails to please me. I laugh every single time. And I like my own silver follicles that are competing with the dark brown. They add some bling.

And that is all I have people. I teach tomorrow, which means a seven am wake up call.

Gunn. Tim Gunn.

2007-09-03T12:10:00.000-05:00

. . . just when I was going to get really irritated at Tim Gunn for having his own show and neglecting his ardent fans of Project Runway, I can finally relax. Seems Tim has been busy doing both his own show and Project Runway 4. Which means those of us who have been watching Top Chef to get our fashion fix with Padma Lakshi can now get that fix the old fashioned way. By watching Heidi, Nina, and Michael berate and torment a new cast of contestants all vying to be more engaging than their predecessors.

This is a load off my mind. Seriously. There is a huge poet following of Project Runway. I swear.

So what am I doing this holiday weekend? You guessed it. Researching the correct usage of the comma, colon, and semi-colon. Strictly for fun. And to reiterate my own understanding so that when I mark my students' papers I can be certain I didn't impose my own grammatical inaccuracies on them. When 80% use the comma incorrectly, you know there is some sort of deficiency in the high school system. And when I was able to graduate with my bachelor's in English without ever once being required to take a grammar course, well, the problem becomes apparent. Catch-22.

Not to harp on the Tim Gunn thing, but I really hope his show doesn't suck. It looks like it could. One reason we all like Tim so much is for his sparse appearances with a truly verbose vocabulary. An entire half hour of those pinstripes might make me change my mind. Think I'll hold out for PR4.

books! . . .

2007-09-01T11:45:00.000-05:00

. . . I ordered have arrived. I am giddy with the smell of print. Let's see, what did I order? Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje, The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, and A Prayer For Owen Meany by John Irving, which I started reading last night.

i have to say . . .

2007-08-29T19:29:00.001-05:00

. . . that so far the semester is going really well. My students are great, their classes coalescing and morphing into these mini-think tanks of creative writing. My own classes are supremely satisfying, more so than any previous semester. Most of this has to do with me and not necessarily the classes I took previously. I feel more grounded this year, more in control of my surroundings and committed to the writing. And I really just love being in school. The phd is starting to sound really tempting again, although I feel it would back-burner my writing.

Speaking of the writing, I need to get some discipline in terms of making regular hours to sit down and face the computer. I don't have writer's block - I have writer's aversion.

But I am very stoked about teaching.

it is officially stupid . . .

2007-08-29T10:38:00.000-05:00

. . . driver day. I don't even want to get into the details, I just want to have a chauffeur.

I have been considering expanding the menagerie by one. I think that another rodent would do fabulously in the house, and am jonesing after a hairless rat. They are my favorite, with the soft skin and the delicate features. Alas, I would prefer to rescue (believe it or not but rat rescues do exist mostly from unwanted litters or from health issues or behavior issues) but there are no local rescues. And the pet stores (which I shudder to think of buying from, but it may come to that) don't carry hairless rats. At any rate, I'm on the lookout if anyone comes across one.

I finally have things to be doing; papers to be grading, poems to be writing and reading, and other various projects. This transition into the school year has been rough on Buddha, who wants me there all day. He was rather ornery this morning with me since I left him most of the day yesterday. Mondays are my busy days. There is no way to explain this to him, of course.

Off to teach in fifteen.

reality check . . .

2007-08-27T12:40:00.000-05:00

. . . Alberto Gonzales is gone. Bush said his name was dragged through the mud. That poor, mistreated man. I feel sorry for him. Oh wait. No I don't.

Another misguided soul, Michael Vick, says he rejects dogfighting and is sorry. Yeah, sorry his ass was caught. I am also a but perturbed at the NAACP, an organization I think very highly of, is coming to Vick's defense. Whatever. That is a sign that the organization needs to rethink their priorities. Defending an animal killer/abuser/exploiter is not one of them.

Sometimes this world is too much. I have been thinking of my carbon print lately, ways to reduce it. Funny how little things snowball on you. It starts with one thing, organic shampoo, and moves on to organic flour. The range of healthy products is astounding. Car companies are starting to figure it out. Homeowners too. But still...there is too much waste. Recycling needs to be mandatory. Think of the resources we waste.

Okay, enough. I am just in one of those funky moods where I find that the last three things I bought at Target were made in China and it bothers me. Big question day here at the blog.

First classes that I am actually taking start today. Now that will be good. I really do love school.

today is a lazy day . . .

2007-08-25T15:35:00.000-05:00

. . . complete with a really bad night's sleep. All my pets are in great moods though and you can't beat that. It is also rainy, which is fabulous.

I am reading this really interesting book on religion by Karen Armstrong called A History of God. So far I am quite impressed. There is so much I do not know.

yesterday . . .

2007-08-24T07:58:00.000-05:00

. . . I gave in and went to Best Buy and bought a new laptop. I consider it an investment in my writing. (Because, apparently, I am a very high maintenance poet who needs a really big hard drive in order to compose my usual 25 line poem.) Normally I would have been very excited about such a purchase and ripped into that box immediately. Didn't happen. Too much stuff to do. At about 10pm I was ready to set it up. I opened the box, admired the shiny new casing, the smooth design, the lightness; I wondered over the bizarre 12 cell battery which protruded from the bottom to give the laptop 'lift' and then I turned that sucker on.

Yes.

And then I noticed it was the wrong computer. The number on the computer didn't match the box. It figures. So that (lower performance) laptop will be going back today.

Other news: not really any. Class this morning. Best Buy this afternoon. Rain dance later in the day.

needless to say . . .

2007-08-20T12:21:00.000-05:00

. . . but the seven a.m. wake-up call did not last.

seven . . .

2007-08-17T22:10:00.000-05:00

. . . in the morning. This is when I have been waking up the past two days. Mostly I have this idea about creating some self discipline and doing at least an hour of writing in the morning. The first day worked out pretty well. Today my computer acted up on me, refusing to open Word. Is this a sign? Do I need a new computer? Do I need to ignore the morning hours? Hmmm.

Classes start Wednesday.

I have been missing my dogs. A lot. Below is a picture of Gizelle. I hear she helped herself to some freshly cooked food on the counter the other day. Lol. Now that's my girl.

the war czar . . .

2007-08-11T11:48:00.000-05:00

. . . sounds like a great title for a book, no? Well, in actuality, we have a war czar, and this war czar has apparently advised that Bush guy that we should consider reinstilling the draft. Yes, the draft.

But it's okay. Really. Because Bush, in his usual manner of being dead-on in his reasoning and rational and ultimately, his policy, has said that he doesn't think we need the draft. Phew. Load off my mind.

In other not so new news - it is hot. The heat 'broke' today and is just going to be 90 degrees. Yesterday, traveling on Oleander, the bank's temperature sign said it was 100 degrees. I believe it.

In the paper today there was a story about a new hang out spot for Emirates in Dubai. It is basically a freezer, where everything is made of ice. Everything. You pay your money, get a parka and some real shoes, and then you get to sit around on blocks of ice and enjoy the freezing temperatures. This is from the same city that brought snow to the Middle East. I cannot even begin to explain the enigma that Dubai is. It is this rushing amalgam of people, all different kinds, existing together in a hot desert. Nothing is hidden. It is all there to be seen. The buildings, the people, the wealth, the poverty. It is basically insane, and I want to go back, and stay for a while. There is a story there, I can feel it. (Of course, I think this about everything. Ah, the grocery store. Bet there's something interesting going on!)

the devil came on horseback . . .

2007-08-08T14:07:00.001-05:00

. . . I went to the free screening at UNCW's Lumina Theatre last night, and I was glad I did. The genocide in Darfur is happening today. It was happening yesterday, and will continue tomorrow.

One of the things I am leery about whenever I get involved in some sort of community activism, is the overwhelming nature of the problems that we create for ourselves. I watched this movie, the pictures of the dead bodies, little girls burned alive, whole villages annihilated, the janjaweed (the Khartoum funded Arab militias sent to do the killing, paid in looting rights) admitting to their role openly, and I wonder, Well fuck. What am I supposed to do about it?

So it isn't an easy thing to deal with. Once you have seen these pictures, once you know that right now someone is being killed with no chance of protection (because this is a systematic killing, earning the name of genocide, and absolutely requiring our government's intervention), once you know all of this, you can't ever go back to not knowing. And therein lies the hopelessness. What can I do? I have no power. I cannot simply pack up, move to Darfur, buy a gun, and sit entry at the villages.

But what I can do is to tell people about it. I can tell my elected officials that this matters very much to me. I can write letters to three people: my representative Mike McIntyre, and my two senators, Elizabeth Dole and Richard Burr. Yes, they are both Republicans, but in my experience with government, political affiliation means absolutely dick when it comes to listening to their constituents. The noisier you are, the more response you get.

I could stop there, with three letters, but why? Let's face it: elections are coming up. I haven't heard anything about Darfur so far from the candidates. I have heard a lot about Iraq though. Last I checked the Iraqis were not hell bent on genocide. Last I checked both sides were well equipped with guns. And the truth is, we don't really know who the bad guy is over there, because there really is not one. We can blame it on the insurgency, but the insurgency is both Sunni and Shiite.

I am digressing here, but the point is, no one seems to know what is really going on in the world, and this irritates me. We elect our leaders based on whether they think abortion is wrong or not. In what moral world does abortion trump the mass killing of an entire people? I am sick of playing games with rhetoric people. Republicans are too greedy and conservative to act ethically at home and abroad, and Democrats are too busy playing the rhetoric game to find their balls and take some action. Everyone wants to hold on to their power, or get more power than they currently have.

So I am writing my letters. And next time I register to vote, I am registering as an Independent. I don't need a party line to tell me what I should think is an important issue. And to you, who read this whole thing (thank you), don't believe for a minute that your opinion doesn't matter. We are lucky to live in this flawed country, and yet I can feel no pride in being American, while my government ignores the genocide. We swore to Always Remember, didn't we? What fools. We should have sworn to Always Act.

Save Darfur.