i've seen better days, but i don't care

The landlord has turned off the water, and doesn't know when it will be back on, and nobody actually refilled the water pitcher, so I can't have a coffee. I was thinking about using the water I poured in a glass last night to make espresso, even though the result would be a somewhat flattish brew. But I had a dream in which Oasis played Rohin's new apartment. This would be truly awesome, but I think it's not true. Also, I think it's the result of me listening to this absurdly cheerful song about abortion. It's funny what things sneak into your dreams.

things for friday

Tomorrow, February 28th, 8 pm, Queens NY, "Poetry Time at Space Space:" 390 Seneca Ave (corner of Seneca and Stanhope). Reading are Jon Woodward, Matthew Rohrer and Eric Amling, "plus free beer and chapbooks" (via jonwoodward.net). Sounds like a shambling good way to celebrate having to write another rent check. I'll probably attend, even though my lead foot will no doubt be in pain from driving a certain someone around Brooklyn in a sixteen-foot Budget truck.

The Rocky Mountain News -- Denver's 150-year-old newspaper -- has put out its last issue today. I have never read the Rocky Mountain News, nor will I be seeking out back issues, but I am concerned for the good people of Denver. Surely they do not all have internet. This also speaks of my growing concern for the future of print media in general. Also -- why if things are this shitty is the NY Post still producing headline after punishing headline?

feminist / reminisce

I don't have much worthwhile to say, so this will be a pastiche of other people's announcements. First, Gina at Birds of Lace is still taking submissions for both her Finery journal (themed "Portraits," interpretable however you choose) and her first-ever chapbook competition (judged by Daphne Gottlieb). The journal (deadline June 6th) and competition are open to women, queers, and those who self-identify as such. Gina is an asset to the micropress niche of the literary world. She truly does beautiful, handmade, lovingly crafted work. I had the pleasure of being in Finery 5 (along with Juliet Cook, Brooklyn Copeland, Megan Roth, and lots of other people that I was delighted to share book-space with), and the issue clocked in at novelette length and came with a handstitched cover and a short film. She has a sampling of work from Finery 5 here; check it out and see if your work fits in.

Did anyone catch the NYT article "The Great(ness) Game" by David Orr? In it, he laments that after Ashbery's generation, we will have run out of "great" poets. Garrett and I were talking about this at length, and basically find a flaw in the argument. See what you think. Among other things this article feeds into nostalgia for that weird masculine initiation ritual that was the writer's workshop in its inception. And while we're talking about that "generation," where's the mention of Adrienne Rich? In her writing, she covers topics that certainly fit into even this article's narrowly-defined criteria for "great" poetry.

The How To/What Is It/What to Do Guide

Hey! It's another edition of Answers to Questions! A show that is not only useful, but also a treat. It's the veritable elbow patches to your jacket of inequity, and the collection of growables to your swab of arable land. This week, we examine some of the things it takes to be human and use Google. I begin typing, then take Google's predictive questions (which are based on user questions), and I answer them. If this still sounds confusing, please see last week's post.

HOW TO GO ON FACEBOOK AT SCHOOL: Something exists out there called "proxy" that you might want to look into. It's like that of an invisibility cloak, if you will (and I know you will).

HOW TO MAKE A DIAPER CAKE: I can't begin to address this. I don't know what to do with diapers. I thought it said "diaper bomb" at first, which I thought sounded terrible. When I began searching for the answer, AdSense asked me if I want something that's "loaded with goodies." I don't think I want that.

WHAT IS IT LIKE TO BE A BAT: It is awesome. Mostly the part where you get to skitter and make that kind of weird sound (which to bats sounds like roaring, but to you and me like high-pitched vowels). I wish I were a bat when it's dark and I have to avoid the big sockpile or the side table that's in the middle of the room because earlier today I used it as a computer table.

WHAT IS IT POLICY: It's the verb of "police."

WHAT IS IT EXACTLY YOU DO HERE: Um. I guess you could say I'm a creative mind. Whatever. Go optimize your own information systems.

WHAT TO DO UNEMPLOYED: (see picture) A poignant follow-up to the previous question.

WHAT TO DO AT THE OUTBREAK OF ANY DISASTER: Disasters can get complicated. They're very tricky. Did you know that "disaster" comes from the Latin? (Dis+aster - to "un-star" something... when the stars are not right for your situation, not unlike my horoscope most days.) Well, since I'm not an expert, I had asked Rohin about this question. Apparently, when your country's embroiled in a sham war over oil money/approaching a nuclear "hot zone"/retreating from a nuclear "hot zone"/having a problem president/bleeding love/stationary in a nuclear "hot zone"/approaching the limits of its space program and still there is work left to do, it's time to go in the back of your closet and put on your freakum dress.

The various disasters that appeared when I typed "what to do during" into Google (and that I will not approach in today's show, dear viewer and listener): earthquake, recession, hurricane, tornado, seizure, pregnancy, panic attack, interview, depression, flood. I think Googlers are having a crisis too many, and I am weary of observing the verisimilitude.

green/buzz/harm/free

Yesterday, Rohin and I infiltrated a trendy downtown joint to schmooze with the unschmoozeable and to down an imaginative (free) cocktail (there were gold flakes involved -- these media types sound decadent but hey, recession-confession: it was mostly ice. Guess they think we're cheap dates). We also ran into a certain British chanteuse whose wicked bat-like shoulder pads almost aborted all my ideas through my temple. All in all, a productive* time.

Upon my return, Garrett and I shared a bag of chips, and then I fell asleep while we were watching an X-Files episode. The screams and urgent 90s horror music strung themselves right into my dreams; it was fitting, sure, but also pretty fucked up, and today I've been all in this funky mood, listening to Bloc Party's "Disappear Here" (from Weekend in the City -- an album constructed in varying layers of antsy melodic unease whose time I think has finally come).

But! I made dill pickles, though, from this recipe. They're stewing right now, and they look very pretty in the jar with the whole dill sprigs floating around like cheerful swamp creatures. And I got more potting soil, so my spring gardening should be starting up soon. Pics when applicable. I know you like garden pics.


*It could have been more productive. I should have brought my crocheting.

things for monday

Hey, check this out: Project Verse. I for one am a sucker for exercises, so this sounds fun.

Speaking of exercises -- this is from a skeleton poem posted by Dana Guthrie Martin. The source is a speech; the defining words were removed, leaving a structure. I filled in the meatstuffs and came up with this thing. I think it's drafty as an old house, but never mind -- I'm posting it out of respect for the bones. So here you are. Try and give it a try, too. It's kind of fun. And if you do, link me to what you did! I want to see.


Song from the End of the World

The memory will absorb all the willowing dark
that was kept on hold, a hammerless bell.
That lightning night you stammered in the foyer
“how to kill, eat, and run,” the ruin
of us. But that ruin is splendid,
a spatter of plasma and dread. If dread becomes
not motionless, we will seem to be moving
on with incredible speeds and, somehow, apples
of spectral light will be there. How we became
kind to each other after everything,
and spoke softly from without.

haven't you already learned?

Well, I think this day is a rather weird holiday, but still here is a link for you to a love poem that I find very worth the reader's time.

The Quiet World, by Jeff McDaniel

Also for your edification I link to this rather uproarious post on how to decode the meanings of flower arrangements.

Meanwhile, please, no crimes of passion, people. I don't want to hear about any paramour stabbings or death-do-us-parts or gruesome pacts of any kind. Just have a good day, enjoy a cupcake, and text your friends that you love them. And if you're in Brooklyn, don't forget to come to hear Rohin Guha, Marc Jaffee, Aaron Short, and Matt Carney at 3PM in the Bushwick library.

space travel

Ugh, I made myself a cup of "Classic India Spice" because we were out of coffee. Little did I know that it was flavored with a startling, throat-coating sweetness. It looks like I will have to be wasteful and grab a coffee on the way to the train. I wish I knew where you could get a decent unburnt strong cup around here. At least the scenery is beautiful.

I have a new poem somewhere on the internet today, so set your Google alerts, people. No, don't worry, I'll link when it's time. *

*UPDATE: It's time. http://13myna.blogspot.com/
( A, way to be on top of things. You got to it before I did.)

Do you ever feel like everything you talk about is trivial?

HELP! And other good questions. And their answers!

Source: THE INTERNET. Some of these were obtained by typing "what is", "how does," etc, into Google, and then seeing what it automatically fills in for you. Others are classic gems from the past that I have found amusing. I am hoping they will bring lots of googlers to my site and then someone from Ask.com will recruit me and I can get a lucrative gig doing advice!

- My cat is acting very weird. What's going on?
Please be more specific. I can't diagnose your cat without a really good description of his problem. I shouldn't diagnose your cat to begin with, probably. But hey, it's the internet. Not the intern-in-a-veterinary-clinic-net.

- THERES A HACKER IN MY COMPTER WHAT DO I DO?
It depends. Are you 34?

- I don't want to camp next week. What do I do?
Don't camp for pete's sake! You might enjoy a nice staycation instead. Get a bottle of bubble bath and an old math textbook and cut out the words you like while you're sitting in the bath. Then use them in a poem. Then text me the poem.

- What is it called?
Again, please be more specific. Are you the same person that asked me about your cat? I can't help you. Please stop calling me.

- How do you know if a girl likes you?
She friends your friends on Facebook.

- How does Criss Angel walk on water?
He's very manorexic.

- Why did I get married?
I don't think you should be asking me that, but here are some suggestions. Maybe s/he was just really charismatic? Wore a lot of makeup and/or a disguise? Drugged you? Asked your parents, and they said ok? You were taken by the fly mustache? These are just ideas. You sound pretty weirded out by it, though, so I suggest you purchase a Magic 8-Ball.

- How are hurricanes named?
This one I actually know! Those guys, the NOAA, pick the names in advance. They put them in a big thing, like a vat -- it's called the NOAA's Ark -- and then they have hedgehogs pick them out one by one. And the ones the hedgehogs pick get reused until they turn destructive. It's like the hurricane version of reincarnating until you reach Nirvana (not the band).

From where is basshunter?
Basshunter, is that the game they have at taxidermy-themed hipster bars? I feel like I always thought that was Big Game Hunter, but maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, it's probably from Asia somewhere.

Why does a poor man drink coffee?
Because the poor man has to get up to go to work goddammit and he needs the coffee. It's not OK to feel sorry for the poor man! Not OK!

Anyway, that's it for this week's edition. Go have a good day somewhere! Write me a postcard.

abouts-town

I lost my mittens (the ones with kittens) but I'm craiglisting furiously to get them back. I lost them on the train, you see; I cling to the hope that some intrepid networker might just be smart enough to get them back to me. So far nothing, but I fan the flames of hope, hope, hope. With no anger in my heart. Meanwhile, from Bateau Press:

"Our third issue: An experiment in beauty. You are the hypothesis. With comics/illustration by Eleanor Davis.

Tricia Asklar J. P. Dancing Bear Wes Benson Jeffrey Bernoth Blake Butler Kim Chinquee Tom Christopher Charlie Clark Rob Cook Dana Curtis Eleanor Davis John Ebersole Paul Fattaruso Ryan Flaherty Rachel Contreni Flynn Rebecca Gopoian Derek Henderson Nathan Hoks Alta Ifland L. S. Klatt Ricardo Alberto Maldonado Susie Meserve Erika Meyers Eric Nelson Simon Perchik Jennifer Pieroni Niina Pollari Pedro Ponce Ed Schelb Sarah J. Sloat Wayne Sullins Jason Tandon Russell Thorburn Carl Tillona Debbie Yee"

If I am the hypothesis, the hypothesis can't wait to see the issue because s/he thinks it looks killer.

I am also looking forward to BC's Borrowed House, which I ordered a couple of days ago from Greying Ghost Press. Based on the sexy/spooky sample poem it should be a scintillating read; expect verification on this topic once the proof is in front of me. I love poetry, and I really love getting mail. This combines two of my favorite things.

The next installment of Bushwick Reading Series will feature four readers -- Matt Carney, Marc Jaffee, Aaron Short, and At-Large's very own acid-tongued fictionary Rohin Guha. The reading takes place on Valentine's Day. In Finland, the date marks the annual "Friends' Day," and when celebrating Friends' Day, you're supposed to just remind your friends you appreciate them and like them a lot. Consider this reading a celebration of said holiday, and consider the fact that I'm hosting it to mean that I like you a lot.

And one more thing. There's a very nice cat in the room with me! Garrett and I are house-sitting and cat-watching for the next few days. There's regular internet, the Chinese food around the corner is pretty good, and the cat that lives here isn't provoking any kind of disturbing reaction from me. He's actually really cute and friendly and not an annoying, destructive, selfish jerk like many cats. This morning when I was catching up on my e-mails, he came and curled up on me. Aww. I'm blogging about other people's cats. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time I threaten to and/or actually blog about someone else's animal... right?

the horror, the horror

I was thinking recently about the time I saw the Cramps. I went to Ft. Lauderdale with my friends Julia and Pete. At the time, we were underage, but it didn't stop us from drinking warm cheap beers out of a sketchy cooler in the back of someone's van before the concert. Opening were the Gore Gore Girls; I still have the vinyl from that show, and still listen to it regularly. The Cramps were bad-ass as can be, and I will not attempt to describe the concert as I am not a concert writer and there are plenty of brilliant pieces more aptly describing the experience that is the Cramps. But I will tell you this: in true $$$cashmoney venue fashion, "the establishment" let in way, way too many people and the crowd was very rowdy. Sometime in the course of the evening our ride got punched in the nose. I will never know exactly what happened, but perhaps it's better that way. And now, Lux Interior (pictured), the iconic, hilarious, oft-crossdressing frontman of everyone's favorite sleaze-kitsch gothabilly band, died on February 3rd at the age of 64. As you can see, it's making me reflective. I will listen to Flamejob this weekend.

Today!

Yesterday was a temperate 45 degrees, and I tromped around hatless and carefree. Today it's snowing hard. I'm reading The Future of Life by the incredible E. O. Wilson, and while the bizarre weather fluctuations agree with the reading material, I won't deny that it all seems a little bit alarming.
Assuming I'm not buried in a bank of sludge by 7PM, I'm going to this today. It promises to be a good event; featured are poets (and past At-Large contributors) Patrick Kosiewicz and Margarita Shalina. If you're in the Brooklyn area, consider attending. Directions below.

The Geoglyph -- An evening of poetry presented by Fly By Night Press and Melville House TODAY, February 3, 7 PM at Melville House Bookstore (145 Plymouth St, at Pearl St in DUMBO, Brooklyn):

A book party and reading for The Geoglyph by Patrick Kosiewicz, with guest poets and discussion including Patrick Kosiewicz, Margarita Shalina, Jon Reeve, Erich Christiansen, and Matvei Yankelevich. Free Event / All Welcome!

Directions: The store is on Plymouth, between Jay and Pearl Streets, in the DUMBO neighborhood of Brooklyn.
By train: F to York; or A/C to High Street/Brooklyn Bridge.
From the York Street F station: Exit on to Jay,
turn right and walk three blocks. Take a left on Plymouth and you'll find the store at the end of the block.
From the High Street/Brooklyn Bridge A station: Exit to Adams Street. Follow Adams toward the River to Pearl Street and take a left on Pearl Street. Walk 5 blocks on Pearl and you'll reach the bookshop.