Dear people whom I know who are attending IWPS:

I would like to split a hotel room with someone.  If that someone is you, please give me a call.  308-550-0124.  Mayhaps four of us could split a room.  That would be the cheapest!  

Finals night:

St. Paul killed it - they brought the pieces the judges wanted to hear, and they brought good work.  ABQ did really well, though my two biggest beefs with the stuff they sent up were that I think Damien Flores' piece was a four minute poem crammed into three minutes -- It'd have been better if he could have taken his time, and that the ( Read more... )

 Day 0.5:

I spend $500 of my trip money (Read that as: "All of my fun money") to purchase new tires for the drive.

Day 1(Sat night/Sunday):

Engine light comes on in the Smokey Mountains.  Dinner with family.  Not enough sleep.

Day 2 (Monday):

Find out we might compete.  Embarrassing admissions in the car.  Awkward silence.  Sam Loses her wallet.  Sam ( Read more... )

To the poet who insinuated that Ben Folds invented music, and in the same breath asked,
"What did Tom Waits ever do?"

1,000,000 B.C.E.:
Ben Folds pounds out "Rocking the Suburbs" on a log, with a stone...

and Tom Waits is listening at tide pools, again.
The sigh and whisper of bacteria slithering,
amoeba tickling his fingertips like the ghost of ( Read more... )

Shit that does or can or did make me weepy, after JM and Stecher and Stafford:

Movie Endings:

1.  The end of the movie Big Fish, where the son finishes the story.

2.  The credits of High Fidelity.

3.  Strange Tossup:  Either the end of Eternal Sunshine or the end of Swing Vote.

Songs:

1.  Damien Rice, "The Blowers Daughter"

2.  Counting Crows, "Raining ( Read more... )

New photos up at the flickr.  www.flickr.com/photos/ipeekatyouintheshower

they're unsorted, as yet -- i'll be going through and putting them in specific sets and etc. eventually, here.  Strapped for time, today.

Nats in a few days!  Excitement.

!R

( Read more... )

 .......Resigns.  Poet's first reactions, not sigh of relief, but silent curse for their competitive repertoires.

OH, FUCK, WE'LL HAVE TO WRITE MORE POEMS.  AW, DANG.

Let's talk about the peculiar mania that draws amoral people to public service.

 What the fuck?  Hello, seat of my pants grilling that I am about to begin burning in five minutes:

Brisket rub:

4tbsp Olive oil
2tbsp Worcestershire
2 shots whiskey
Sage, Pepper, Garlic Powder, Basil, Onion Powder, Lawry's, misc. "Spicy shit" (I went light on this, because my family is soft-stomached) use enough so that you get a pasty substance that' ( Read more... )

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