Tuesday, February 26, 2008

before the storm

snap of deadbolt
creak or wooden frame
splits, small splits
peels away stretches
spring out and back
crack of frame upon
frame pine needles
steel catwalk to
edge of cold cold
snow falls gradual
bleaches cold
cold ground

clank scrape batter
goes a plow again
st sidewalk curbs
telephone poles bisect
tangerines on canvas
blank arctic moths
collect like waves
in and out of beam

the rats are out
scampering slipping
in the hull
in the rations
of our cold cold
airship lofting up up
and away from time
and place and isn’t
it just a place
but for the cold

Thursday, February 21, 2008

On and Of Music

Recently, I've been listening to music less. Or maybe the time I spend listening to music has stayed the same, but the number of bands I'm listening to has increased. Regardless, nothing has really been jumping out at me of late. After two years, I'm seriously considering ending my subscription to eMusic. When I first signed up for the service -- which came at a price for $10.00/month/40 downloads -- I promoted it heavily via the college newspaper and radio station for which I worked.

But now that my special lady friend works for a college radio station, I am well stocked with the latest stuff that is 'pretty okay.' I'm still on the fence about terminating my eMusic account. It seems that for every surprisingly good obscure band I come across (this month's find is Echoboy), I inversely acquire some mediocre stuff (The A-sides, Moonbabies, et al).

Anyways, I compiled a seven song mix, which can be downloaded below. Hopefully this EP-sized chunk of music will perk up the late winter doldrums. I tried to balance mid-winter gray with some optimism. Maybe I succeeded, I dunno. Either way, enjoy.

Mahjongg - Pontiac
-- Noise rock from Chicago.

Radiohead - Bangers & Mash -- I am fairly confident this song is about a popular British breakfast: hot dogs and mashed potatoes.

Jonny Greenwood - Proven Lands -- Imagine Daniel Day Lewis at a dead run across a barren desert landscape as his oil derrick goes up in flames.

Say Hi - Magic Beans and Truth Machine -- 'She said I needed to get some things out of my chest, but there are machines that can do this way better.'

Echoboy - Invincible -- If mid February was a song, Echoboy would run it through several delay pedals.

Do Make Say Think - In Mind -- I hope dying feels this life affirming.

Yo La Tengo - Satellite -- 'The broken shoe to practice walking straight, take a little step and stop to think about the planets in the atmosphere and satellites.'

Thanks to box.net for providing free downloads.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

POMO-X (Possibly) Revisited

Recently, I’ve been thinking about getting involved with an old project of mine. The thing was pretty much my life during my last year at Kent. I’ve more or less neglected it over the last year, but I think the next few months present a good opportunity to resurrect it.

I’m talking about my old creative writing radio show, The Postmodern Experience. I devised the program as a means to bring me to New York City on an internship with This American Life. However, as fate would have it, I was not awarded a position.

After I graduated, the Postmodern Experience was managed by Douglas Hite, Leslie Cusano, and David Sugarman but it seems as though it has fallen into disrepair. Such is how most independent projects go, I understand. Mr. Hite recently spoke to me about the prospect of repurposing PME, as it were, to correspond to the campus literary magazine, Luna Negra. As the editor for that publication, he intends for the show to act as a podcast for the written content – poetry and fiction. I told him the show was his to do as he wished. Now, I take that statement back. And the show. Both of those things.

I have developed some ties to a particular college radio station in Cleveland, and with the prospect of attaining a community broadcasting position here, I have been entertaining the notion of returning to the Postmodern Experience. The idea is really quite daunting, and at this point, merely speculation, as I have yet to discuss this with Mr. Hite or develop the creative contacts needed to drive the show or even pitch this idea to the radio station.

Plus, there will be the lack of executive producer, managing editor, and beating heart of the Postmodern Experience, Mr. Charles Parsons. His is a huge absence, but technology affords us great advancements. Mr. Parsons, I will make you an offer you can’t refuse: a free microphone.

At this point, everything is a big maybe, but the concept is there, and that’s what pushed the show through to begin with. A concept of a concept, repurposed, repossessed, and ready to be heard for the first time all over again. Postmodernism at its finest, you ask me.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Today’s Image

While we were having dinner, Mike Sokol commented on my recent post about joining a car share program. He said that, judging by my needs, upon which he was obviously an expert, I was better suited with buying a motorcycle.

Thed, who was also dining with us, said that he could never see me riding a motorcycle. Mike disagreed, slamming his empty beer mug onto the table. He said that I could, in fact, be imagined on a motorcycle: ‘Not a crotch rocket,’ Mike explained, ‘but an older bike, like a Honda.’
A motorcycle, after all, is basically a bike with a motor, and we all know how much I like bikes. Thed said the only way it could work is if the bike had a sidecar, like in Garden State. Alex, my special lady friend, would ride on the back like Natalie Portman’s character, minus the epilepsy.

I remarked that it would be great for when The Mitten Project started touring.

‘That’s stupid!’ Mike Sokol yelled. ‘What’re you gonna do, put your cat in there?’

I said: ‘Alex could wear her guitar on her back and ride on the back of the bike. I’d keep my omnichord in the saddle bag. And in the sidecar would go our cat and a miscellaneous child.’

‘Not your child, though,’ Thed reiterated.

‘No, just a random anonymous child,’ I said.

The three of us fell silent, the image of myself, my special lady friend, a cat we don’t own, and a child we don’t have all spitting dust trails down some barren desert highway, blending, as one, with the setting sun.

‘That’s stupid,’ Mike said.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Fantasy Hockey Update

Playoff Push Begins for Benign Sharks

Organizational Changes Spell Success Late in Season

CLEVELAND HEIGHTS, Ohio, Feb. 17 /YahooSports/ -- With only 36 points separating the Benign Sharks (10th place, 260 points, 103-138-44) from a playoff berth, the team approaches each game with a greater sense of desperation. Battling injuries, controversies and personnel changes all season, the Sharks have stuck around the lower end of the standings of the Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy League. However, with a lot of hard work and maybe even some luck, the Sharks could make a strong push over the home stretch and jump into the post-season on an sixth seed.

The BS began to turn around following some management changes within the organization. Shortly after returning from a 10-week vacation “Down South,” Ownership handed out some pink slips -- namely to oft-injured team captain, RW Chris Clark and coach A.T. Bails. Mr. Bails, as it turned out, had quit the job 6 weeks prior to the order, and the team was operating on autopilot during much of that time.

Mr. Clark said he had no recollection of ever having played for the Benign Sharks.
When asked how his concussion rehab was faring, Clark responded, “Concussion? I’m out with a groin pull. I thought you said this was going to be a press conference.” He then stormed out of the rest room, displaying several symptoms of post-concussion syndrome: irritability, memory loss, and disorientation.

Replacing Bails behind the bench will be seasoned Hollywood actor Wilford Brimley. Although he has no professional coaching experience, Brimley delivered a riveting performance as Pop Fisher in the 1984 classic baseball film, The Natural. Despite signing a contract that advised otherwise, ownership requested that all players henceforth refer to Brimley as ‘Pop.’

Below is a conversation from Saturday’s practice:

Wilford Brimley:
Miettinen. I'm sending you down Miettinen, Class B fantasy hockey. Tomorrow you go to the Great Lakes Association.

Antti Miettinen: All right. You make the rules.

Wilford Brimley: That's right, that's right and you ain't been playing by 'em. Don't you remember signing a contract?

Antti Miettinen: I remember signing a contract to play fantasy hockey -- not to be put to sleep by some two-bit carney hypnotist! I won't do that Pop! I can't.

Wilford Brimley: Stop calling me Pop!

Ownership currently owes Coach Brimley over $2,700 in fines for violating Section 3.a.ii of his contract: ‘Under no circumstances will Mr. Brimley [undersigned] be referred, nor will he respond, to the moniker “Pops.” Subsequent violations will result in a fine of $300.’

Other additions have accompanied Mr. Brimley. The high profile, six-player trade with the team F*** You A**Hole brought in sniper Alexei Kovalev, veteran Keith Tkachuk, and prospect David Booth. Out the doors went perennial underachievers Jaromir Jagr and Brendan Shanahan, along with prospect Andrei Kostitsyn.

With only three weeks left until the playoffs, it is now do-or-die time for the Sharks. Hopefully the tide will turn in Lake Erie and thrust the team, bearing teeth, headlong into the fray.

Brimley was guarded about their playoff hopes and dreams: “Playoffs huh? I only brought enough insulin to last me through the end of the month. This whole leap year thing is throwing me off. What time is it? Where’s my Hershey bar?”

Brimley was undoubtedly alluding to the sweetest victory of all -- a playoff berth. There are no protected waters in Lake Erie. The team tastes blood and for once it’s not from biting its own tongue. Next week’s opponent, Jimmy Paek Corn, had better find a bigger boat, because they are going to be screaming ‘Shark!’

Great seats still available.

SOURCE: Lake Erie Benign Sharks

Friday, February 15, 2008

Commuting, part two

A few days ago, I signed up for a car share program, courtesy of City Wheels. Basically, I paid a one-time membership fee, an annual fee, and subsequently pay an hourly (or daily) rate to borrow the car. Gas and insurance are covered. Said vehicle could either be a Scion xB (the ‘B,’ I’m assuming, stands for Box) or a Toyota Prius. The Scion is located near the Red Line Station in University Circle. The Prius sits near the intersection of Euclid and Ford. The ignition key is kept inside the vehicle at all times -- car share members possess a little plastic chode called a ‘key fob.’ This device is held to a sensor attached to the windshield and the doors unlock automatically.

On Wednesday, I reserved the car for the whole day and went out to Mentor to see my special lady friend. She recently had a few teeth pulled and needed someone to lightly stroke her cheeks and provide comfort. Around 9:30, I received a call from the owner of City Wheels, saying that I had not yet picked up my key fob and that no one was going to be around the office that day. The business, as I came to understand, is mostly handled remotely: registration and reservations and the like are conducted online. The process is really quite simple. Luckily, the owner was in the area and could drop off the key fob at my apartment. He even gave me a ride down to the lot. By 10 a.m., I was on the freeway toward Mentor. That late in the morning, the roads were mostly empty and the ride was smooth and quick.

It was nice having the car for the day, even though my lady and I only used it to pick up a pizza. Still, she appreciated not having to cart my lame ass around. I tasted freedom. I tasted America – and just a tinge of socialism sprinkled on top. I tasted pizza.

Only problem was, I had to return the next morning by 8. Someone else had reserved the car at 8:15. I assumed that hitting the road by 7:15 would give me plenty of time to make it back to University Circle. I stopped at Sheetz to refuel, which is covered by a credit card in the car. Then I braved rush hour traffic on the Expressway for a good 40 minutes. I haven't owned a car for a year and even when I had one I used it sparingly -- mainly because the thing was busted most of the time (refer to: shelia-5). Rush hour is something I have never really experienced, or experienced so seldom as to find it rather novel. That is, I found it interesting for about 15 seconds. Then all the stopping and going made me angry and I became nervous that I would not be able to return the car in time and I drank coffee like a fiend.
I made it back to the lot in University Circle at 8:02. The tank was full and the inside would be warm for the next person. But the stress of a rush hour commute only reaffirmed for me why I don't own a car. And it makes me thankful that I live in an area with reliable public transportation. The car share program is just an extension of the public transit system. The option is there if I need it, and that is comfort enough.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Wednesday, February 13, 2008


As I walked through Public Square and approached Key Tower, a man clad in rags rounded the corner of the building and approached me. He lit like a lamp. I glanced at his shoes. They were made of leather or suede, faded a bit, but in remarkably good shape, considering the conditions.

“Hey! I remember you!” he yelled and came towards me, hand outstretched. I shook it.

“Yeah, man!” I said. “Hey, I’m on my way to work. It was good to see you!”

“Alright! Good to see you!” he yelled.

I kept on toward the Mall, knowing the whole time that this was the hustle.

I know you.
Hate to do this.
I’m trying to catch the bus.
I need to buy my baby some Similac.
I just want a sandwich.
32 cent.

Per the signs lining the sidewalks of downtown, I ‘Don’t Give Where It Can’t Help,’ and usually provide the manufactured response, “I’m sorry sir,” when accosted. If particularly moved, I will buy food for those who admit they really need it. But I check the shoes; if a person can afford nice shoes, there is a good chance that all is not as it seems.

I rounded the corner of Key Tower and the wind from the lake hit me. From behind, the rags man yelled toward some other pedestrian in Public Square:

“Hey! I remember you!”

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The Cat Story

One Saturday morning at 8:15, my phone began to vibrate around the nightstand, sending low vibrations over to the bed and into my and Alex’s ears. She nudged me to wake me up and I checked the caller id, which displayed an anonymous 440 number that I was not familiar with. I clicked the IGNORE key and rolled back over. Around 10:30, we woke up for real and I checked to see if the person calling had left a voicemail. He or she had not.

Curious, and maybe even a little irritated, Alex suggested that we call the number and see who answered. I told her that she could do that and she did. We huddled around her receiver and waited anxiously for the person on the other end to pick up. The dial tone stopped and the phone clicked.

‘Good morning, Apollo Machine,’ said a deep voice.

Alex promptly hung up. We giggled like we had played a prank on someone. After the laughter subsided, we were still confronted with the question of why I had received that call. Alex had another great idea and googled ‘Apollo’ and the phone number.

The first result led us to a PetsMart located on Apollo Parkway in Willoughby. This proved an odd turn of events, as we were planning on taking a trip to PetsMart to look at cats. I was not planning on picking up a cat, only on gauging the cat market for when I move out on my own in May. It would be nice to have a cat. Thing is, my roommate J is deathly allergic to cats. They close up his throat and he can’t breathe. Dies.

Just below the PetMart entry was a listing for Apollo Machine, also in Willoughby. This was the company that called me. The information only confused us further, for the company manufactured medical supplies like CAT (cat!) scanners and so on. Plus, my phone has a 727 area code, as I bought it in Florida, so there was really no reason the call could have been a misdial.

We were not going out to only look at cats. Half Price Books was also out that way and Alex had a gift card. The two of us also had gift cards for The Olive Garden and planned to dine there after our shopping experience. We planned for an early dinner, as T.O.G. fills up fast and stays that way until late in the evening. We decided that a 5:00 dinner was early enough to beat middle aged couples with their kids and stuff; and late enough to miss the senior citizens out for supper at 3:30.

But first, Alex and I showered and so forth and went to the Mint Café for some lunch around noon. We sipped on tea and I made a list of things that needed accomplished throughout the day:

1. eat lunch (checked)
2. ½ price books
3. performance bike (circled)
4. petsmart
5. olive grdn
6. good stuff

Performance Bike (3.) was kind of a secret. You see, Half Price Books, PetsMart, and Performance Bike are all located in the same plaza in Mayfield Heights. We planned a trip up Mayfield Road and a day of errands with a little reward at the end -- T.O.G. (5.) and the more general Good Stuff (6.).

Traffic was rough up Mayfield and Alex had to run a yellow light in Lyndhurst but we made it to Golden Gate Shopping Center safe and sound. Alex parked next to PetsMart (4.) and it was cold out so we decided to go in there first. Then we would go to Half Price Books (2.) and then -- sneakily, and on the way to the car -- I would suggest we stop at Performance Bike (3.). So we were taking things out of order, but it would be okay, because we were in a shopping center and it does not really matter what order you do things.

Inside, we checked out the fish. I appreciated the bottomfeeders like catfish and slugs, as they reminded me of my fantasy hockey team, the Benign Sharks. Alex liked the guppies. Then we found the kitties, courtesy of PAWS (not, I believe, an acronym) Adoption Agency. One cat, in particular, caught our attention. The tiger stripe with a pink nose was missing his tail. There was just a ticking little nub. Tickticktick. The cat looked playful and bounded around his cage. I looked at the manila tag that held the cat’s information. His name: APOLLO.

The cat was named Apollo. I told Alex this.

‘No effing way,’ she said. ‘You have to get this cat.’
‘He looks kind of crazy,’ I said.
‘I guess I’d be a little crazy too if I lost my tail.’
‘His name is Apollo.’

I read the little scrawled bio on Apollo’s card. The feline had lost his tail in an accident but is now all better and ready to party. The weight of the coincidence sat on my shoulders and I told Alex that we should take a walk around the store. Near the middle, past the gerbils and nasty rats, was another stack of cages from a different agency. These specimens were more kittens than cats but appeared rather downtrodden. One kitten sat in his litterbox, paws buried in the sand beneath him and he just stared down into the rocks, dejected.

These were not happy kitties. These were not for me. I thought of Apollo’s spry step and his ability to overcome adversity. We walked back over to the PAWS cages. Alex and I asked to pet Apollo. The worker let him out and gave him to Alex to hold. Apollo just hung out, he did not look out of place at all and enjoyed the attention. Alex took him to a bench and sat down. Apollo relaxed and took it all in: the life outside the cage. He jumped down, not for excitement but for leisure, and lay on the ground. He was undoubtedly the coolest cat I have ever seen. I paced back and forth in the little room, knowing the he was, in fact, the perfect cat (minus the minus tail). But this cat would kill J, my hyper-allergic roommate.

We had to leave, I said and gave Apollo back to the PAWS handler. This was only supposed to be a day of cat speculation, not a day of cat ownership. I felt like a bastard. Sans cat, we walked back out into the cold February day and over to Half Price Books.

I bummed around the store, not really interested in anything except that cat. I thought about how I had abandoned Fate and Apollo and sulked between the shelves and thumbed absently some books by Eggars, Barthelme and Zadie Smith. To cheer me up, Alex bought the books with her gift card. She let me go to Performance Bike even though I didn’t even really want to go anymore. We got in the car to leave.

As we were leaving the parking lot, I saw an InkStop and remembered that the store had portable hard drives on sale. Even though InkStop was not even in the plans that day, Alex took me over there. The man behind the counter told us that they were out of hard drives, but the new store in Willoughby had them in stock. He said the store was on Apollo Parkway.

Alex and I looked at each other uneasily. I sank my shoulders some more. The man said that store would put the item on hold for me.

Alex drove me up to Willoughby and I bought the hardware and we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for some coffee. Then she drove down to the lake and we sat in her car and watched people fish despite the ice that was everywhere. I thought some more about Apollo. There was a pile of cat food next to the dumpster where we were parked. I told Alex that Apollo would be my best friend.

‘What about me?’ Alex asked. ‘Aren’t I your best friend?’
‘You’re my best person friend,’ I said. ‘Apollo is my best cat friend.’
‘I would let him enjoy all the privileges that I have, except eating at the dinner table, because that’s disgusting.’

I never got him. There was no way we could work out the logistics of it. Alex did not want to catsit Apollo for an extended period of time. She did not know how her cat Wendy would handle a roommate. I did not know how my roommate would handle a cat. And so it went.

I acted depressed for most of the evening, and our trip to Willoughby had cost us an early table at T.O.G. When we arrived at 6:30, the hostess greeted us with a sixty-five minute wait. I did not feel like standing around. Alex understood this so we left and went to Whole Foods to buy stuff to make dinner. Alex said she knew a good recipe for pasta carbonara. She was right: it tasted good. But I still wished I had that cat. My cat, Apollo.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Saturday, February 09, 2008


Dear Graduate Program(s):

Hi! If you are here, it means you have received the card I sent you. Welcome! I am a writer of the creative non-fiction style. I’m a big fan of the memoir and a bigger fan of semi-fictionalized anecdotes. How do you like them? I hope you like them a lot and that you like my creative nonfiction stories, which I have attached below as handy links. Most of them are postmodern, like the URL I sent you -- http://postmoderndystopia.blogspot.com. Keeping in mind Second Life, Web 2.0, postmodernity, cyber presence and all that, I have posted my portfolio electronically. Not only does it save paper, but it saves me from having to talk to postal workers. And I don’t have to leave the comfort of my apartment (or put on pants). But enough about me.

Why do you want RdB for your creative writing program? Simple. I like writing. I like reading. You probably like those two things. We have stuff in common and should hook it up. Not even lying. Just shoot me an email to the address provided (no snail mail, please), and we’ll draw up the papers (as PDF attachments, please).

Best Regards yo,



How to Survive a Car Wreck
Maus Haus
Free Ride
The Man in the Quarry

Friday, February 08, 2008

Imaginary bands I’ve been in over the years

Fatal Sloth (2000-05) – This was my high school band, started when I was in tenth grade. The band saw many member changes over the years, but persisted into my third year of college. The final set-up saw a drummer-bassist tandem (with G. Bigler of Drifting Imagination), much like Death from Above or Lightning Bolt.

The Cysts (2005-06) – This 4-piece (guitar, bass, vocalist, drummer) punk rock band came on the scene shortly after Fatal Sloth broke up in early 2005. The name derived from a friend of the band who had recently underwent an operation to remove an ovarian cyst. The initial plans were to release an abrasive, in-your-face EP and immediately start a feud with The Hives. The band, already having garnered Akron (eh, Kent) street cred, would step into the limelight. The band disintegrated after failing to develop beyond their single “Love is Such A Drag (Especially When You’re Solo),” which is still wildly popular in some underground music circles.

The Skeleton Keys (late 2005) – This was the closest I came to being in a real band, as my college friend Andy and I got together for two practices in late 2005. I played, as always, the Omnichord – a synth-organ-harpsichord-beatbox – and Andy played the keyboard. We had grand ambitions to play shows at Kent’s Electric Community Center, now deceased. But, as it what often happens with college bands, we broke up to focus on our majors: graphic design (Andy) and scratch-off lottery tickets (myself).

The Go Go Gadgets (2006-pres) – This is more of a musical collective than a regular group, in the spirit of Broken Social Scene. Hovering in the neighborhood of 25 members, this group features a choir of hand clappers and – naturally – a cute indie girl playing the xylophone and/or flute. Every member also has a Polaroid camera to document live shows. These images will later be pasted onto a mural-sized collage to accompany them on the world-tour.

Pier Pressure (2007-pres) – This is the first direct side project of the Gadgets: a ten- to twelve-piece concept art rock band based on maritime shipbuilding. Theatrics play into their live show as much as the music does, as the members act out major naval battles onstage. They also perform a staggering rendition of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” Once the thaw comes, the group plans to play their first outdoor show on the Lake Erie breaker.

The Mitten Project (2008-pres) – This band name came about as a misunderstanding by rockitecture.’s Thed Ferringer. I thought he said ‘The Mitten Project,’ when he had, in fact, said something else. And the band was born. As the name suggests, this twee band focuses on the kinder and gentler aspects of life. Things like marriage, children, cross-over SUVs, suburban living, big box retailers, etc. Thed was promptly replaced by my special lady friend Alex, who will play either the acoustic or bass guitar. I, of course, man the Omnichord. We plan to buy a kitten to take with us on the road. It will play with balls of yarn on stage. A child (not ours) may or may not accompany us as well. (Band is pictured below.)

Thursday, February 07, 2008

COMING SOON: Competitive Sleeping

I should have blogged last night, but failed to do so, mainly because I was tired. Instead, I went to bed. I like sleep. It is one of my favorite things to do. Does this make me lazy? Yes. Maybe I should have stayed up and written something. But sleep feels so good.

Last weekend, I was out drinking with some of my lazy-ass friends and the conversation naturally tilted towards sleep and how much we all enjoy it. Mike Sokol was actually asleep at the beginning of the conversation, but a friendly nudge brought him back. I handed him a napkin to wipe the salsa from his elbow, as it had been resting in a bowl during Mike’s barside nap. He was quick to jump in.

As it turns out, Mike is an EXTREME (!!!) sleeper (see: Sleep -- FAIL at Full Power). In fact, if competitive sleeping
was a sporting event, Mike Sokol would be in the pros. He’d be the show. And that show, I’d assume, would be on Spike TV. Mike proposed the idea for a Sleep-Off – a competitive sleeping event that would run over the course of a weekend, and possibly into the next week, depending on the competition.

As for rules, well, we were at a bar and failed to attack the pragmatics of the event. The beer made us drowsy and unable to think in those terms. Thusly, the rules are up in the air at this point, though I would think that contestants should be permitted to pull one (1) all-nighter prior to the event, as a sort of conditioning exercise. This would be akin to eating a pasta dinner before a 5 (five) -k. Contestants should still be allowed to use the restroom, as the hours of unconsciousness could run into the double -- or even triple -- digits. However, upon completion of a bathroom break, the contestant must return immediately to bed.

Now, I consider myself a fan of sleeping, but I don’t think I could necessarily compete. Not with the likes of Mike Sokol. It is sort of like the way I go about cycling: I enjoy it, yes, but I don’t think I have what it takes to do it competitively. But I suppose that is the way it is with most things. Some possess the gift; others do not.

Mike Sokol, though – that boy can sleep!

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

My day today.

Today I got up
I went to school
I <3 school
I did good
I made a new friend on the bus
Not really
I didnt really talk to nobody
Except my classmates
About school stuff
Because I <3 school
Some of my classmates
Hung out after class
But they didnt ask me but
Thats ok because I
Wouldnt go anyway
Because its not school
But then I went home
And watched the news
And thought about school
And read us weekly
And went to sleep and
Had a dream about britney
Spears and mitt romney doing
High kicks on water skees
Being pulled by a fleet
Of apache helicopters
Over the northwest coast
Of the persian gulf
Over the battleships and oil rigs
Lifting up and up and up
Through the air
Over kuwait and further and further
And further inland over babies and
Ruins and mosques and terrorist
Camps and derricks and stuff and they
Landed in a castle for saddams
Son udi and they met brittneys kids there
And they lived there on top of a big pile of $$$$
And ate good food like camel and tabouli
And watched good tv like oprah and big brother 18
And mittney got a big article in us weekly
And everyone was real happy
And they had the most friends on facebook
And I was 1 of them

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

State of the Blog

Hey fellow Nomenclators, remember me? I know it has been a while, and for that I am sorry. I’ve been spending the last month or so compiling a portfolio for graduate school. Or something. Really, I tossed a bunch of creative non-fiction pieces compiled during November’s BloMo into one word document and just kind of stared at that. No editing, no refinement. No nothing.

Let’s face it: I’m lazy. But I’m trying to turn that around. I’m trying to open up again. I think the best way to do this is to try another Blog Month. I’m already 5 days late, but such is how these things begin: slowly, clumsily, drunken.

What else have I been up to, you ask? I’ve been reading a lot. I’ve been pushing up my glasses a lot. A little of this and a little of that. Last fall, I became enamored of short fiction, developing an insatiable appetite for it. A Public Space turned me on to contemporary shorts and then I started picking up journals left and right.

To date, I’ve read:

Tin House
The Kenyon Review
The Paris Review

McSweeny’s 24

In progress:

Glimmer Train Stories

In the queue:

Prairie Schooner
Whiskey Island Magazine
The Paris Review (New)
A Public Space (New)

So that is what I have been up to these days. If anyone out there in the blogosphere would like to join in for the February Blog Month (FeBloMo), by all means. I’m hoping to foster another creative forum, much like we had going last fall. Then again, I am weighed down by the heavy air of mid winter and the audacity associated with trying to catch lightning in a bottle twice. Have faith, brothers and sisters, we can make it through this thing.

Yours truly,