Friday, August 31, 2007

Miscast Press

So, the Nanny Diaries happened to me last. No real regrets. Well, one: What is Paul Giamatti doing with his career? I mean, I am all for people branching out, but come on. Cat Power should not do a Britney cover. Well, maybe she should...but she knows better than to play Britney's best friend in Crossroads.

Anyways, what I'm saying is, Giamatti shouldn't be in a movie that has a still that looks like this:

Nanny Diaries. And yes, Alicia Keys is also in this movie.

Really? Come on:

Shoot 'Em Up (Fall 2007)

This is the plot summary on IMBD. You may already have seen ads in the subway:

A man named Mr. Smith (Owen) delivers a woman's baby during a shootout, and is then called upon to protect the newborn from the army of gunmen.


What?

It's Friday. I'm printing out 2 of my friends poetry manuscripts and reading them this weekend. I'm excited. I'm also going blueberry picking if the weather holds up. I'll make a birthday pie and save you a piece.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

We'll Only Add to Your MFA Debt Press

No matter what your day was like, this should make you happy:

My birthday is creeping up on me, like a panther waiting for the kill. I'm about to be slaughtered.

***

Two readings coming up tomorrow. I'm going to the one I 'heard tell' of first:

Frank Sherlock & David Shapiro

(Philly Style meets New York School)

celebrating the recent release of David Shapiro’s New and Selected Poems
(1965-2006) & the debut of Frank Sherlock’s Wounds in an Imaginary Nature Show

Friday, August 31st, 8PM
Jimmy’s No.43 Stage
43 East 7th Street
Between 2nd& 3rd
New York City

($5 donation suggested but not required)

David Shapiro’s New and Selected Poems (1965-2006) emerged from Overlook Press in 2007. In addition to his many books, Shapiro has published art criticism and poetry in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, and Artforum. He has received a fellowship from the National endowment for the Arts, the Zabel Prize for Experimental Poetry from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and a nomination for a National Book Award in 1971. He has edited volumes of aesthetics, translated Alberti’s poems about Picasso, collaborated with Rudy Burckhardt on three films, and had a play produced at the Kitchen called “Two Boys on the Bus.” A professional violinist in his youth, he now writes in Riverdale, New York, where he lives with his wife Lindsay.

Frank Sherlock is the author of Wounds in an Imaginary Nature Show (Night Flag Press), Spring Diet of Flowers at Night (Mooncalf Press), ISO (furniture press) and 13 (Ixnay Press). Past collaborations include work with CAConrad, Jennifer Coleman, and sound artist Alex Welsh. Publication of his most recent collaborative poem with Brett Evans, entitled Ready-to-Eat Individual is forthcoming in the near future.

***

Frank Sherlock likes to sprawl out all over the page, stones skipped across and sunk in a lake. But the lake is a page and stones are always words, always. I wanted to read more of his work as well as Shapiro's before this Friday but it looks like no time. I mean, come on, I have so many free tickets to see the Nanny Diaries it's going to be a party in a nanny cam tonight.

***

Ok, the second reading on Friday, hosted by the gorgeous Evie Shockly:

Guest-Edited Issue QUEST Reading

[ http://www.mipoesias.com/EVIESHOCKLEYISSUE ]

~~ GEOFFREY JACQUES ~~ TONYA FOSTER ~~ TARA BETTS ~~ MENDI OBADIKE ~~


Friday, August 31^st @ 7:00 P.M.
STAIN BAR
766 Grand Street Brooklyn , NY 11211
(L train to Grand Street Stop, walk 1 block west)
718/387-7840

GEOFFREY JACQUES is a poet and critic who writes about literature, the visual arts, and culture. His latest book of poems is Just For a Thrill (Wayne State University Press, 2005). His book of criticism, A Change in the Weather: Modernist Imagination, African American Imaginary, is forthcoming from the University of Massachusetts Press. His previous poetry collections include Hunger and Other Poems (1993) and Suspended Knowledge (1998).

Jacques has taught at several colleges, including Lehman College of the City University of New York (CUNY) the University of Massachusetts Boston, Hunter College, CUNY, the New York School of Industrial and Labor Relations at Cornell University, and at Parsons School of Design.

TONYA FOSTER is the author of Swarm of Bees in High Court(Belladonna, 2001), WaterTables (forthcoming, Portable Press @ YoYo Labs), co-editor of Third Mind: Teaching Writing through Visual Art. Poetry, essays, fiction, and reviews published in various journals and magazines. Recipient of fellowships from the Ford Foundation, the Woodrow Wilson Foundation, and the City University of New York. She has organized reading series and cultural events throughout New York City, and taught
creative writing and literature courses at CCNY's Bridge to Medicine Program and at Cooper Union.

TARA BETTS is a graduate of the New England College MFA Program and Cave Canem. Her work appears in several anthologies and journals, including Gathering Ground, Obsidian III and Essence. In addition to performing and reading her work across the country, she is a lecturer at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ. She recently completed her full-length manuscript Infinite Arithmetic.

MENDI OBADIKE is the author Armor and Flesh and the librettist of the The Sour Thunder. She works with composer / conceptual artist Keith Obadike. Together they have received the Rockefeller Media Arts Fellowship, a commission from the Whitney Museum, and one from Northwestern University to create a new work, Big House/Disclosure, an intermedia suite featuring a 200-hour long house song. Mendi teaches at Princeton and lives in the New York area.

Lookin good, lookin good.

What else has been happening?

I wore a skirt two days in a row. Same sandals, though.

I saw the Borne Ultimatum. And then I walked into a fire hydrant. Both over-rated but mildly entertaining events.

My father has been quite sick in Mexico and sans communication with me. Rumor has crossed the boarder that he's on the mend. Very relieved. Maybe your stomach isn't up to being an ex-patriot?

Monday, August 27, 2007

Potbelly Press

There's going to be a lunar eclipse, eastern standard time, at 4:40am tonight/early this Tuesday morning:

If werewolves come out during full moons, do they disappear completely during eclipses?

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Doppelgangers Anonymous Press

The on-line journal Absent has their second issue up and waiting for your beautiful, shiny eyes. I'm happpy (with three p's apparently) to be included:

absent magazine * issue two
now online at http://absentmag.org/issue02/

featuring poetry by Jasper Bernes, Charles Bernstein, Regis Bonvicino, Jack
Boettcher, Tim Botta, Julia Cohen, Shanna Compton, John Cotter, Shafer
Hall, Lisa Jarnot, Pierre Joris, Joan Kane, Noelle Kocot, Jason Labbe,
Kathleen Ossip, The Pines, Matthew Rohrer, Kate Schapira, Mathias Svalina,
Kathryn Tabb, Allison Titus and Betsy Wheeler.

in translation with Sergei Kitov and Octavo Paz.

musical work by Aaron Einbond.

prose by Joe Amato, Peter Ciccariello, Simon DeDeo, Adam Golaski, Kent
Johnson, Amy Newman, Davis Schneiderman and Tyler Williams.

to whet your lip-
a piece of The Pines:

Huntress, glad
to talk pearly
in the mud room.

***

a piece of Allison Titus:

goodbye to all the lanyards of my youth. To unanswered letters. To idols
and relics; goodbye to the underside of your wrist.

***

a piece of Mathias Svalina:

In order to understand anything there had to be at least four people in the room at all times. A PhD in water could only comprehend the water

***

What are you waiting for? Go finish the poems, and those of Wheeler, Ossip, etc.

***
Welcome to my block, this is where I hide out on the weekends, watch a whole season of Dexter in two days with D. Ludgwig, have a crazy dream about trying to read Brenda Iijima's book "Animate, Inanimate Aims" while nervously trying to cover up the murders my younger brother is committing (anxiety dream?) all over Ireland, eat rice cakes, listen to Jana Hunter, listen to Wooden Wand, drink tap water.

I want this car. Even if it came with those trash bags, I would still take it. I can't figure out which neighbor owns it, this lovely, blue Galaxy 500:


They are building this giant thing next door to me. What kind of building I don't know. It is the kind of building you want to break into during construction and wander around w/ friends at 2am, though:


When I was a kid I would walk to the post office and go to the penny candy store. The store sold lots of things I don't think anyone ever bought, like porcelain bells and little fake mice dressed up like dolls/people. But they sold small red Swedish fish and you could count out 100 for a dollar. It seemed like a good deal when I was 6 and I'm pretty sure it still is. Outside this post office, white with pillars, I would sell lemonaid or sometimes just drawings I had made with friends. It was never very profitable, but more so than my endeavour to sell mud sculptures created in the stream that leaked across my driveway:
I only like the red ones, you can have the rest.

Sometimes I feel like this:

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Beer Pong Press

Beer pong. Hotdogs. Missy Elliot. Astro turf. Remember last night?

This is going on tomorrow:


Remember when boys in seventh grade played magic cards? But you could buy the better cards so it was really, on some level, about financial status and being able to afford the good cards? Is that not like Scientology?

Time for breakfast.

Which one of you is going to train me in a trade?

Friday, August 24, 2007

Scrabelais Press

My friend recently translated a book of short stories by Primo Levi that had not yet be translated into English. It's called "A Tranquil Star," and you should buy it right now (Norton;$21.95). I'm going to show you one beautiful paragraph from the first story:

But unexpectedly, out of some unexplored depths, from some recess of his body- the animal, rebel body that has trouble deciding to die- something was born and grew beyond measure, something dark and primeval, and unfathomable, because its growth arrests and then replaces all the powers of knowledge and determination. It dawned on Marinese that this was fear, and he understood that, in a moment, it would be too late. He filled his lungs to prepare for battle and pulled the cord with all his might.

And the next story, about mountain climbers, is called "Bear Meat." I never realized how nice those two words look together until I saw the title. Anyways, make the purchase.

Levi:



This afternoon: BBQ. Tonight: a rooftop party. Is this the last of summer I'll see? Sundress Sundress Sundress Press?

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Phantom Limb Press

I forgot to tell you Simic was reading last night. Sorry. He read, it happened.

I used to know 10-15 Shakespeare sonnets by heart (7th grade, braces still on, English class, a crush on a boy named Judd). Now I only know this one:

When I do count the clock that tells the time
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night
When I behold the violet past prime
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard
Then of thy beauty do I question make
That thou among the wastes of time must go
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence

***

Shakespeare is telling all ya'll to have a litter of kiddies to combat the fear/fact of dying. Sounds like a plan. Sadly, though, I really don't think I know any others all the way through. I would like to know more of Spicer's poems by heart, particularly the King of the Forest poem. That kills me everytime. That poem could take me home at the end of the night.

I do love this Spicer poem, though. It's one of the saddest poems:


The dancing ape is whirling round the beds
Of all the coupled animals; they, sleeping there
In warmth of sex, observe his fur and fuss
And feel the terror in his gait of loneliness.
Quaint though the dancer is, his furry fists
Are locked like lightning over all their heads.
His legs are thrashing out in discontent
As if they were the lightning's strict embodiment.
But let the dancing stop, the apish face go shut in sleep,
The hands unclench, the trembling legs go loose—
And let some curious animal bend and touch that face
With nuzzling mouth, would not the storm break
And that ape kiss?

That other people notice the terror in his gate of lonelines. That his fists are locked. That the ape is so afraid of being alone that he keeps himself all tight and wandering, afraid to stop moving because the loneliness will catch up to him. And that, no matter how angry or closed off he may look, if caught in one instance of vulnerability in which someone steps forward to show him the affection seen in the coupled animals around him- he would take it. That my friends, is a good poem.

***

When I was on the subway this morning I had a distinct sensation across my chest that I was missing a seatbelt. Like when I was in high school and wore a backpack for way too long so that by the time I took it off, I felt too light, ungrounded. That something was missing no matter how un-vital or unnatural it actually is. Phantom rucksack. Phantom statue. Phantom pear. A shadow casting itself into the robe I wear.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

I Don't "Get" Your Poetry Press

Don't ask questions, just enjoy the Man's Last Great Invention:



Excerpts from Man's Last Great Invention show from nocoastfilms and Vimeo

"It gets less atonal a little bit into the clip"

No poetry today. All movie.

I'm off to drink "the hooch" & see "the cinema."

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Lost Luggage Press

I got in to Newark at 10:10pm last night but Continental (effing Continental) lost everyone's bags (how do you do that?) until 11:27pm...which means I caught the 12:07 train to Penn Station and made it home a little past 1am. Nice welcome back to the USA.I think that I am still 1/3 human and 2/3 guacamole. Don't get too close to me with that tortilla chip.

I finished Jonathan Franzen's How to be Alone on the airplane and read me some of The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan.

Entrance (for Ed Dorn)

10 years of boot
Take it away
& it's off
Under the table
2
& I'm hovering
I'm above American Language
one foot
is expressing itself as continuum
the other, sock
groan I am dog
tired from cake
walking
to here. That is,
An Entrance.

****

Again, the spacing is a little messed up on that one, my fault. That's my next thing to conquer.
****

Sunday night, no plans?
Ok, well, there is a reading:
STAN APPS and RYAN DALEY will be reading TONIGHT, at 8 PM, at Unnameable Books.

Stan Apps is a poet, essayist, and spiritual intermediary. His books include soft hands (Ugly Duckling Press, 2005), Info Ration (Make Now Press, 2007) and Princess of the World in Love (Cy Press, 2007). A book of essays is forthcoming from Combo Arts and a book of theological opinion is forthcoming from Les Figues Press.

A recent arrival in New York City, Ryan Daley is part of Homeland Security's plan to keep New York safe. His work has appeared in JACKET magazine and Combo . His study of superstructures, and first book, ARMORED ELEVATOR, was published by BlazeVOX Books this year.

Unnameable Books is a new & used bookstore located in central Brooklyn, around the corner from the Atlantic Yards landgrab. It is half a block from the Bergen Street stop on the 2,3 subway line, and a short walk from the Atlantic Avenue stop on the Q,M,N,R,W,B,4,5,LIRR,etc.

Unnameable Books
[formerly "Adam's"]
456 Bergen St.
Brooklyn, NY 11217
unnameablebooks@earthlink.net(718 ) 789-1534
www.unnameablebooks.net
***

****
Mexico: puppy, for sale:

Mexico: dog, mangy:

Mexico: Watermelon, the reddest:

Mexico: Flower, of the wild parot variety:

Mexico: shadow, our wall:

Mexico: jumping beans (real beans, fake googly eyes):

Mexican jumping beans are a phenomenon native to Mexico where they are known as brincadores. Physically, they resemble small tan or brown beans. They are a type of seed in which the egg of a small moth has been laid. It is the moth's larva which makes them 'jump'. The beans themselves are from a shrub of the genus Sebastiania (S. palmeri or S. pavoniana), while the moth is of the species Cydia deshaisiana. After the egg has hatched, the larva eats away the inside of the bean, making a hollow for itself. It attaches itself to the bean with many silken threads. When the bean is abruptly warmed, for instance by being held in the palm of the hand, the larva twitches and spasms, pulling on the threads and causing the characteristic hop. "Jump" is often an exaggeration, but the beans are nonetheless far from immobile.

The larva may live for months inside the bean with varying periods of dormancy. If the larva has adequate conditions such as moisture, it will live long enough to go into a pupal stage. Normally in the spring, the moth will force its way out of the bean through a round "trap door", leaving behind the pupal casing.

Oh little bean, little moth.

Mexico: Refusal to play scrabble the correct way, my brother:

Mexico: Dad, cool:

Mexico: roaming free, me:

I've been so busy at work recently, and soon silly 'ol mfa program starts again, so relaxing for a week was the first time I finished a poem in over a month. It felt good. I need to make sure that no matter how busy I am, by brain is in an ok place to write, else I'll get too down. And now I have all of season two's Weeds under my belt. Ready for work on Monday?

Friday, August 17, 2007

We Write Your Critical Essays for You Press

Are you an MFA student who's forgotten how to write critical articles? Just can't stop stringing together those "powerful" metaphors long enough to write the words "semiotic juxtaposition in the Dionysian sense"? Worry no more. You can choose from pre-written essays like the following:

Sylvia Plath: Freaky or Just Freaked Out?

Gertrude Stein: Her Long Lost Manuscript, Tender Zippers

James Tate: I Think He Knew What He Was Doing

Allen Ginsberg: Way Slutty

Sharon Olds: DaddySex Does Not Make You A Slut, Sweetie

James Merrill: A Better Investment than Merrill Lynch

Just send me an email with the title of your choosing or one that you'd like me to write- and your credit card #.

******

I have 3 poems up on Conjunctions web:

http://www.conjunctions.com/webconj.htm

They were written fairly recently so go check 'em out if you want to see what I've been up to.

******

If you're still looking for something to do in nyc tonight, you can saunter (sp?) on down to:

The Burning Chair Reading

Michael Robins & Dara Wier

Friday, August 7:30 PM
@ The Fall Café
307 Smith Street
between Union & President
Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn
F/G to Carroll

Born in Portland, Oregon, Michael Robins is the author of The Next
Settlement (University of North Texas Press, 2007), which was selected
for the Vassar Miller Prize in Poetry. He holds degrees from the
University of Oregon and the University of Massachusetts Amherst, and
his poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Boston Review,
The Cincinnati Review, Denver Quarterly, LUNA, Third Coast and
elsewhere. He lives in Chicago and teaches at Columbia College.

The Next Settlement http://web3.unt.edu/untpress/catalog/detail.cfm?ID=272
Three poems in Typo http://www.typomag.com/issue06/robins.html

Dara Wier's books include Remnants of Hannah (Wave Books 2006); Reverse
Rapture (Verse Press 2005); Hat on a Pond (Verse Press, 2002) and
Voyages in English (Carnegie Mellon U. Press, 2001). A limited edition,
(X in Fix), a selection of 5 longer poems, including a section from
Reverse Rapture, is printed in RainTaxi’s Brainstorm series. Recent
poems can be found in American Poetry Review, New American Writing,
Volt, Massachusetts Review, The Melic, The Canary, Painted Bride
Quarterly, Mississippi Review, slope, Hollins Critic, Seattle Review,
Turnrow, Hunger Mountain, Cincinatti Review, Denver Quarterly, Octopus,
Conduit, Crazyhorse, Court Green and Gulf Coast. She works as a member
of the poetry faculty and director of the MFA program for poets and
writers at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Her book, Reverse
Rapture has been recently awarded The Poetry Center & American Poetry
Archives 2006 book of the year prize.

Wave Books http://www.wavepoetry.com/authors/47
“Blue Oxen” http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16940

*****

This is my last night in Mexico. I'm on the look out for a patron who can offer to help my finance a "permanent vacation."

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Read Your Own Obituary Press

Sadly, Liam Rector took his own life yesterday:

Liam Rector was born in Washington, D.C., in 1949. He received an M.A. from the Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University and an M.P.A. from the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard.

His books of poems include The Executive Director of the Fallen World (University of Chicago Press, 2006), American Prodigal (1994) and The Sorrow of Architecture (1984).

His poems appeared in Agni, Paris Review, American Poetry Review, The New Republic, Boston Review, Slate, Ploughshares, and elsewhere.

His reviews and essays appeared in magazines and books that include American Poetry Review, The Los Angeles Times Book Review, The Boston Globe, Hudson Review, Bostonia, The Oxford Companion to Literature, and Contemporary Poets.

"Liam Rector is one of the most linguistically liquid and gifted poets of his generation," said poet Lucie Brock-Broido. "His is the oddest and most hallucinatory romance with Romance in American letters."

Rector's honors include fellowships in poetry from the Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts, and he received the Friend to Writers Award from PEN New England. He served as poetry editor of Harvard Magazine and as associate editor of Harvard Review and Agni.

Rector edited The Day I Was Older: On the Poetry of Donald Hall (1989), and co-edited with Tree Swenson On the Poetry of Frank Bidart: Fastening the Voice to the Page (University of Michigan Press, 2007).

Rector taught at Columbia University, The New School, Emerson College, George Mason University, and elsewhere. He founded and directed the graduate Writing Seminars at Bennington College, and administered literary programs at the Association of Writers and Writing Programs, the Folger Shakespeare Library, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Academy of American Poets.

Liam Rector died on August 15, 2007.

****

I was going to write some silly stuff but now I don't think I will.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Even Wild Dogs Can't Keep Me Awake Press

I’ve been in Mexico this week. My parents are ex-patting and I’ve come to see where they are setting up shop. I’m a mile above sea-level. Does that mean if you “do it” on this hill, you join the mile high club? I think I found a loophole that doesn’t involve a smelly airplane bathroom. Regardless, there are orange flowers everywhere that look edible. Everything is bright and looks edible. Plants by the clothesline, a glowing white towel on the deck, hydrangea ruffling down the fence.

Things I have learned while in Mexico:

I don’t remember any Spanish. “Me llamo Gringa. Lo siento, lo siento.”

No cars have mufflers.

Local markets sell fried fava beans, puppies, pomagranites, car radios, mushrooms, blue lilies, mangos, and the reddest watermelon you’ll ever see.

All the neighborhood dogs like to sing themselves to sleep between 2am-5am. And by “sing” I mean “torture humans.”

My brother can plow his way through a 800 page Tom Clancy novel. He tans fairly easily as he lies outside to read said book.

It’s actually this beautiful and sunny all year round.

I’ve also learned that I love Noah Eli Gordon’s A Fiddle Pulled from the Throat of a Sparrow. Check this one out:

The Forest Burns into Later Time

all that I saw from the balcony

an evening’s warranted fiction yoked

little lamb that gathers & gathers against a half-eaten idea

I’m writing from the weather

inside a dictionary of difficult words

details solidify with each retelling

but someone coughs & the theater caves in

***
His poems gather on each other like a lovely drip sandcastle, like Gaudi’s architecture, like a book I'd like to make many, many people read.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Tour Group Press

I was planning on coming home and reading some chapbooks so I could write a few reviews but it was so cursedly hot. Impossible! Instead, I ended up watching the first half of season two of Weeds with my friends/roommates. I told them that two of the readings I have coming up this fall asked for photos- which is problematic because this sort of photo does not exist. So, while watching Weeds we did a mini photo shoot to show you our apartment, our faces, and how hot we were (temperature wise):

Accomplice (MF):

Accomplice (DL):

While we may be a "pants on" household, we are very much a "shirts off" one, as DL demonstrates.

Coffee table fodder:

We like tabloid newspapers. This is the weakest cover story I've seen all summer.

Bowls of Blood!:

Don't be gross. It's just beet juice.

I like whales, so there are whales on my wall:



Photo for reading series?:

It is so hot, my hair did this on it's own.

5 episodes into Weeds, pigtails must be enstalled to fuction properly in the heat:


Ok, that concludes the end of my tour.

A poem by Stephen Rodefer from Passing Duration. I think you need to click on it to make it large enough to read. I might even suggest jumping in half way through the third paragraph where Rodefer begins "My father, who lives here, gave me my sailboat.." I love the second part of this paragraph:

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Your Dissertation Is My Plaything Press

So I have two poems up at La Fovea. They have a unique system for soliciting/submitting work which I think is pretty cool so read their "Manifesto" and "How It Works" and then browse the poems:

http://lafovea.org/la%20fovea.html

It gets you more involved than simply sending in requested poems because you become part of a greater web, a system of inclusion that expands with your participation even after your poems are up.

So, you should check my two poems out as well as all of the others. I was particularly taken by Sandra Simond's pieces. And I believe that to get to mine, you click on her name/"nerve" anyways, so you can read Joe Massey's en route as well. Don't stop there, though, read Clay Blancett's first poem, "Spanner." And more.

Can this please magically appear in my hands?:


Sigh. I really like the word "cubby." I wish cubbies existed outside of kindergarten. I definitely have a ton of things I'd like to keep in various cubbies, and then I would get to say the word more often. "Hey, grab the Berrigan collection from that cubby, will you?" I'd put all the chapbooks I've accumulated in one cubby. Last night it hurricaned outside my window and woke me up at 5am and all of my chapbooks were getting wet again. And my cactus got unexpectedly watered so I won't have to worry about it for another two months.

Kid Cubbies:

Inappropriate use of a cubby:

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

No Roses Press

"Yes bar no rose" was the best answer I got from KA today, or anybody. Although I still think it would be cool if she showed up at the bar with a red rose in her hair. Also, if the rest of the scene was in black & white. But I guess if you already know someone, there is no need for him/her to have a definitive rose or for the rest of the world to be in black & white, since we've long chugged passed the Age of Technicolor.

Anyways...

I am very tempted to do this tonight. I've been looking for an excuse to use a glue stick and construction paper recently:

For anyone with a hankering for liquor-fueled art and crafts. Our group sits around making dioramas and marveling at our own creations. The theme will be announced on the night of and there will be one first prize, voted on by all the creators (and drinkers) that show up. Bring your own shoebox plus glue, found objects, foil,
toothpicks, craft store doo-dads, string, cotton balls, cake toppers, general junk, and inspiration. Bring stuff for your own diorama, but you are also strongly encouraged to bring stuff to share with the communal stew of diorama ingredients.

Freddy's Back Room
485 Dean Street, 6th Avenue, Brooklyn
8p; $free
that's tonight

Instead, I think I may go with KA and see I Know Who Killed Me. Yes, it stars dear Lindsey Lohan. Aren't you even a little bit curious about the movie?

Also, after the reading on Thursday, you could mosey on down to this art opening with the work of Alex Feld:

NIAGRA, a bar on avenue A at 7th street.

Come anytime between 9pm and 2am, drink in the basement and see a few new prints.
Niagra also features a sweet pinball machine and a photobooth in case
you weren't already sold.

http://alexfeld.com

Monday, August 6, 2007

You'll Lose Ten Pounds Just By Listening To My Gym Mix Press

Coming up next week, the lovely Evie Shockley amongst a good crew at the Bryant Park Reading Series:

Mónica de la Torre, Katie Ford, and Evie Shockley
Tuesday, August 14
6:30 p.m.
The Bryant Park Reading Room is located at 42nd Street between 5th and 6th Avenues in New York City, situated behind the New York Public Library in midtown Manhattan.

Man, I'm leaving for one week and missing lots of crazy readings. Luckily, I can stuff my cheeks with huevos rancheros in a foreign land to dull the pain.

I had two moments of weakness last night. First, I went to Blockbuster (that's pretty much on the top of my Learn From Your Mistakes List). Second, I rented Premonitions, starring Sandra Bullock. What an eyesore. Honestly, has Bullock been in one good movie, "like, ever?" What comes to mind are The Lake House, Miss Congeniality I & II, 28 Days (not to be confused with the zombie movie 28 Days Later, much better), Practical Magic...

Rumor has it that season two of Weeds is out. Better return those beautifully shot and well crafted feature length movies so that you can start netflixing silly HBO series.

I have been having the hardest time trying to finish this one poem. Normally once I get started (i.e. copy the handwritten lines that cover the blank flyleaves of other books I've been jotting in into an actual word document and look at them) I finish a complete draft in a few days but this has been dragging on forever. Believe it. Partly I think it's because I am too distracted with my job, partly because whenever I'm in the right mood/mindset, aka not at work, I realize that the only copy I have of what is written is saved on my work computer, far away. I guess that caveat is easy to fix. Mostly it's because I like what I do have, but they are small sections and I haven't figured out how to bring it all together, to make it flow coherently, at least in my own head. For some reason I'm afraid I'll fail this poem. Poetry Performance Anxiety? This is not allowed to happen to me. Ok, I don't know what I'm telling you this. I guess I'm just a bit frustrated with myself. Time to print out what I do have and head home.
We're taking a breather from Idioms and just doing a good old fashioned Google Image Search Game for psychological terms:
"Mentally Stable" by Google Image Search

Apparently someone has found a way to make puppies look creepy. Just wrap 'em in an American flag.

"Mentally Stable" by Google Image Search

Hmm.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Winnie Cooper vs. Mini Cooper Press

On Friday I saw Herzog's new movie, Rescue Dawn. The general consensus was, I think, everyone enjoyed watching it but that it was quite inferior to the original documentary this movie was based on, Little Dieter Needs to Fly (Herzog 1997).
Was anyone else slightly disconcerted that this movie ended with a freeze frame startlingly similar to the shot in The Mighty Ducks, when the underdog Ducks beat their rivals, run onto the ice, hug, and throw their hockey gloved hands into the air, pumping their fists, in an adolescent display of victory and adrenaline?

On Saturday there was a massive poetry reading at the Cakeshop, nyc. I missed it, though, because I was tubing down the Delaware river. What is funnier than watching 20 clowns come out of a circus car? Watching 4 leggy writers try and arrange themselves comfortably in a Mini Cooper for the car ride to PA. What this photo doesn't emphasize is that this car comes up to your knee:

You might think you'd get bored, on a tube, floating down a river for two hours. But then you would be wrong. It RULED. Little Dieter needs to tube.

I love this photo by Charles Frederic:


You shouldn't get this song stuck in your head. Why is it in mine? "I Am A Baby (In My Universe)" by Daniel Johnston:

Be careful. It will sneak up on you and then give you a shiver every now and then.

I've been re-reading Julie Doxsee's chapbook, The Knife-Grasses. This is my favorite line: "Find a book about the history of smears, black jelly, ponds, lemon caviar-buried in the glass ashtray by her foot." You should read everything that comes before and after it, too.

Happy Sunday to all.

Friday, August 3, 2007

Karaoke Is The Greatest Form of Poetry? Press

Straight to the business of literary activities. If you're still looking for something to do tonight, check out:

Paragraph Reading
Friday, August 3rd
Helen Schulman & Jeffrey Frank
Reading: Clay, 24 West 14th Street
Reception:: Paragraph, 35 West 14th Street
8:00pm - Free and Open to the Public

Paragraph is honored to host a reading with fiction writers Helen Schulman and Jeffrey Frank at Clay, followed by a wine and cheese reception at Paragraph. Free and open to the public.

Helen Schulman is most recently the author of A Day at the Beach. "Schulman's triumph here is that she breaks our hearts," raves The New York Times. She is also the author of the critically acclaimed novels, P.S., The Revisionist and Out Of Time, and the short story collection Not A Free Show. P.S. was made into a feature film starring Laura Linney. Her fiction and non-fiction have appeared in Vanity Fair, Time, Vogue, GQ, The New York Times Book Review and The Paris Review. She is presently the Fiction Coordinator for The New School's graduate writing program.

Jeffrey Frank is a senior editor at The New Yorker and author of the highly praised novels The Columnist and Bad Publicity. David Sedaris hailed his most recent novel, Trudy Hopedale, as "Another triumph from one of America's most reliable and inventive comic novelists... understated, cunning and relentlessly funny."

***
That sounds fun. Am I allowed to tell Jeffrey Frank that he needs to hire a new poetry editor at The New Yorker?

Though, did you read the poem by D. Nurske in the last issue? The poem is called "There Is No Time, She Writes" and it's quite beautiful. The last two lines are, "and a small bell chimes/ in the stupefying heat."

***
We have a new winner for the $100,000 Wallace Stevens Award:

2007 Winner: Charles Simic

Judges:
Frank Bidart, Rita Dove, Robert Hass, Lyn Hejinian, Galway Kinnell, Nathaniel Mackey, Sharon Olds, Carl Phillips, Robert Pinsky, Kay Ryan, Gary Snyder, Gerald Stern, Susan Stewart, James Tate, Ellen Bryant Voigt, and C.K. Williams

Winner 2006: Michael Palmer
Judges:
Robert Hass, Fanny Howe, Susan Stewart, Arthur Sze, and Dean Young

Winner: 2005 Gerald Stern
Judges:
Frank Bidart, Lucille Clifton, Toi Derricotte, Sharon Olds, and Kevin Young

Winner: 2004 Mark Strand
Judges: Rosanna Warren, Jonathan Aaron, W. S. DiPiero, Jane Hirshfield, Lynne McMahon

Am I incorrect in saying: Simic won this award the same day he became Poet Laureate. This means that Charlie had himself maybe the best day a poet's had since Keats noticed that vase at the British Museum.
(Why were there so many judges for this year's competition, though?)

***

So, karaoke terrifies me. Yet, I found myself at a goodbye party unfolding within the confines of a karaoke bar last night. Since I do not sing within the boarders of America, I usually spend the whole time trying to find someone who will sing Tainted Love on my behalf. No dice. However, our female Catalog Manager did sing J-Z's "I Got 99 Problems," which ruled:

I believe there are two Karaoke-type reality/game shows on TV right now and I can 100% guarantee that neither will allow contestants to perform this song.

I got a digital camera. Note that the above shot is all my own. I'm "all about" capturing the moment.

I was learning how to use my camera last evening. This is a big step, I may not have a functioning phone at which you can reach me, but now I can post pictures of myself holding up cardboard signs letting you know I'm alive and kickin' it ("Yo Billy Collins, meet me at Bally's Total Fitness."). This is a photo of my bedroom wall. I have a friend who draws these awesome(ly creepy) pictures and I collect them:

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Incredibly Pleasing to Look at Press

Word on the Street is Bruce Covey's coming to town and hitting us with two readings next week:

The first: Thursday, August 9, 7pm. Word of Mouth series at Bluestockings Radical Books, 172 Allen Street. With Paul Rome, Brian Kloppenberg, and Keily Sweatt. http://www.megpunschke.com/wordofmouth.html

-I'm going to try damn hard to get to this.

The second: Saturday, August 11, 2pm. Frequency Series at the Four-Faced Liar, 165 West 4th Street. With Gina Myers and Meghan Punschke. http://www.thefour-facedliar.com/directions/directions.html

-I will be in Mexico for this one, observing how my parents are transitioning into their new status as ex-pats. But you should go.

***

The new issue Sawbuck has sprung forth:

http://sawbuckpoetry.blogspot.com/

I quite enjoyed Dan Boehl and Jonathan Marshall's collaboration, just for starters:

Dan Boehl with art by Jonathan Marshall
Mike Estabrook///Dean Faulwell///Tim Hurley
Travis Jeppeson///Corey Mesler///Kaya Oakes
Theresa Sotto///Jen Tynes///Jared White

***

I've been botching words very noticeably recently. The two latest: 1) "justified" became "justipied," which is awkward if you're in the middle of an office debate, and 2) "it's a toss up" became "it's a throw up," much grosser.

***

I received the oddest letter I've ever been sent today and I doubt any of you can top this off, though I dare you to, and greatly encourage you to try:

I came home at 11pm last night and open this letter that has drawings on the outside and seems, well, a bit swollen.

I open it up and two dreadlocks fall into my hand. TWO DETACHED DREADLOCKS. This is a little unnerving, no? If I had a child with dreadlocks I would have thought, "ransom!"

I read the letter (and recognize the handwriting of AAB) and it asks something along the lines of, "Do you have the phone number for the boy (London) these belong to?"

This either means 1) AAB saw our old friend London recently, hung out, nabbed two dreadlocks, but forgot his number, or 2) AAB has not seen London recently and these dreadlocks I received were procured in approx 2002. Nice, AAB.

Can you top it? I was about to put my home address up but then I realized that might not be too smart. Email me if you're up for the challenge. I'll hit you back.