Monday, December 31, 2007
1. Elaine Equi, Ripple Effect
2. J. Allyn Roser, Misery Prefigured
3. Chase Twichell, Dog Language
4. Charles Wright, Littlefoot
5. Rebecca Loudon, Radish King
6. Jean Valentine, The Door in the Mountain
7. Peter Pereira, What's Written on the Body
8. Virginia Chase Sutton, Embellishments
9. Virginia Chase Sutton, What Brings You to Del Amo?
10. Ted Berrigan, Sonnets
11. C. Dale Young, The Day Underneath the Day
12. C. Dale Young, The Second Person
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Frantic packing tonight, then work, then a morning nap, then off to Baltimore and Brian for a late xmas visit that is going to be too too short. The time crunch is a downer, but it's a chance to see the boy and get a double dip of Christmas; so ultimately it's to the good.
Minimal blogging, if any, until I'm back; unless of course the good folks of Charm City have seasonal Virgin billboards or there's something just too good to pass up.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Ashley drew my name for our Secret Santa exchange. She made me this gorgeous collage/painting piece based on one of my poems, "In Transit." I can't wait til after the holidays to get it framed and hanged. It was perfect: unexpected and lovely.
A quick moment just for Brian who said: "So you are the Jeffrey, not the Santino of Project: Caption."
The other day my mom wanted to talk about politics--usually not something she does. I'm obviously not always sympathetic to the GOP, and finally neither is my mother. She's a classic old-school conservative: minmal government invasion, low taxes, fiscal responsibility, yadda yadda. She has to vote in the GOP Primary here and is wondering how. But come the general she's definitely voting Democrat. Anyways--we're talking and she says "I'm really drawn to Joe Biden. I don't know why, but I am." Now I don't know if this means she likes his policy positions...or there's some other thing going on. Frankly, I don't want to think of my mom having the hots for him.
When I broke it down I realize that yes, yes indeed I had gone a little nuts, again, for Christmas (with my mother's help, we broke up the duties and each tackled specific things.) A quick breakdown of the final goody production:
19 dozen cookies baked
6 lbs of candy
2 quarts of spiced mixed nuts
And 5 stockings made from scratch. We decided to do a Secret Santa this year, but each gift was supposed to be hand-made. I drew Eric, but since I was overcome with holidizzy, I made one for Tommy and Ashley and a couple of others as well (just in case I needed a last minute pressy for someone.)
Sunday, December 23, 2007
This is Tiny Tim's singular version of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." Ukulele and all. It's track 2 on A John Waters Christmas. Not as bad as the Chipmunks' "Sleigh Ride" but not as stirring as Roger Christian's "Little Mary Christmas" or Rita Faye Wilson's "Sleigh Bells, Reindeer and Snow."
But it's creepy.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Since the photo retrospective of christmas decorations didn't work out, I decided I'd spend the next week posting the christmas tunes I just can't live without each year.
First up is the classic David Bowie, Bing Crosby duet "Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth" from the late 70s. Drunk Crosby and Coked out Bowie...what else could more truly capture the season?
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Here are the rejected captions I generated for the last round of the Caption Contest Throwdown,
From T'was the Night at D. Beckham's
His Y fronts were stuffed with the tenderest care,
In hopes that the nanny soon would be there.
The L.A . Galaxy's equipment manager couldn't understand why they were always ordering new balls.
Rupert Murdoch uncovers the mystery of Posh's missing breast implants.
His nickname in the lockerroom was Taras Bulbous.
Early on Becks had to inform Posh that "poly-orchid" had nothing to do with botany.
Hernia trusses have never looked so sexy.
Bulge it like Beckham.
Whatcha gonna do with all them lumps, all them lumps down in my trunks. My trunks, my trunks, my lovely laddy trunks.
The final votes are in for the Caption Contest Showdown. What a squeaker.
For everyone that voted for me--thanks!
Brief IM Transcript:
Brian[8:35 P.M.]: so are you the santino of project caption?
Me[8:36 P.M.]: I'm the Jeffrey
Brian [8:36 P.M.]: hehe
Brian [8:36 P.M.]: he was the bottom 2 going into bryant
I'm the Jeffrey, the Angry Peanut, of Season 2 of Project: Caption.
And my boyfriend likes to bust my balls. Oddly, I'm blissful just now.
One of my plans for Yule blogging was to drive around town and get pictures of some of the more notable Christmas displays people do. Usually this town is reliably tacky--there used to be an entire road where everyone threw lights onto any stationary object, it was sort of Christmas cum Outsider Art, but they stopped years ago--but this year, lights-wise it's slim pickings. I don't know if it's because of the cost of electricity or what--but it kills one of my favorite traditions--driving people around and showing friends and newcomers the best of the worst. Even my cousin Pat, whose house is generally done up like Macy's Santaland's bastard cousin, is underdecorated. Best laid plains, yadda yadda.
Monday, December 17, 2007
A lot of this I attribute to the first time I sent out a bunch of poems while in grad school. We had to do it as part of our final portfolios for a creative writing class. The gist was this: choose three magazines you really admired and wanted your work in. Do up a cover letter and submission, making a copy to reserve for the instructor's comments later. This was 1996 or 1997. I can't remember two of the magazines that I chose for submitting, but the third was Colorado Review. I was in my Jori phase then.
About a month later I got my first rejection--a sort of fortune cookie rejection: skinny skinny strip of paper, wide as a letter sized sheet, but maybe 3/4" tall. Seriously. That means they could reject approximately 14.67 poets per page depending on margins. About two weeks after that I got my second. It was about the size of a postcard. No notes, no sign really that the entire thing had been touched by a human hand except to reinsert my stuff back into the SASE.
So the semester goes on, still nothing back from CR . My instructor was really pleased that I hadn't heard anything back by the end of the semester. I was the only person in the class at the point with work still being considered someplace. Blah blah blah...there were moments I was a little proud of that, but at the heart of it, I just wanted to know. The semester ends, I relocate back to WV. Later that summer I sent a query letter , it had been about seven months since I submitted, including a new SASE with my updated address and went back to my life. No response to the query. So I just wrote it off and went on with classes and drinking and dying my hair. My poems changed, my reading changed, I didn't think much about the whole thing, when almost a year later I got my last SASE back. With a hand-written letter. Over a page. Thanking me for my poems, apologizing for the length of time they held them and for ultimately not being able to fit them into the magazine. I had that letter tacked up above my writing area for a couple of years and moves, eventually losing it about 5 years ago. I've been wracking my brain trying to remember who the editor was that was kind enough to do that and I'm coming up blank.
Considering it was my first time at the rodeo, I feel sort of lucky--I got the entire range of editorial response. I've kept that in mind the last couple of years while submitting--not everyone's going to get it, or like it. Time and resources are at a premium. But I do keep track of how they choose to respond (or not.) I have yet to decide if the fortune cookie rejection slip is worse than just getting my poems shoved back in an envelope or not. But ultimately, that doesn't matter. I look at the poems and I send them out again.
Rebecca's Fashion Corner.
Peter Pereira, Pundit.
Anne Haines asks a damned good question.
And by morning I mean 1:00 pm eastern time when I woke up.
Christmas cards are another beast entirely. Which is pitiful, because I only mail out 6 or 7 a year. I usually buy "Season's Greetings" ones or "Happy Holidays"--something generic that if it gets there between Xmas and New Year's it still fits the bill. This year I committed myself to "Merry Christmas." They must be done tonight and go into the mail tomorrow.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
I got caught up this afternoon on the last couple of Project Runway episodes. Every week I find myself wanting to hunt down Tim Gunn and assault him for that line in the first episode about the breadth and depth of talent in this pack of competitors. Horse hocky.
I can understand the production company wanting to steer away from persona heavy drama this season--rather like Top Chef did this past season. Give us strong creative people with points-of-view and let their work speak for itself. Fine--it's a good idea. In Top Chef's case it worked this season. So far, for me anyway, Project Runway is falling flat . Except for Christian and crazy Elise, these people seem to need drugs or serious personality implants. Ok--Victorya is a passive aggressive bitch but that's not personality and it's not why I hate her (her first two outfits are all the reason I need. Metallics and coordinating flower/bow/knot things...gag. If you can get to a Steve & Barry's and see her winning design for the Sarah Jessica Parker challenge do it. It looks like a burlap sack raped a painter's smock. Hidjeous. The racer back vest is almost cute. Almost. But there's maybe 5 people in the western hemisphere it would look good on.) Ultimately though it's the sheer boring clothes that makes me stop part-way through and think "Why am I watching this again?" I can't remember from week to week who did what. There's no fear of Nina or Kors going off on clothes being too editorial. It's all safe middle-of-the-road bleh.
Karaoke filtering downstairs into my right ear (the worst karaoke you can imagine... I've committed my fair share of karaoke karnage and have heard a good bit too. But what I heard last night coming from the upstairs party--wowza.) Live music from back in the bar filtering up into my left ear (his set included a Roy Orbison medley, that didn't suit his range; a Johnny Cash medley, that didn't suit his range...etc etc. Plus Neil Young, the Beatles and Van Morrison. It's hard to be a man and not sing tenor nor bass). It was stereo hell.
The upstairs party had a great time. Hokey pokey and everything (structural integrity of the floor be damned). Stunningly, it was a dry event.
On the upside, I had poetry in the mail when I finally woke this afternoon.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Tonight you'll take the lead in a bingo tournament, and come home with a pocket full of one dollar bills, and a crocheted toilet paper cover with a doll's body on top. Things just don't get better than this.
From their mouths to god's ears. I've been wanting a toilet paper cozy. All the relatives that used to make that stuff have passed on.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Now that the latest round of voting for C Dale's Caption Contest Throwdown is done, here are some of the also rans I came up with.
Four heads no waiting
Free Valtrex with every 8 pack.
My secret? I puke.
Wait 'til you see how I open the second one.
Not to be outdone by Screech, Mario finished his sex tape with the "Dirty Lopez."
Corona: Strong enough for a man. Made for a wanker.
From Mario Lopez and the makers of Has-Been comes the new fragrance for men: Chunder.
Always ready to please his Dancing with the Stars fans, Mario reenacts his Paso Douchebag triumph.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
There are few things worse than the execrable "Christmas Shoes;" oh, I know there are novelty songs and overwrought renditions of classics foisted on us every yule. But really, this five minute nugget of maudlin crap makes me want to slit my wrists. It's like someone took the plot of a Lifetime movie and set it to music. You can find it here if you're reeeeallly curious. I'm not going to inflict it on anyone.
What's your worst?
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Hopefully, not all of them will turn out as evil looking as Snarky did. I kept him for myself.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Doctors at Royal Wigan Infirmary in Greater Manchester put out the alert after fearing the man faced amputation as the ring cut off his blood supply.
Two firefighters used a mini hand grinder to cut through the ring during a 20-minute procedure.
It is understood the man, aged in his 40s, was given an anaesthetic.
The firefighters placed a thin sheet of metal around his penis to protect the skin while removing the ring, which appeared to have been cut off from the end of a pipe.
Greater Manchester Fire and Rescue Service confirmed fire crews were called to the hospital at around 12.10 GMT on Thursday to "deal with a situation".
A spokeswoman for Royal Wigan Infirmary said they were unable to comment about the incident.
Restaurant ice cubes dirtier than toilet water
A recent study in Chicago found that an alarming number of restaurants, more than 1 out of every 5, has more bacteria and fecal matter in their ice cubes than in a random testing of toilet water.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Why even when I was porking up on prozac and gorging on butter and cream I didn't care, because I felt even. Because the jackhammer heart slowed; the vomitting stopped; the urticaria stopped.
Tonight, driving to work, for the first time in years, I felt that out-of-control, beyond-my-control, instability. The roads were wretched, a good 1/2 inch of ice, frosted with snow. No sign of center line. Uneven and rutty. Truly, truly, wretched. I never went above 30 mph and tried to touch my brake as little as possible. By the time I got to work and turned off the ignition, my hands shook in that old panic attack way. Almost like palsy. The body resisting its own stability. All I could do was sit until it passed. I made a quick call to let folks know I made it safely. I let the cold seep in.
I bet Rickie wouldn't cry that episode--unless he was really into rats.
Click here for the madness.
I ran around yesterday morning doing errands, buy catfood, run to the bank, blah-dee-blah-dee-blah. No biggie. Trying to go through the bank drive through, I noticed one side was closed. So I decide I'll just do a u turn an it should be fine, I can get back into the open side, deposit the money, get on my way. As I'm about to enter the street, I apply my brakes. I don't stop, I just slide. A Head Start school bus is passing directly in front of me, I'm still sliding. It feels like I'm going to push through the floorboard trying to get the brakes to engage enough to stop me. Finally, once the burning brake smell wafted up, the car stopped. About 4 inches from the street. The tail end of the bus had just gone past.