We're Two Today

Today marks the second anniversary with Brian.

A late thanks for the b-day wishes. It's been looney.

Joyeux anniversaire à moi

Yup. I'm closer to 40 now than 30.

And It's Time, Time Time...

I realized last night that I have now acquired over 100 hours of overtime since the beginning of this year. I have worked an extra two-and-a-half weeks.

Abundance

The daylilies are outdoing themselves. Surprising because I didn't feed them as heavily this year, but they are full, the blooms on some are so heavy they're warping the stems.

I've had an enormous blue hosta in the corner of the shade bed for years--six or seven, at least--and this is the first summer it's bloomed. It's nothing that spectacular but I'm hoping to get some seed and start some new ones.

~*~

The last couple of weeks I've gotten together with a couple of other people and we've workshopped, ate dinner, had some drinks and just enjoyed one another's company. It's been lovely--and I've gotten some serious work done on revising and rethinking some of the poems I wrote earlier this year. It's also been good prep work for Los Angeles. It's been about nine or ten years since I was in a formal workshop and I've been a little worried about having lost the ability to talk about a poem in an intelligent helpful way. I still feel like I need to brush up on terminology but I feel more confident I can talk about a poem in an analytical way.

~*~

The neighbors had a cow escape last week. A bull actually. Summer is here.

Briefs from Monday

The tribute reading Monday, overall, was a great time. We had a crowd of about 75-80 people, a good receptive audience. Irene didn't feel up to attending, so we had to shuffle the program and reading order over dinner--several of us picked up an additional poem or short piece that we thought should be read, deciding on each person taking about 7-8 minutes of time. That was a really fascinating moment for me--no egos flared up, no one seemed anxious to take more time or angled for one of her show-stopper pieces. We just tossed out poems we individually loved, worked out an order and went with it.

Eight of us read from Irene's work and spoke briefly about her. Eight very different readings and emphases on why she matters to us and why her work does and should as well. It was sort of a rush for me because I got to read alongside friends and people whose work I admire but that I'd never heard read. During dinner I joked that it was like a covers album--and I was half-way nervous that I'd end up delivering the poetry equivalent of karaoke. As Monday afternoon went on I was a little nervous just for the fact that Brian was there and he'd never seen me read in public before. I got over that pretty quickly when it struck me I was reading someone else's work and that I should try, as much as possible, to make it sound like her or approximate the ways the work resounds in my head as I read it and not try to make them into "me" poems.

I chose two poems from Vivid Companion, "Ironweed," and "Full Moon: Sitting Up Late at My Father's Bedside." I had a sense (wrongly) that poems from her third book, Six O'Clock Mine Report, would be more prevalent than work from the other books. Actually, once we were done, her first book The Girl With the Stone in Her Lap and Vivid Companion were the most represented--shows what I know. Had I known, I might have picked a couple from Six O'Clock to read. The poems that were read from Six O'Clock are among the best (or maybe I'm biased because they are particular favorites of mine) and I'm glad that they were presented. Likewise, the prose pieces from Girl were a surprising choice--but I can see why they resonate.

If I were to complain about anything, it'd be the actual space itself. It's an interesting auditorium, but the very architecture of the space coupled with the sound system made it muddy and echoey for those of us on-stage to listen. I ended up reading along with several of the poems from Vivid and found myself fighting to make sense of what they were saying in places. It didn't seem to be an issue for the audience--or else Brian didn't tell me.

Other than all that, the only other moment that stands out fell after the reading. Brian and I ran outside for a quick smoke and to call a friend to see about having a drink later that evening. On the way back in I was stopped by a woman in a red t-shirt and khaki shorts who asked "How did you get picked to do this?"

California Here I Come and Other News

God...it's been almost a month since I blogged. I intended to post before this. I'm going to try to be a little better now that things have slowed down.

But, I've got a few tidbits of good news.

I was picked for one of the 8 poetry spots at this year's Lambda Literary Foundation Retreat in August with DA Powell.

I finished up and mailed out my contributor's agreement for my essay to appear in Michael Montlack's Diva Complex.

I'll be on deck as a speaker/reader at a tribute to Irene McKinney, WV Poet Laureate, next Monday night.

I almost forgot one: Brian's flying in Sunday night and we'll be spending a few days in Charleston.

Bluh

The past few days my brain's felt like a jello-mold brain: wiggly and sort of impermeable. Over my days off I've tried to read a few books I've been looking forward to and nothing sticks. Even simple sentences either don't get through or they don't deliver. It's like you're standing over a big old jello concoction, full of carrot shreds, grapes, mandarin oranges and apple bits, and you drop a quarter onto it. There's a thwack and a jiggle but the quarter sticks to the surface. I think it's apricot flavored, too.

The Week that Was

Oy. Vey. Shmir.

Here's a quick recap of the week:

Monday: Bad mail day. Rejection packets. Completed application for a summer retreat went into the mail.

Tuesday: Normalish day off. Fletcher brought a large mole-like thing to the welcome mat. Mucked out the beds a little bit. Worked on revisions. Attempted to track my Amazon.com order.

Wednesday: Got to work, discovered there had been a drug bust in the hotel the day before. Arrests in the parking lot. Attempts to escape, then the dumbass local criminals return only to be arrested in and near the parking lot. Stupid employee fired. Discover that my schedule for the rest of the week is changed and that goes double for the rest of the month.

Thursday: Training new person. INSANITY from the get-go. I didn't stop moving for the first three hours. The rest of the time was just sort of slow and off-kilter. I like her though. She repeatedly called someone I loathe a douchebag. I never feel closer to someone than when we hate the same people. Missed a poetry reading on campus that I'd been looking forward to for a couple of weeks. Repeatedly sang the "Numa Numa" song because of the previous night's South Park episode. Hotel drug bust hits the local media: tv and print. Yay.

Friday: Slept til after 1 pm. Loved it. Played a little with the plants outside. The fire red tulips are blooming like crazy and I snipped a few daffodils to put in an old jelly jar on my desk. I can't remember what half of the plants coming up are right now or when certain ones come up again. I fear I killed several last year when I tried separating and transplanting. Napped a bit after dinner.

Next week looks better. There are several things I'm anticipating. But we'll just have to see how that goes.

FUBAR

Driving home from work this morning I had NPR on. My radio has developed an exciting new glitch: it adjusts the volume automatically. Sometimes getting ear-bustingly loud, other times zeroing out almost immediately.

There was a story from the local NPR folks about the State Medical Examiner's office releasing the wrong body to a family for burial. I didn't get far in before the volume zeroed out and I couldn't increase the volume to hear the rest of the story. All I had was the opening sentence floating in my head for the rest of the drive. By the time I was home, I had a poem draft. This won't be up long.

aaaaand scene.

Dither

I love that word. When I started setting up my aquarium years ago it was recommended that I get a couple of small schools of tetras to use as dither fish because I wanted a breeding pair of Kribensis (Pelvichromis Pulcher). Occasionally the word just gets stuck in my head apropos or not. Today it's apropos.

~*~

Three days off in a row and I'm catching up on so much post-AWP stuff...laundry mainly, mail, cleaning out the fridge. There's writing to do. And reading. I've got enough books and lit. mags to keep busy reading for a solid three months. Oh those crazy last day book fair discounts.

~*~

Cooking like crazy today. Tomorrow night I'm getting together with friends for a little dinner and conversation. I'm making a Praline Bread Pudding with Creme Anglaise for dessert. I think the Creme Anglaise is a failure...it has to cool totally, but something seems off. I make custard a lot and figured the CA would be a snap...but no. Not today. Some day I'll learn to just run to the bakery like a normal person.

~*~

Does AWP self-google? I got my post-conference survey and noted a bit in the email where they said something along the lines of "we enjoy reading your blogs about the conference."

While I Should Be Working

Doing what I get paid for, I am not. I'm watching the primary returns, reading blogs, and looking at poems, my own and a friend's. My chapbook-length poem series thingie is almost done...it's currently 28 sections...only a couple more to go for tone and balance and I think I can start doing the heavy lifting and revising.

I'm also working on an artist's statement...it's excruciating. Ego(t)istic as I sometimes (often?) am, I find it hard to talk about my work in broad strokes.

Five

Via Pamela and Colin K, five songs/artists that best approximate my own aesthetic sensibilities. In no particular order.

1. The Kills, "No Wow." Buzz and stomp and a sense of threat. The pure simplicity of lyric. The sense that you're as likely to be kissed as punched. The first time I heard this, in Eric's living room, I thought I would have a panic attack.

2. David Bowie, "Cracked Actor." Seedy and spent and shattered. The sounds and rhythms, the persona. Bliss.

3. Tori Amos, "Datura." The vegetable world, the garden, the catalog.

4. Michael Stipe, "Arms of Love." A cover of the old Robyn Hitchcock song. Naked and plainly stated. (This isn't a performance vid, but uses the song as a background to a variety of pics...odd.)

5. Bjork featuring Thom Yorke, "I Have Seen It All." Self-explanatory, really.

Status

The poeminess continues.

I seriously feel like I'm living someone else's creative life.

Not that I'm complaining.

Tyranny of Options

I'm not someone afraid of choices...changes often, choices, no. I'm more likely to be overwhelmed by the hordes of the dumb and damned in big box stores than I am the stacks of merch and bulging shelves--I like options. So I finally decided I'd look at the AWP schedule and see what was going on--a couple of things I definitely know I'll do...the Pitt Series reading, the Post-Gay Identity panel are musts.

So I printed the schedule and started perusing--easy enough to opt of out some sessions. But then there are several things simultaneously scheduled that I want to do or would like to sit in on. I suppose it's good--if something's too crowded I can opt for something else. All the same, there's that nagging interior whine "but what if thaaaaat's good" thing.

~*~

Poems still coming. Different rhythms and sounds than I normally truck in, awfully exciting.

Still haven't looked at the recently-finished beast. It's staying zipped up in my briefcase--though I desperately want to.

~*~

Why is it someone can find the money to play video keno but not buy soap and deodorant?

Baltimornin'

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.

Bryant Park, Baby!

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.

Chapped

I've realized that I am less a generative sort of artist than one who just notices things and keeps track of them until I might use them. It explains a lot about how I keep tons of files that are little more than images that I arrange and rearrange until they please me. I've got about 20 pages of stuff that I think of as a long poem or sequence that is coming together faster and faster and faster, like albumen congealing in boiling water; eventually it's going to be a chapbook. And it's all due to one phrase that a friend of mine used...it's been in my head for weeks now...and it's the ordering principle--as soon as I heard the phrase I saw the possibilities. Now all I need to do is gin up the nerve to ask permission to use it.

That's Me!

From Today's Horrorscope:

You like to think of yourself as easygoing, but even you know that that description really doesn't apply to anything about you -- try fiery, ornery, combative, stubborn or even pig-headed.

8 Down

I finished a new poem today, bringing my total to 8 for the month...not all of them new new...some have been in the works for months maybe years. I'd get to a point where I couldn't go on with them...where I knew if I kept going I'd overwork them, over-control them (and controlling a poem is my greatest vice, sad to say), wring any vitality from them so I leave them in my drafts/fragments file until the time seems right to finish them. Today's poem is new new and I sort of love it and sort of see its limitations...but I'm sending it off to people I trust to see what they say. 20-odd poems to go and my drafts file is empty.

Afternoon Robe Blogging

I am apartment/cat sitting for a friend away on a ten day cruise--I'd envy him, but he's going to be travelling through the aftermath of Noel, so now I'm just trying not to let everything spiral away into worst-case scenario mode. Hard to do when that's my default setting.

~*~

His cat is bizarre. I thought they were almost constitutionally incapable of separation anxiety...not this one. She firmly believes in near constant attention and affection. It is maddening when you're trying to sleep.

~*~

I really like this nocturnal schedule I'm on; waking up in the afternoon, once the day has settled into what it's going to be seems right to me. I've yet to work out the logistics of certain things (running to the bank, getting the car serviced) but I'm sure I'll adapt.

~*~

Going tomorrow to visit a poet friend. I'm anxious. It's always a marvellous way to spend an afternoon.