Too Late for Fruit, Too Soon for Flowers

AWP ate my ass...

2006-03-13T07:03:00.000-06:00

I am soooooo frickin' sick.

...

2005-12-13T16:01:00.000-06:00

I'm in a grumpy, oddly fragile place.

Someone, please-- something?

2005-12-13T15:43:00.000-06:00

I call this photo "Uber Tart." Tart being a noun, not an adjective.

Me being the Tart in question.

and here are my eyeballs...

The eyes of Texas are upon You!

To do...

2005-12-11T23:15:00.000-06:00

1. UPDATE BLOG, UPDATE BLOG!
2. Learn German. Ja.
3. Finish book #4.
4. Find someone to publish book #2.
5. Figure out who I need to fuck to get book #2 published.
6. Sell lots of copies of book #3.
7. Quit fucking worrying about books and just fucking write.
8. Look as hot as Ute Lempe r before AWP so when I figure out who I need to fuck to get the book published, they'll be a little more open to the suggestion.
9. Quit fucking saying fuck all the time.
10. Sell chicken cards.
11. Be a better corresponder and fucking answer my emails.

Nick Cave decided to go to the Bad Seeds' Halloween Party dressed as James Hetfield...

2005-10-05T13:03:00.000-05:00

Wir gehen nach

2005-10-02T06:31:00.000-05:00

Schweiz.

Ja.

We move in March.

Oh yeah...

2005-09-29T00:09:00.000-05:00

I took an HIV + crack whore from New Orleans to the HEB last week. She bought ground beef, mayo, and Boone's Farm. I forgot to mention that in my previous litany of activities.

And...

The day after the state of Texas executed Frances Newton...

I got a letter from her in the freaking mail.

I'm not ready to share what she wrote. But I am taking this seriously. For it merits sobriety.

Long time, no Blog...

2005-09-28T23:48:00.000-05:00

So. Still no word from Zurich.

New manuscript rejected by yet another publisher.

New manuscript sent to another 2 publishers.

Sonnets come out in three weeks.

Wrote a fuckload of poems in the last month. (And you know what? They're good.)

Got my sweetie's name tattooed inside a big ole heart on my left shoulder. (With FLAMES!)

Been doing hard-core Katrina relief volunteer work.

Have had 3 German lessons and 2 homework assignments (got A's on both, thank you very much-- and that was before I started flirting with my teacher...).

Am having lunch with a for-real big-time New York literary agent next Friday, but that's on behalf of my friend Jane, his client. Jane lives in Chicago and her agent will be in Austin for a conference. Still, I can pretend.

Sent 3 poems to Mslexia this morning.

Want desperately to get published in Britain. Think I might go over better there than here.

Have learned how to say "Free-range Eggs" auf Deutsch (Eire aus Freilandhaltung...)

Have learned how to make umlauts in MS Word.

Went to Seattle. Came back.

Can now put most of my hair into a nearly respectable pony-tail.

Got new red glasses.

And there you have it.

Ich kann nichts so gut Deutsche sprechen...

2005-09-07T09:14:00.000-05:00

Am Sonntag, wir unser Deutsche Unterricht anfangen.

Unser Lehrer heißt "Guido."

Alexandra Palace, 25 August 2005

2005-09-05T09:38:00.000-05:00

Set List.

Euro Geeks

2005-09-05T09:35:00.000-05:00

It's

2005-09-03T01:08:00.000-05:00

my birthday.

I am 17 X 2 years old. I feel (for better and for worse) 17 X 1 years old.

So, I confered with some poeple and they said it was ok to think that I am 17. Or, rather, believe it. So, there you go.

It's all relative because 3-ish years ago I felt like I was in my mid-forties.

But forget about my stupid birthday.

This hurricane stuff is making me sick. I am really fucking mad at our government and what seems to be their huge failure at doing what they say they are supposed to do, which is protect us. Maybe I am not being fair. If I am not being fair then I apologize.

Like, weren't funds diverted away from re-building that levee or whatever? It wasn't the hurricane, apparently, but the bursting of the dam that done did all the damage.

And I'm fucking mad at myself. Maybe this is obnoxious, entitled, and in its own way, unfeeling, but I post an open apology to the residents of LA and MISS: I am so, so sorry. I did NOT ungerstand how dire your situation was until yesterday. I just didn't get it and I am afraid I was cavalier in my prayers, my offhand comments, and frivolous in my thoughts. I apologize for not realizing the seriousness of this as it unfolded.

Fuck. Would that more was done more quickly.

More than 10,000 feared dead-- is that REALLY possible? REALLY????

And then I'm like, fuck, who cares what I say or feel or think? This isn't about me.

That's right. This is about all of us. That we quit being cavalier. That we treat each other kindly. That we work to do good in the world, in all the ways we can. That we not be deluded that racism is dead. I think I'm going to join the NAACP tomorrow (and I ain't Black, for those of you who don't know). That we remember each other in our prayers. That we remain sober and watchful, all of us. That we respect the power of nature. That we love and fear the Lord. That we inform ourselves. That we know without a damn doubt that there but for the Grace of God goes any of us but that we don't mistake our saftey for God's grace-- so God likes us but not THEM? That makes no sense. That we invoke the presence of God among us with our actions. That we all be prepared, wise virgins and full lamps. Whatever that means. However we mean it. That we reach out to each other and not be afraid. That we accept the hands of our brothers and sisters when they reach out to us and we not be apathetic. That we refrain from saying shit like "life must go on..." Of course it must. And it will. But no one wants to hear that right now. That America humble herself collectively. That we learn compassion BETTER. That we don't call grabbing a loaf of bread out of fear and hunger "looting." That those of us with voices learn to speak up, learn to raise them. That the beauty and fragility of life be revered. We are all so fragile. All of us, so fucking fragile.

In the name of Jesus Christ, that is what I pray. For whatever it's worth.

Free Frances Newton

2005-08-30T09:08:00.000-05:00

Please read THIS. Then act as your conscience accords.

This just in...

2005-08-26T15:12:00.000-05:00

...Palmer sent me cover of book and text copy. Fucking beautiful.

I extend an Open Invitation

2005-08-26T13:27:00.000-05:00

to the following poets/people for a night of dinner, drinking, dancing, dithyrambing or any other debauchery of their choice if they ever find themselves in the vicinity of Austin or any other city in which I might live. I have whittled this list down to peeps who I do not know personally. Those of you I do know are always welcome to join me in whatever tacky behavior tickles our temperments. You know that.

1. Simon Armitage
2. Amy Gerstler
3. A.E. Stallings
4. Daniel Mark Epstein
5. Neil Astley
6. Mattea Harvey
7. Alessandra Lynch
8. Michael Ryan

Dears, note: This IS NOT a Come-On (except in your case, Simon, Darling. But even then, it's on the harmlessly mild side of playfully intended.. not quite a come on, exactly... maybe a c'mon?). Rather, I have things I would like to talk with each of you about the work you do. I've learned something either instrumental or bad-ass or irrelevantly irreverent from each of you.

This is by no means an exhaustive list, just what comes to my immediate mind.

Jill

My eyeball doctor

2005-08-26T12:24:00.000-05:00

seems to think I have glaucome (the gdx screening reads outside normal).

This means I can get reefer, yah?

Axe got Nick's set list from the stage last night.

I see London, I see France...

2005-08-25T11:57:00.000-05:00

Well, actually, I don't see either of them. I see my monitor and my desk and my cats and my glass of water and my bills and poems that need to go in the mail. Axe, on the other hand, sees Nick tonight. I am happy for/envious of him at once. But less envious than I usually am about these things, as he so deserves a night of wild, screaming fervor and Nick-ness.

Got poems accepted to publications over the last few days; Drunken Boat and The Christian Century took two each. Three of the four poems come from the manuscript I am currently pimping out.

Let's do the math, shall we?

There are 51 poems in the book. Of these 51, 27 (that's right, kiddies, TWENTY-SEVEN) of them have seen or will shortly see publication in some form or another. So, if I divide 27 by 51, that's 52.9411...% of the poems in the fucking book are or will be published. Over half.

Now, it's good -- right? -- that peeps like the poems, huzzah? But shit, man, it sorta seems like the whole damn book will get published individually before someone comes up to me with a Yes, I said yes I will Yes and I, I, so Sally Field-ish in my ingenue-eyed tearing up might reply--They like me! They really like me!

But I don't mean to complain. Really, I don't. Call it... venting.

For those in the Austin area who are interested,the Texas Moratorium Network is rallying and marching this Saturday in protest of a black woman scheduled to be executed on September 14. If this execution is carried out, she will be the first black woman in Texas to be put to death by the state since the Civil War. I urge those of you upon whom the Lord puts this burden heavy on your heart to consider not only marching, but writing the governor regarding this matter. See the link for details.

Hard Sunday

2005-08-22T01:09:00.000-05:00

We said goodbye to our beloved Vicar today, Mary. We gave her a going away party and she preached the hell outta the gospel today. It's was an awesome sermon. We were all weeping, we love her so much.

But as she was wrapping up her sermon today, she quoted one of my poems. It was the last thing she said from our pulpit. Oh, was I bawling.

Julian had to go to the doctor today. He has an eye infection. How come our cats only get sick on weekends when we have to go to the emergency vet?

Poets Everyone Should Read,

2005-08-19T16:11:00.000-05:00

dammit!

1) Simon Armitage. Start with Book of Matches or Killing Time. Ahhh hell, read everything he wrote. (I just wrote a response to one of his poems "To His Lost Love:" Now they are no longer/ any trouble to each other)

2) Edna St. Vincent Millay. Fatal Interview. The sonnets she wrote when she was shacking up with a lover umpteen years her junior. You GO girl! (Vincent--as she prefered to be called-- has been horribly neglected by those in charge of the canon of literature. She really fucking rocks)

3) Sylvia Plath. Ariel. Both the version Ted authorised and the one her daughter just released last year. Bone-chilling.

4) A soon-to-be-printed book of sonnets called Oh Forbidden. I dunno who wrote it. Some sexy bitch named Jill, I hear.

5) The Collected Poems of Vassar Miller.

6) David St. John, The Red Leaves of Night.

7) Amy Gerstler's 2004 book Ghost Girl. Loved it, loved it, loved it.

8) Robert Hass, Human Wishes.

9) Any hymn of Isaac Watts. Just thumb thru your LBW, kiddies.

10) Michael Ryan, New and Selected Poems

11) Emily Dickinson's collected poems, the Thomas Johnson edition. It makes a difference, trust me.

12) Louise Gluck. The Wild Iris

13) The Collected Poems of Dorothy Parker

14) Anything by Heather McHugh. She rocks.

This is simply what comes to my head at the moment. This is by no means an exhaustive list.

PS: Especially for you student types-- I encourage you to visit the following online sites, which, when I figure out how to, I will link proper style in my blog:

No Tell Motel

*Editors Reb Livingston and Molly Arden slip you a key to a different poet's room every week. Check the archives, oh former students of mine.

Also, while you are at it, take a gander at Reb's blog--

Home-Schooled by a Cackling Jackal

She actually knows how to link to proper sites in her blog. In fact, there is a whole SLEW of lit-blogs and blogs by contemporary poets all the way down the right hand side. It would do all y'all who are in Dude's Poetry class to keep up with what's going on in the real lives of for-real, actual, working poets. G'wan. I dare ya.

Plus, she popsts pictures of her little boy who is cute as pie.

And this is also kinda cool.

This too. (He loves me, you know)

But this is the best link of all.

j

Update: Dentistry, Poetry, Underwear

2005-08-17T09:12:00.000-05:00

Having well recovered from the American Idol tour and being within shouting distance of both Bo and Constantine, I settled into a renewed committment to the writing daily thing. Mostly I wrote every day this summer, but I also still sorta considered it my vacation from last sememster. Since I don't start school with the rest of 'em on Thursday, however, I gotta be good about showing up to this, my new job. Which is, to be sure, my old job. My only job.

Had 2 dentist appointments yesterday in the continuous struggle to fix the hackjob on my teeth that the last dentist did in order to fix the shitty job my genetics did on my teeth. These were appts. 5 and 6 in the last month and a half. They were easy enough, impressions, x-rays, bite registries. The second appt. was with an oral surgeon. I will need an implant where now I have bridgework. Apparently, they put you under, drill a hole through the gum and the bone, then set a titanium screw inside witha cap atop it. Then 6 months pass and a new tooth gets fitted in.

I was all ready to say go for it-- except, since I never had a tooth there in the first place, there is a likelihood that my gums arent wide enough to support the screw. This would involve a bone graft wherewith they scrape some bone out of my chin and implant it in the jaw. While the surgeon says this is all de rigeur, nothing out of the ordinary, routine-- I gotta say that when they start talking bone grafts, drills, screws and months of healing I get a little queasy. Actually, I get a little scared. Good thing I had the forethought to keep a valium and a tissue in my pocket because I started crying right there and having a panic attack.

For those of you wondering why the fuck she is getting so bent out of shape, this is just teeth work?-- 2,3 ish years ago I had a full reconstruction of my mouth-- amounting to about 50 dentist appointments. This was a medical necessity as I had broken almost every one of my teeth and otherwise ground them down to little corn kernal nubs. But the dentist who did it fucked it up and kicked me to the curb. Now, I'm back to my regular dentist (who wasnt doing this level of reconstructive work at the time, but is now) and I love him. He is a good friend and a good man. And a fuckin' A dentist. He starts the slow task of removing the veneers and replacing them on 12 September. I got a 'scrip for Halcyon and he promised me all the pain pills I so desired.

As for Poetry-- I look to the East, like the wise men-- East as in Western Europe. As in the UK. I'm gonna see what happens when I send a slew of submissions to Brit journals. Maybe the problem is just that Americans don't get me.

I actually broke the underwear I am wearing today as I was putting it on. This is disturbing. Broke isn't quite the right word, tho. I tore the lace with my fingernail. Now there is this laceless patch over my ass where heretofore lace was. Hoping I can fake a tatting and sew it back together. Other than that, I look gorgeous today. No really. Inspired by Nadia's ever-lovin' fro, I have decided that what my own hair needs is more teasing and wildness and less taming. This is not intended as a racist comment but rather a racially cultural commentary-- the only people in the last 2days who have commented on the stylehave been 3 black women and a black man. And these were unsolicited comments from unknown people and were all 100% positive. I always knew I had a little bit of Sistah in me.

Jill

No, I'm the next American Idol...

2005-08-15T02:25:00.000-05:00

So...

Me and a couple from church (Pam and Cristi) went to the American Idol concert in San Antonio tonight. Both Pam and Cristi are teachers, and the mother of one of Pam's students had bought 10 AI tickets. She gave Pam 4. Originally, it was going to be a double date, but Axel had better things to do (harumph...so he said....I think he's still bitter that Bo lost tho).

So we drive the hour + to San Antonio, stopping for a bite to eat. The show begins at 7 and we get there in time to park, go in, pee, and hit the merchandise table. One of my really good friends and I spent the whole season (and, for that matter, every other season) calling each other after every single song and giving our critiques. I felt bad that she didn't get to go so I bought her a t-shirt. For myself, I bought a Bo Bice button which I directly pinned to my jacket (underneath my Jesus Freak button).

Going into the show, we run into the mother and the student. Apparently, the people that were coming with them didn't, so the mom was all like "come and sit with us!." Our original seats were somewhere in section 123 in the Mezzanine. The mom was sitting on the floor. 12th row. I was dead center. Fuckin' A.

The show begins with Jessica Sierra (the kinda slutty looking one with the big tits). She's lost quite a bit of weight. Without the breasts, she looks less slutty, which is too bad because on her, slutty definitely works. She sings "The Boys are Back in Town," and "Shop Around." She introduces Anwar. Anwar and his big ole head of dredlocks sing a couple of forgettable songs, one of which he dedicates to the memory of Luther Vandross.

Then came the freakishly tall Constantine Maroulis. I gotta say, I was in Constantine's corner from the beginning. He's hot, right? Dumb as a post, can't really sing rock and roll tho he calls himself a rocker, but hot. He sang "Hard to Handle," "My Funny Valentine," and "Bohemian Rhapsody." He _so_ winked at me.

The idols had a screen the length of the stage behind him, and two video screens flanking. On the smaller screens, they were showing the same what was on the stage. On the screen behind the singers and the band, they showed montages of the contestant on the program, baby pictures, that kind of thing. During "Bohemian Rhapsody," however, they projected these disembodied Constantine heads underneath C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-I-N-E spelled out in bold swirly letters. It was kind of fucked up.

After Constantine, it was Nikko Smith. Lemme just say: he was over the top decked out in hip-hop gear-- a jacket with his name spelled out in graffiti looked like the Crips done tagged it themselves, and some bling and a trucker hat he tossed into the audience. Or mebbe it was one of his dad's baseball caps? He looked like Bobby Brown only _just_ post New Edition and he sang some songs I ain't ever heard of. He didn't sound all that great. Nor did Constantine, to be honest. In fact, everyone who only sorta sounded ok on the show sounded terrible live. Whereas those who really sounded good, sounded EVEN BETTER live. Jessica was GREAT, for example.

Then came Scotty "The Body" Savol. Ok, so he looked ghetto to the nth degree. He's a big boy, too, right? Mebbe he swallowed a gangsta? He sang "Against All Odds" and some other songs that I can't remember. I should have written out a set list, but I didn't.

Then: Nadia. Nadia, Nadia. She was HOT.

She fucking owned that stage. She had a fro going on, and this tight little dress which after the first song she unzipped to reveal an even tighter dress, black, short, rhinestoned. You could see her bra, which was also rhinestoned. She had on this sexy blue eyeshadow and she even played electric guitar on one of the songs. She sang her little heart out. Whoa. And her legs were so sexy and so shiny. Absolutely stunning, this lady. She-- it is my opinion-- was better than Carrie.

Ok, then an intermission. I gotta say, the demographic of the audience-- you'd think there would be more twelve year olds there (there were plenty), but there was a surprisingly large number of middle aged to near elderly peeps. The man sitting to the right of me for example. Probably about 55 years old. He had gone to the Dallas concert the night before, and this one tonight. He made it to the afterparty both nights. He was there to see Nadia he said. When me and Pam and Cristi left, he was writing on the back of a box that had a ceramic angel inside. It was a black girl angel, singing and playing the harp. He was going to give it to Nadia I can only presume.

In front of us were three women in their late fifties, early sixties. They had been chatting with the young man in front of them, and during the intermission he returned to his seat with two "foot long" margaritas (10$ apiece-- no thank you). He was barely 21 (if he was at all) and wore his pants baggy and his drawers hanging out of them and his hat cocked to the side. He gave one of the margaritas to one of the ladies. She didn't know what to do. "What'd you put in it?" she said. "Liquor!" he replied. "Drink it!." You could so tell that the ladies were like "isn't this how girls get raped at parties?" but they drank it anyway.... good for them.

Ok, show resumes. Anwar comes back on. He sings "Part-Time Lover" and tickles the keys of a synthesizer. Then Vonzell comes out in a dress so tight you could tell she ain't got no panties on. She did the diva thing for 3 songs, 2 of which were Whitney Houston songs.

At one point (can't remember when) Scott and Jessica sing a duet of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Quite good.
Anthony sings "Every Time You Go Away." And then 2 other songs. I was never an Anthony fan, but he looks much cuter in person. He's let his hair shag out a little and he's been working out.

Then the moment we all waited for: Sir Bo.

He hobbles out in a walking cast and leaning on a walking stick. He settles down to a keyboard and plays a nice version of "Desperado." He's wearing one of those brown hippie shirts opened to halfway down his chest, hair in a ponytail, a George Michael thing going on with the beard but he's working it, and Bono-ish sunglasses. Sweet.

Then, he gets up and breaks into "Vehicle." Someone brings him a guitar and we are then treated to renditions of "Voodoo Chile" and "Sweet Home Alabama." Bo is da bomb. We heart Bo. He's very humble and seems genuinely happy and surprised so many people are screaming his name. Of which, I am one.

Then Carrie. She's good and all, but honestly, I was a Bo and a Nadia fan. And seriously, they were the stars of the show tonight. Carrie sang "Sin Wagon," "Independence Day," "Alone," and that terrible song "I Wanna Be Inside Your Heaven" or whatever the fuck it's called. (Yeaaaaah, I'll bet you want to be in my heaven....)

Then Bo and Carrie sang a really sweet duet of that broken road song. THEN the whole gang returns for a near-cliched performance of "Lean on Me."

They ended the show with "R-O-C-K in the USA" wherewith a giant Stars and Stripes unfurled upon the wide middle screen where before were Contantine's disembodied heads. (Isn't that how that one episode of the Simpsons where Apu gives his octuplets to the zoo ends? When the babies perform?)*SEE NOTE

All and all-- it was a damn corny good time. Constantine is heavier in person than he looked on tv (all that baklava), and Vonzell got BACK, baby, but she is beautiful. Nadia is incredible and my new heroine. Bo is perfect in every way and we love him. And Nikko, Scotty, Anwar, and Anthony, well, I could just do without.

So there you go.

Word.

--Jill

*NOTE
I found the script for that one Simpsons episode online. I was so right; this is EXACTLY what it felt like when they were all onstage together:

http://www.snpp.com/episodes/BABF03

"Eight Misbehavin'"
Go down to where the babies are performing in the zoo....

PS-- If Nick ever finds out I like American Idol he'll permanently ban me from his shows, I fear.

Bo!

2005-08-12T22:35:00.000-05:00

Well, I was asked by a pair of friends to accompany them to the American Idol concert Sunday night in San Antonio. Am I going? Fuck, yeah! Will post full report.

Worked on another chicken tonight. This one is my chef d'oeuvre. I'm proud as punch of it.

Remembered some other books I am reading/have read

...Everything You Know by Zoe Heller (I prefered her other novel What Was She Thinking?)
...The Harlot By the Side of the Road by some guy whose name I can't remember
...Women and Their Beds (short story collection in progress, Gina something or another)
...Living Gloves by Lynn Doyle

I found Living Gloves at a Half Price books. Lynn Doyle was my very first professor in my very first class on my very first day of college. It was an English class, and she was the very first for-real-and-up-close poet I had ever met. Her book came out in the 80's and she won a fair amount of accolades. Anyway, looked her up on the internet, zapped her an email, corresponded and then sent her a copy of Heaven. I'm nervous. I want her to like it.

Ok, so a few of you who know me, prolly know this: I can curse like a sailor on leave. I'm working-- however-- on trying to snip Jesus, God, and all other references to the Almighty from my explotove vocabulary. If you hear me Jesus H-ing or God-dammit-ing, feel free to point it out to me. I'm not trying to be all pious and perfect, don't worry. I've simply become newly convicted that it's just not cool and when I do it, I feel icky about it.

The drunken-email-ex-lover fiasco: actually, all turned out ok. He emailed me a week later responding-- very nicely I might add-- and so all is well. It was that whole dead air of sending the email, and then a whole friggin' week going by without hearing from him.

Axel leaves for Zurich in a week and a half. Pray for us. We seriously do not know where we will be next year.

j

Summer Reading

2005-08-10T21:38:00.000-05:00

Below: a list of books I have read this summer or am in the process of reading (as of today)

1) The Da Vinci Code
2) that other Dan Brown book what's name I can't think of
3) Eats, Shoots and Leaves
4) a re-read of all of my Archie comics digests (about 100 of them)
5) Beasts by Joyce Carol Oates
6) Inner Christianity
7) some book about the cultural implications of Jewish humor
8) Bloodaxe Poems of the year 2003
9) Basic German
10) I'm Just Here for the Food by Alton Brown
11) The Bible (New Jerusalem translation)
12) The Anatomy of the Psyche by Edward Edinger
13) The Perricone Prescription
14) Simon Armitage's The Shout
15) Prolly some more that I can't think of

Survey

2005-08-08T08:16:00.000-05:00

Where-- exactly-- do you think the VERY WORST PLACE for a professor to run into an ex-student is?

Be specific. Neatness counts.

Ladies...

2005-08-02T17:19:00.000-05:00

A bit of advice:

Never, never, never, never, NEVER get drunk and decide to email or otherwise contact all or any of your old boyfriends.

There's just no way that can turn out well.

Sick girlie

2005-07-15T10:21:00.000-05:00

I feel like I swallowed about four Valium, but only body-wise, my head is fairly clear. I'm having a bit of a time even trying to walk around. I hope I didn't catch viral meningitis from Brad Pitt...

Sat down in coffee shop today

2005-07-12T16:05:00.000-05:00

and made a tangible, realistic list of what I'd actually like to accomplish between now and (possibly) moving to Switzerland. Editors to contact. Poems to submit/revise/write. How to finish the novel draft without killing self or pulling out all hair (which is only now growing back from last year's idiotic 'let's shave our head' idea). Figuring out where my manuscript needs to be sent to. Every place the book is out now is what I will call "top tier." The first person (if any of them) to say "Yo, babes, we want this"-- it's theirs. She just needs to find her proper home, this manuscript. A good friend just went to bat for me with an aquisitions editor for a prestigious university press he used to intern at (I love you, Neil!). So, we'll see. I want this, but that's a dangerous wanting.

So, I have several backup plans, when/if this whole being an artist shit doesn't pan out.

1) Open a scrapbook store, start wearing wooden necklaces with apples and geese. And jumpers. Denim jumpers.

2) Continue the Great American Chicken Project (to debut at the end of the summer-- keep checking the blog for information!)

3) Become a competitive eater. A gurgitator. See this. I actually think I would be pretty damn good at this. I can _totally_ pack it away. I used to be able to eat more, but then I slimmed down and my stomach shrank and I had my gall bladder out (without a gall bladder, too much fat = bad things coming out of one's nether orifice).

4)Or, as Robert Townsend says in Hollywood Shuffle...

"There's always work at the Post Office."

er..

2005-07-10T08:36:00.000-05:00

so apparently, I can't figure out how to make the blog NOT show every damn post I ever posted... until I do, sorry 'bout that...

Jeez...

2005-07-10T08:05:00.000-05:00

It's been like 2 months since I've properly updated this thing.

I should mention that I am up to Chicken 21, but I can't post those yet because I am doing something with them. Something secret and sassy.

As I am sending this blog to Reb Livingston, who will link it to her list of blogs, I prolly need to introduce myself, update myself, add more shit about poetry here, explain both the dominos and the chickens. In due tme, loves.

(The cats I think explain themselves)

Suffice it: My name is Jill, I live in Texas (for now), am a practicing Christian (I practice all the time, can't get it right) and I have never once voted for GW.

Oh yeah and I write some poems sometimes.

This blog began as an assignment for an Advanced Writing class I was teaching, ergo the links (imbedded) to all the student blogs.

Actually, it BEGAN began last November when Axel and I went to the UK to follow Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on tour as a way to keep my students updated on the travels (told my supervisor I was going to a conference of the spoken word, a poetry recital, really... they didn't care). But those posts are long deleted.

If someone could tell me how to link in a sidebar fashion, I'd be ever so grateful (tappa-tappa-tappa...). And, is there a better way to upload images than by Hello?

Really, I'm quite good at a lot of things. I write ok poems,I'm a good cook (mostly chickens), a pretty good teacher, a hilarious drunk (most people think they're clever when they are hammered, I actually KNOW I am delightful when I'm smashed). I'm good at checking email and playing Alchemy on Yahoo games. I am REALLY good at a few X-rated things, but those, I'll leave to the imagination. But I'm still in the mediatrix stages of learning this blog-shit.

The url of this blog comes from my favorite Joyce Carol Oates book, _Foxfire_.

The title of this blog is (supposedly) the last words of Walter de la Mare. Also, it's the title of a poem in a book of poems I am currently submitting about.

I have to admit, tho, that I really don't know all that many rock star poets and as often as I'll be reading APR or Verse Daily (check out the archives for May 16, 2005... I hear that bitch is SLAMMIN'!), I will spend an equal amount of time reading _People_, my stash of Archie comic books, or watching re-runs of The Golden Girls on Lifetime, Television for Women.

So there you go.
Nice to meet you, rest of Reb's links.
Chat you up soon.

Jill

2005-05-05T19:29:00.000-05:00

Here they all are... my collection

NEED IMMEDIATELY:

2005-05-04T19:06:00.000-05:00

As many bags of DARK CHOCOLATE M&M's as you can HORDE for me...

was told they were promo items for the new Star Wars movie, but I haven't seen them and can't find them anywhere (if they do exist at all)....

Help?

2005-05-03T19:16:00.000-05:00

Chicken 10

2005-05-03T16:14:00.000-05:00

Chicken no. 9

2005-05-03T16:13:00.000-05:00

8th chicken

2005-05-03T16:12:00.000-05:00

7th chicken

2005-04-27T21:06:00.000-05:00

Julian's new game...

2005-04-27T21:05:00.001-05:00

hmmmm....

2005-04-27T21:05:00.000-05:00

testing the waters....

2005-04-27T21:03:00.001-05:00

thinking about it...

2005-04-27T21:03:00.000-05:00

and here he's got the duck...

2005-04-06T21:57:00.000-05:00

close up of sixth chicken ever

2005-04-06T21:53:00.002-05:00

fifth chicken

2005-04-06T21:53:00.001-05:00

third chicken, kinda burnt but tasty

2005-04-06T21:53:00.000-05:00

fourth chicken ever

2005-04-06T21:51:00.000-05:00

seventh chicken

2005-04-06T13:58:00.000-05:00

I love my sweet Claude best of all...

2005-02-21T21:17:00.000-06:00

Second chicken ever.

2005-02-21T16:28:00.000-06:00

There are really no words to describe this. Friends, meet Baxter.

For the pious amoung us

2005-02-18T06:37:00.000-06:00

Here is a list of religious icons that weep and or bleed.

I'm deep into a poem right now, and am fearing/dreading/wanting to avoid/praying for a campus-wide power failure so I won't have to go to work today. This is the difficult part-- leaving the altar of the muse, letting the prayer of the work steep and stew. Sometimes, you can come back to it. Sometimes, even after only ten minutes away from it, the spark disappears, the ghost gives up. I have a solid draft of the poem, but the last couple of stanzas are giving me fits. Because nearly everything I've written in the past year has been in rhymed couplets, I'm willing myself to divert from the path. This one is in rhymed tercets. Oh bother.

Trying to figure out how to make links

2005-02-17T16:51:00.000-06:00

Try this.

Good Lord

2005-02-16T22:56:00.000-06:00

I found myself this afternoon, tired, wistfully listless, and totally engrossed in VH-1's matinee presentation of __2 Legit: The MC Hammer Story__.

Shame on me.

I am also in official love with one of the American Idol contestants.

A prize to the first one who guesses correctly (Cathy, you don't count 'cause you already know).

2005-02-15T19:09:00.000-06:00

This is my baby boy Julian. He scampers and he sleeps. Those are his skills.

2005-02-15T19:06:00.000-06:00

My first baked chicken-- isn't she pretty?

Two quotes from Muriel Rukeyser

2005-02-15T18:44:00.000-06:00

"If there were no poetry on any day in the world, poetry would be invented that day. For there would be an intolerable hunger."

"The universe is made up of stories, not atoms."

I just quit my job...

2005-02-13T19:28:00.000-06:00

Effective the second my contract runs out.

And I feel smug and happy and indignant and released.

Yay me.

Poems don't come when I call

2005-02-10T20:01:00.000-06:00

Not at all.

Today, at the coffee shop, a guy I know (from the coffee shop) came up to me and told me that I always managed to look effortlessly and un-self-conciously eccentric (RE-- my clothes) and he said that was a good thing.

Ash Wednesday left me in a funk of remorse and self-doubt. I came home from church and baked vanilla tea cakes and for a moment, I forgot that I was anything but a wife.

I burned the last batch, sadly.

I am working through a poem that isn't working.
What should I do to fix it?

Grammar Bitch

2005-02-05T00:18:00.000-06:00

I have a pet peeve I'd like to air.

I hate seeing stupid grammar mistakes on billboards, road signs, bulk mail-outs, television commercials, student essays, and T-shirts. And birthday cakes.

And those listed above are simply the ones I've noted in the past two weeks.

The most pernicious and infuriating of the errors, the elusive apostrophe.

Watching television the other night, I caught Fonzie and the Cunningham clan reuniting for the 30th anniversary of _Happy Days_. The program ended with Pat "Mr. Myagi" Morita wheeling out a multi-layered birthday cake with a little jukebox atop. The lettering on the cake read thusly:

Happy 30th Anniversary (or maybe 'Birthday')
Happy Day's

Oh yes it did.

I spent the first 20 minutes of my literature class this morning ranting that it was important to pay attention to the little things in one's writing, apostrophes and quotation marks and properly-inserted commas and ellipses and all manner of punctuation (or was I stalling on my "A&P" lecture?). Erasers were thrown. Ire was up.

A student, perhaps believing he might woo me in the direction of not caring so much about it, interrupted my soapboxing with a poorly-placed "Who cares?"

"Oh," says I. "You wanna spend the rest of your life looking like a friggin' ignorant asshole? Go right ahead."

I'm sending a letter to ABC this week. On a related note, the father of an ex-student of mine was a writer and producer for _Happy Days_.

G.B.

The Pterodactyl Took My Camera

2005-02-04T21:23:00.000-06:00

and he laughed as he did it, the wingy bastard.

That was last night's dream.

Der Axel is in College Station for a weekend race event, so tonight I decided to perform-- in useful honor of his abscence-- the semi-annual ritual of The Culling of The Books. Tomorrow, the plan is to arrive bright and somewhat ashine at least 15 minutes before Half Price Books opens so I can sell about 7 substantial boxes of books. In praparation for the coming international move, the books that I am allowed to keep have to meet at least one of the following criteria: 1) I must absolutely love them 2) I must somehow still need them, or 3) They've got to have some sentimental value. As it is, there still isn't enough shelf-space in our house.

I neglected to mention, but last week I went to UT to hear the poet Mattea Harvey read. I have both of her books, but I need to confess that I didn't really appreciate them beyond the initial "Well, they're good, but I'm not ga-ga..." However, her charm and composure and genuine-ness won me completley over. Also, I think the poems play better aloud than they do on the page. And her new poems (the unpublished ones) were fan-frickin-tastic. If you have to pick a book, I vote for her second collection, _Sad Little Breathng Machine._ And try to see her read aloud, in person. I was absolutley smitten. I considered going up and introducing myself, but I had been having a difficult enough day as it were, and I decided that I didn't need the possibility of having my ego and feelings hurt when or if she'd never heard of me, didn't know who the hell I was.

Prayer of the day: Jesus, help me be more me, and less who I think (fear, worry, consternate over) people want me to be.

Song of the day: "Abbatoir Blues" Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

Don't Shop at Randall's

2005-02-03T15:17:00.000-06:00

Really, don't. Especially avoid the Randall's at Berkman and 290.

I stopped there on the way home yesterday. I wanted a bag of hamburger buns, a head of lettuce, and some cheese (hamburger night).

In front of me in the 15 items or less (no coupons) line, an elderly man of indiscriminate age (somewhere between 70 and 90) and a single item-- a super-saver sided bag of cat litter.

The blond, vaccuous high school girl behind the cash register, Tiffany, as her name tag informed me, rang him through quickly and had taken his money, returned his change, and completed the sale before you could say "Ohmygawd, it's Justin Timberlake!"

But there was a problem. The man had been overcharged. A sign underneath the cat litter on the shelf said it cost a dollar less than she had charged him. He brought this to her attention wherewith she shrugged and said, "Um, we're done here, you have to take it up with the manager," and began running my scant items across the scanner.

Behind me, another cashier, equally young and vacuous, though not equally blond, was lecturing her own customer, who seemed only half inteested, on the semiotics of slang in latino culture. Translation, she was telling the soccer mom that you can always tell when you're talking to a Mexican on the phone because instead of simply saying "For Real?" in a moment of awe or surprise, a Mexican person will always double the exclamation, speaking in rapid succession, "forrealforreal?" She should know, she continued. She was a Mexican herself.

The old man asked Tiffany to call the manager over. She tssed and said that she didn't think anyone was available but picked up the service telephone anyway and called for a manager. The manager-- a young man, maybe 22 if even that-- came and the old man wanted to take him over to the shelf and show him the true price. He didn't want to go. The man started walking towards the pet section and the manager gave in and followed him.

As they walked away, Tiffany said "What a Jackass."

"He's not a jackass, I replied"

What I should have said was, "You ignorant cunt, don't you have any grandparents? Would you want some infantile bitch such as yourself talking about him like that? I hope you get herpes."

What I should have done was just leave. But, in truth, this wasn't my fight. Even so, I really hate disrespectful little dingleberries and I hope someone clocks her.

Not that old people can't be jackasses, of course. Only this sweet little cat loving geriatric wasn't.

Mothers, name not your girl children Tiffany. It is a terrible name.

Leaving the store I was accosted by a Brownie hawking her cookies.

I shot her the finger.

My Hairdresser, My Self...

2005-01-26T15:49:00.000-06:00

From the Files of the "It's A Small World" Department:

So, I've been seeing this one hairdresser for about a year now. His last name was my paternal grandmother's maiden name. I remember telling him that when we started seeing one another. Ha, ha, right? Maybe we're related.

This weekend Axe and I went to start cleaning out things from my mom's house, right? I came home with several boxes of photos, some of kinfolk from my grandmother's family. My grandmother was the youngest (I think?) of about umpteen children, and I didn't recognize many of the people in the photos, nor the names on the back. But I went to go get a haircut today, and I brought it up again with my hairdresser.

"Garvis?"
--"No."
"Douglas?"
--"No."
--"Shirley?"
--"Nope."
"Well, what about Al Dean, the country western singer who popularized the Cotton-Eyed Joe?" (my father's first cousin on his mother's side)
--"Dude. That's my grandfather"

My hair-dresser and I are first cousins, twice removed (or second cousins, once removed? Dunno....)

Still, I think that's interesting.

It is 5:27 am

2005-01-26T07:27:00.000-06:00

and shit, I just somehow deleted the post I was working on titled "It is 5:20 am." Seven minutes of my life gone for good, and lord help me if I can remember exactly what I wrote out. Something about the first anniversary of Mom's death, something about WTF the meaning of life could possibly be once you begin to realize that all bodies eventually die, and something about my great-great grandma's slop jar, which I am now the owner of.

My teaching seems to be modulated this semester, somewhat more organized, clearer, maybe a little more interesting? Of course, I refer only to my literature classes. I'm not convinced the Advanced Writers feel me yet, but that may also be because that's my fourth and last class of the day, having taught three other classes back to back.

Class, what would you like to chat about that you aren't getting in there, yet?
In my defense, our class is really large :)

I'm getting a haircut today. A trim, really. Sometime last year I got the bright idea that I needed to practically shave my head. Now, it's growing out into a quasi-white-woman afro meets Al Einstein on a bad hair day. This is actually better than it was before-- when i only had an inch or so to fiddle with, I began to resemble David Hasselhof when it was overgrown and gnarly.

Song of the day:
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds "Nobody's Baby Now"

Jilly