Bidness

Posting will be heavy the next two days...probably three posts a day...maybe more. I've found a lot of fun, quirky, irritating stuff that I wanna share. I'm a giver like that. I'm also prone to cold sores...but I digress. I'll be off cavorting with Brian over the weekend and won't be back to (semi)regular blogging until Tuesdayish.

Just Click on the Link

Men Who Look Like Old Lesbians.

This is genius. And they have t-shirts!

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.

Mmmmm Tasty

From Yahoo News.

Reuters Photo

What Brings You Here

A list of recent keyword activity that brought fellow travelers to my l'il corner of the web. These are in order...I'll let you guess which is my favorite.

Elissabeth Hasselbach baby

What do poppers mean on Craigslist.

Ash and misty gaying.

Fluffy maribou feathers bulk.

How can increase pamela's boobs size video.

Mens room art book.

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.

O Sweet Jeebus

The winsome (wince-some?) Camille P. is back in the virtual pages of Salon, bringing her own interesting mix of wit and wisdom...does she want to be the lesbian Harold Bloom? (Or is Harold Bloom already the lesbian Harold Bloom.) Seriously...if she wishes to be such an emasculating scold she should be wearing stilettos and brandishing a riding crop.

I'm not even going to TRY and take her down or call bullshit. TRex at Firedoglake has already done it. Just go here.

Done and Done

This has been a frightfully productive week. It's unnerving.

I got my aquarium broken down, re-substrated, replanted and functioning pretty well. At least none of the fish are dead. Got my car serviced (well...they're still waiting on a part for the radiator.) Got some poems done and am just about ready to send out more packets. I'm spent.

~*~

I'm working a graveyard shift. 11pm to 7 am. I sleep while it's still light out. Better than at night. It's bizarre. Most nights I wake up 3 or 4 times. Twice if I'm very lucky. Lately I only wake up once (unless I forget to turn off the phone which happened today "Hello?" (background noise static static) "HELLO." "Hi, this is LaShawn from Verizon, could I speak to Rob." "There's no Rob here." Click. I hate when people ask for Rob, or Bob, thinking that those are the default settings for the name Robert. All you're doing is pissing my happy ass off, insuring that I won't listen to your spiel or even consider buying what you're selling. Seriously--who tells these poor people that sort of plastic familiarity is charming? I feel the same way about overly-attentive, perky, chatty wait staff. I don't want you crouched down at my level. I don't care what you think about an entree unless I ask. It's not going to help your tip. Actually, I'll be more likely to tip better if you come and go as unobtrusively as possible. Check on our drinks, see if we want coffee or dessert then get the hell outta there. I know I'm not like most people--but seriously, this aggressively friendly, overly familiar stuff has got to go.

~*~

Project Runway Season 4 started tonight. All I can say is "Meh." I've got no real dog in this fight...which is strange, because I usually latch onto people the first episode. Way way way too much metallic fabrics. Very 80s cuts and proportions on a lot of the outfits. If this is where fashion is heading, then I'll just check out til next season. I lived through the 80s once. I don't want to go back. It's fun to have this back though. Brian and I always post mortem the episodes on the phone before he goes to bed. We don't agree on things...and we rarely like the same people, but it's fun. Just being able to be snarky and funny together is a great gift. Best line of the night: Heidi Klum saying "She looked like she was pooing fabric down the runway."

~*~

My arrangements are all set for AWP. I got all my confirmations via email today. Huzzah! I'm frightfully excited. It's my first one. And I'm trying to remember the last time I was in NYC. It had to be at least 10 years, 12 hair colors and 3 dress sizes ago.

Poem for the Day

Not done one of these in aaaages, so I'm here to rectify it. It's an odd choice, because Sharon Olds is not a touchstone poet for me; I admire her, but she's not a poet I think of as influential or informative to my own process. All that aside, this is a poem that gut punched me when I first read it years ago, it's one I think about often, especially lately.

The Language of the Brag
I have wanted excellence in the knife-throw, I have wanted to use my exceptionally strong and accurate arms and my straight posture and quick electric muscles to achieve something at the centre of a crowd, the blade piercing the bark deep, the haft slowly and heavily vibrating like the cock. I have wanted some epic use for my excellent body, some heroism, some American achievement beyond the ordinary for my extraordinary self, magnetic and tensile, I have stood by the sandlot and watched the boys play. I have wanted courage, I have thought about fire and the crossing of waterfalls, I have dragged around my belly big with cowardice and safely, my stool black with iron pills, my huge breasts oozing mucus, my legs swelling, my hands swelling, my face swelling and darkening, my hair falling out, my inner sex stabbed again and again with terrible pain like a knife. I have lain down. I have lain down and sweated and shaken and passed blood and feces and water and slowly alone in the centre of a circle I have passed the new person out and they have lifted the new person free of the act and wiped the new person free of that language of blood like praise all over the body. I have done what you wanted to do, Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg, I have done this thing, I and the other women this exceptional act with the exceptional heroic body, this giving birth, this glistening verb, and I am putting my proud American boast right here with the others.

The Waters Run

These bits are from a week-old interview in the Minneapolis Star Tribune.

Q It's been your job for about the past 40 years to think up shocking ideas, and --

A No, no, no, I'll stop you on that one. I don't agree with shocking. If I was just trying to be shocking, my career would have stopped in 1972. I never tried to top it. I tried to surprise you and make you laugh at things that aren't safe to laugh at. It's easy to shock. It's harder to surprise people and make 'em laugh.

Q Anyway, surprising ideas. The question then is, does it get harder --

A No, every day I'm inspired by things. I live in Baltimore, that always inspires me. Things happen to me in my daily life that are funny every day. I was in a bar in Baltimore and I asked a guy what he did for a living. He said, "Can I be frank? I trade deer meat for crack." I can't think that up. I could think of three movies about him. I mean, does he wait at a deer crossing sign and gun it when he needed a fix? It takes a while to get deer meat so you have to plan ahead, which isn't what most junkies do. Little things like that, anything can inspire me.

Q A couple weeks ago we had a case of somebody seeming normal but behaving oddly --

A Oh, at the airport! I hear that airport is becoming a big tourist attraction. I want to make a movie about it. "The Last Stall on the Left." Sex in a public bathroom? How could you? In every airport bathroom it's very crowded. It's in the main airport, eh? I have to go there. Which stall was it, do you know?

~*~

Q But what about "Hair --

A That's the most devious thing I ever did. Middle American families are going to "Hairspray" and seeing two men singing a love song. They're clapping and encouraging their 15-year-olds to date black guys. If I ever did anything perverse, that's it.

Q But it's been very well- receiv --

A Of course it has, that's what's subversive about it! They don't see. I'm an insider now. I'm the establishment. Isn't that hilarious? I've always wanted to sell out. Nobody would buy me.

~*~

Q You're at work on a children's film?

A I'm hoping to make it. We'll see if anybody gives me the green light. I'm in the middle of it. It's a terribly wonderful children's Christmas adventure called "Fruitcake." That's about all I say about it because after you do something, you have to talk about it the rest of your life.

Q What was your favorite movie as a kid?

A Always "The Wizard of Oz," because I wanted to be the witch. In "Cinderella" I rooted for the stepmother. ... I rooted for the queen in "Snow White," I rooted for Captain Hook. Always I was on the wrong side. Which continues.

Separated at Birth II

George Wendt as Edna Turnblad in Hairspray


Charlotte Rae, Mrs Garrett from
Diff'rent Strokes and The Facts of Life

Separated At Birth

Blogging's been minimal lately. Nothing has really struck me. I've just been working on poems, going to work, cleaning up hairballs...you know...usual shtuff. But in the last two days I've found some fabulous photos.

Professional Junkie, Pete Doherty



Danny Devito as the Penguin in Batman Returns

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.

Reprogramming

There's been a change in my work schedule...no more landscaping for the time being...I'm inside now, doing front desk shift work (and praying for the day I can rip off Rebecca's "My Glamorous Job".) I'm working from 11 pm to 7 am. This is all fine. This I can deal with. I can utilize the programs, I know where everything is, I can actually tone the snark and contempt down long enough to help someone if they have a problem. It's pretty quiet at night, so I have time to read and work on poems at odd moments with no problem. What I'm not sure I can deal with are the two idiot xtian woman who bring daily devotional books on their shifts but cannot count money. Perhaps I should write a devotional for them...something about a humble girl in no neck Missouri who enumerates her blessings....perhaps the idea of counting will carry over...thick as these two are, I doubt it.

~*~

Last night, while out sneaking a ciggy, about 1 in the am, I saw a drunk college boy staggering toward campus from one of the crap bars. He was dressed like Hulk Hogan. It was pitiful.

~*~

Sent out poems at the end of last week. Working on more. We shall see.

Tap Three Times Photoblogging

Some snaps, courtesy of Shlee, from last weekend's party.

Left to right: Jenny, Tommy, Me, Eric, Shlee

Stuff I Learned Today

Despite what they say on FoodNetwork--using a ziplock bag with a piping tip is not nearly as effective as a pastry bag.

~*~

Spray paint, when used inside smells (and behaves) like poppers.

~*~

Two new poems in a finished draft stage this week. No idea what they're doing, what they mean, how they work, but I like them.

~*~

What have you learned today?

Herm...Really? That's all?

Since there's little more boring than waiting for glue to dry, I took the Tickle, Are You Masculine or Feminine test to while away time.

You're 42% feminine
This is based on how you scored on a variety of traits that, founded on classic research and our own studies, are typically associated with women.

You're also 58% masculine, which is based on how you scored on traits that are typically associated with men. When we compare your results with other men it shows that you are somewhat more feminine than other men.

From the "report" itself...

It is not uncommon for men to have higher masculine scores than feminine and for women to have higher feminine scores than masculine, but there are also many people whose masculine and feminine qualities are roughly equal to one another. When a person's masculine and feminine qualities are balanced they either have high levels or low levels of both. Each configuration has its own strengths and weaknesses.

Your test results indicate that you're Androgynous.

There're also some bullshit charts and stereotypical crap (being a sports fan is apparently very critical to being a man...likewise being cheerful is crucial to being a woman. I fail miserably at both.)

Trapped in the (Water) Closet

So, part of yesterday's weirdness. I stop at the local big box discount shopping mart to grab some groceries and things before heading properly home yesterday. Before running around to grab 50 cent tangelos and supplies for finishing my Halloween costume, I ducked into the mens room for a "furtive grab" and tinkle. The handicapped stall was occupied as was one of the two, urinals, but...desperate times etc etc. So, overlooking my usual uneasiness about peeing next to a total stranger, I stepped up and started to go. Now...I should've been patient, talked myself down and waited. Because just as I was stepping up, it became clear to me that the guy using the urinal was leaning over it, resting his forearms against the wall and his head against his forearms. That alone should've told me to back off and just wait...bladder discomfort be damned. As I stepped up, he leaned back upright, turned toward me and started saying something about being old and having to hold onto it. I had no idea wtf he was talking about, because he very obviously hadn't been holding onto anything prior...unless, like G/C Lionel Mandrake in Dr. Strangelove he meant his precious bodily fluids. I just muttered something non-comittal, look at the tile and think of England. He proceeds to rest his forearms atop the divider and rests his chin on them and starts talking to me about his "prostrate" problems. I look over at him, black black black dyed hair and pencil thin mustache...just a hint of a perm to the hair. At that moment I want to be anywhere else. He goes on about his condition. About his swelling, but no cancer, and a rather detailed description of the procedure he had that alleviates the swelling problem...I finished up as quick as I could, washed and dried my hands and got the hell outta there.

~*~

Am finishing up my Halloween costume today (and this isn't as totally unrelated as it seems.) I'm going as Larry Craig and his bathroom stall.

Photoblogging, the Reading

Back from Bmore. Good god. What a strange day. Off to unpack and get some grub, but wanted to post these photos from Shlee.

80 Degrees and Pissy

It's just a week before Halloween and it's almost 80 degrees here in Baltimore. Crazy. I just ran to the grocery store and Lambda Rising in a light shirt, shorts and flip flops, the whole time I'm thinking when is it going to be Fall. Even at home it's been unseasonably warm for the most part.

~*~

I ended up running out for groceries earlier than I'd planned because it was impossible for me to sit on the balcony with my smokes and coffee and work on poems. Not because of the heat, but because some tool (or tools) with a bullhorn were in the park across the street having some sort of demonstration, brain-washing rally or friggin performance art experience. All I could make out was the occasional "God is Love." There are several phrases, but sadly "God is Love" is the only one I can totally make out. Apparently it's all on some sort of tape loop or something because I hear the same phrases over and over. The space between each phrase is punctuated by a blast not unlike a police siren. Given that each phrase is at best 45 seconds long, you can imagine what this is like. Earlier in the morning, about 11 or so I could hear the siren blasts while I was doing the dishes and reading. Sirens aren't uncommon here...but I wondered what the hell was happening that there were so many short ones. It is amazingly loud up here on the 7th floor. Esp. the sirens. As I was walking too and from the grocery I noticed that you couldn't hear it really at a half block away. But out on the balcony...clear as crystal...as a bell...as as as some shit that's perfectly audible and distracting and enough to piss me off. This is one of those moments where I think the First Amendment sucks.

~*~

Went book shopping at Normals Saturday afternoon, after I was in and settled and found some good stuff (sorry Shlee...they had none of the vinyl you wanted.) I got a copy of Charles Wright's Littlefoot for 10 bucks. It looks as though it's not been read at all. Also got Berrigan's Sonnets and an omnibus copy of some of Joe Orton's work. A few other things but nothing really exciting. Just replacing a couple of things. It was a tough shopping process...there was really a lot of things I wanted and I kept picking things up and winnowing down the pile. Better that tho than the alternative of desperately wanting something and finding nothing.

~*~

We went to this great Afghani restaurant just a few blocks from Brian's building for dinner. Beautiful beautiful beautiful food. The restaurant was a little cramped tho and I found myself feeling really squeezed and wanting to leave as soon as possible. Just too much crowd buzz and movement...the restaurant really isn't that large, but I counted about fifteen wait staff buzzing around and weaving in and out of the tables. The service is excellent, really...we got our food quickly, drinks refilled in a timely fashion...they were polite but not smarmy and trying to charm tips from us...just what I appreciate in table service. But...all that movement...the close proximity of other tables...it just got to me. However...I'm going to dream of that lamb soup.