discursing

The Hobo Has Moved On

2008-04-12T13:06:00.002-04:00

In true hobo fashion, I've changed digs--virtual digs this time.

I have enough troubs updating one blog, let alone two. I'm having a bit more fun visual blogging from my phone, so I'm going to put this discursive hobo blog to rest, and concentrate on Urban Sucker, because I'm a sucker for New York City these days, and I want to enjoy that fact, and share it with you, anyone who has checked this old blog out.

So to see what's up with Candy Sue, visit Urban Sucker!

A few things I learned from Stefan Sagmeister

2008-02-19T21:27:00.003-05:00

One reason I love New York: Stefan Sagmeister lives here. I saw him speak at FIT tonight and left inspired and refreshed by life. Hope isn't dead.

And I guess I'm officially in love with this TED, because a lot of my favorite people are involved with it. Here is a talk Sagmeister gave there, and it actually includes some of the things I saw tonight.

I can't get the embed code to work, so I have to use a link. Sorry. Watch this video!

http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/50

Done!

2008-02-07T22:26:00.000-05:00

Grad apps are done. Now the waiting game. And the questioning. Should I spend this stupid amount of money? Do I even want to leave New York anymore?

If I am lucky, I will be hopping a plane to Peru with my friend Erin soon to get my mind off of this stuff. To start, I got a membership to Netflix and a little Hello Kitty TV with a DVD player built in. And then there are all the things in NYC I have yet to do.

And then, there is my new visual blog that doesn't bother with words, and therefore is easy to update almost daily (so far, it has been daily!): http://urban-sucker.blogspot.com

School, financial aid, paying for frustration rather than getting paid to be frustrated. Then there's the spending my days doing what I want to do, getting better at writing, learning to teach, and working on a book-length project that I hope will be not only published but help me move to the next step of community service and grants and meeting amazing people. Oh blah, blah. When the time comes, I'll see what my options are. Then I'll know what to do.

Essays and Radio

2008-01-20T20:34:00.000-05:00

Listening to the radio on a Sunday night, there are all kinds of fascinating shows. I just learned the difference between the sound of a piano accordion and a button accordion. I wish I could describe it, but it would make more sense if you listened yourself.

I have three more applications to do by Feb. 1, and then my graduate school applications are done. No more explaining why "this" school is the best one for "praxis" and "pedagogy." No more "intellectual" autobiographies. Not that it's been bad; it's been interesting, but it will be nice not to panic that I won't have enough time to finish that essay...

By the way, did I mention that I am living alone for the first time in 7 years? And how much I love it? And how much I love this particular corner of my "anteroom" in my studio apartment--right above my desk.

Back to essays.

Adorable Brooklyn

2008-01-20T20:16:00.001-05:00

Speaking of departures...farewell, Jerz!

2008-01-14T20:33:00.000-05:00

I have bid the fascinating Jerz adieu, and returned to my NY home, the beautiful borough of Brooklyn! (Much to my heart's delight.)

The graffiti in my neighborhood is awesome: someone painted "I Love You" on a building. The girls in the Latino grocery always smile and ask how I'm doing. And the crazy old men on the street call you "Baby" and like to laugh. Yes, I'm back on the dreaded G train, but ah, heck, nothing wrong with a little thing called "return." I started in NYC on the G, why not come back to it. Even though it sucks, it feels like home.

Jersey du Jour: "Dapartures"

2007-12-12T21:21:00.000-05:00

Jersey is definitely an interesting place to live. So I'll post a few things every now and again that sometimes make one go, "Only in Jersey!"

An interesting experience taking a cab recently late in the night. A young guy is in the back seat with me (a common practice of Jersey City drivers late night is to pick up more than one passenger and charge each of them. This tends to take unusually keen geographical skill, and I am luckily one of the last ones out, so I get to chat with the driver at the end.)...so, the young guy sitting in back with me asks if I "party" and sniffs. He gives me his number and asks me to call him if I ever need anything. "I got weed, too." This kid gets out and makes the driver promise to come back for him.

As we drive away, the driver asks, "He's trying to sell you drugs, yes? He's a drug dealer." Yes. Jersey du nuit...

The pic above is of the place I catch my bus at Port Authority. I love this typo.

Hot or Not? (for Nerds!)

2007-12-07T09:42:00.000-05:00

Rube Goldberg

What say you about this inventor of the convoluted machine that performs a simple task?
One example is his self-operating napkin. There's also a good example from the Animaniacs: Wakko devises a doozy so he can order a pizza over the phone.

Hot or Not?
And you bitches know I'm not asking about his looks!
(Geez, the name "Rube" alone gives me an answer! But I'm not a woman of average proclivities...)

A Good Port

2007-12-03T16:19:00.001-05:00

There was something like magic happening last night in downtown Manhattan. For the first time in I don't know how long, I felt completely in my skin and that my ship had sailed into the right port--had brought me to a new home after a spell of harsh seas and broken masts. A friendly port peopled by freaks as in love with quirky voices and weird instrumentation as I, people who huddled together to escape the rain and the cold, cozying up to a four-piece jazz band as if they were circling a campfire for warmth.

I had landed at my new favorite bar in Manhattan, The Ear Inn, the oldest working bar in NYC. It's part of the James Brown House (read the history). There resides the ghost of a sailor named Mickey, waiting for his ship to come in. In the 30s it was a speakeasy. And today they have homestyle food cheap, a reading series, and jazz that welcomes the likes of me (and the New Orleans diaspora) every Sunday night.

And there, I heard this AMAZING woman perform. Her name is R achelle Garniez. Holy crap. She plays accordion too. I've always wondered where the female voices that had tons of character were these days--female singers who could do justice to a Tom Waits song. Rachelle is it. I think I am esthetically in love with this lady. She does these vaudeville shows too.

Her next show is coming up at Joe's Pub on Dec. 22. You should come with me!! (I'm talking to you, Erin Melina!)

PS: Jeremy Irons was there, totally digging on the music, especially our friend on the clarinet.

Potter's Field -- Right Here in NYC

2007-12-01T12:18:00.000-05:00

Wow, I just learned that Washington Square Park and Bryant Park were both once potter's fields, burial grounds for those who couldn't afford proper burial, or the anonymous dead. (OK, I did learn this from Wikipedia, but that's usually relatively reliable, I think...)

So next time you NYU students drop acid and hang out in the park near campus, or you corporate types go ice skating next to the library, remember this: you're hanging out with dead people. Nameless dead people.

How Poltergeist. I wonder if bodies will ever erupt from the rink and break through the ice? Yeah, that will probably happen during the "rapture," when God's faithful servants get taken away in UFOs, leaving the rest of us sinners behind--we'll be Left Behind! Does that mean we will then rid ourselves of proselytizing and hateful hypocrisy? Which leads me to wonder: would that be God doing them or us the favor?

"Iron Man" Lives Again

2007-12-01T00:23:00.001-05:00

Evidence that I spend WAY too much time at my job and with people from work (though I have to admit, so many of them are grade-A high quality--I cannot escape the fact that I heart them):

I did karaoke last night with work folk and defended my heavy metal chops on the microphone. I even have proof. My big boss took this highly unflattering picture of me with his cell phone. I believe I was singing Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" at the time. (You know, "Iron Man" is actually a really shitty song for karaoke--it's mostly guitar solos, but it is totally easy to sing. Besides, it always causes me to think about the awesome cover The Cardigans do of it. Plusses and minuses...life's a series of 'em.)

Earlier in the night, I threw the gauntlet down with an eerily accurate rendition of "Rock You Like a Hurricane." ( I sang really "lou-T," like a balding German rocker.) Then my coworker punk rock Patty and I sang "Cum on Feel the Noize," in honor of Quiet Riot's late lead singer, Kevin Dubrow. (He was so young--only in his 50s. That's becoming younger and younger to me every day.)

I'll be 36 on December 9, a day of birth I share with some real gems: John Cassavettes, John Malkovich and Donnie Osmond, to name a few.

PS: another sign that I work too much--I just got home from work at midnight on a Friday. Awesome! But I can't lie: I've been leaving on time with great regularity lately. So hey, consider me blessed: I have a job and I like the people I work with and I am off on time more frequently than not. And they don't mind if I throw cursing tantrums where I nearly blow the joint up with my massive F-bombs.

Just Say No to Iowa

2007-11-26T18:03:00.000-05:00

So, I have to shave my ambition down just a bit. The Writers' Workshop at Iowa is dropping off my list. I'm finding after becoming more acquainted with other programs that Iowa isn't in my top 3 anymore. Also, they require a financial aid form like now and I don't even have last year's taxes done yet. And, they recommend GRE scores for funding. Another strike against me. Fuck standardized tests, yo.

I'd rather be drinking, like I was for this Halloween costume party at work: I was Sante Kimes, famed grifter who had a disgusting affair with her son. And killed people for real estate cash. A real charmer. Total freak. Quite a stretch for me, as I guess you would imagine. Louche and thirsty.

Later that night, I transformed into Loretta Lynn. I'll find a pic and post it eventually. Picture: the same wig, down, and a Pepto pink Miss Rodeo USA getup. It was fucking awesome.

Wow. An Internet Connection.

2007-11-24T14:45:00.000-05:00

Howdy to anyone who still reads my blog (or tries to)!

First: I'm thankful you keep trying. Second: an explanation of my recent absence. I mean, not that I've ever been prolific on this thing. But currently, I've had a bitch of a time finding a reliable internet connection that wasn't at work--and I do my best to get the hell out of work as quickly as I can these days. There it is. Nothing much I can do about that until I get my own place, I think.

Do you want to hear about the coolest things that have happened in my absence? Of course you do.

1. I saw PJ Harvey at the Beacon Theater touring for her latest (totally uncharacteristically melancholy) record White Chalk, which is totally awesome. (Dude, the guys from Dirty Three are guesting on this album.) She played the entire show solo, jumping between instruments. On one song, she even used a metronome for percussion. How HOT is that? She did her rock-out songs from other albums with just a guitar or just a guitar and drum machine. She looked so AWESOME wearing that crazy puffy-sleeved Victorian dress and playing guitar so fiercely. Damn, it was amazing. This album is so contemplative, so creepy, so GOOD. Buy it, buy it! (Do you know she is also a sculptor? I love her.)

2. I'm applying to MFA poetry programs and my former professor John Biguenet is writing me a recommendation--and his play Rising Water, about a couple during Katrina, has been nominated for a Pulitzer Prize! SO cool.

3. I've gone crazy over the Elvis Costello song "Blame It on Cain" from the My Aim Is True record from 1977. I will make you a mix CD if you ask me. I'm itching to do that for someone.

4. Also, I'm having a bit of an affair with the latest Interpol record, Our Love to Admire. There's a rumor that they've moved to Jersey City. I plan to stalk them and force them to talk to me about literature and James Bond movies. And drink Scotch. Another obsession right now. Or Tullamore Dew.

5. I've gained an appreciation of tattoos--heretofore unappreciated. I never thought so before, but yeah, they're kind of hot.

The Interloper

2007-10-14T17:54:00.000-04:00

While touring one of Natchez, Mississippi's most "fun" cemeteries, a fox ran into my frame as I was snapping away at these unusual flowers.

Secret Messages

2007-08-21T23:16:00.000-04:00

So I keep hearing Tom Waits' "Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis" at random points lately. (Just now, as I was about to shut the computer down, it came on as the new DJ came on for his shift on WWOZ, New Orleans' Own.) The version by Neko Case or the man himself. What kind of meaning can I squeeze out of that?

All Tardied Up Part 2: The Fabulous Jersey Shore

2007-08-21T20:48:00.000-04:00

Hear me out. I'm utterly earnest in this: The Jersey Shore is truly a fabulous place to spend the summer -- and spend it we did. Donna and I got in her little orange 1973 SuperBeetle and headed down to Sandy Hook, Point Pleasant (the cleaner, Jersey version of Coney Island--you can get your palm read on the boardwalk, watch movies on the beach, visit the aquarium, after an awesome day of swimming in turquoise waters--believe it! [Sorry, no pics: too busy having an ultra awesome time!]) and Island Beach State Park at the slightest provocation. I have to say, 2007 was an awesome year for the beach.

ON THE DRIVE
You can get umbrellas, tchotchkes of all sorts, etc., etc. on the road to Sandy Hook. Sadly, we didn't buy this Ladypirate and her pet Monkeyboy, who resembles Eddie Munster. A bargain at 20 bucks--now I'm kicking myself! So, what I'm trying to figure out is if he's handing her LOOT or BOOZE. Either way, he's handy!

THE CLAM HUT
Sandy Hook is the best, though, because we always would end the day by hunting out the Clam Hut, and our favorite raw bar-man, BK, who is not only a gifted conversationalist and host, but also has great taste in music. We never want the normal menu, so we can hang out with BK for the whole night and chat. (Sorry this post has taken forever to go up, BK!) He even played the record by the dude who sang "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," who is his pal and totally sounds like Lux Interior. I forgot the name of the band, though! It's something like Lounge-a...something. I'm a failure at remembering names. But I'm rich in aphorisms about failure...for example: "Success is just a shitload of failure warmed over." And "Success eventually follows all those grand fuck-ups." Yeah. Anyway, back to the beach adventure...

ON THE WAY HOME
You get ice cream. From the Napoli Brothers or from the illustrious DQ (the first job I ever had at the tender age of 14--so I have a soft spot for it). Mmmmmm, Dilly Bar! And those little punks better not fuck up my blizzard--I know the tricks. (And did you know the DQ made CAKES?! I had no idea till we stopped at this one near Sandy Hook.)

I HEART THE JERSEY SHORE!
And don't forget to stop at the superhuge rest stops named after American presidents. They have Nathan's Hot Dogs! And Starbucks, if you go in for that corporate kind of shit.

All Tardied Up: Mmmm...Mermaidy!

2007-08-03T17:15:00.000-04:00

I've done fun things this summer when I haven't been working, but I haven't put them on my blog. So, I shall do my best to try to make that up.
Numero Uno: The Mermaid Parade
My awesome friend Erin Melina told me when she learned I was moving to NYC that I needed to pay a visit to Coney Island in the summer months and behold the glory that is the Mermaid parade. She was oh so right. And this year I had the great fortune to be in the very same Erin Melina's company. She was a goddess of the sea. Here are a few snaps of the glorious day in June at one of my favorite spots in the whole wide world.

And here's an awesome guy dressed as a Sea Monkey!

And let's not forget THIS GUY! (I also love the face on the dude behind him.)

Sometimes New York really is one big magic show.

The Nation Mourns...and My Dreams Are Dashed!

2007-08-01T10:35:00.000-04:00

I just got the tragic news this week that the Weekly World News is about to close up shop. I'd always had fantasies as a college student of writing for them. Alien babies, Sasquatch in love, mutant children hiding out in caves...all from the "world's only reliable newspaper." My friend in college knew a guy who posed as a dwarf in love with a giant woman for the WWN. Not surprisingly, he was neither a dwarf nor did he know the woman in question. The WWN is/was so over the top it was one of the most entertaining rags ever. In truth, you could rely on its "news"--you always knew what you were getting: you always knew you'd see the worst Photoshopping ever; you always knew you'd read about literally in-credible stories of at least one supernatural event/creature; you always knew you'd have something to laugh about that you would repeat to your friends later. WWN created a "humor community" that had a stable of "reliable" parameters and touchstones, common language and values--if you could call them that. I don't think The Onion ("America's Finest News Source") would be what it is without the WWN. Would Stephen Colbert be as popular? Would The Daily Show?

I raise my glass to the finest in fake news as it breathes its last. Someone at work told me they saw one last copy in a Rite Aid--I'll have to run out and try to beat the masses that must be clamoring to get at it! Wish me luck!

What Is It?

2007-07-21T14:52:00.000-04:00

I found this taxidermied wonder on the streets of Jersey City, out for the trash.

Separated at Birth?

2007-06-14T18:49:00.000-04:00

Quentin Tarantino. Lady Elaine Fairchilde.

Listen to the sound clip on this page to get a taste of what Lady Elaine is cookin'!

"I Went to Alabama..."

2007-05-23T18:30:00.001-04:00

Doubt

2007-05-13T19:56:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite radio shows these days is "Speaking of Faith" on NPR. The other week the theme was Doubt. I love this subject on the subject of spirituality. Especially since we will never be able to empirically prove anything relating to faith. Though there is a scientific argument that says Einstein's Theory of Relativity supports the concept of reincarnation. I haven't read this entire story, but a friend at my meditation class was telling me about it after we had a long talk on a street corner about how we are supposed to distinguish reality from illusion in Buddhism, which led us to the thought that some aspects of Buddhism [for example, karma] only working if you have faith in reincarnation, which led us to how can you prove something like that, at which point Rickie gently pointed out that he'd read that the 3rd Theory of Relativity supports it. Interesting. I love Sundays.

Anyway, Doubt. It has a long history in faith. I mean, what good is untested faith? This is a subject I've been thinking a lot about lately. But the fact that this agnostic poet wrote an entire book about it -- across the board, covering Christianity, Islam, Buddhism (if you can truly call Buddhism faith, another subject that came up on the street corner. It's more like philosophy. Philosophy that takes your spiritual and psychological life into account. Holistic philosophy, if you will.).

Anyway, check out what Jennifer Michael Hecht has to say about the doubters throughout history and in a number of faiths. Truly interesting.

http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/doubt/index.shtml

All Is Lost at St. Agnes Academy

2007-05-04T19:57:00.000-04:00

A Post in Two Parts
1.
A friend at work said her boyfriend wanted to be worshipped in statuette form. Preferably golden. I said his religion should be called Patrolicism, since his name is Patrick. As payment for coining the term, I get bi-annual rites dedicated to me. These rites would be celebrated much like the equinox, twice a year. They'd be like St. Lucy's Feast celebrations. In the spring, look ahead to what your activities and fruitfulness bring. In the winter, celebrate clarity and light--on my birthday, four days before St. Lucy's Feast Day.

This celebration will be called Candulation.

2.
This picture makes me think of a disaster about to happen at an all-girls school. One girl (let's call her Mathilda) has a crush on her female teacher (named Claire) and is going to surprise Ms. Claire by bringing tea to the teacher's room wearing a candle wreath around her head. To her shock, Lady Claire is frolicking under the sheets with the gardener (Jorge)! Horrors! Mathilda convulses in teenage agony. The wreath tips from her head and ignites the velvet drapes, and all is lost at St. Agnes Academy! Save yourselves, girls! Save yourselves! But Mathilda stays where she is. Her heart has already been broken. What else is there to live for now? All of 15, she lets the flames lick her body: her first, last and only lover.

Silly Book Poll

2007-05-02T19:19:00.000-04:00

I'm always looking for things to put on my reading list. If any of y'all answer even one of these questions, I will be overjoyed. I'm going to answer some right now, and some later.

1. One book that you would recommend be read by everyone? Being There by Jerzy Kosinski
2. One book you have read more than once? The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
3. One book you would want on a desert island? The Quiet American by Graham Greene
4. One book that made you laugh?
5. One book that made you cry? Neon Vernacular by Yusef Komunyakaa
6. One book you could not finish? Woman in the Dunes
7. One book you loved as a child? Whistle for Willie
8. One book you are currently reading? The White Album by Joan Didion and The End by Fannie Howe
9. One book you have been meaning to read? Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

Best 99 Cent Store Ever!

2007-04-25T18:03:00.000-04:00

I love when awesome pranks are called Public Art.

http://www.genartpulse.com/archives/2007/04/90210h_hell_no.php#001804

Published!

2007-04-17T18:55:00.001-04:00

(The Old Beehive Living Quarters, Paulus Hook, Jersey City)

Look under poetry, here: www.burrowmag.com.

It's a new magazine out of sweet-ass Brooklyn. If you look back, those haiku had origins right here on this sweet-ass blog. And all right, I know, the plural form of haiku is haiku, not haikus. Forgive me.

Hallelujah. I've broken my publication fast. Stay tuned, more to come.

Reading: Richard Wright's Haiku. Delectable accidental find in the Mid-Manhattan stacks. Libraries = love.

Urban Homesick Blues

2007-04-13T12:45:00.000-04:00

Today I miss New Orleans. My friend Mead called me to tell me that on his way to work this morning he saw a transvestite getting hassled by a cop. The hassle part wasn't so nice to hear, but it's always comforting to know that drag queens will always be in the quarter, and so will silly vampire people and book fiends and record collectors and Tennessee Williams fanatics and street corner philosophers and musicians, and jasmine and rot on the air.

I'm a little homesick.

Words in the Condo Ghetto

2007-04-06T06:51:00.000-04:00

The photo above is what's going on on the waterfront of Jersey City. I call it the Condo Ghetto, or alternately the Condo Jungle. One of the things I love most about Jersey is its waterfront. I mean, really, the illicit, free view you get of the low tip of Manhattan is amazing and at times breathtaking. And part of it is getting clogged by blocks and blocks of these trash-can condos in the making. It's crazy to watch these things go up: all plywood and sheets of insulation that look like nothing more than cardboard--and these are going to go for nearly $1 million! So many conversations I've had about how and why. Who will move in? How many millionaires do we really have? And why, if you're a millionaire, would you want to live in a cheaply made condo? Some say it's corporations creating their own market, or housing for their employees, or it's for aging baby boomers who want to get closer to the action and not have a rambling house to care for. I'm sure a little more news and periodical reading would help me answer these questions. But my time is currently being spent reading books.

Currently on the agenda: Darkness Visible by William Styron, How to Solve Our Human Problems: The Four Noble Truths by Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, and Neon Vernacular by Yusef Komunyakaa. Believe me, this is a combo that packs a punch. Almost makes me feel like I'm in college again. I loved the synchronicity that would take place between classes randomly selected; at some point their messages and readings would naturally complement one another, counter each other's arguments, elucidate and answer questions that were raised by the others. So, how's that working here, in my own private university?

The William Styron book has been on my list for ages. A short volume, it was handed to me by my friend Matthew at a diner after us not seeing each other for more than a year. The subtitle: A Memoir of Madness. It's about Styron's (who recently passed away just a few months back) struggle with depression. It lays bare the social taboo of suicidal thoughts and self-doubt. He doubts his own talent when he's being given Prix Mondial Cino del Luca, a literary prize, in Paris. It's a Persephone journey through that darkness. I love that title, too, Darkness Visible. It's wonderful, considering the nature of depression, so fleeting yet consistent, so intangible, and our desire to ignore it. A brave book, surely. And an inspiration too, this book he wrote because he realized people were responding to an op-ed piece he wrote for the New York Times about the subject, feeling as if they were coming out of a "closet," as it were, of hiding their depression. It gave people courage. The idea turned into a Vanity Fair piece, then this book.

And how does that relate to my Buddhist study, How to Solve Our Human Problems? Well, these are principles for living. Buddhisms whole premise is to eliminate suffering. I wonder what Styron would've done had he found Buddhism and meditation? Possibly nothing, but I have to say I'm finding it to be a wonderful thing. It's good for self-esteem; it's good for compassion. But the main way I'm seeing these two relate, at least today, is the way in which they both help people, and were written for that express purpose. And this goes back to the way I'm beginning to feel about the goal of my writing. I think back to Dorothy Allison frequently: Speak, and make your world palpable to others (as Styron does; as Allison does). It's the transformative nature of literature. You can take difficult experiences and not only use it to help and transform yourself, but give others the courage to do so.

Which leads me to inspiration, something to aspire to. Yusef Komunyakaa. I have not been affected by poetry this much in years. Komunyakaa is brilliant. An African-American from Bogalusa, Louisiana, once a hotbed of Klan activity, he's also a Vietnam veteran. He translates what his eyes have seen and his heart has traversed, and has, I'm not afraid to admit, moved me to tears with his work. It speaks to the same place I'm trying to speak to with my work. One example of the power of his words, as he describes returning home in a way that hit the bulls-eye to my own feeling about returning to my small, rural Southern towns that I never felt I belonged to:
I am back here, interfaced
With a dead phosphorescence;
The whole town smells
Like the world's oldest anger.

That's something that sits on my tongue and dissolves slowly.

Dispatches from the Front

2007-02-16T08:28:00.000-05:00

(Lebanon Junction, Kentucky. Thanksgiving 2006. Near my birthplace, Fort Knox)

I've been thinking about how a cover letter to a literary magazine should be like an artists' statement. Maybe I should try stating what my goals are with the stuff I'm writing. All of my poems, more or less, I am seeing as emotional journalism--dispatches from my heart, me out here on the front lines, dodging bullets, lobbing grenades, all in matters of my heart and soul.

So that's my new goal: briefly stated when I send anything out. Perhaps it'll help with acceptance. I don't my letters so far have really helped any editors or readers get to know me. I've always preferred to let the work speak for itself. But hey, who doesn't need a little help whereever they can get it? Why not turn on the charm when it comes to presenting myself on the page? I am better on paper--I just need to find a way to smile on paper and shake a hand on paper. Yeah, I think it will help.

And I'll post some of my emotional reportage soon; the likes of which have been rejected by such magazines as Black Warrior Review and Crazyhorse. Still so many more to hit up. Why does the submission process take so damn long? I'll just keep my post, watching the field for enemy fire, and blast out a few more shots of my own to let them know I'm still alive.

The Hooha Monologues

2007-02-12T18:25:00.000-05:00

I heard on NPR that the great state of Florida actually changed the name of Eve Ensler's play to the above atrocity. It was offensive to someone who actually has a vagina--I'm not afraid to say it--and she couldn't stand even seeing the word. Wow. Sort of defeats the purpose of the whole thing, huh? Say it loud: You've got vag and you're proud! I do. Ask anyone.

We're All in the Same (Striving) Gang

2007-02-09T07:44:00.000-05:00

Pondering what makes a life meaningful, useful, profitable I come to the conclusion that a lot of us are searching for more and as we watch the market praise and benefit absolute crap over and over again, we wonder if we'll ever be able to make a living trying to life ourselves out of the crap.

I'm speaking of those of us who are wishing for an intelligent community that could publish something meaningful to all of us. Why don't we have the market power? Are we all too cheap to invest in the things we hold dear and keep carping about there being a lack of in American culture?

It would be nice to care more about community and culture and the quality of life -- internally than a paycheck. I for one am usually afraid of being poor again. I want a comfortable life, but not at the expense of missing out on life.

I want to write about people doing great things, specifically women, and I think I can find a place that will want to pay me to do that. But right now that isn't happening. I'm trying to narrow things down, find my avenues to something that can be profitable and rewarding. I want to honor craft and others and history and respect humanity at the same time. But you know what is tiring me most? People telling me it can't be done. I believe it can. And I feel like I can at least try on a small scale for some success at this.

I am not alone in this. A lot of people want this. And I think I've long known that satisfaction and happiness for me lie in the striving itself, not the profit you make from it. It is an emotional profit, the satisfaction of a useful life, that you are doing something meaningful -- at least to yourself. It think that's really all I want. And I can do that in many ways. I just want to make sure I don't starve in the process, or that others don't.

The idea that we're all in this together give me hope and strength. I'm one of those people who believes in the power of positive thought, the power of the heart, and the fact that if we think these things together they can change the world, because that's energy, and that's what every fiber of our being is made of. Energy. Thought energy. Heart energy.

And some blood, sweat and tears, as the phrase goes. I've come to the conclusion that you get dragged through no matter what you choose to do with yourself -- why not make it something meaningful? Life will always have hard moments. I risk being Pollyanna about things, but I have heard stories of people who keep believing through droughts of mind and heart, and come out of it with exactly what they envisioned. If we can display that patience, maybe it'll come.

Affairs that are public: Like keeping women healthy and alive and literate

2007-02-06T08:21:00.000-05:00

I just corresponded with my zupafantastic friend Dave (see I Just Wanna Be a Tugboat Captain) about ladies in the Peace Corps. He spent time in Haiti and the Dominican Republic and started a public health clinic down there. He's a great source of inspiration, and a pretty amazing friend. You should look at his blog and become as smitten with him as everyone who meets him in the flesh is.

I have so much brewing in my head right now--particularly about being a useful human being. My job is starting to provide an opportunity for me to do that, if I work it the right way. We have a great section of the company called Public Affairs, and they work on a few promotions a year, including one called End Violence Against Women, then there's one on Breast Cancer Awareness, Every Woman Counts (that's getting women to vote--this year it's going to be awesome!). So here I think I'll be able to write and do the good that I hope to do, and hopefully, it can lead to other things too.

In the meantime, I'm making my way across cyberia and finding organizations that shine a light inside and NEED PRESS and I think I should be one to provide it. This is one of the most amazing groups: Women Without Borders, they're all about ending violence against women too.

God, my insides feel like a Bob Dylan song: I feel reborn with purpose, and think I am figuring out that I have a tool that will get me closer to my goals.

Vietnamese

2007-02-02T19:13:00.000-05:00

One thing I LOOOOOOOVVVEEE about Jersey City is the food. Donna and I had this amazing beef we cooked at our table and wrapped in rice paper. This is the sauce I would love to bathe in.

I am boring. I am growing up.

2007-01-21T09:54:00.000-05:00

Photo: Grand Cayman, Xmas 2006, on a boat with Donna's dad. It was beautiful.

Wormholes abound in the blogosphere, and I fell into one in October, National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, when I started writing a blog for my job. Just facts and news and events and stuff. Weird part is, I was most inspired to do it because my aunt recently went through a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery, but I didn't even tell her about it. She had complications with the surgery and was really depressed, and I felt like it would be weirdly opportunistic to start talking about how I'm doing this blog and she was my inspiration when I haven't even spoken with her in ages. I didn't want to be self-promoting, self-congratulatory, if that makes any sense at all. I just wanted to tell her I loved her and that I was thinking of her. This is when you feel like you could do so much more in your life. Go the extra mile. Stop thinking about yourself and how you can improve your life, but how you can be useful somehow to humanity.

Maybe it's my age. Maybe it was reading all those stories of people fighting this awful, mysterious thing that nobody can get rid of. I've gone back and forth in my life between being numb and being as "sensitive as an eye" (a line from a Margaret Atwood poem that I first read as a freshman in college and has never left me). No surprise that dumb and numb are almost the same word. You feel dumb, stunned by the world, when you encounter awful things. And of course, I'm like most New Yorkers and in therapy and exploring my numbness and trying to learn how to surf the swells of heightened sensitivity and the blackouts of numbness like so many other creative, feeling people.

Excuse me if I feel a tad confessional today.

In the time that I have been on hiatus on this blog, I've turned 35. It's a milestone. It's a marker. One that is making me ask, yet again, but with more intensity: What are you doing with your life?

Well, for one thing: I'm learning how to deal with security.

For those who don't know: I didn't stay an entire year in one school until 6th grade. And I think from the time I was 5, I didn't see my parents much. I remember a lot of wood paneling and black and white tvs, transistor radios and books, books and more books. No friends, but books, yes. Small Louisiana towns, punctuated by short stints back in Iowa. Plantations and pigs. Humidity and stockyards. Loneliness and family. Kinda weird New Orleans became home; Louisiana was so lonely for me as a kid. It's like I got to start all over when I hit New Orleans, though. New Orleans is like the Vatican: It deserves its own borders. It's like no other place in the world.

You know, my background isn't that strange. It's not like I grew up on the streets or had a heroin addiction at the age of 10. But it was still pretty hard to grapple with. Sometimes I'm shocked I don't believe unicorns exist. Hmmm...or do I? I've met a few unicorns in my life. You know the Margaret Cho bit where she talks about meeting a good-looking, nice, straight, available guy and asks him "Are you a unicorn?" I've been lucky enough to meet some unicorns in my time. But they're different: they're magical humans whose existence gives me hope.

35 years old. Means it's time to grow into myself. I was such an old kid. And after I hit college, I kind of subconsciously decided to get that youth back. Actually, it happened after I graduated and my first major relationship disintegrated. I did a typical thing: fell in love with the bottle, and all the accompanying drugs and late nights. OK, bad-girl youth covered. Now, meaningful life. Time to pursue that. Time to do the "dream following." Maybe I need to buy a dream catcher. Ha.

Well, this is probably the most I've ever said about myself on this freaking blog. What's happening? When you turn 35 does the bullshit start to evaporate? Because I feel like I've surrounded myself with a lot of bullshit in the last few years of my life. Try 10. I think it's time to admit I get depressed about my past and live in it for periods that last far too long. Maybe that's the only way to get over it. You know how Christians talk about the times you turn your back on your faith to find it again. Then you know what's out there, you know what life is like without it. You lose your faith to find it again. I feel like I've lost myself several times, but some things are still here. I've returned to writing. I quit it for years. Now I'm writing again. I think that may be the only thing that can truly help me do that growing into a meaningful life I'm talking about. Because that's how I grew up: books, books, journals, diaries. That's me.

When I started writing again, it truly was as if I got back in touch with a really old friend I didn't even know I'd missed. Me. I missed myself. We used to be really good friends. Well, now we're reacquainted. It's not like it's not hard. Movies never show the boring times. Jack Kerouac was an idiot--shambling after people who never yawn or say boring things. No wonder he was an alcoholic. That's not life. I shambled after that too, but you know what, yawning isn't a bad thing. Quiet gives you time to figure things out, to evaluate, to know what's happening. You can't burn, burn into the night your whole freaking life.

I am boring. But sometimes I make some interesting discoveries. That's what I want to share. And even boredom has a rhythm. Breathing has a rhythm, and that NEVER ends until you do. So, the song of life beats on every day of your life. I want to make it my job to hear that song: Song of the yawns and the blood flowing, the breathing, and I hope that it will unveil something to me. In the noticing, I think it will. Start walking, follow feet. At the end of it, I'm bound to find a grown-up.

Been a Long-Ass Time Since I've Rocked and Rolled

2006-09-08T22:20:00.000-04:00

And I'm doing so now with my "Gay Unicorn" Avatar, courtesy of Yahoo!

Lord, I'm bursting with so much more to tell you, but for now, I want to get down at my virtual gay pride parade. Join me, won't you?

My Patriotism Is Surging

2006-06-06T15:04:00.000-04:00

God Bless The U.S. Gays
by Cansel, after Lee Greenwood

If tomorrow all the things were gone
I’d worked for all my life.
And I had to start again,
with just the memory of our strife

I’d thank my lucky stars
to be livin here today.
'Cause dykes and fags still stand for freedom,
and they can’t take that away.

And I’m proud to be a gay American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won't forget the queers who died
who gave that right to me.

And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend us all today.
'Cause there ain’t no doubt we love this land,
God bless the US gays.

From the lakes of Minnesota,
to the hills of Tennessee.
Across the plains of Texas,
From sea to shining sea.

From Detroit down to Houston,
and New York to L.A.
Well there's Pride in every American heart,
and its time we stand and say

That I'm proud to be a gay American,
where at least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget the queers who died,
who gave that right to me.

And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend us all today.
'Cause there ain’t no doubt we love this land,
God bless the US gays.

And I’m proud to be a gay American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won't forget the queers who died
who gave that right to me.

And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend us all today.
'Cause there ain’t no doubt we love this land,
God bless the US gays!

NOLA stars...

2006-05-20T14:30:00.000-04:00

...shine a little brighter in my heart. Even though it's been dragged through the mud, the city still has an uncanny ability to put salve on the wounds the rest of the world gives us. That's a sign of home. There's still beauty there, the spirit is still there, all the things I still love about it. The spirit of the people: humor even in the face of disaster. Listen, baby, you gotta know how to laugh and have a good time, appreciate the small things. A locket that was saved, a stranger smiling at you with kind eyes, that song on the radio.

Before I drove out, I heard "Only Love Can Mend a Broken Heart" by Aaron Neville on the radio, and I started crying like a baby. It kills me to leave you, but I'll be back, NOLA. You will never see the last of me, not till I rest in your serl.

Miss you, New Orleans

2006-05-12T23:03:00.000-04:00

"Wanna go back home, go back home, go back home...to my used-to-be." (From a song whose name I can't remember by the Neville Bros. on an amazing compilation called "Miss You, New Orleans" or is it "Love You, New Orleans"?)

Those words are a lot more poignant after seeing some of the remnants of Katrina that still remain on the streets of the greatest city in the United States. Oh my heart.

These people's pursuit of the American Dream ripped to shreds and thrown into the street, just lying there almost a YEAR after the disaster, as the next hurricane season looms over them, a possible repeat offender lurking in storm clouds. God DAMN this administration and the city and state governments (in an Old Testament, fire-and-brimstone sense) for what they've done to these people. Normal, average people who worked so hard to buy those houses, to turn them into homes, to put their lives into them. Now those homes are ghosted with those lives and you can only wonder what became of the dreamholders, the landholders who have become displaced people because nature turned its knuckles on them and their governments turned their eyes away. Where are they? Are they alive? What's left in their hearts? Do they burn stronger or have they burned out? Light to guide them. Please, light.

Then I came home to revise the haiku I'd written for Jolene and Bryan's wedding tomorrow. Here they are. Beauty and love do still thrive, regardless of the thrashing.

5 Haiku for Your Wedding

1.
Your hearts were gypsies,
looking for warm-lighted homes.
Your arms, open doors.

2.
Two: solid, treelike.
Your roots tangle to make shoes
that stain your bare feet.

3.
Hands clasped, you both leap
without fear into the light.
Blossoms pave your way.

4.
Lifelong seduction:
At home in each other's arms.
You have made a nest.

5.
Tequila, vodka.
Hot Brooklyn courtyard, summer:
Van Halen approves.

Femme on the Streets, Butch in the Sheets

2006-05-09T19:54:00.000-04:00

Today the subject is gender and sexuality. I'm obsessed with it. I keep reading about studies and books online. The whole concept of a gender role, a sexual role. It all adds up to mere stereotype when you think of trying to fit yourself into some narrow space defined by other people. Groups tend to do it: they're all clubs formed for the sake of inclusion, but there's always the inverse. Inclusion necessarily creates exclusion when you congregate. That doesn't mean I'm against congregation, by any means. It's a beautiful thing. I just know that the group I most identify with are displaced people and exiles. Point is, everyone's usually looking for some kind of home, a mirror to soothe their own conflicts. Among the most rugged individual, I think we'd be hard pressed not to find someone who's looking to make the "other" understand. Even the "Other" needs understanding. So I sympathize with the Other. The outcast, the misfit. That's my phat society. Those are my loves. The writers who explore it and had lived it.

So, beyond that, I was reading about transgender teens, which sparked all kinds of other thoughts and curiosities: intergenders (hermaphrodites) and us inverts (homos) and heteros who don't fit, bisexuals, crossdressers, fetishists...oh on an on. Then it starts to feel like we all have so much in common. I wish I could get to what I'm actually trying to say, but the more I talk about it the less I know what I aim to say, except that I feel like we're all -- I don't care who you are -- displaced people on the plane of sexuality. We're all true individuals and at some points feel a little weird if we let ourselves be absolutely honest about what we're feeling at those heightened moments of clarity. Life is surreal during those moments. So crystalline it almost doesn't make sense.

And how weird to bring such private things public as a way of defining oneself. Some can't avoid it being noticed, in the case of gender and hormones and appearances, but for the rest, we speak, so the private then becomes public. God, the line between politics and privacy, between turn-on and statement. When we really just all want to feel good. Why do some of us have to fight so hard for that simple, sweet desire?

I found good links that made me think of this stuff. Here they are:

Resources I bitched about not having after seeing Brokeback Mountain (ie, hope and encouragement)
http://glaad.org/eye/brokeback_mountain.php

She's Not There -- book about a writer going from male to female
http://www.randomhouse.com/features/shesnotthere/

There are more, but I'll elaborate later. I'm tired. And SO excited about my escape from New York and my first return home to New Orleans since before Katrina. More later.

I love to laugh!

2006-05-08T18:40:00.000-04:00

And this is what does it these days. Mostly bad dancing. I'm culling moves for the wedding I'm going to. Gonna blow 'em away!

Dorktastic!

Superhero Guy and Bad-dressing Hip Hop Guy with Fiddlers

Liza on Larry King

Finnish MTV

Gay Aliens

Lesbians with Small Dogs

2006-05-05T18:59:00.000-04:00

Are D and I destined to be like Una Lady Troubridge and Radclyffe Hall? I guess only if we get dauschaunds. So I suggest terriers.

Romaine Brooks was too hot for Natalie Barney

2006-04-24T18:32:00.000-04:00

Known for her excess,
Lady Barney was atop
Luscious Ladies Hill.

Ms. Brooks cavorted
like the rest, but above them
was she: a cherry.

Listen well, sweet ladies,
and I will share this truth:
It's talent that makes you hot--
Much more than loads of money.
It's not the dough, but sentiment,
that fills the pot with honey.

Lush

2006-04-20T11:43:00.000-04:00

Vietnam was green.
Lushness like he'd never seen.
He came home empty.

My soldier uncle,
dying deaths before he died.
19-years-old, gone.

Saved by death, some say.
Delivered from hell on earth:
His war legacy.

Who says war is art?
If art is made by a gun,
OK -- high art, then.

Curse this ugly art,
glorifying loss and gore.
You keep your glory.

I'd rather have my uncle,
living when he was alive.

haiku for donna

2006-04-07T13:11:00.001-04:00

When unveiling you
my hand has a thousand eyes;
they blink, you open.

Forte

2006-04-05T09:36:00.000-04:00

Damn you, Kate, for turning me on to the haiku! What a pusher you are. Now I am utterly, unassailably addicted. Thank you! I think I needed this form without knowing it.

On a different note, I was reading some news this morning and realizing how uninformed I am about Middle Eastern culture and customs. Though I'm probably more informed than a lot of Americans. I appreciate Rumi and Sufi-istic Persian poetry, know that Persian isn't Arab (but am not undeniably sure what the distinctions are--read it once and can't recall the details). But one study of the culture that floored me, which I thought about this morning, was a fascinating book I read called Woman at Point Zero by Nawal El Saadawi. It's a story of a woman who'd grown up in poverty, without parents, left an abusive marriage and raised herself up by becoming a prostitute--a wealthy one. The story is framed by the author setting up an interview with Firdaus as she waits to be executed for stabbing her pimp to death. It's an amazing story: Firdaus is amazing and strong and expresses no remorse for killing this man who took her business away by suddenly claiming her as his own. After she'd become so successful on her own, despite the sacrifices, at least she was free. When that was taken from her, she felt she would do anything it took to defend it and get it back. The system got her, but her spirit remained prideful and unremorseful. She saw it to be a corrupt system that would destroy her if she let it, but she wouldn't let it. That was worth her life.

In this time of unrest and uncertainty, it is amazing to see how resilient some people remain in times of strife, especially when strife is your life. Other subjects and figures I'm thinking of this morning that are of great inspiration:
Phoolan Devi The Bandit Queen. There was a movie of that name made about her life. She was assassinated a few years ago.
Hotel Rwanda See it if you haven't. It's one of the strongest films I've ever seen.
Dorothy Allison's essays Skin

Thank you, those who have strong spirits. Forte.

Lights and Webs

2006-04-03T22:36:00.000-04:00

1.
Turn off all the lights
to see what turns on inside:
Fireflies blinking codes.

2.
Your hands make a web
that now catches my body:
a delicate net.

"La via del tren es peligrosa. No salga afuera."

2006-03-28T19:45:00.000-05:00

1.
Spring is a street name
where concrete flowers blossom
and birdsong is steel.

2.
Spring bundles the night
in bridges' iron cables:
City held hostage.

3.
Lyrical staircase,
destination breeds romance:
rude train whistle blares.

4.
Rails shoot into caves;
manmade darknesses swallow
long snakes of boxed light.

5.
Thighs: a field aflame.
Heart: corn, ready to be husked.
Hands: mend the ruins.

6.
Not a haiku

Dust. Rocks. My heart lies here,
passing, waiting for the rain of your voice.

7.
Also not a haiku

March heralds snatch spring back
to their breasts, dangle one more
death, before bruising me with
an assault of sprout and green.

8.
A warning I like the sound of

La via del tren es peligrosa. No salga afuera.
Train tracks are dangerous. Do not get out.

Kate-Inspired Haiku

2006-03-27T00:56:00.000-05:00

1.
Tonight, the city's
blunt teeth scrape loudly upon
the roof of my heart.

2.
Night, your clouds promise
what your mouth can't deliver
until morning comes.

3.
If I were an ox,
spring would not hold this sweetness
I taste on your neck.

4.
If I were to burst
into blossom at your feet,
would you deny me?

5.
Landscapes burn away;
hearts beat on just the same.
It's love that suffers.

6.
The mind staggers on
after the heart's surrender.
White flags fly; grass grows.

Green for Spring

2006-03-24T18:49:00.000-05:00

My love D and my friends Kate and Laura--just by virtue of who these ladies are--are inspiring me to sally forth into a more poetic blog. I live in my head half the time as it is; this should be a reflection.

I'm excited to walk down a path strewn with more theory, more graphic art talk, more discussion of traditional poetic form. Normal life doesn't have places for these thoughts or discussions. Instead (if you work in American pop corporate culture as I do), we talk about celebrities and TV. This is my Heart's Inbox.

Growth. It hurts. My life is following symbolic patterns: after death, rebirth; after winter, spring. After a season of loss, life. I'm stumbling through, babbling. Cursing discourse. Praising prose. Bite the thorn, kiss the rose. Or kiss the thorn, bite the rose.

For now, I roll down a grassy knoll, and think about being barefoot next to a picnic table, being three and towheaded and wearing overalls. I have cake on my mouth. And my dimpled hands are reaching forward as I fall into a pillow of green, exhausting myself with laughter, chubby cheeks aching as the giggle commandeers my face. My tummy flies as I tumble, devouring the scent of heaven.

Oh. Ah.

"Living in Twilight"

2006-03-02T18:08:00.000-05:00

I believe I'm getting to that age where tragedy, sickness, and mortality become more common in one's life, when you start to get a familiarity (if never an actual comfort) with sad events, like you do with an article of clothing--one that is not your favorite, but keeps hanging around.

The point is, yes, death is part of the cycle of life, and I firmly believe that the dead are just beginning a journey that we living only get glimpses of in our lives. And I don't actually believe that the events following death are that bad for those passing over. But they sure are hell on those of us left.

In the course of two weeks, Donna's boss and friend (only 40 years old) was hit and killed by a car; I got news that my aunt has breast cancer; and I just learned today that my Vietnam vet uncle had a heart attack and is now technically brain dead. It made me think of that ELO song "Telephone Line." I was listening to it last week and was struck by the depth of the lyrics (it could just be about waiting on hold, in the dead air of the purgatory of telephone land. Or another kind of purgatory. In any case, nice metaphor, especially for a silly pop song): "Give me some time, I'm living in twilight."

My uncle is neither living nor dead, but living in twilight. Probably the weirdest possible place to be, his journey delayed. It must be like in the song, waiting on the phone, waiting for someone to speak or answer, for something to happen. It must feel like dangling on the end of a string over an unknown abyss. Weird. All day I was thinking about this song, sick home from work. Then I get a phone call from my mom telling me that my uncle's tests register no brain activity.

If you want to know how I feel, listen to ELO for me.

Brokeback Mountain: Where Is the Love?

2006-02-05T19:47:00.000-05:00

We were anxiously awaiting our visit to the movie theater to see the the reportedly great gay love story
Brokeback Mountain. My first response was: Good, a gay relationship is acknowledged in the mainstream media as an actual romantic love story; then the thought: Thank God things are different now. But the next day, after some talking about it, I woke up thinking: But really, are things all that different? Matthew Sheppard's brutal murder happened remarkably recently. And then, where was the relationship for Ennis and Jack? Is an outing every few months a few times a year a "relationship"? That doesn't take away from the obvious torturous love, but in this day and age, haven't we heard this sad story enough? Or is this the first time the injustice of American society's homophobia is being looking at with a sympathetic arm wrapped around the homo couple?

Or is it? Why is Heath Ledger getting all the praise for portraying a character who is so afraid of his desire that he refuses to live life as a whole human being and dampens down any desire he has, and Jake Gyllenhaal being totally snubbed for playing a character willing to risk something for his love? Jake's character is the real queer, Heath's will never admit it. Is that why he is more sympathetic to the largely straight audience that is lauding the film?

I liked the movie. I see it as another Romeo and Juliet, in a way. Lovers kept apart for ridiculous reasons, simply because the people around them won't accept it. Also, it's like a Holocaust movie: let us pay homage to those who suffered in the past and vindicate them, legitimize their humanity. But what I don't buy is the liine about it being a great love story. It is a chronicle of pain and hatred and fear. It dangles love right behind the threat of murder. If you love like this, it seems to reinforce, be prepared to die for that love, that unnatural love. It is kind of a sucker punch when you go in expecting a love story where the main characters at least get to have some love.

Now here are the two things that stayed with me like sand kicked in my mouth ,and gritted against my teeth unpleasantly when I got up the next day.

1. In this day and age, don't we need some truthful images that are empowering, encouraging and loving? Does this movie also send a message to our attackers? That it is their duty to uphold their violent homophobia? Oprah Winfrey was talking to Dave Chapelle on her show last week about having some KKK guys on her show to "expose" them, and then she said she realized that what she was actually doing was spreading their message. She chose after that to present a world that she wanted to see. I think I want to see more of THAT kind of work and attitude in the future. It's also truthful to show success stories, and show those who fight against this hatred and win. What if Ennis had conquered his fear and let himself "ranch up" with Jack? What if they didn't have to die, emotionally or physically? And that's NOT a fantasy world. No, it's not. It's what a lot of people have done, and thank god for them, because they've helped a lot of us come out and live openly and pursue love. Embrace the love that takes hold of us instead of being tortured by it, wanting to quit the person who planted it in us.

2. On the movie's site, the only interactive section they have is a "share your stories" database. One guy told his "Brokeback" story: but he and his beau ran off together to Hawaii. They pursued Jack's dream, and here they are, alive and well. I feel like it's socially irresponsible to address such heavy-duty themes and not point the way to help, especially when hate crimes are alive and well all over this country. There's no light: you feel so alone and in danger after seeing this film. You feel like you're a target if you're gay. But so much progress has been made since then--couldn't they at least link to some coming-out hotlines, safehouses, or organizations to help with this kind of desperation? At LEAST pay some lip service. The world is changing. And we can help it keep changing. To be safer, more inclusive--at least offer more of a safety net and be out and proud and never be ashamed of who we love and let others love who they want to. It's a much brighter world if we condone all forms of love and do what we can to eradicate hatred.

Here are a couple of interesting links I found on a quick Google search:
I think I might be a lesbian:
http://www.youth.org/yao/docs/i-think-article-lesbian.html

I think I might be gay
http://www.youth.org/yao/docs/i-think-article-gay.html

Empowered = SEXY

We miss the Boye

2005-10-07T13:31:00.000-04:00

We miss the farm

2005-10-07T13:21:00.000-04:00

Stream at Livingston Orchards
Originally uploaded by cansel.

Donna is getting used to city living again. Of course, there are things she didn't miss, or had forgotten about. The daily unpleasantries. But we do have wonderful luck in our new place: a yard, roof access, and we're across the street from a lovely community garden and a green embankment that was just saved from development by COMMUNITY ACTION! That is the most exciting thing about moving to Jersey for me: people are actually actively involved in their community, and the arts community is very communicative and open.

But yes, it's true, today I miss this, my favorite view of the farm. It's hard to beat 100 acres. Nothing in any urban area, so full of noise and psychic pollution, can beat it. Thank you, Josh Harris.

Me and Donna on the roof

2005-10-07T12:34:00.000-04:00

thejerz
Originally uploaded by cansel.

We just moved to Jersey City, and I think our faces tell how happy we are. I'm about to make a home with my girlfriend. I'd love to be more poetic now, but I'm content just to be happy and smiling.

Update

2005-10-07T11:37:00.000-04:00

Well, people are settling into where they're settling for now. What I'm hearing from most people now is that when they get back to things, the easiest aid will be in the form of gift cards from national chains for daily items like dishes, clothes, food, toiletries.

More when there's more to report.

Hope for Rebuilding

2005-09-09T17:28:00.000-04:00

The Wall St. Journal says if other devastated cities' histories are any indication, NOLA will be all right.

Check out the article here.

New Orleans Aid: Grassroots

2005-09-08T12:27:00.000-04:00

I'm going to begin to use this blog as a diving board into pools where there is need. I know a lot of us are wondering if we can trust where our money and aid are going, so I think for me the best thing to do is to post here how you can help real individuals. Of course here I'm only thinking of my friends and family/families of friends--in other words my extended circle. So any concrete way I know that I can help or you can help, I will post here.

So far, my friend Tanner has his two dogs with him in a motel in Houston and he's running out of cash. Tanner volunteered with the Red Cross for a few weeks after September 11 here in New York. I think he's got some karma coming. I don't know what else he needs just yet, but I've donated some money to his PayPal account, which is an extremely easy process: You just enter the recipient's email if you already have a PayPal account. If you want to help Tanner and his dogs, here's his info:

Go to: www.paypal.com
Make a payment to: tannerno@aol.com

My friend Nina is looking for a job in San Diego. Do you have any info or any leads? She can do just about anything: service: coffee/restaurant/bar, administrative, archiving--you name it! Resourceful and bubbly and looking for employment in her new place of residence. She and her boyfriend Evan just discovered that they've lost everything; their home was flooded. So anything you can think of for setting up life/house. Post here and I'll forward to her.

My friend Melissa is in Florida with her family. Baby James, husband Patrick, mom, dad, sister and her family. They've rented a condo for a month until things get figured out. I'm not fully updated on everything going on, but as soon as I figure out what they need, I'll post. If you have any ideas, please post.

So far, that's it, but if you have any info you'd like disseminated, let me know and I'll post. Also if you know of any volunteer opportunities for rebuilding our great city, let me/us know.

Yours in eternal love for New Orleans,
Candy Sue

One year and I'm dripping in cloying honey, and I like it

2005-05-26T15:20:00.000-04:00

You know what's weird about this romantic relationship of mine? Today celebrates a year (which I haven't had the experience of celebrating in more than seven) and I'm pretty free of anxiety. Me, who is anxious about whether I can pay my bills, whether my fish will still be alive when I get home from work, whether I will die penniless and alone having never accomplished any of my goals. I'm not anxious about D.Rae or how she feels about me. I just hate that I don't see her every day. I don't know if I've ever been in a situation that improves the more I see someone. I'm a big fan of space. And today I feel pretty comfortable slipping into the soft, snug-fitting clothes of someone who doesn't mind being disgustingly in love, who doesn't mind public displays of affection, or sticky-sweet declarations of everlasting carnal admiration and reciprocation. It's obnoxious, sure. But today I don't care. With her I don't care.

It's a nice thing to look in the mirror and like who you see a little more every day, feel a little more comfortable anywhere you walk. I think that's what makes a really satisfying relationship. When you really like who you are in it. And when you can start to think for once (if you're like me) that someone else's happiness can make you happy.

Golden Skeletons

2005-05-04T18:49:00.000-04:00

OK. We already know that corporations are ethically bankrupt, for the most part, and that it's the perfect structure to adopt if one never wants to be held accountable for "indiscretions." Here I'm thinking, Standard of living, health and welfare, compensation for work--all of which are heinous things to take advantage of and play with in a human being's life--but Holy Pope on the Cross, here we go with the life itself. I mean, the content isn't as surprising as the fact that no one feels the need to keep these sentiments in the closet. Parade those golden skeletons, boys. I guess closets are only for homos.

This horrific parody of ethical standards is really from Dow's website. Read it and weep.

http://www.dowethics.com/risk/

ADDENDUM: OK, this isn't really from Dow's website, I discovered. It's just a fucking awesome watchdog group that ripped off all their logos to make it look legit. I'm happy to be duped.

Horror can be funny

2005-04-15T13:57:00.000-04:00

If you read Mr. Fish. Holy shit. These cartoons pull no punches--or lynchings, for that matter--tell the brutal truth by kicking your teeth in as they make you laugh literally until you cry. Wow.

http://harpers.org/Cartoon.html

Rock and Roll Music, Volume Me

2005-04-01T17:12:00.000-05:00

This is the true story of how I became a fan of the Beatles:

I was in junior high, 7th grade, trying my hardest to be cool and fit in. Well, I was living in rural Louisiana at the time, in a place that wasn't even a town. I thought of it as a speck of cartographic dust located down the (Mississippi) River Road from a suburb of a suburb of New Orleans, an "accidental township." It was called NORCO, an acronym which stood for New Orleans Refinery Company. You may have heard of it. The Shell plant that sustained the town exploded and made national news in the late '80s, which began a litigious boom and gave many of the un- and underemployed of the township a purpose in life again. And a little acting experience. Playing the whiplash victim requires a costume and an acute awareness of how one acts when in actual pain.

Call my prepubescent years a cultural experience.

Needless to say, most of the people there were affected by the chemicals that bathed the atmosphere day and night. On some evenings, a horrible rotten-egg smell would go prowling and infect the entire populace. Those same streets were warmed by the midnight sun of the refinery flame, which had an eerily appealing glow. I would pretend it was Tuscany at sunset or the cabaret lights of Paris.

So, while trying not to stand out as much as I knew I already did, I was psyched to inherit some metal and hard rock tapes from my uncles in Sioux City, Iowa. Hell, yeah! Now I could add to my burgeoning repertoire of hot Dokken licks and creepy Iron Maiden lyrics. I was particularly excited about the obscure On Through the Night Def Leppard tape. "Man, how cool will I be? This record came before 'Photograph,' dude!" I thought. Imagine my chagrin when the tape in the case was actually the Beatles' Rock and Roll Music Vol. 1. "This is old-fashioned faggy music. This sucks." But my curiosity nagged at me to listen.

It was so catchy, so delicious, I wanted to jump out of my skin with joy and relief. I felt like I'd just raided the Halloween trash and devoured all of the grape Pixie Stix that the other kids had thrown away in disgust. I had a sugar high. I was jonesing for more. And I was so ashamed and embarrassed.

I kept my Beatles love in the closet, listened only with headphones, while I blasted more appropriate tunes like Motley Crue, Billy Squier, and Led Zeppelin. That is not to say that I turn my back on my actual love for this other music. Rat and Poison (my first official concert) and the others gave me a language in which to speak to the other kids in the trailer park and on the bus. And there is a satisfaction I will get from listening to it to this day.

But it can't compare to the secret, deep, private affair I began with those catchy Beatles melodies. An affair that I'm proud to say has become a live-in situation, an engagement, a commitment, if not its own sort of marriage. I thought it was sticky-sweet dreck that I had to hide at the time--like my femininity, like my sensitivity, my attraction to other girls, my drawings and my poetry. It was like admitting I was in love, that I even had the capacity for love. Sure to elicit sarcastic "Awwww, isn't that sweet!" taunts (and then possible violence), I hid it--all of it--until I could let it loose openly, freely, without judgement, without hatred and taunts. And scream like all those girls in the '60s did. Scream with abandon that I was saved by this music, that I was set free to feel pleasure and joy. That I could feel at all.

Now that's rock and roll, mother fuckers.

New Look, New Content

2005-03-31T13:02:00.000-05:00

It has been ages since I've paid any attention to this blog. My attentiveness reveals a lot about my personality. Maybe I'll use this as my "I need to write something every day, or at least a few times a week" outlet. My practice. And maybe tell people I'm writing in it again. I've mostly used it for links, which I love putting out there.

I'm reading Jeanette Winterson's Written on the Body, at the suggestion of my friend Kate Simpkins (http://www.katesimpkins.com). I love the way Winterson makes her main character, the lover, of indeterminate gender. And always is this character having an affair with a married woman. The same was true in The Passion, which is another book of hers I adore. Set in a surreal Venice. Characters who deal in human hearts as if they were black market firearms. It's lovely. My favorite part is where the lover steals into her old flame's house to steal her heart back, stuffed into a box and shoved in with all of the other bric-a-brac.

Speaking of hearts, mine has been under pleasant siege. My lovely D.Rae surprises me with each passing day and night. It has almost been a year. Her eyes house the sun. Her heart has a door for mine.

Word Invocation

2004-11-30T19:33:00.000-05:00

I am a wordphile who suffers from logorrhea, logomania, and verbal constipation. How can that be? Easy: I love words too much and sometimes am so overwhelmed by my passion for them that I swoon and hit the edge of the coffeetable, am struck linguistically impotent, become a raving idiot.

The innumerable word relationships possible; the infinite combinations of letters; coming face to face with lexicons that creak under the strain of generations of etymylogical maps and guideposts, previously charted territory just waiting to be revisited and explored: It's a little overwhelming. (And that is the opposite of hyperbole--is the word for that simply understatement? It seems there must be a grander word than that for it!)

My vocabulary is abysmal. There are so many nuances of precision that I miss as I lumber inelegantly toward understanding. I urge myself to be more promiscuous with my language and my search for word wisdom, handle language like the well-worn currency of several nations: I'd like a larger safe, I'd like a larger account, I'd like to move up to a vault-load of currencies I can be facile with.

That is my hope, and the above is my condition, so this is my invocation to Athena and Aphrodite together: Do not let my love control me, but help me to glide with it, accept its warm caress, and allow it to (Greek goddesses willing) lead me toward wisdom and ardent engagement in an intercourse whose fruit displays both mind and heart.

(So did I just betray a lesbian love fantasy here or what?)

Sundance Slave & Dancing Outlaw

2004-11-30T18:39:00.000-05:00

My friend Erin is working Sundance for the second year in a row. She's keeping a photo-driven, well-written blog of it this year. A gifted raconteur who shares my love of Tom Waits, this Greek lady made a documentary about Graceland Too, the largest collection of Elvis memorabilia anywhere. The guy who runs it reminds me of Jesco White, the Dancing Outlaw. (Oooooh, if you haven't heard of him, have a look-see here, and then do a Google search for more.)

Meet Erin, the Original Broad:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/original_broad/

Subway Graffiti

2004-11-29T19:06:00.000-05:00

This is why I got a cell phone with a camera in it.

http://www.geocities.com/sloecat/graffiti/graffiti.html

Robert Fisk and the Moron Terror

2004-09-18T13:46:00.000-04:00

I can't believe I haven't talked about Robert Fisk here before. He's the Middle Eastern correspondent for The Independent, which I started counting on for actual news soon after Bush was "elected." That was about the time I realized that some sort of unspoken gag order was holding the tongues and pens of our illustrious newsgathering services. I was disappointed that when I read the New York Times I started to feel like I'd get more honest stuff from the Weekly World News. Bat Boy in any context is more credible than W. (henceforth to be known as the "Moron Terror") as leader of the free world. Now that's sad.

But, more about Robert Fisk. He wrote a fascinating book called Pity the Nation about the state of Lebanon since the Palestinian refugees had begun to flood in. It tells another side to the Palestine-Israel conflict that not a lot of people want to hear, and it's heartbreaking. In short, he's a rare journalist who isn't afraid to present what he sees and says some controversial things, but is a breath of fresh air. He lived in Beirut for years, now he's in Iraq. I think he's still in Baghdad. He's saying things about this war that many Americans and Britons have been thinking. From the very beginning.

He's my Graham Greene, Quiet American period.

Here's a collection of his articles:

http://www.robert-fisk.com/

Francis Bellamy

2004-07-16T17:15:00.000-04:00

The Pledge of Allegiance of the United States of America was written by a fucking socialist! Francis Bellamy was the first cousin to Edward Bellamy, famous author of the utopian socialist narrative Looking Backward that I had to read (and enjoyed reading) in my history of social thought (or something along those lines) class in college. This is an interesting history, and pretty fascinating to read about considering the assault on our sense of self as Americans this administration is inflicting on us with its distortions and perversions of our laws and documents it is attempting to put through.

Oh, none of this whining needs reiteration. I just can't keep my mouth shut over the cauldron roiling in my gut over these people (because it's not just the president; he's probably the least of our concerns) who are trying to irrevocably take us back to the middle ages in social issues. But, take heart, self and all who feel the same, and read the original feelings behind the pledge. Because despite all my bitching and criticism (because this joint has never, ever been perfect or lived up to the promises it has romanced us into believing on paper--but that's what is so great: sometimes the love affair turns into a really great marriage), I love this country; it's the defiling of what I love about it that makes me feel like a bayonet is scratching at my back, right behind my heart.

http://history.vineyard.net/pledge.htm

Florrie Fisher and Mad Crunk

2004-06-10T17:47:00.000-04:00

She's the inspiration for Amy Sedaris' character on Strangers with Candy, one of the best TV shows ever! This site is frickin' hilarious. You can hear the speeches the former "street whore" who smoked "sticks of marijuana" had given to high school students about staying away from drugs in the '70s. The best part is she's real! There was a documentary about her called The Trip Back. Transcript and MP3s(!) here:

http://home.earthlink.net/~thetripback/

I haven't been online in a while, that's why I haven't been putting any posts up. I had the week off for Memorial Day and had a lost weekend that lasted until the following week. How great is that? I feel renewed! It seems as though an entire month has passed instead of a week. Life is shifting in ways I'm not ready to explain here, but it's great. The soundtrack for it is Andre 3000's The Love Below. It's all I want to listen to. "Behold: A lady. I see you standing on the wa-hall. Clap, clap. You dee-serve it ah-hall." Sweet!

An Exhaltation of Larks

2004-05-25T22:31:00.000-04:00

I've been working at Entertainment Weekly this week, and they have a wonderful library of all things lexicographic. The sweetest and most fascinating book I've discovered thus far is An Exaltation of Larks by James Lipton. This book has gathered all of the collective nouns used to describe congregations of any stripe you can imagine, called "terms of venery." (A noun that means both the art of hunting and of pursuing sexual pleasure. Also means the act of intercourse and the hunted game itself.)

Here are a few of my favorites (birds seem to have the best):

A Passel of Brats

A Tissue of Lies

An Unkindness of Ravens

A Murder of Crows

A True Love of Turtledoves

A Cowardice of Curs

A Stud of Mares

A Sloth of Bears

A Singular of Boars (my Chinese zodiac sign)

A Mutation of Thrushes

A Charm of Finches (the Gold variety of which is Iowa's state bird)

Probably more to come....

Pantsburg!

2004-05-25T22:11:00.000-04:00

Here's the something nice I promised.

That's the name of my band. Without the exclamation mark. We recently played our first show. Here's a link to some photos and a nice little story about the other bands we played with and all that:

http://opsound.org/opsound/events/opmixparty2.html

And here's a picture, if I can figure out how to post it!

If pic doesn't appear, try this link:
http://www.geocities.com/sloecat/pantsburg/band.html

"Failure is not an option"

2004-05-25T20:53:00.000-04:00

This was said by the Bush administration about our policy in Iraq. My feelings are mirrored by an editorial I heard on WNYC: "The war in Iraq is already lost." (I'll have to branch out from quoting WNYC, lest I become repetitive.) The day we went in there with no real purpose stated is the day failure showed its face. It makes me sad and it disgusts me.

I mostly feel this way, I suppose, because my uncle fought in Vietnam, and the government does next to nothing for those who are killed or tortured for it and its idea of "freedom" or "democracy" or "terrorism" or "weapons of mass destruction" or whatever convenient fable is on hand—based upon my uncle's experience, anyway. He was a grunt, was a victim of Agent Orange, told me that his platoon would receive government-issue packs of marijuana cigarettes, since they all knew how bad it was and there was nothing they could do about it. Anyway, I just pray for a swift end to this horror.

By the way, has any more been discovered about Nicholas Berg and the details leading to his death? That is one of the most horrific stories I've ever heard, but I feel like it needs to be talked about as much as possible to remind people of what an inhumane and truly evil thing war is. (Reminder about who Nick Berg is for those who are bad with names: He's the man who was decapitated in the al Qaeda/Iraqi video. His head was sawed off as he begged for mercy. That's barbarism. That's what happens in war. It turns people into deranged beasts.)

I apologize for the gloom, but that's where my head's at when I hear the news. I'll post something nice sometime—really, I will.

The reason I'm here

2004-05-24T16:21:00.000-04:00

is named MJ from Test-Run Librarian http://testrunlibrarian.blogspot.com/. She's a pal of mine from New Orleans. A good one. She's all rock and roll and smarts.

That's my shout-out. She's the only thing I really like about Florida. : O

BHL

2004-05-24T15:32:00.000-04:00

Um...hi. I've never done this before. A blog, that is. I barely have enough discipline to clean my house or do my laundry in a regular fashion. But this seems like it could be a cool thing to do while I'm working and there's nothing coming in.

What's been interesting to me lately? NPR. There's a fantastic show on WNYC hosted by Brian Lehrer in the morning that everyone should listen to at least a few times if they can. (Brian has his own blog! Check it out.)

This morning Brian was talking to Bernard Henri-Levy, who was speaking with great candor about the war in Iraq (I love how people are finally starting to do that!) and the deluded concept of war in the western worldview—how we see it as cause for heroism, courage, etc. He's been in war zones that get little to no attention in the west, places like Sri Lanka, Sudan. Leave it to the French to be the only ones to be unafraid to tell it like it is, and say so with passion. On the show, he sort of lost control in a tirade about how out of touch people who romanticize war are and how sick the constant killing really is and called those who start these wars "bastards"! It was exciting to hear. Yay, BHL!

One of his books:

Who Killed Daniel Pearl?

http://www.semcoop.com/detail/0971865949

Wow. Here's a totally different perspective from the Guardian: Bernard Henri-Levy as media whore:

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,6903,977498,00.html

Any way you slice it, fascinating guy.

PS: My other fascination of late: revisiting the book On Writing Well by William Zinsser.