Thursday, May 31, 2007


Yesterday was crazy. The one landscaping project I've taken on is commercial-- for a restaurant/hotel here. It's great, there's diversity-- they're doing herbs, veggies, flowering plants and shrubs--it's not just dogwood, dogwood, cypress, arbor vitae stuff. It's also a fairly large property so they've got more plans for space as time goes on. I think I planted over 100 plants yesterday between that site and home. I expected to have a gardening dream a la Frost's "After Apple Picking" but I slept deeply and well; untroubled by dreams of trowelling, ferting and watering.


Across the street from the property is a halfway house...there's nothing too blogworthy yet, but I think there's potential for future crazy; I've been catching snippets of convos as I'm going about watering and weeding--it's not like I actively try to hear, but there's some loudness at that place. Today a work crew was in putting up a huge tent for an event this weekend. A couple of girls from the home decided to put on their skimpies and lay out on a blanket. They had their hip hop and reggae blaring, giggling and watching the work crew--I think all the bad tattoos reminded them of their time in stir. I was between the two groups, transplanting wild geraniums feeling like I was somehow eavesdropping.


I'll update on the funky tomatoes--I'm really curious to see how they fare, especially regarding blight and such things. If they prove to be hardy and tasty, I'll be more than happy to share seeds with any intrepid horticultural types who want em.

(Un)Intentional Irony (?)

While trying to fall asleep the other night I was flipping channels and came across the new Botox ad. It uses the song "Express Yourself" as the theme and then doubles up using "Express Yourself" as the slogan.


Tuesday, May 29, 2007


I am obsessive when it comes to growing tomatoes (I know, I's not like I'm not obsessive in other areas.) I tried my hand at it for the first time a few years ago and it's a yearly obsession now.

I'm not planting as many individual plants this year, but I'm trying a few new varieties. A local nuseryman that I've traded cuttings and plants with over the years has been getting in heirloom varieties the past couple of years and he has some interesting plants now.

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Ananas Noire Whole

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Ananas Noire Sliced

I picked up an Ananas Noire (Fr. for "the black pineapple") a red, green and purple/black striped beefsteak; a White Wonder beefsteak; and a Golden Gem orange sweet cherry. I still need to snag some romas and a regular beefsteak from the nursery but then I'm ready to go.

Monday, May 28, 2007


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I'm an intemperate gardener. Some years I'm fastidious with weeding, fertilizing, pruning and deadheading. Other years I feed the plants and just allow them to grow however they will. The last couple of years, I've done the latter. I wasn't timely with separating and propagating plants so when the time came to divvy up the Hosta "Sagae", Pulmonaria "Roy Davidson," and my dwarf white Astilbe it was quite a job. They hadn't been divided in about 4 years and were huge clumps to contend with. So I took three clumps and ended up with 30 smaller ones. They're all planted now. I still have a clump of Pulmonaria "Mrs. Moon" and a peach Astilbe to divide...I shudder to think about tackling them--they're huge.


Almost everyone here calls today "Decoration Day" instead of "Memorial Day," because that's what a lot of them do--they go to the cemetery and leave flowers. Usually the local fire hall has some sort of lunch or homecoming thing set up for the out-of-towners and locals to get together and gossip or whatever they call it. I usually don't go to the cemetery today, even though it's just across the field from my place. I go later in the week when no one else is around and leave some fresh cuttings of whatever's blooming on my maternal grandparents' graves. I might have to buy cut flowers this year because aside from Spiderwort, not much else is in bloom.

An elderly couple from Ohio drove up to the house yesterday while I was in the yard. Bella, the shelter rescue wonder dog with separation anxiety issues went nuts barking; Fletcher climbed one of the maples. I was covered in filth from digging up and separating plants. They sat parked in the drive conferring for a few moments--I kept my back to them, replanting hosta. The
woman gets out of the car and says "This used to be the X homestead. My maiden name was X. Would it be okay if we walked around and took pictures--I have pictures from back when it was the X place." Actually, no; no it was not okay. This property no longer belonged to the Xs. It hadn't for at least 50 years.

They didn't say anything when I said, "no;" they just gave me a look indicating they thought I was rude and inhospitable and got in their big loud red truck and drove away. Although they were polite enough, I found the whole thing incredibly nervy and presumptuous. The property no longer belonged to a family member--whatever claim they thought they had to it was forfeited when it was sold.

Had I not been there working in the yard, I know they would have walked around and taken pictures to their hearts' contents--in short they would've reminisced and trespassed, commenting on how it all used to be, then gone to the fire hall for a nice lunch before driving back to Ohio, braking for anything even resembling a curve in the road.

When I told Brian about this today he offered to sit on the front porch in a wifebeater with a shotgun and bottle of bourbon, threatening any and all potential trespassers. Is that love or what?

Nurseries are bad places for me: too, too tempting. Today was especially rough--they got in a new delivery since I was there Saturday. So many cultivars and varieties that I wanted. So little space and cash and time.

ProFormative 2

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Chales Nelson Reilly died.

That makes me sad. He was a fixture of my childhood--I loved him on Lidsville--and one of the most visible gay men on telly in the 70s. I loved game shows as a young'un--Match Game, Hollywood Squares, and The Gong Show were particular favorites. I didn't get the jokes, I never had an inkling why I liked CNR, Paul Lynde, Waylon Flowers and Madame or Jaye P. Morgan so much, but I did. I didn't enjoy those shows nearly as much when they weren't on the panels. Would anyone in their right mind prefer George Gobel or Kitty Carlisle?

When I was in grad school I was always threatening to write a series of essays about the gaying of America through game shows. I didn't recognize the panelists as gay (or myself at the time--I was barely in grade school) but I recognized that they were different and it appealed to me in a deep way. I could do without some of the camp trappings, I'll just chalk that up to a generational difference, but fundamentally they informed my sense of humor and my ideas of what's funny.

I think I'm going to check the Game Show Network and see if Match Game is on.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Because It's Sunday

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It's startling what you get when you google image search with "cowboy jesus." Sadly the line art image of a bronc rider juxtaposed with the three crosses atop Calvary was unavailable.
Haven't done one of these in a while.

Is this satire? Parody?

Heliocentrism is an Atheist Doctrine

What’s even worse than the debate raging in American schools about the teaching of the soulless doctrine of evolution, is the non-debate over an issue that rational Americans have foolishly conceded to the secular among us: the issue of Heliocentrism, or the idea that the Earth revolves around the Sun.

Now, it has to be granted that there may be some mathematical evidence going either way; mathematically speaking, Copernicus may be on ground nearly as firm as that of Tycho Brahe. Right-thinking people know the correct doctrine, however:

Heliocentrism is the view that the sun is at the center of the universe. It was proposed by some ancient Greeks,[1] and became the dominant view in the 1700s and 1800s. It was abandoned in the 20th century.

Since the advent of relativity theory in the early 1900s, the laws of physics have been written in covariant equations, meaning that they are equally valid in any frame. Heliocentric and geocentric theories are both used today, depending on which allows more convenient calculations

It seems clear that it may occasionally be convenient to assume that the calculations of Copernicus and Kepler were mathematically sound. However, for both moral and theological reasons, we should always bear in mind that the Earth does not move. If it moved, we would feel it moving. That’s called empiricism, the experience of the senses. Don’t take my word for it, or the evidence of your own senses, Copernicans. There’s also the Word of the Lord:

“He has fixed the earth firm, immovable.” (1 Chronicles 16:30)

“Thou didst fix the earth on its foundation so that it never can be shaken.” (Psalm 104:5)

“The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.” (Ecclesiastes 1:5)


I support the Bible, and I don’t want my children learning about Heliocentrism in school. I think this doctrine encourages atheism, Darwinism, and anti-Americanism. I don’t want my tax dollars going to finance this kind of false science. It’s complete rot, and I hope that those of us who come to realize this can ultimately prevail against its propogation amongst OUR children with the money from OUR salaries.

I can’t wait to hear from the moonbats and the Darwinists and the other rubes on this one, though. Go on, witch doctors. Preach to me how the planet hurtles through the ether, Scriptural and physical evidence to the contrary! Your false doctrines will be cast down on the day when America rediscovers its Christian roots. That is a promise.

Nope. It's from GOPer Sam Brownback's supporters. Praise!
There's more at the link if you can take it.

And here's an intrepid lil 8th Grader out to use a paper towel to prove part of the theory of evolution is wrong. He should be able to disprove all of it before his armpits are fully haired. He needs to team up with Mr. Anti-Heliocentrism and take over NASA.

Brian Benson, an eighth-grade student who won first place in the Life Science/Biology category for his project "Creation Wins!!!," says he disproved part of the theory of evolution. Using a rolled-up paper towel suspended between two glasses of water with Epsom Salts, the paper towel formed stalactites. He states that the theory that they take millions of years to develop is incorrect.

"Scientists say it takes millions of years to form stalactites," Benson said. "However,in only a couple of hours, I have formed stalactites just by using paper towel and Epsom Salts."

Pharyngula takes this whole bs apart here.


From the Denver Post.

Lightning damages Jesus statue
A bolt broke off an arm and a hand and damaged a foot at the Mother Cabrini Shrine in Golden. The sisters hope the 22-foot piece can be repaired.

Don't look for any religious symbolism here - it was only a freak act of Mother Nature, says Sister Ilaria.

The nuns at Mother Cabrini Shrine in Golden were thanking God on Sunday that no one was hurt when a bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and struck their 33-foot statue of Jesus.

The lightning bolt broke off one of Jesus' arms and a hand and damaged one of his feet, sending marble plummeting to the ground during a Saturday afternoon storm.

"There were pilgrims up there on the hill," Sister Ilaria said. "The biggest miracle is no one got hit with the falling debris."

The statue of Jesus, which had one hand pointing to his "sacred heart" and the other outstretched, sits atop a mountain near the shrine in the foothills of Golden. Drivers on Interstate 70 can see the statue in the hills, and at night, light illuminates the white marble.

What's the difference between an act of Nature and an act of God, again? Or is your invocation of "Mother Nature" simple heresey, Sister Ilaria?

I'm Afraid of Americans, redux.

According to a new Gallup Poll, nearly 1 in 3 Americans believe that the Bible is the "literal word of God."

Yea...just gonna leave it at that.


Bumper sticker seen: Billy Goat Gruff, Wild and Untamed.
This was on a car with some other granola-esque bumper stickers and I immediately thought it implied something about (ahem) intimate grooming. When I finally saw the person associated with said sticker my suspicions were strengthened and biases confirmed.


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Pugsley Addams' cousin lives here in WV. His name is Dewey. I know because his polo shirt was monogrammed.


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Why do people think Rascals are street legal? And why aren't they ticketed?

I went crazy at the nursery--scented geraniums, nettle leaved mullein, bleeding hearts (still have yet to find a white one and I must have one), vinca, jacob's ladder. I need to go back and get some million bells to fill in spacey bits of the rock garden.

I will never transplant or deal with prickly pear again. Even with gloves on I was picking teeny tiny needles from my hands for hours last night.

Separating astilbe, two pulmonaria, hosta and ferns today. I realized I missed out on separating my other bleeding hearts this year. That definitely needs doing next year. Between them and the sensitive fern in one shade bed, they're choking out other stuff.

I have a garden toad living in the semi-shade bed near the front porch. Hopefully my work there won't scare him away.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Furious Green

So much time playing in the dirt the last few days I've not felt like posting. But there's stuff upcoming tomorrow.

I've picked up a couple of landscaping projects to make some extra cash and have seen much that amuses me.

Hard to believe that I'm not burned out on digging and planting yet, but I'm strangely energized. I'm finishing up my shade bed tomorrow.

For those who are horticulturally inclined, is having a crazy Memorial Day sale that ends Monday. If you're interested, leave a post in the comments and I'll give you the discount code.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

On the level

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I just took the Dante's Inferno Test and am a little surprised. I thought I'd be in level 4 or 8....maybe level 2...but instead I'm in 6. I never considered myself particularly always seemed to me one needed to consciously disavow or undermine an orthodoxy to be a heretic...but who knew. Wanna see if we'll be infernal roomates? Go here.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)Extreme
Level 7 (Violent)Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)Very High

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Pro Formative

Aaron's thoughtful response to my 5 favorite songs tag reminded me that I've never blogged this.

I've mentioned my love for Annie Lennox here before, but I've never really gone into why I think she's so fabulous. Short version: Annie Lennox made me queer. Not gay in the "I like to kiss boys" sense, but queer in the "Androgyny is hot and dangerous" sense. Earlier this year I did an essay and poem about her for an anthology of gay men on their divas and I cite this performance from the 1984 Grammys as being formative.

It was--I kindasorta liked the Eurythmics before that night, but after watching their version of "Sweet Dreams" where she does her best drag--I was hooked. Something vague went off in my head and I felt connected. The discomfort and squirming my mom and sister exhibited seeing her pass as a man probably helped. Since then I've realized the value in making your audience just the teensiest bit uncomfortable and try to exploit it whenever I can.

What's fascinating to me, now, 23 years later, is that some people still don't realize it's her. Check some of the comments in the versions posted on Youtube. Really--astonishing.

Anyway, enough of this, on to the show.

Obsessive Compulsive? Moi?

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I'm spiralling into the dark space with soon as I had my list of 5 obsessive listens, I started doing 5 other 5s.

5 Favorite Dance Tracks

1. "Get Ur Freak On", Missy Elliot
2. "Ray of Light", Madonna
3. "Blue Monday", Orgy
4. "Milkshake", Kelis
5. "What You Waiting For", Gwen Stefani

5 Albums You've Probably Never Heard (but Should Hear)

1. The Kills, No Wow
2. Dogs Die in Hot Cars, Please Describe Yourself
3. The Futureheads, The Futureheads
4. The Arcade Fire, Funeral
5. Angela McCluskey, The Things We Do

5 Albums I Keep Repurchasing

1. Damien Rice, O
2. Radiohead, OK Computer
3. REM, New Adventures in Hi-Fi
4. David Bowie, Outside
5. Elton John, Goodbye Yellowbrick Road

5 Songs that Make Me Write

1. "Myxomatosis", Radiohead
2. "Eskimo", Damien Rice
3. "Big in Japan", Tom Waits
4. "Waiting for the Man," Velvet Underground
5. "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes," Modest Mouse

5 Favorite James Bond Themes

1. "Diamonds Are Forever", Shirley Bassey
2. "The Man with the Golden Gun", Lulu
3. "Live and Let Die", Paul McCartney and Wings
4. "A View to a Kill", Duran Duran
5. "Die Another Day", Madonna


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Keith tagged me to do my five favorite songs. I'm doing my five obsessive listens for the first part of '07, in no particular order.

1. Wild is the Wind--David Bowie, Station to Station
2. Bouncing off Clouds--Tori Amos, American Doll Posse
3. Leaving it up to You-- John Cale, Fragments of a Rainy Season
4. Walk Away--Tom Waits, Real Gone
5. Shores of California--Dresden Dolls, Yes, Virginia

I'm tagging Aaron and Montgomery.

Poem for the Day

From Night with Drive-by Shooting Stars

Jim Daniels

She danced in front of the window,

snowflakes glowing behind her

under the streetlight. The blue silk blouse

slipped off her arms and floated out of sight.

Black slacks into a shadow, then

the quick shiver, the beautiful awkward gesture

into nakedness. Her skin startled me--

luminous or pale, depending. We didn't know

each other well, but it was my turn,

so I raised my arms above my head

and tried to shake. We both wanted to know

something about somebody. My clothes

piled beneath me in a clump.

The striptease didn't do much

for either of us, but by then

we were chilled and fell against

each other's skin.

Snow under streetlights landed

layer upon layer.

We fell forward,

then fell apart against the sheets,

cold again, and wet. She whispered

in my ear, and I pulled the blankets

up over us. I knew her name,

so I whispered that.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Bienvenue à la Maison des Morts

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Like a Peckinpah film or one of Shakespeare's tragedies, the body count keeps rising here. Avalanche paraded around the house with a mouse he caught last night until I managed to get him scooted outside. Today he tried to tangle with a huge snake sunning itself near the meadow (it was a little over three feet long)--I ended up whacking it with the machete because neither one of them was backing down. I shudder to think what else he's going to find in the next few months. I have to give him credit--he's not afraid to tangle with something significantly bigger than he is.


Last week's rains put a damper on some of the festivities but the plants are loving it. I'm going to be spending a lot of time the next few weeks dividing hostas, ferns and lungwort to transplant.

I'm not sure when this landscaping project is ever going to be done. So much to clear out and kill that I think I'm never going to be on top of it all, much less ahead.

An entree to the long poem I've been working on has presented itself--not sure if it'll carry through all the revisions, but it's given me a way to proceed.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Dream Snippet

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I totally forgot to blog this this morning.

Wednesday night I dreamt about Robert Bly. I was in an archway between two rooms and he was approaching me, wearing an embroidered vest and cravat. We walked up to one another and shook hands and I said "You're shorter than I'd imagined." He was probably 5'4" in the dream, coming up just to my collarbone.

I've never (in my memory) dreamed about another poet (that I don't know personally) and am (more than a little) surprised that he's my first. Likewise--I have no idea why he'd surface now.

What Would Eva Do?

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Sunday, when we were driving back to Buckhannon, I avoided a squirrel in the road. It was hunkering and darting beside another squirrel who had not been so lucky as to avoid a car. Actually it was pretty flat--it had not avoided a lot of cars. I had to avoid the skittish, befuddled, living one. I'm not one of those people who stops and helps box turtles across the road or who'll run into the ditch to avoid a bunny; but if weather conditions allow, I'll try to veer away or brake enough to avoid killing something.

I sometimes think we're like the couple in Green Acres--he's Eva Gabor, I'm Eddie Albert. I'm pretty adaptable. I like the options of cities: the venues, the anonymity, the restaurants, the shopping. At the same time I really love the space and quiet I have here. Sometimes it's grating, but overall it's a fair trade. We drove past people I knew and without thinking I'd point them out, oddly happy seeing them out running errands or whatever on a Sunday. Unlike Eddie A, I'd never ask Brian to relocate to an area like this--it'd drive him mad, I fear. But one of the things I'm gladdest for about this visit was that he got to be with me and some of my favorite people and see that part of my life.


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Last night before bed I heard a thumping and clanking on the front porch. I knew it wasn't my critters, because they were all inside, bedded down and sleeping. I went to the door and turned on the light and there, rattling about the kibble and water bowls (during the late spring and summer I leave a few bowls out for the cats and dogs, because they're outside as much they're in) was a sizeable possum. It lurched off the porch and ran its odd jerky run off through the ferns toward the meadows. Hideous little beasts. I'll start bringing the kibble in at night because I don't want repeat visits.

Every time I see a possum I think of Gerald Stern's "Behaving Like a Jew" from Lucky Life.

Behaving Like A Jew

When I got there the dead opossum looked like
an enormous baby sleeping on the road.
It took me only a few seconds – just
seeing him there – with the hole in his back
and the wind blowing through his hair
to get back again into my animal sorrow.
I am sick of the country, the bloodstained
bumpers, the stiff hairs sticking out of the grilles,
the slimy highways, the heavy birds
refusing to move;
I am sick of the spirit of Lindbergh over everything,
that joy in death, that philosophical
understanding of carnage, that
concentration on the species.
--- I am going to be unappeased at the opossum’s death.
I am going to behave like a Jew
and touch his face, and stare into his eyes,
and pull him off the road.
I am not going to stand in a wet ditch

with the Toyotas and the Chevies passing over me
at sixty miles an hour
and praise the beauty and the balance
and lose myself in the immortal lifestream
when my hands are still a little shaky
from his stiffness and his bulk
and my eyes are still weak and misty
from his round belly and his curved fingers
and his black whiskers and his little dancing feet.


Back to normal life now--the strawberry festivities are over; back to sleeping alone and not having breakfast with Brian; back to planting and feeding and mulching and weeding; back to working on the poems and seeing how to make them live.


It was a very full four days for Brian's visit. He pointed out that in Baltimore I'm usually really content to stay around the apartment and just do not much of anything. This is true--I do prefer staying in and keeping to myself. But this weekend I wanted to be social. I wanted to be out and see people and eat too much, drink too much, laugh and walk around. And we managed that.


I picked up the new Bjork album on Thursday--it's sort of a "meh" experience. I want to like it...I just don't, really. Not sure if this is something that'll grow on me or if I'll not even try future listens. I knew I should've bought the latest Modest Mouse.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

What I'm Listening To

There's a bit of doggerel in Stephen King's Misery that has stuck in my head since I read the book eons ago: Annie the mom, Annie the goddess, when Annie's around you better stay honest; that's always somewhere in the back of my mind when Annie Lennox is involved.


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Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Palate Cleansers

Now that all that other stuff is outta my system here's some pop culture fluff for y'all.

In the grand (?) tradition of miniKiss, the Misfats and AC/DShe there's now Mini-Britney!

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Terra Jole is a 26-year-old 4'2" little person who tours the country doing a 45-60 minute show as Britney. (I am refraining from taking any of Mrs. Federline's song titles and using size-ist puns for a punch line, but trust me, I have a few.) The Mini Britney link above is to which has video of Terra in action.
(hat-tip to Brian)


Earlier I posted a L'il Kim video. As much as I love Kim, I'm crazy about Missy Elliot. I love "I'm Really Hot" from This Is Not a Test. Enjoy.

Kill Bill + subtitles + full-face makeup + krumping= Genius

My favorite lyric from the song?

Look,let me move to the left
Go head, let me feel myself
Touch my chest my sweat
Show that d.j. how I shake my breasts
Watch how my gluteus dangle
I do a 1-2 step,STOP
No, I ain't done yet.

Pardon Me While I Choke On My Own Vomit

Apparently other [republican] people feel differently about Rev. Jerry's passing. From Newsday:

"Jerry has been a tower of strength on many of the moral issues which have confronted our nation." -- evangelist Pat Robertson.
"Dr. Falwell's shadow falls across the face of the rebirth of conservative values in our nation, in the Southern Baptist Convention, and in the entire evangelical world. Only once in a generation will a man of his stature arise. We all owe him a debt of eternal gratitude." -- Paige Patterson, president of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas.
"An American who built and led a movement based on strong principles and strong faith has left us. He will be greatly missed, but the legacy of his important work will continue through his many ministries where he put his faith into action." -- Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney.
"Dr. Falwell was a man of distinguished accomplishment who devoted his life to serving his faith and country. Our thoughts and prayers are with Dr. Falwell's family at this difficult time." -- Republican presidential candidate and Sen. John McCain.
"His life is a testament not only to the power of faith to move hearts, but to the strength of the American ethos that stresses the importance of citizenship ... He was a great leader, a person totally sustained by his faith but able to work with many people from many different backgrounds without imposing rigidity on anyone else." -- Former U.S. House Speaker Newt Gingrich.

I'm speechless.'s coming to me...

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So Much Crazy II: Dead White Bigot Edition

Hey--didja hear? Jerry Falwell died. I was imed that three times in less than 2 minutes.

And I've been scolded twice for being less than gracious regarding his passing.

The fact that such a hateful man (he did, after all, make Larry Flynt look sympathetic) could wrap himself in "god" and attain national prominence and influence is a surer sign of moral paucity and societal backsliding than a couple of leather bears kissing while a flotilla of drag queens toss rubbers from sparkly floats. The sad truth is his passing means nothing. His death, like the death of single termite, merely creates space for another just like him to take his place.

Some of his greatest hits:

I do not believe that God answers the prayer of any unredeemed Gentile or Jew.

After the September 11, 2001, attacks Falwell said on the 700 Club, "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'" ( PatRobertson concurred).

I listen to feminists and all these radical gals - most of them are failures. They've blown it. Some of them have been married, but they married some Casper Milquetoast who asked permission to go to the bathroom. These women just need a man in the house. That's all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day it is and to lead them home. And they blew it and they're mad at all men. Feminists hate men. They're sexist. They hate men - that's their problem.

The true Negro does not want integration...He realizes his potential is far better among his own race...We see the hand of Moscow in the background...We see the Devil himself behind it...It will destroy our race eventually...In one northern city, a pastor friend of mine tells me that a couple of opposite race live next door to his church as man and wife ...It boils down to whether we are going to take God's Word as final

Herpes, AIDS, venereal diseases ... are a definite form of the judgment of God upon a society.

Homosexuality is Satan's diabolical attack upon the family that will not only have a corrupting influence upon our next generation, but it will also bring down the wrath of God upon America.

AIDS is the wrath of a just God against homosexuals.

AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals.

If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being.

Textbooks are Soviet propaganda.

I truly cannot imagine men with men, women with women, doing what they were not physically created to do, without abnormal stress and misbehavior.

I think the Moslem [sic] faith teaches hate.

Falwell tells a pastors' conference in Kingsport, Tenn., that the Antichrist prophesied in the Bible is alive today and "of course he'll be Jewish."

[Tinky Winky] is purple - the gay-pride color; and his antenna is shaped like a triangle - the gay-pride symbol.

I hope I live to see the day when, as in the early days of our country, we won't have any public schools. The churches will have taken them over again and Christians will be running them. What a happy day that will be.

Update: Montgomery Maxton commemorates JF's passing in high style.
Update the Second: more can be found here.

So Much Crazy

Ach. I've finally settled down enough to make a half-assed pass at an entry. I feel like I've been playing catch-up since the end of March and am only now finally getting there. My shoulder feels great and has held up well to the increased manual labor. I've gotten a lot done but there's more to do. I'd wanted to be ahead by today--but that's not happening. Weed whacking and some planting to be done that I'll tackle once it's cooler. I got a small gash in my palm yesterday that makes me psycho-leary to do any digging, unless I wear gloves. Sometime in the last couple of weeks I came across a reference to a gaseous gangrene that can be picked up from microbes in the soil. I'm now convinced that if I dig around I'll get it. I never used to be like this...but it's happening more frequently now. I hate to wear gloves when I just feels clumsy and I like the gritty feeling of dirt under my nails. It's slightly uncomfortable but at the same time I enjoy the agitation. (I can say this about a lot of things actually.) It's supposed to finally rain tomorrow so I really need to just suck it up and do this.

Baking again today--zucchini bread. Two kinds--straight up old school and then a version with shredded sweet potato added--very tasty.


Brian arrives in a little over 48 hours. I am, bluntly, giddy as a school girl. I haven't seen him since February--weather, the shoulder issues, the bronchitis all conspired against me. This weekend is Strawberry Fest (I'll blog more about this later)--it is truly an insane experience. But there's always a lot of barbecuing, eating and drinking.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Mum's the Word

My mother forbade it when I asked for a picture to scan in. She's worse than I am when it comes to taking pictures and having them seen. Pity--she's a cute little thing. I adore my mama--she's one of my favorite people and I don't deserve her. She shlepped my butt around to tons of rehearsals and violin lessons as a kid--dutifully finding something to do with her time while I was busy, always there to pick me up when I was done. She sat through so many bad concerts, recitals and performances, I feel she deserves retroactive hazard pay. But this year she's getting cookies and plants.

I'd wanted to find a pink butterfly bush for her for M-Day, but none of the nurseries or garden centers I went to had them--she's admired a neighbor's for some time so I thought that'd be the perfect thing. So, I had to improvise. I ended up buying a bunch of bulbs for her favorite flowers--stargazer daylilies, pink vermeer daylilies, and a bunch of gladiolias. They're interred and hopefully she'll be able to enjoy them shortly. I'd wanted to get her something already blooming but nothing I saw was appealing. She loves callas and dahlias--and they're readily available in stores right now, but a pain in terms of maintenance. Here in temperate zone 5A they have to be dug up every fall and stored, then replanted come spring. Just not worth it.

A lot of the seeds sown last weekend have popped up--I have no idea what they are (I didn't have my little map handy) but I'm hoping that more of their little brothers burst up and fill in the space. No clue how many bulbs I planted today. I tried to transplant some sweet peas for my mom--I encountered one of the largest tap roots in my life. It broke the shovel handle.

A good day really--beautiful outside, temperate and warm.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Cookie Cookie Cookie Starts with "C"

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Brian has a habit of calling me Donna Reed when I'm on a cooking binge. (Either that or my penchant for house dresses, aprons and pearl necklaces.) He's coming for a visit next weekend and since I couldn't make it to Baltimore for his birthday I've gone into baking mode. Today I made Macadamia Nut Triple Chocolate Chunk Cookies (I've come to realize that I also have a habit of making things with multiple chocolates.) Anyway--here's the recipe--it's a riff on the one my mom used when I was a kid.

Macadamia Nut Triple Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Wet Ingredients

5 T. Butter
5 T. Shortening
1/2 C. light brown sugar, tightly packed
1/2 C. granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 tsps. Vanilla extract
2 T. milk (I prefer buttermilk)

Dry Ingredients
1 1/2 C All-purpose Flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
optional add-in: 2/3 cup cocoa powder

Chocolate and Nuts

1 4 oz. bar Semi-Sweet chocolate (I prefer Ghiradelli's)
1 4 oz. bar White Chocolate
1 4 oz bar Bittersweet Chocolate (I prefer the 60% cacao bars)
4 oz macadamia nuts

preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Chop nuts and chocolate bars into chunks and set aside.

Cream together butter, shortening and sugars until fluffy and increased in volume. Add vanilla. Add eggs one at a time; beat until well combined. Add milk.

Sift in dry ingredients a little a time, mixing slowly.

Fold in chocolate chunks and nuts with a spatula as gently as possible.

Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto parchment paper lined cookie sheets. It might help to spray your spoon with Pam or occasionally wet it--it's very sticky. Wet or Pam your fingers and gently press down dough to flatten slightly. Batter should be dropped about 3" apart--it can spread like crazy if its too warm.

Bake for 10-12 minutes--cookies should look slightly underdone. Let them sit on the cookie sheet for about 5 minutes, then transfer to wire racks to finish cooling.

A Few Notes:

I usually split the dough before folding in the chocolate chunks and nuts and sift in 1/3 cup of cocoa to make a half batch of these in a chocolate variety.

You can use either all butter or all shortening--I've just found that a split between the two gives a better finished cookie. All butter tends to spread out more when baking and all shortening seems a little too crumbly to me.

Use the chocolate of your choice--around here the best I've found in grocery stores is the Ghiradelli's--it chops easily into nice chunks. Other baking chocolates I've found make curls and shred. The cookies are still tasty--but there's just something about seeing huge chunks of chocolate and nuts.

Since the recipe calls for baking soda as a leavener I prefer buttermilk--it reacts with the soda and gives a lighter texture than sweet milk does. It also negates a little bit of the alkaline taste.

If you don't want to deal with such a wet dough (or you want a chewier cookie consistency) refrigerate the dough for about 20-30 minutes before baking.

Parchment paper is a gift from god. Due to the amount of chocolate in the cookies the paper makes a much easier cleanup than using a bare pan does. It also helps minimize spreading.

Makes about 40 cookies.

Lordy Mercy

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I went shopping and ran errands with my mama this morning. Biiiiiiig mistake. I should've known it would be a madhouse--tomorrow is mother's day, it's sunny and warm out, next week is the local Strawberry Festival--but did I really think of all that before I said: "Hey you want to go to the nursery and run errands?" No, no, I did not. Dammit.

I'm a misanthrope. I know it. I own it. I'm cool with it. I try to stay out of other people's way when I shop--it's only polite. I don't know what's more irksome--the woman at Lowe's with the two out of control tweens who were running up into checkout aisles and throwing shit from her basket (one had the charming habit of putting a rubbermaid-esque storage tub on his head, then walking around like a defective robot, banging into other shoppers); the dude from Kentucky with the white Lexus that almost hit my 67 year old mother in the Wal-Mart crosswalk (I gave him the finger and cussed him out); or the general people who shouldn't be allowed to operate a shopping cart because they seem unable to walk and push at the same goddamned time. I know that there's a lot of stuff on the shelves--I know options are scary and overwhelming, that the sheer capitalist bounty of Wal-Mart is akin to a spiritual experience--but do you need to park your cart in the middle of the aisle and stand between it and the shelving moving back and forth muttering to yourself?

Ach. Time to go out and dig in the dirt and plant some of my purchases.

Friday, May 11, 2007

O', O', O', O' Yay

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Three hundred letters between Flannery O'Connor and Betty Hester are being released from the archives. They have been kept under seal for approximately 20 years at Hester's request. Some of the letters were included in the 1979 compilation The Habit of Being: Letters of Flannery O'Connor, with Hester being referred to by a pseudononymous "A" or just "anonymous." More about that in the linked article above.

The Habit of Being was the first epistolary collection I really read simply for the pleasure of reading and it turned me on to searching out the available letters and diaries of many of my favorite writers and artists. If you've not read it yet--do it. She's damned good (misspellings and all.) I hope these just-released letters will be included in future editions or made available on their own.

Poem for the Day

I don't usually post my own work here, but considering my earlier post about poems and writing it seemed apropos. I'm not sure how long I'll leave this up.

In Transit

Single shoes on the berms and verges
of roadways and off-ramps. Rusty
armature of a pram in a pasture
halfway to Tampa. Candy-colored
doll house in the rainy north-bound lane.
The left wing of a heron, adhered
to the macadam, catching
the shear of passing cars, waving
beside the cane field.
Hair bands,
thanks for shopping come
bags in the rumble strips and ditches.
The carcasses, the cherished,
the lost-and-never-missed.

The black snake in the middle of its dying:
long back ground open, whipping
its sharp head over itself:
as if frenzy was a suture.
Sometimes you stop the car—

you can’t help it—you have to see.

What I'm Listening To

I adore L'il Kim. I can't help it. She's tasteless and those cantilevered, pneumatic tatas just send me (yea, I'm a tit man, like Rufus.) I love this song. It makes me want to get stupid drunk and dance. The last few years whenever it's feeling summerish I have to listen to this. It's NSFW but so much fun.

In the Midst of Life...

Keith at My Poor Fool is Hanged has a couple of evocative posts this week regarding poetry, critters, horror movies, family and experience. I gave a sort of response to the second post regarding nature and the deaths of animals. I'm still working toward a full response to his first post and what I read as his central question in it: What have you wanted to write but been unable to?

Faced with the question so simply put makes me realize that most of what I've wanted to write, most of what I've attempted to write has, in one way or another, failed or become something else entirely than I'd intended. The second sort of poem is its own pleasure...its own reward...I've gotten to a place I didn't expect, that I didn't account for, a sort of subconcious radar ping. The other sort-- the failures, the stillborns, the congenitally deformed ones are at best instructive. I've learned from them; held onto them; saved them for use later in some future frankenpoem.

I cherish those moments when I see something and get a poem. It's like the universe is giving me a little present. I remember the moment of insight/inspiration better than I remember drafting the poem itself. My two best poems are the second unexpected sort. There was the flash of insight, the desperate need to chronicle and explore those moments. One took 10 years to write--a simple poem about being shaved by another person--and went through god knows how many versions, revisions, forms and permutations that I honestly wondered if I ever would get it right, get it down, get it out of my system so I could go on to the next thing. The other poem--an elegy for my grandfather, witnessing his dying--was much more compressed in terms of writing time. Essentially that poem was there from the first draft--everything that is in its current state was there-- and a steady stream of revisions over a year or so got it to its final place. They have become my gold standard for successful poems--by whatever vagary of application, effort, skill or luck, they inhabit and enact their moments. They've also been the hardest to get past in terms of technique and style. I'm always leary of mannerism; being too dependent on one set of tricks; of becoming fossilized and a caricature. I don't want to write the same poem(s) repeatedly.

The new challenge for the summer is to take these old poems that are not so successful and revisit them--try to find a way to get back in and blow them up and put them back together in a way that feels vital and necessary. To get them under my skin and treat them like a fever.

Keith addresses the idea of seeing our own mortality in the deaths of animals. I responded in a comment that I didn't think it was necessarily true in my case: I grew up on a farm, we raised livestock for food; my cats and dogs have all practiced predation on various varmints. But now, I'm wondering. I've got a lot of dead animals showing up in poems--maybe I'm fooling myself.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Why I Love Baltimore

One more reason to love Charm City. Brian sent me this and it made me smile.

Fresh from the Baltimore Sun.
Check the comments...there's your 28% Mr. Bush. Jeebus. I've heard toy dogs yip and bark that were less shrill.

Rush Limbaugh billboard near I-83 defaced

Official: 'It looks like they took globs of paint and threw it on his face'

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(Sun photo by Karl Merton Ferron)
May 10, 2007

Wednesday, May 9, 2007


I don't want a larger penis.
I don't want to watch MILFS and barely legal girls get wild.
I don't want to refinance my mortage.
I don't want viagra or cialis.
I don't want the three grey hairs I found growing in my bangs this morning.


We had a weird cold snap/frost the other night which has imperiled all the transplants. I found this stuff that's supposed to mimize transplant shock and encourage new root growth. Not sure if it's worth trying at this point or not, but I'm going to give it a shot. If that doesn't work there's more transplantable lilacs and columbines where those came from.

I also found these fertilizer spikes for shrubs and flowering bushes--they were cheap. They look like a cross between dog biscuits and suppositories. I need to do something, my azaleas look like ass. I hate broadcasting fertilizer by hand. I always end up scorching the leaves.

Forgot to get canned cat food and the new Bjork album while shopping. The cats are pissy. I'm pissy. But a woman at Wal-Mart was very sweet, I only had 3 items and she let me cut in front, that improved my mood until I got into traffic.

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These are my bowling shoes. They're fagulous. I love the black patent vinyl stripe. They slide like a dream and were dirt cheap. Sadly, they've been discontinued. I'd considered buying a second pair to have in reserve for when these wear out.

I hadn't been bowling for months and went last night with my friend Michael. I bowled a lot better than I expected--it's probably been about 5 months since we last went. I need to learn to throw a hook, I've just never really bothered trying. We gorged on bowling alley food. It was the best cheeseburger I've had in my life.


The cats come in smelling of warm grass. I can't understand why they want to sleep at my feet when it's absolutely beautiful outside.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Save Me from Myself

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Despite listening to a whole lot of American Doll Posse today I have the execrable Michael Bolton ditty "How am I Supposed to Live without You" stuck in my head.

Poem for the Day

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From Linda Gregg's In the Middle Distance.

As Is

Pay attention, talk to no one unless
you are buying food or borrowing a book.
Or asking for directions to the border,
or the canyon, or the river with a pool.
Always formal. Poor with poor.
It's not the same here. No Greek ruins.
No fragment with legs of walking horses
painted delicately on it. No part
of a lion on bits of a glazed vase.
Like a code to tell of how the world they knew
would be destroyed. Here there is no need.
The rabbit's groin is ripped open
on the road. When you find a bird's wing
there is a flattened small bird attached.
A ranch at evening, the sun leaving,
antelope standing and the other birds
flying. All of it meaning the same thing.

Junk Drawer

Last night I woke up about 2:30 and couldn't get back to sleep. Flipped through channels trying to find anything that might be watchable. VH-1 Classic had a Siouxsie and the Banshees video. I enjoyed it, but it seemed to unsettle the cats. Click. Switched to the menu function to see if there was anything that caught my eye. FMC was showing The Gay Deception. That almost seemed promising...but instead it's some movie from 1935 about a woman who comes into a lot of money; not about Ted Haggard or others like him. No Star Trek or any National Geographic or History Channel documentaries that I wanted to watch. So I ended up on MSNBC watching Alexandra Pelosi's (daughter of "San Francisco Liberal Values" Speaker of the House Nancy (who happens to have a street near the Inner Harbor in Baltimore named for her)) Journeys With George, her documentary about travelling with W. during the 2000 election. It was startling in a lot of ways. I reccomend it, though sometimes I found myself getting pissy and flipping back to music videos.

I finally saw the Beyonce & Shakira video. Amazing how effortless it seems for Shakira to be sexy and in control of her own body. Beyonce just worked so hard. Even with a wind machine blowing her to hell and back she didn't pull it off. If she screws like she dances I pity Jay Z--especially if that's her "sexy" face. I need the Shakira album.

At some point I fell asleep. Dreamed (twice !) about being at a prom-like function. I wasn't in formal wear but a blazer, a baggy madras plaid shirt, slacks and (big gay inhale) sandals! I kept running into the daughter of a former coworker and said the same thing each time: "I haven't seen you in ages." She had on too much eyeliner (which only accentuates her lazy eye) and a fuschia sequined gown with assymetrical shoulders. The left shoulder was a mass of dyed-to-match maribou and feathers. It resembled nothing so much as tumorous cotton candy.

My thighs hurt like hell. It's deceptively sunny out. Chilly. This is just not cricket. Sunny means warm, dammit.


Poems have been coming but then stalling out about 8 lines in. I'm leaving them in the cannibal file and hoping that I can go back and work with them. They feel promising when I'm drafting but aside from the initial flash, there's nothing. Distressing.

Saturday, May 5, 2007

Diggin' In the Dirt

Despite the rain's insistence on intermittent drippling I got most of the stuff planted. 3 lilacs transplanted (1 white, 2 purple) 3 types of columbines transplanted. Also sowed a bunch of seeds. Almost 20 varieties...too much to sit and retype. I'm hoping the cats don't think this new sandy expanse is a bigger better cat box and do their business there; at least not until the seeds have a fighting chance to sprout and establish. I even managed to get in some more weeding before it got too drizzly. If it's even marginally nice tomorrow I have to plant the bulbs.

The bunny survived the night, so he/she/it has been released. Of course, as Brian pointed out, this is probably in vain--if the cats want to eat him, they will.

Friday, May 4, 2007

70 Degrees and Partly Cloudy

It's really beautiful today...just a skosh muggy...but there's the barest breeze that counters.

I reek. I'm sweaty. I got a few hundred pounds of sod moved and then replaced it with a few hundred pounds of sand, peat hummus, cow manure and dirt (all in a 1:1 ratio). It's raked and aerated and ready for planting. All told I think I've moved half a ton of material. My back however is ready for a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol. The planting can wait til tomorrow. I need to rejigger my map and plotting.

Fletcher, lord love him kept me company while I worked and was kind enough to bring me a not-dead-yet bunny. I used Gluck's "we do not experience will in this manner" on him. He's not nearly so impressed with that line as I am. I got the rabbit away from him and it's in a secure location. Its prospects as of now are dubious.

I resent the havoc the rabbits, the chipmunks, the moles and their kind do to the garden. This is the first time he brought one that wasn't expired. It's so small and I'm torn.

Thursday, May 3, 2007


Last week's Democratic debate failed to bring the crazy...most likely due to the fact that they only had 90 seconds (at most) to answer questions. Tonight it's the GOP's turn. Surely, in their zeal to prove that they love Amurka and hate the fags the most they'll come up with some winners. Go here to to get your virtual paper doll of Rudy in Drag (you can also dress up Obama, W and Hillary if you desire.) If you're going to be watching the debates tonight on MSNBC you can print out your own Conservative Failure Buzzword Bingo card and play as these 10 guys spout off. I'll bet you'll hit bingo before all 10 have even answered one question.


In an attempt to be hip, edgy and oh-so-Web 2.0, Hillshire Farms have launched an online campaign called Go Meat. This somehow manages to kill my love of sausage.

I'm sure these'll be big with the purity pledgin', daddy prom goin', abstinence girls in the South: Tampon Tasers.

Ladies can replace that monthly period with an exclamation mark as feminine hygiene goes lethal with The Pink Stinger, a taser/stun gun creatively disguised as a tampon...except for the buttons, prods and high voltage. This weapon of mass absorption aims to target a niche market consumer, that being the tampon wielding women who desire private and discreet security in a friendly familiar package.
The tampon taser/stun gun is the latest in portable and personal security systems. The beauty of this taser/stun gun, aptly named The Pink Stinger, is its ingenious design and ability to be concealed nicely and unassumingly into any purse for ultimate stealth. The taser's gentle glide zapplicator easily fits in the palm of your hand for incredible comfort and protection and ready for honorable discharge at a moments notice. In addition, its fresh floral scent helps eliminate the smell of fear, not just cover it up.
Andrew Sullivan is absolutely obsessed with "fat lesbians" this week. Methinks someone's CPAP is malfunctioning.

Christ, I need a drink

The Downside of Memory

I thought I had the perfect poem for today--it was one from a Western Lit survey, that I remember touching me at the time I read it. More often than any particular bit of the poem--no particular phrase or image though I have a vague recollection of the poem's framework--it's the emotional impact on me I remember. So I dug out the book and I looked for the poem. And I found nothing. None of the poems by the author match my memory. Did I make up a poem? Did I convince myself that I'd read it and loved it?

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Random Geekiness

or, Things I Forgot to Post Before

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I bought a paper shredder today--I could not find my actual cheap-o model online, so just imagine that the one in this picture is black. I don't get a lot of junk mail worth shredding so I never really saw the need for one before. I'm actually going to use it to shred up a year's worth of magazines and newspapers to recycle as mulch. (I'll admit, I can't see paying 7 or 8 bucks a bag for bark.) For costing less than 12 bucks american, it's pretty good--zippy and quiet. Though I did overheat it by using it longer than the pamphlet recommends. I know now. I'm about a quarter of the way through my shredding. Very handy. And seeing Condy Rice and George Bush's faces coming out in strips made me smile...I started with my Time backlog.


Brian picked up American Doll Posse yesterday and for the most part, seems to like it. I've heard a couple of full tracks now, aside from "Big Wheel." The oh-so-amusing-to me "Fat Slut" is only :40. Pity. I think it could be expanded. "Velvet Revolution" is a faux French cafe/cabaret song. It's fun. I'm looking forward to hearing the rest of it.


Harper's magazine has now archived all of its content since 1850 online for subscribers. That's a quarter million pages! I've not really played too much with it but I plan on taking a lot of time this weekend and just seeing what's there.

And remember: Never let your kids shred!

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Springtime in WV is crazy. Yesterday it was 85 and sunny. Today it's in the 60s, overcast and muggy. Can we please just have a solid week of mild sunny weather? I'm willing to buy God's personal livestock of choice and sacrifice it in the backyard and dance in circles if it would do any good. The humidity and resurgent pollen has effed up my sinuses and given me a doozy of a headache. Plus I'm hyper. I don't think I've ever had this particular combination before.


I got my hair cut today. It had grown to the point that I could pull it back into a teeny weeny ponytail...sort of like Darryl from Kids in the Hall. My bangs came to the end of my nose. This was the longest my hair had been in about 15 years. Enough was enough. Back to shortish and manageable. The pile of hair about the chair was astonishing. I kinda wanted to bag it up and bring it home with me. It wouldn't be the first time I'd done it.


I ran into three separate people while running errands who said some variation of "Is it true you have a boyfriend." Oy. All I wanted to do was make a bank deposit and buy some groceries. Not stand around and fill in nosey people who I didn't know enough to fill in at the beginning. Or try and politely chuckle at the cradle robber jokes. Christ. Who knew buying raisin bran and 1% milk was some sort of social gauntlet.


The pomade the hairdresser put in my hair reeks. It's cloying and the humidity is helping the scent hang in a cloud about my face. I need a shower. Why is all this shit fruit and candy scented now?


The police have identified the three students who called in the 911 hoax at the local high school. Their names are not being released because they're underage. Sadly this kind of thing is only a misdemeanor. They shut down the entire school system for the day and they're probably gonna get off with nothing.


Big ups for my mama who won a "family fun basket" in a drawing sponsored by the board of education as a part of a library fundraiser. It's crazy. She paid 2.50 and has a couple hundred bucks worth of free stuff. 11 pizzas; 12 value meals from local fast food places; free passes for the pool, bowling, movies and golf. A couple of gift certificates for bookstores, too. There's more but I've forgotten.

Sumo + Take Your Daughter to Work Day= Heartache

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Brian sent me this the other day. Is it any wonder that I'm mad about him?

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Poems for the Day

The other day I commented on how at first blush (and for some time after) Stevens' poems didn't do much for me. I've been thinking of the poems and poets from that survey (which also happened to be contemporaneous with the time that I began really trying to write poetry) that really seemed to matter to me at that time. I was more taken by the Imagists than anything. So here are a few golden oldies that I'm sure you know. I've been thinking about why they mattered so much then and why I don't think more about them.

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In a Station of the Metro
Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.


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All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.

All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.

Greece sees, unmoved,
God's daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funereal cypresses.

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Queen Anne's Lace
William Carlos Williams

Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth - nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand's span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over--
or nothing.