Last week I said this: Judging a person's character is different than judging that person's poetry. One should have no bearing on the other.
Today, after meeting poetic racism up-close and personal, I'm printing a public retraction.
I was wrong. It should have a bearing. We are morally responsible for what we write, for what we print, for what we publish, for where we publish, for who we publish and we are morally responsible for making the reasons for our choices known.
If we print the poetry of a known Nazi-sympathizer, if we print the poetry of a Holocaust denier, of a racist, of a bigot, if we give these people praise or even acknowledgement, if we give them even an inch of publicity - we give them a platform and we give them power. By publishing them, by bestowing awards on them, we give the rest of the world a chance to meet them and to embrace them. By virtue of our open-mindedness and our appreciation of art and by our own "acceptance" we make them acceptable.
By admitting them into our magazines and our publishing houses, we send the message to the rest of the world that we approve, not only of their poetry, but also of their beliefs - because, in the eyes of the world, it is damn near impossible to separate the heart of a poet from the heart of his poem.
If we do not speak up and tell the world what we feel we share responsibility for what happens as a result of our silence.
For anyone who thinks editors are not morally (and sometimes legally) responsible for what happens as a result of what they publish, I'd suggest reading up on Julius Streicher.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Someone's Playing Stupid on Wikipedia
Within the last 48 hours there was a crudely worded reference on a rather disgusting blog to a wonderfully talented female poet having twice won The Nemerov Sonnet award by virtue of possessing talents other than poetic.
Within the last 24 hours there was a post on the same blog which referred to another well-respected woman poet as a "poetasteress and hybrid human-cow" and which requested her to get off of her "bovine ass."
Knowing both of these ladies as well as I do, and knowing that virtually no one finds the obscure blog in question interesting enough to read very often, I tend to find this all rather amusing. For some reason, the farther from the truth one gets the funnier I find it. Maybe I'm just weird that way, but I think most people would agree with me. Lies and accusations are not humorous when there's a even a kernel of truth in them - but when they're totally outrageous they just can't be taken too damn seriously.
So that kind of childish stuff is just funny. The Internet's full of childish stupidity - the Law of Averages says some of it's got to be funny.
The flip side of the same law, however, says that some of the information which can be found, even on the same subject, will fall into the "not quite so humorous" catagory.
Something like this, for instance.
For one thing, Wikipedia is not some obscure blog. Rightly or wrongly, people from all walks of life use Wikipedia as a kind of Internet-Encyclopedia and they trust it. The fact that anyone would choose to deliberately include dishonest and/or misleading information is utterly unconscionable. The fact that it's gone unchallenged since last July is just ice on the disgusting cake.
For another thing, The Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award established in 1994, has always been one of the more prestegious and sought-after awards for formalist poets and The Formalist first published in 1990, was, from the first issue to the last, a first-rate and highly respected publication, as is the current benefactor/administrator of The Nemerov Sonnet Prize, Measure. To see any of them portrayed in any light other than favorable is just painful.
To further clarify things, neither publication is related (or akin) to the imaginary "It's Talon Time" or the very real "Highlights For Children" Nor was there an award given for "It's Talon Time, Bitch" by a fictitious Michael Plittman in 1993. The Nemerov, as stated above, was not even established until a year later - in 1994.
And just in case you didn't already know it - the judges for The Nemerov Award are now and have always been well-known and well-respected poets - not some secret tribunal committee composed of horse doctors.
I hate to ruin someone's childish fun, but I'm gonna notify both Wikipedia and Measure and hopefully this:
Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award was established in 1978 by The Formalist. The winner, usually selected from about 3,000 entrants, receives $1,000 and publication. Beginning in 2006 the winner will appear in It's Talon Time!, a successor publication akin to Highlights for Children also published in Evansville, Indiana.
The award is administered by a secret board of veterinarians.
will be gone soon.
It's my good deed for the day.
Besides that, I really do enjoy stomping the annoying little buzz of idiots. I'm such a taloning-telling little bitch that way.
Within the last 24 hours there was a post on the same blog which referred to another well-respected woman poet as a "poetasteress and hybrid human-cow" and which requested her to get off of her "bovine ass."
Knowing both of these ladies as well as I do, and knowing that virtually no one finds the obscure blog in question interesting enough to read very often, I tend to find this all rather amusing. For some reason, the farther from the truth one gets the funnier I find it. Maybe I'm just weird that way, but I think most people would agree with me. Lies and accusations are not humorous when there's a even a kernel of truth in them - but when they're totally outrageous they just can't be taken too damn seriously.
So that kind of childish stuff is just funny. The Internet's full of childish stupidity - the Law of Averages says some of it's got to be funny.
The flip side of the same law, however, says that some of the information which can be found, even on the same subject, will fall into the "not quite so humorous" catagory.
Something like this, for instance.
For one thing, Wikipedia is not some obscure blog. Rightly or wrongly, people from all walks of life use Wikipedia as a kind of Internet-Encyclopedia and they trust it. The fact that anyone would choose to deliberately include dishonest and/or misleading information is utterly unconscionable. The fact that it's gone unchallenged since last July is just ice on the disgusting cake.
For another thing, The Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award established in 1994, has always been one of the more prestegious and sought-after awards for formalist poets and The Formalist first published in 1990, was, from the first issue to the last, a first-rate and highly respected publication, as is the current benefactor/administrator of The Nemerov Sonnet Prize, Measure. To see any of them portrayed in any light other than favorable is just painful.
To further clarify things, neither publication is related (or akin) to the imaginary "It's Talon Time" or the very real "Highlights For Children" Nor was there an award given for "It's Talon Time, Bitch" by a fictitious Michael Plittman in 1993. The Nemerov, as stated above, was not even established until a year later - in 1994.
And just in case you didn't already know it - the judges for The Nemerov Award are now and have always been well-known and well-respected poets - not some secret tribunal committee composed of horse doctors.
I hate to ruin someone's childish fun, but I'm gonna notify both Wikipedia and Measure and hopefully this:
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award was established in 1978 by The Formalist. The winner, usually selected from about 3,000 entrants, receives $1,000 and publication. Beginning in 2006 the winner will appear in It's Talon Time!, a successor publication akin to Highlights for Children also published in Evansville, Indiana.
The award is administered by a secret board of veterinarians.
will be gone soon.
It's my good deed for the day.
Besides that, I really do enjoy stomping the annoying little buzz of idiots. I'm such a taloning-telling little bitch that way.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Leaving the Live Poets Behind For a Moment -
Robert Graves may have been something of a fruitcake - what with his multi-colored goddesses and his strange affair with Laura Riding (who literally moved in with him and his first wife, Nancy and their family. A bizarre bit of threesome which eventually drove Laura into a failed suicide attempt before the first wife bowed out and Laura and Robert packed up and moved to Majorca. ) Still in all, as with countless other dead poets - he shines every bit as brightly today as he did all those long years ago.
However, knowing the history of Robert, Laura and Wife #1 - it kind of puts the following poem in a whole new (and somewhat creepy) light, doesn't it?
The Cool Web
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by.
But we have speech, to chill the angry day,
And speech, to dull the rose's cruel scent.
We spell away the overhanging night,
We spell away the soldiers and the fright.
There's a cool web of language winds us in,
Retreat from too much joy or too much fear:
We grow sea-green at last and coldly die
In brininess and volubility.
But if we let our tongues lose self-possession,
Throwing off language and its watery clasp
Before our death, instead of when death comes,
Facing the wide glare of the children's day,
Facing the rose, the dark sky and the drums,
We shall go mad no doubt and die that way.
Robert Graves
However, knowing the history of Robert, Laura and Wife #1 - it kind of puts the following poem in a whole new (and somewhat creepy) light, doesn't it?
The Cool Web
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by.
But we have speech, to chill the angry day,
And speech, to dull the rose's cruel scent.
We spell away the overhanging night,
We spell away the soldiers and the fright.
There's a cool web of language winds us in,
Retreat from too much joy or too much fear:
We grow sea-green at last and coldly die
In brininess and volubility.
But if we let our tongues lose self-possession,
Throwing off language and its watery clasp
Before our death, instead of when death comes,
Facing the wide glare of the children's day,
Facing the rose, the dark sky and the drums,
We shall go mad no doubt and die that way.
Robert Graves
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Resignations and Accusations Reign
at The Poetry Society of America. Are we or are we not entering a period of McCarthyism and rampant unrepentant conservatism?
Not only that but just who in the hell is John Hollander and why haven't I heard of him before today?
Whoever-he-is, he apparently has made some remarks over the years which some voting board members considered to be racist. Other board members said they felt that such comments were not characteristic of Mr. Hollander’s views or had been misinterpreted. Mr. Louis-Dreyfus said that even if the comments were representative, they were irrelevant criteria for judging the Frost Medal, just as he would argue that Ezra Pound’s anti-Semitism should not detract from the literary appreciation of his work.
Mr. Louis-Dreyfus (whom I've also never heard of) runs an international commodities trading and shipping firm and dabbles (how the hell does one "dabble" anyhow? Either you do something or you don't) in writing poetry, said he resigned partly to protest what he regarded as an “exercise of gross reactionary thinking” among the other board members who left in the wake of the award to Mr. Hollander, a retired English professor at Yale.
Regardless of all that, I'm miffed because I thought I knew all the damn suspected and/or well-known bigots in the poetry world.
The point is - Mr. Louis-Dreyfus is right. Judging a person's character is different than judging that person's poetry. One should have no bearing on the other.
Be that as it may, I probably wouldn't buy a book of Mr. Hollander's poems for the same reason I wouldn't buy a portrait of a clown from John Wayne Gacy or stand in line at the book store to buy the latest copy of O. J. Simpson's new book (regardless of the fact that he won't ever collect any royalities from it) or wear a pair of Michael Vick running shoes or (although Dan disagrees with me) go stylishly jogging while sporting a light gray hoodie bearing the name of Bill Belichick or pay good money to listen to Don Imus on the newest pay-for-listen radio show - simply because there are too many other damn good clown portraits, novels, radio shows, running shoes, jogging hoodies and poetry books out there to choose from.
The way I figure it - why encourage stupidity when it's so simple (and so much cheaper) to avoid it?
Not only that but just who in the hell is John Hollander and why haven't I heard of him before today?
Whoever-he-is, he apparently has made some remarks over the years which some voting board members considered to be racist. Other board members said they felt that such comments were not characteristic of Mr. Hollander’s views or had been misinterpreted. Mr. Louis-Dreyfus said that even if the comments were representative, they were irrelevant criteria for judging the Frost Medal, just as he would argue that Ezra Pound’s anti-Semitism should not detract from the literary appreciation of his work.
Mr. Louis-Dreyfus (whom I've also never heard of) runs an international commodities trading and shipping firm and dabbles (how the hell does one "dabble" anyhow? Either you do something or you don't) in writing poetry, said he resigned partly to protest what he regarded as an “exercise of gross reactionary thinking” among the other board members who left in the wake of the award to Mr. Hollander, a retired English professor at Yale.
Regardless of all that, I'm miffed because I thought I knew all the damn suspected and/or well-known bigots in the poetry world.
The point is - Mr. Louis-Dreyfus is right. Judging a person's character is different than judging that person's poetry. One should have no bearing on the other.
Be that as it may, I probably wouldn't buy a book of Mr. Hollander's poems for the same reason I wouldn't buy a portrait of a clown from John Wayne Gacy or stand in line at the book store to buy the latest copy of O. J. Simpson's new book (regardless of the fact that he won't ever collect any royalities from it) or wear a pair of Michael Vick running shoes or (although Dan disagrees with me) go stylishly jogging while sporting a light gray hoodie bearing the name of Bill Belichick or pay good money to listen to Don Imus on the newest pay-for-listen radio show - simply because there are too many other damn good clown portraits, novels, radio shows, running shoes, jogging hoodies and poetry books out there to choose from.
The way I figure it - why encourage stupidity when it's so simple (and so much cheaper) to avoid it?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
If You Think There's Honor In Poetry
read what Seth Abramson and Quincy Lehr have taken the time to write about Heather McHugh and Joesph Salemi. Then tell them both "Thank you." What a heart-breaking, myth-busting, gut-sickening confirmation of everything you've already suspected about the poetry world!!
Seth Abramson
and
Quincy Lehr
When you're done reading, ask me why I no longer care to submit poetry to anywhere or anyone.
Tell me if you're still comfortable doing it yourself.
Why do we tolerate this sort of crap in poetry? Would sports fans turn a blind eye if Bill Belichick suddenly pulled Tom Brady out of the QB position and stuck his recently-graduated-from-high-school nephew in the Super Bowl? Would we tolerate a member of the Nobel Peace Prize Committee awarding himself the prize? When President Bush consistantly appoints no one but his best friends and highest campaign contributors to high places, tell me, honestly, what is it that even his die-hard supporters understand explicitly?
I'll tell you what I think - I think that President Bush and his Republican cronies have nothing on The Live Poet's Society. Nothing at all.
Seth Abramson
and
Quincy Lehr
When you're done reading, ask me why I no longer care to submit poetry to anywhere or anyone.
Tell me if you're still comfortable doing it yourself.
Why do we tolerate this sort of crap in poetry? Would sports fans turn a blind eye if Bill Belichick suddenly pulled Tom Brady out of the QB position and stuck his recently-graduated-from-high-school nephew in the Super Bowl? Would we tolerate a member of the Nobel Peace Prize Committee awarding himself the prize? When President Bush consistantly appoints no one but his best friends and highest campaign contributors to high places, tell me, honestly, what is it that even his die-hard supporters understand explicitly?
I'll tell you what I think - I think that President Bush and his Republican cronies have nothing on The Live Poet's Society. Nothing at all.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
When Truth Outweighs Fiction
Interesting article from CNN on the real-time lives of several famous writers - including the fact that Thomas Hardy's heart might very well have been eaten by his housekeeper's cat and a pig's heart buried in its stead.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
What Hemingway, cummings, Hammett and Stein Have in Common
This is quite interesting. I have no idea what it means, but it's interesting.
I've got some thoughts, of course, but nothing's really formed enough for words as of yet.
My biggest wonder is this - what comes first? The fascination with death/chaos or the proximity to it? Do certain people end up writing about it after they've inadvertently seen too much of it or do they deliberately seek it out beforehand?
I've got some thoughts, of course, but nothing's really formed enough for words as of yet.
My biggest wonder is this - what comes first? The fascination with death/chaos or the proximity to it? Do certain people end up writing about it after they've inadvertently seen too much of it or do they deliberately seek it out beforehand?
Monday, September 17, 2007
Favorite Poems Ever
The Waste Land - Eliot
The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock - also Eliot
Buffalo Bill's - e e cummings
"Time Does Not Bring" - Millay
The Second Coming - Yeats
Alone (From Childhood's Hour) - Poe
A Refusal to Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in London - Thomas
"When I Am Dead, My Dearest" - Christina Rossetti
To His Coy Mistress - Marvell
Song (Go and Catch a Falling Star) - Donne
Acquainted With the Night - Frost
Tyger - Blake
The Lady of Shalott - Tennyson
"Here Dead We Lie" - Houseman
Ballad of Reading Gaol - Wilde
Not Waving but Drowning - Stevie Smith
There seems to be a common denominator here - anyone care to guess what it is?
The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock - also Eliot
Buffalo Bill's - e e cummings
"Time Does Not Bring" - Millay
The Second Coming - Yeats
Alone (From Childhood's Hour) - Poe
A Refusal to Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in London - Thomas
"When I Am Dead, My Dearest" - Christina Rossetti
To His Coy Mistress - Marvell
Song (Go and Catch a Falling Star) - Donne
Acquainted With the Night - Frost
Tyger - Blake
The Lady of Shalott - Tennyson
"Here Dead We Lie" - Houseman
Ballad of Reading Gaol - Wilde
Not Waving but Drowning - Stevie Smith
There seems to be a common denominator here - anyone care to guess what it is?
Sunday, September 16, 2007
No Winter Wheat For the Working Wicked
Ugh. Scratch the entry below. Dan and I will not be presenting anything come November. Reality bites and it bit us in the ass again. Work commitments prevent our running off on a poetry jaunt for a long weekend at that particular time. Sometimes having a job is just a minor annoyance and sometimes it really sucks.
On the plus side, we've promised ourselves a different weekend away - with no poetry commitments, no family commitments, no work commitments. We will commit to nothing but a decent hotel room with room service, a hot tub, a fifth of gin, a bottle of vermouth, a bunch of olives and one another. (I'd say a bottle of coconut scented bubble bath, too, but I tried that once in Pittsburgh and found out the hard way that bubbles and hot tub jets just don't mix well. Or rather, they mix way too well.)
Meanwhile, it's Sunday - are you ready for some football????
On the plus side, we've promised ourselves a different weekend away - with no poetry commitments, no family commitments, no work commitments. We will commit to nothing but a decent hotel room with room service, a hot tub, a fifth of gin, a bottle of vermouth, a bunch of olives and one another. (I'd say a bottle of coconut scented bubble bath, too, but I tried that once in Pittsburgh and found out the hard way that bubbles and hot tub jets just don't mix well. Or rather, they mix way too well.)
Meanwhile, it's Sunday - are you ready for some football????
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Winter Wheat Festival of Writing
It's offical, Dan and I will be jointly presenting a program at Winter Wheat Bowling Green University in Bowling Green Ohio, on November 10, 2007, tentatively called "Poetry By and For the Common Man" focusing on poetry written by poets without formal education. We also hope to offer discussion on how poets can still manage to obtain a poetic perspective without the benefit (or drawback) of a classroom setting.
It's a topic near and dear to my heart for obvious reasons and I'm excited to have the opportunity to share the concept.
It's a topic near and dear to my heart for obvious reasons and I'm excited to have the opportunity to share the concept.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Poets Without Education
I don't know about anyone else, but I'm getting sick and tired of all the MFA and PhD talk about what school and which degree makes good poetry lately - as if nothing else mattered.
Just for the record, with a good memory and about 20 minutes worth of research, here's a few poets WITHOUT the all-important credentialing that goes on nowdays.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY - ambulance driver
ANNE SEXTON - advanced education consisted of attending Finishing School.
CARL SANDBURG - left school at 13, went back and re-tackled academia at a later date but left before completing a 4 year degree.
HART CRANE - dropped out of high school and took to the sea and the streets.
LANGSTON HUGHES - left college after two semesters and eventually ended up doing a myrid of things - two of which were washing dishes and writing.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLY - expelled from Oxford
EMILY DICKINSON - returned home after one year at Mary Lyon's Mount Holyoke Female Seminary and seldom left home again.
DYLAN THOMAS - left school at 16 to become a reporter.
BOB DYLAN - left college after his first year.
EDGAR ALAN POE - gave up formal education in 1927 at the age of 18 after losing his tuition money due to a gambling problem.
WALT WHITMAN - His mother was barely literate and his father was a carpenter. In 1823 the family moved to Brooklyn, where for six years Whitman attended public schools. It was the only formal education he ever received.
CARL SANDBURG - joined the army during the Spanish American War, spent 2 weeks at West Point, left for another college in Galesburg and then left there without a degree.
ROBERT FROST - attended both Dartmouth and Harvard but never obtained a formal degree from either.
WILLIAM BLAKE - never attended school - was educated at home by his mother.
PABLO NERUDA - gave up his formal studies at the age of 20 to devote himself to writing.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING - self-taught
ROBERT BROWNING - In 1828, at the age of 16, Browning enrolled at the University of London, but he soon left, anxious to read and learn at his own pace.
WILLIAM BLAKE - When he turned fourteen, he apprenticed with an engraver because art school proved too costly. In 1782, he married an illiterate woman named Catherine Boucher. Blake taught her to read and to write, and also instructed her in draftsmanship. Later, she helped him print the illuminated poetry for which he is remembered today.
LORD BYRON - once he inherited the title and property of his great-uncle in 1798, he went to Dulwich, Harrow, where he excelled in swimming, and Cambridge, where he piled up debts and aroused alarm with bisexual love affairs. It's unclear as to whether he actually got a degree in anything or not.
DANTE - studied at home, as was usual for the times.
****
"Educated poets" seems to be a late 20th century type thing. Maybe that explains why there are so few real poets left, hey what? Perhaps while the universities are busy turning out cookie-cutter-poets - with poet-teachers intent on recreating their poet-students in their own image, poetry is, in fact, dying. It sometimes seems as though no one who claims to be a contemporary poet knows (or wants to know) anything about a life composed of anything other than than the relative safety of academia and academic publishing. I mean, really, publish or perish might be the Sword of Damocles to some - but, trust me, it isn't the worst thing which can befall an individual, yanno?
Perhaps I'm just jealous, but I don't think so. I think I'm just pissed off at the current attitude which seems to imply that if you didn't go to school you have no business trying to write poetry - for that matter, if you didn't get at least a BA you might as well be declared functionally illiterate.
Not so, sayeth the drop-out.
The fact that I couldn't spell Damocles without help is immaterial. That's what the dictionary is for. Last I heard you didn't need a college degree to be capable of using one.
Just for the record, with a good memory and about 20 minutes worth of research, here's a few poets WITHOUT the all-important credentialing that goes on nowdays.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY - ambulance driver
ANNE SEXTON - advanced education consisted of attending Finishing School.
CARL SANDBURG - left school at 13, went back and re-tackled academia at a later date but left before completing a 4 year degree.
HART CRANE - dropped out of high school and took to the sea and the streets.
LANGSTON HUGHES - left college after two semesters and eventually ended up doing a myrid of things - two of which were washing dishes and writing.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLY - expelled from Oxford
EMILY DICKINSON - returned home after one year at Mary Lyon's Mount Holyoke Female Seminary and seldom left home again.
DYLAN THOMAS - left school at 16 to become a reporter.
BOB DYLAN - left college after his first year.
EDGAR ALAN POE - gave up formal education in 1927 at the age of 18 after losing his tuition money due to a gambling problem.
WALT WHITMAN - His mother was barely literate and his father was a carpenter. In 1823 the family moved to Brooklyn, where for six years Whitman attended public schools. It was the only formal education he ever received.
CARL SANDBURG - joined the army during the Spanish American War, spent 2 weeks at West Point, left for another college in Galesburg and then left there without a degree.
ROBERT FROST - attended both Dartmouth and Harvard but never obtained a formal degree from either.
WILLIAM BLAKE - never attended school - was educated at home by his mother.
PABLO NERUDA - gave up his formal studies at the age of 20 to devote himself to writing.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING - self-taught
ROBERT BROWNING - In 1828, at the age of 16, Browning enrolled at the University of London, but he soon left, anxious to read and learn at his own pace.
WILLIAM BLAKE - When he turned fourteen, he apprenticed with an engraver because art school proved too costly. In 1782, he married an illiterate woman named Catherine Boucher. Blake taught her to read and to write, and also instructed her in draftsmanship. Later, she helped him print the illuminated poetry for which he is remembered today.
LORD BYRON - once he inherited the title and property of his great-uncle in 1798, he went to Dulwich, Harrow, where he excelled in swimming, and Cambridge, where he piled up debts and aroused alarm with bisexual love affairs. It's unclear as to whether he actually got a degree in anything or not.
DANTE - studied at home, as was usual for the times.
****
"Educated poets" seems to be a late 20th century type thing. Maybe that explains why there are so few real poets left, hey what? Perhaps while the universities are busy turning out cookie-cutter-poets - with poet-teachers intent on recreating their poet-students in their own image, poetry is, in fact, dying. It sometimes seems as though no one who claims to be a contemporary poet knows (or wants to know) anything about a life composed of anything other than than the relative safety of academia and academic publishing. I mean, really, publish or perish might be the Sword of Damocles to some - but, trust me, it isn't the worst thing which can befall an individual, yanno?
Perhaps I'm just jealous, but I don't think so. I think I'm just pissed off at the current attitude which seems to imply that if you didn't go to school you have no business trying to write poetry - for that matter, if you didn't get at least a BA you might as well be declared functionally illiterate.
Not so, sayeth the drop-out.
The fact that I couldn't spell Damocles without help is immaterial. That's what the dictionary is for. Last I heard you didn't need a college degree to be capable of using one.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
PatriotsexPatriot
If you like football - or even if you DON'T like football but have an overwhelming fondness for really sharp witty sarcasm, intelligent opinion, and/or lively ruminations on poetry, religion, relationships, sex and politics - here's a really good blog to visit. PatriotsexPatriot
Anyone who can bury SEX in the middle of his header by appearing to merely repeat the name of a football team is bound to be interesting.
Anyone who can bury SEX in the middle of his header by appearing to merely repeat the name of a football team is bound to be interesting.
Advice Not Taken
Better titled - "My Summer Vacation - A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words."
When I landed last week at Midway Airport for a short 5 day visit it was raining. When I left Midway Airport after what turned out to be a very emotional, very upsetting, very busy, very grueling, and very long EIGHT day visit, it was still raining. And by "still raining" I mean it never once STOPPED raining.
When the plane landed in DC, it was raining. When Dan stopped at McDonalds to buy me a burger - he rear-ended the car in front of us. When we left McDonalds and came home we found not one but several police cars along the side of our building, several police cars in the parking lot of our building and a few more police cars (and an ambulance who wasn't in a very big hurry to leave) in front of our building. Apparently, according to the man at the front desk, someone left the building via a 9th floor balcony.
Ugh.
Welcome home!
And yes, in case you're interested, it's STILL raining.
Everywhere, I think. Or maybe just on me.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Disorder In the Court
These are hysterical!!! They are excerpts (supposedly) from a book called "Disorder in the American Courts." I googled to find the book but couldn't - which is a shame, because I'd surely like to read it.
*************************
ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?
WITNESS: No, I just lie there.
_______________________________
ATTORNEY: What is your date of birth?
WITNESS: July 18th.
ATTORNEY: What year?
WITNESS: Every year.
_____________________________________
ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?
_____________________________________
ATTORNEY: How old is your son, the one living with you?
WITNESS: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.
ATTORNEY: How long has he lived with you?
WITNESS: Forty-five years.
_____________________________________
ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?
WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?
WITNESS: My name is Susan.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
____________________________________
ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-one-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.
________________________________________
ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Would you repeat the question?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: Uh....
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!
____________________________________________
ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Huh?
____________________________________________
And the best for last
ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law
____________________
Thank you, David Anthony, for posting them in a place where I could find it.
*************************
ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?
WITNESS: No, I just lie there.
_______________________________
ATTORNEY: What is your date of birth?
WITNESS: July 18th.
ATTORNEY: What year?
WITNESS: Every year.
_____________________________________
ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?
_____________________________________
ATTORNEY: How old is your son, the one living with you?
WITNESS: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.
ATTORNEY: How long has he lived with you?
WITNESS: Forty-five years.
_____________________________________
ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?
WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?
WITNESS: My name is Susan.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
____________________________________
ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-one-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.
________________________________________
ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Would you repeat the question?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: Uh....
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.
______________________________________
ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!
____________________________________________
ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Huh?
____________________________________________
And the best for last
ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law
____________________
Thank you, David Anthony, for posting them in a place where I could find it.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Off With The Old
On with the new!!!
I am removing dead links - such as Jessica Smith's Look Touch blog because, as you can see, the link no longer goes anywhere.
In it's place, I am adding Patti McCarthy's new blog, Fools Like Me. Patti's one heck of a poet and a good friend as well which makes her doublely (is that a word?) worth the read.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the cats have taken to eating plastic of all sorts and I am sitting at my desk eating brown sugar straight from the box. It's a toss-up as to which of us will get sick first.
I am outa town bright and early Saturday morning. I am going home to see two kids, one daughter-in-law, one girlfriend-in-law, one grandchild, 3 nephews, one niece, one mother, one aunt, thirty seven former co-workers, and, hopefully, a whole bunch of old friends.
No blogging until I return. Maybe not even then. Because I get home just in time for Dan's birthday, my birthday and THE DRAFT!!!!
After that, it's football season. And we've got our brand new 22 inch flat screen TV all set up in the bedroom and ready to go!!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
I am removing dead links - such as Jessica Smith's Look Touch blog because, as you can see, the link no longer goes anywhere.
In it's place, I am adding Patti McCarthy's new blog, Fools Like Me. Patti's one heck of a poet and a good friend as well which makes her doublely (is that a word?) worth the read.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the cats have taken to eating plastic of all sorts and I am sitting at my desk eating brown sugar straight from the box. It's a toss-up as to which of us will get sick first.
I am outa town bright and early Saturday morning. I am going home to see two kids, one daughter-in-law, one girlfriend-in-law, one grandchild, 3 nephews, one niece, one mother, one aunt, thirty seven former co-workers, and, hopefully, a whole bunch of old friends.
No blogging until I return. Maybe not even then. Because I get home just in time for Dan's birthday, my birthday and THE DRAFT!!!!
After that, it's football season. And we've got our brand new 22 inch flat screen TV all set up in the bedroom and ready to go!!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Drafted
Bush War Czar Says Draft Worth a Look
I reiterate:
Those Dead
The gods have whispered war, let each sane woman wonder why.
They have no say as men go forth to die perhaps today.
Their men are lonely heroes all; those dead - those still to die.
The gods destroy while women mourn a future passing by.
They have no choice as men go forth to die in disarray.
The gods have whispered war, let each sad woman wonder why.
False gods are seeking sacrifice. Each woman hears the lie.
They have no say as men go forth to hold those gods at bay,
for men are lonely heroes all; those dead - those still to die.
Young children wail and old men weep, yet women simply sigh.
They have no choice as men go forth to fight in distant fray.
The gods have whispered war, let each brave woman wonder why.
Their silence sings a sad refrain of each unsaid good-bye.
They have no say as men go forth, both predators and prey,
for men are lonely heroes all; those dead - those still to die.
So let the widowed women weep, let history hear their cry.
They've had no choice as men went forth and died too far away.
The gods have whispered war, let each lost woman wonder why
their men are lonely heros all; those dead - those still to die.
I reiterate:
Those Dead
The gods have whispered war, let each sane woman wonder why.
They have no say as men go forth to die perhaps today.
Their men are lonely heroes all; those dead - those still to die.
The gods destroy while women mourn a future passing by.
They have no choice as men go forth to die in disarray.
The gods have whispered war, let each sad woman wonder why.
False gods are seeking sacrifice. Each woman hears the lie.
They have no say as men go forth to hold those gods at bay,
for men are lonely heroes all; those dead - those still to die.
Young children wail and old men weep, yet women simply sigh.
They have no choice as men go forth to fight in distant fray.
The gods have whispered war, let each brave woman wonder why.
Their silence sings a sad refrain of each unsaid good-bye.
They have no say as men go forth, both predators and prey,
for men are lonely heroes all; those dead - those still to die.
So let the widowed women weep, let history hear their cry.
They've had no choice as men went forth and died too far away.
The gods have whispered war, let each lost woman wonder why
their men are lonely heros all; those dead - those still to die.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Second Judge Declares "Abusive Driver's Fee" Unconstitutional
Richmond General District Court judge, Thomas O. Jones, ruled Friday that the fees violate the 14th Amendment's guarentee of equal protection under the law because they aply only to state residents.
The ruling by Judge Jones has not been appealed by The Commonwealth.
It's not over, but it looks promising to those of us who were concerned solely with the inequality of it. David B. Albo (Remember him? He's the Representative from Fairfax who was the primary backer of the fees. He's also a partner in the law firm of Albo & Oblon, where he handles (you guessed it) mostly traffic cases) is busy drafting legislation for the 2008 General Assembly that will include out of state drivers, even though he still believes the current law is constitutional.
The Henrico verdict has been appealed and is scheduled to be heard later this week in the county's circuit court.
The thought's been offered from somewhere in the governor's office that the lawmakers do not believe the law was intended to impose a "disproportionate burden" on Virginians. They were more thinking it was, perhaps, a matter of "administrative convenience."
Gosh, that makes me feel so, so - so icky, yanno?
Stay tuned for further developments.
The ruling by Judge Jones has not been appealed by The Commonwealth.
It's not over, but it looks promising to those of us who were concerned solely with the inequality of it. David B. Albo (Remember him? He's the Representative from Fairfax who was the primary backer of the fees. He's also a partner in the law firm of Albo & Oblon, where he handles (you guessed it) mostly traffic cases) is busy drafting legislation for the 2008 General Assembly that will include out of state drivers, even though he still believes the current law is constitutional.
The Henrico verdict has been appealed and is scheduled to be heard later this week in the county's circuit court.
The thought's been offered from somewhere in the governor's office that the lawmakers do not believe the law was intended to impose a "disproportionate burden" on Virginians. They were more thinking it was, perhaps, a matter of "administrative convenience."
Gosh, that makes me feel so, so - so icky, yanno?
Stay tuned for further developments.
Poetry Is Where You Find It - Sometimes You Find It In Leesburg, Virginia
Dan and I went to hear Susan McLean read at a poetry reading sponsored by the Leesburg Poetry Series in Leesburg, Va. on Friday night. Afterwards we were invited by Claudia Gary Annis, the inexhaustible woman who organizes the entire series, to join her and Susan and several other artists at a nearby Chinese restaurant for dinner and drinks. It was a wonderful evening and I was, as always, struck by the sheer and simultaneous beauty and violence of words and language when held in the hands of a poet or writer.
It was, however, the aftermath of the evening which has stuck with me - and which has, once again, shown me that reality can never truly be duplicated by words - nor can language alone ever hold the same terrible and awesome power that life, itself, possesses.
After taking leave of our new-found companions, Dan and I were walking towards our car. I was flush with the excitement and the joy of the night and the beauty of the town which is Leesburg and, as usual, I was not really paying much attention to the rest of the world. I did, however, at the last possible moment, notice a rather large group of wildly gesturing teenagers in front of The Tally Ho Theater and I was sufficiently aware of the hour and the darkness that I prudently considered the idea of crossing the street right now might be a very good one. As we were jaywalking across we noticed two of the young boys (who had been obviously arguing with the only adult present) suddenly breaking free from the group and running down a nearby alley way. From our vantage point across the street, we could see that a third boy, probably about 12 or 13 years old, had been left leaning against the building, holding his head in his hands.
As we got into our car I was struck with a sudden severe case of medic/mother remorse and guilt and so I asked Dan if we could drive back and make sure the boy was not seriously injured. By the time we drove around the block and returned to the scene there was a core group of approximately 8 or 9 young teens standing around the injured boy who was, by now, holding a very large bag of ice to his left eye area. Of those still standing around, four or five of them were young girls, the rest were equally young males and there was still the one adult who later turned out to be the boy's father. I identified myself as a former medic and asked if there was anything I could do. The boy immediately lowered his six-pound ice bag and offered his head and eye for examination. He'd been popped pretty good, with both swelling and bruising already present but the laceration itself was not large and, while actively continuing to ooze, was not profusely bleeding. The ice was a good idea, but the application of ice directly onto unprotected skin is never the optimal mode of delivery. I asked the crowd around him if anyone had a handkerchief (yeah, right, in this day and age) or some other type of cloth with which the ice could be covered and almost immediately one of the girl, a pretty little blonde who was noticably dressed to impress in her Friday night best, shrugged off her immaculate and obviously brand-new white sweater and offered it to me. I was reluctant to take it, telling her it would get bloody and that bloodstains do not come off, ever, and she smiled and said, "I don't care. He's my friend."
Poetry conveys - life is.
There's been no poetry ever written in this world, past, present or future, which says more or which speaks so eloquently or which offers more hope.
None.
It was, however, the aftermath of the evening which has stuck with me - and which has, once again, shown me that reality can never truly be duplicated by words - nor can language alone ever hold the same terrible and awesome power that life, itself, possesses.
After taking leave of our new-found companions, Dan and I were walking towards our car. I was flush with the excitement and the joy of the night and the beauty of the town which is Leesburg and, as usual, I was not really paying much attention to the rest of the world. I did, however, at the last possible moment, notice a rather large group of wildly gesturing teenagers in front of The Tally Ho Theater and I was sufficiently aware of the hour and the darkness that I prudently considered the idea of crossing the street right now might be a very good one. As we were jaywalking across we noticed two of the young boys (who had been obviously arguing with the only adult present) suddenly breaking free from the group and running down a nearby alley way. From our vantage point across the street, we could see that a third boy, probably about 12 or 13 years old, had been left leaning against the building, holding his head in his hands.
As we got into our car I was struck with a sudden severe case of medic/mother remorse and guilt and so I asked Dan if we could drive back and make sure the boy was not seriously injured. By the time we drove around the block and returned to the scene there was a core group of approximately 8 or 9 young teens standing around the injured boy who was, by now, holding a very large bag of ice to his left eye area. Of those still standing around, four or five of them were young girls, the rest were equally young males and there was still the one adult who later turned out to be the boy's father. I identified myself as a former medic and asked if there was anything I could do. The boy immediately lowered his six-pound ice bag and offered his head and eye for examination. He'd been popped pretty good, with both swelling and bruising already present but the laceration itself was not large and, while actively continuing to ooze, was not profusely bleeding. The ice was a good idea, but the application of ice directly onto unprotected skin is never the optimal mode of delivery. I asked the crowd around him if anyone had a handkerchief (yeah, right, in this day and age) or some other type of cloth with which the ice could be covered and almost immediately one of the girl, a pretty little blonde who was noticably dressed to impress in her Friday night best, shrugged off her immaculate and obviously brand-new white sweater and offered it to me. I was reluctant to take it, telling her it would get bloody and that bloodstains do not come off, ever, and she smiled and said, "I don't care. He's my friend."
Poetry conveys - life is.
There's been no poetry ever written in this world, past, present or future, which says more or which speaks so eloquently or which offers more hope.
None.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Henrico County Judge Declares Va. "Civil Remedial Fees" Unconstitutional
Finally, a judge with sense! Thank you, Judge Archie Yeatts of Henrico County, Virginia. It's good to know that some people in positions of power still understand the basic concept of fair play for all.
It's onto the Circuit Court now - one can only hope those judges have the same sense and sensibility that Judge Yeatts apparently possesses.
It's onto the Circuit Court now - one can only hope those judges have the same sense and sensibility that Judge Yeatts apparently possesses.
Friday, August 03, 2007
In This Corner - Pete Rose
Speaking of passive/aggressive petulant behaviour - "It was a complete embarrassment," said Staff Sgt. Steven Tischer, commander of the Colerain-Highland Ridge U.S. Army Recruiting Station that sponsored the baseball camp for 7- to 14-year-olds. "You don't swear in front of kids, that's just common sense. He dropped the F-bomb and the S-bomb. He told them winning is everything and if you get second place you're just losers."
It's ok, Pete, we all knew what kind of a winner you were. And now our kids do, too.
It's ok, Pete, we all knew what kind of a winner you were. And now our kids do, too.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
How Not To Email Your Students
Robert Olin Butler - A Classic Example of Passive/Aggressive Behaviour Via E-Mail
Damn!!! And he's embarrassed and unhappy to find his artless little "loving and compassionate" missive on The Internet?
Sheesh.
Damn!!! And he's embarrassed and unhappy to find his artless little "loving and compassionate" missive on The Internet?
Sheesh.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Tips On How To Practice Safe Cell
Before you get on the
with your
or your
be sure to visit
Safe Travel at U.S.A. D.O.T.
(Tell them Dan sent you)
with your
or your
be sure to visit
Safe Travel at U.S.A. D.O.T.
(Tell them Dan sent you)
Friday, July 27, 2007
Virginia Traffic Fees Challenged in Court - Update
While I don't condone Anthony Price for amassing his 5th violation for driving on a suspended license, I do support the lawyers who have taken his conviction and are using it to challenge the legality of Virginia's newly enacted "Civil Remedial Fee" law and who are expecting a verdict on August 2nd.
Don't forget, you can make your own displeasure known by signing your name here.
In other, unrelated legal news, in less then 7 hours I'll finally become a law-abiding citizen of Virginia.
In other words, I'm that close to marriage in one of only a small handful of states remaining which still legally prohibits unmarried people from cohabitating with one another.
Don't forget, you can make your own displeasure known by signing your name here.
In other, unrelated legal news, in less then 7 hours I'll finally become a law-abiding citizen of Virginia.
In other words, I'm that close to marriage in one of only a small handful of states remaining which still legally prohibits unmarried people from cohabitating with one another.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
54 and Counting
Ok....it's 54 hours and 10 minutes away!!!
Repeat after me "I do" "I do" "I do"
Things to do in between reciting the above mantra:
Don't lose the rings between now and then.
Don't freak out.
Buy new underwear.
Paint nails - fingers AND toes.
Buy nylon stockings.
Don't freak out.
Drive to Montgomery County to get a copy of Dan's divorce papers.
Don't yell at Dan because he insisted he had a copy of his divorce papers even though it turns out he didn't.
Don't freak out.
Repeat after me: "I do" "I do" "I do"
Note to self: Don't ever do this again.
Repeat after me "I do" "I do" "I do"
Things to do in between reciting the above mantra:
Don't lose the rings between now and then.
Don't freak out.
Buy new underwear.
Paint nails - fingers AND toes.
Buy nylon stockings.
Don't freak out.
Drive to Montgomery County to get a copy of Dan's divorce papers.
Don't yell at Dan because he insisted he had a copy of his divorce papers even though it turns out he didn't.
Don't freak out.
Repeat after me: "I do" "I do" "I do"
Note to self: Don't ever do this again.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
This Is the Date
July 27, 2007
Someone called this old poem to my attention this morning.
It reminded of what a volatile 7 years it's sometimes been and how far we've come since this conversation took place in a Pittsburgh hotel room.
What a long strange trip it's been.
Seeking Definition
You tell me love is more
than moments spent
too artlessly entwined.
You tell me "Love is Fire."
I say that hell is hell
because it's kept
too goddamn hot.
You tell me hell
does not exist
and pull away in ire.
I tell you "Love is gentle heat --
The smallest embers
will survive."
We agree to disagree
and love's left undefined.
These, I think
are moments.
You brush the hair
back from my eyes.
We settle back more cautiously
and watch the clock unwind.
The Hypertexts
Someone called this old poem to my attention this morning.
It reminded of what a volatile 7 years it's sometimes been and how far we've come since this conversation took place in a Pittsburgh hotel room.
What a long strange trip it's been.
Seeking Definition
You tell me love is more
than moments spent
too artlessly entwined.
You tell me "Love is Fire."
I say that hell is hell
because it's kept
too goddamn hot.
You tell me hell
does not exist
and pull away in ire.
I tell you "Love is gentle heat --
The smallest embers
will survive."
We agree to disagree
and love's left undefined.
These, I think
are moments.
You brush the hair
back from my eyes.
We settle back more cautiously
and watch the clock unwind.
The Hypertexts
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
These Are the Rings
This is the story behind the rings:
The Now Ring
Nothing is worth more than this day!
The present ring contains one of the secrets of happiness. Most human suffering is caused by focusing our thoughts on the past and on the future. Yearning for the past and thinking about what has already happened as well as fearing the future and what may happen, results in a state of "non-existence". We exist in the present which is, in fact, the only reality that exists for us.
Our failure to recognize the present results in our being in a continuing state of fear and suffering. This ring consists of 4 states of awareness that were created to protect us from illusion and to bring us happiness.
The first word - "present" directs us to the only time that exists - now. Focus on the present, causes us to be aware of everything that is happening around us. When we are in the present we have a "presence" and we reach the state of "the present" - Ha-Nimtza (Hebrew word for is here). Ha-Nimtza hints to us the first stages that cause us to "awaken" and "find ourselves" - and in this way to reach a place where we can truly experience our own existence.
The release of false thoughts and trepidations, such as fear and anger, can bring us to a place of clarity and a sense of living a real life, free of suffering.
For me, marriage is acknowledging the past for what it was, accepting today for what it is and not fearing the future for what it might be. I am committing to the "now" and to each today that we share - and trusting that all of our tomorrows will become todays that continue to bring the laughter and the hope, the joy and the peace that I find within myself when we are together.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Petition to Repeal Va. "Remedial Fee"
Thanks to a fellow blogger whom I do not know but one whom took the time to send me A Petition to Repeal Va. Traffic Fees we now have a way to make our displeasure known - if not appreciated.
If you're a Virginia resident, I suggest you sign it. You can ignore the request from Pay Pal to support I-Petitions if you like (I have to admit, I did) and your signature still counts.
If you're a Virginia resident, I suggest you sign it. You can ignore the request from Pay Pal to support I-Petitions if you like (I have to admit, I did) and your signature still counts.
Meet Elizabeth
Poetry Revolt has seen fit to include my second accepted poem on their "preview" issue.
Heeeereee's Elizabeth (Must scroll down)
I have to admit, there's something about seeing your own name in print that just makes you wiggle - even when it's only Tuesday morning, the temperature is already 80+ degrees outside, your water pressure is nil, your electricity keeps flickering on and off and you've just discovered a huge mound of cat puke on the dining room table.
In other news, I see from Shann Palmer's blog that The State of Virginia is offering four fellowships worth $5,000.00 each to poets and/or music composers for the 2007-2008 year. Hmmmmmmm.
Nah. There's a better chance the cat puke will magically disappear before I go back downstairs to clean it up.
Heeeereee's Elizabeth (Must scroll down)
I have to admit, there's something about seeing your own name in print that just makes you wiggle - even when it's only Tuesday morning, the temperature is already 80+ degrees outside, your water pressure is nil, your electricity keeps flickering on and off and you've just discovered a huge mound of cat puke on the dining room table.
In other news, I see from Shann Palmer's blog that The State of Virginia is offering four fellowships worth $5,000.00 each to poets and/or music composers for the 2007-2008 year. Hmmmmmmm.
Nah. There's a better chance the cat puke will magically disappear before I go back downstairs to clean it up.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Thursday, July 05, 2007
The New Yorker, Poetry and The Atlantic Monthly
Why is it that I long to see
a poem by me in Poetry
or find one tucked away inside
the magazine New Yorkers pride?
Atlantic Monthly Magazine?
I'd kill to see my poem between
the pages numbered eight and nine.
I'd puff my chest and crow "That's mine!"
So every year I resubmit
and six weeks later I get hit
with notes that say "I wish we could
print everything you think we should.
Perhaps you do not comprehend.
We've cardinal rules we cannot bend.
The highest standards must be met.
And you, you've mixed your hex with tet.
Poem Two's too short for our milieu
Perhaps you tried to write Haiku?
And Number Three's so goddamn long,
has no one told you long is wrong?
Regretfully we must reject
these poems you hoped we would select.
I know that this sounds awfully rough -
but frankly, they're not good enough."
And so I tuck my tail and whine
how I don't find their stuff so fine.
And I declare that I don't care
if I get published over there
'cuz I've been published lots of times
by editors that like my rhyme
and people who appreciate
the very poems the big boys hate.
And still I act like such a twit
and still I faithfully submit
whatever poems I think are best.
God, let one pass the Wiman test.
a poem by me in Poetry
or find one tucked away inside
the magazine New Yorkers pride?
Atlantic Monthly Magazine?
I'd kill to see my poem between
the pages numbered eight and nine.
I'd puff my chest and crow "That's mine!"
So every year I resubmit
and six weeks later I get hit
with notes that say "I wish we could
print everything you think we should.
Perhaps you do not comprehend.
We've cardinal rules we cannot bend.
The highest standards must be met.
And you, you've mixed your hex with tet.
Poem Two's too short for our milieu
Perhaps you tried to write Haiku?
And Number Three's so goddamn long,
has no one told you long is wrong?
Regretfully we must reject
these poems you hoped we would select.
I know that this sounds awfully rough -
but frankly, they're not good enough."
And so I tuck my tail and whine
how I don't find their stuff so fine.
And I declare that I don't care
if I get published over there
'cuz I've been published lots of times
by editors that like my rhyme
and people who appreciate
the very poems the big boys hate.
And still I act like such a twit
and still I faithfully submit
whatever poems I think are best.
God, let one pass the Wiman test.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
More on Virginia's Civil Remedial Fees
Why are the new Virginia Resident Traffic Fees discriminatory?
Well, besides the obvious - the fact that it's just not fair to charge a resident of one state thousands of dollars more than you charge a resident of another state for the exact same infraction, there's this:
Suppose this is you
and you are sitting on the side of I-395 or behind a bush somewhere alongside of The Beltway and you see two cars, one in the 2nd lane and one in the 3rd lane - Both cars are
and they are being driven by middle aged
moms and both vehicles are, oddly enough, the same color, the same make, the same model and the same year and both are going exactly 22 miles over the posted speed limit - but because it is late and you are alone you can only pull over and ticket one of these vehicles. Will you choose Vehicle # 1
which will net your employeers a grand total of $100.00
regardless of this soccer mom's previous driving record?
Or will you choose Vehicle # 2
which is now magically worth a minimum of $1,050.00 even if the driver of this vehicle has a perfectly clean driving record to date and a maximum fee of over than $3,500 if this careless Soccer Mom's already accumulated previous points on his/her license?
A gold-mine for the State of Virginia? Sure, but a gold-mine for
and for someone else as well.
Well, besides the obvious - the fact that it's just not fair to charge a resident of one state thousands of dollars more than you charge a resident of another state for the exact same infraction, there's this:
Suppose this is you
and you are sitting on the side of I-395 or behind a bush somewhere alongside of The Beltway and you see two cars, one in the 2nd lane and one in the 3rd lane - Both cars are
and they are being driven by middle aged
moms and both vehicles are, oddly enough, the same color, the same make, the same model and the same year and both are going exactly 22 miles over the posted speed limit - but because it is late and you are alone you can only pull over and ticket one of these vehicles. Will you choose Vehicle # 1
which will net your employeers a grand total of $100.00 regardless of this soccer mom's previous driving record?
Or will you choose Vehicle # 2
which is now magically worth a minimum of $1,050.00 even if the driver of this vehicle has a perfectly clean driving record to date and a maximum fee of over than $3,500 if this careless Soccer Mom's already accumulated previous points on his/her license?A gold-mine for the State of Virginia? Sure, but a gold-mine for
and for someone else as well.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Peace, Poetry and Traffic Tickets in Va.
Interesting new poetry blog.
This one's on Poetry and Peace and it's maintained by
Philip Metres. The title of it is, appropriately, Behind the Lines, Poetry and Peacemaking.
In other news, one of the two poems I had accepted for the Inaugural issue of Poetry Revolt is prematurely up already on the Fall 2007 Preview Page.
I have no other news worth sharing.
I will add this, however. I am totally pissed off at the State of Virginia for this little bit of resident discrimination. Makes me really happy to be a citizen here, yanno? I'm not sure it's fair to hold me to a higher standard of responsibility than a resident of Maryland or DC who happens to be speeding through The Lover's State on their way to work or whatever. In fact, I'm pretty sure it isn't. I certainly hope someone challenges this one in court. I certainly hope they win and everyone who ended up paying $3500.00 for a speeding ticket gets their money back - and I most certainly hope it's returned with an apology - and interest - not only from the state iteslf, but also from the main sponsor of the bill, one David Albo a part-time legislator from Fairfax County and a full time partner in the law firm of Albo and Oblon where he handles, you guessed it, mostly traffic cases.
God, it's enough to make you want to puke. Or at least un-elect someone.
This one's on Poetry and Peace and it's maintained by
Philip Metres. The title of it is, appropriately, Behind the Lines, Poetry and Peacemaking.
In other news, one of the two poems I had accepted for the Inaugural issue of Poetry Revolt is prematurely up already on the Fall 2007 Preview Page.
I have no other news worth sharing.
I will add this, however. I am totally pissed off at the State of Virginia for this little bit of resident discrimination. Makes me really happy to be a citizen here, yanno? I'm not sure it's fair to hold me to a higher standard of responsibility than a resident of Maryland or DC who happens to be speeding through The Lover's State on their way to work or whatever. In fact, I'm pretty sure it isn't. I certainly hope someone challenges this one in court. I certainly hope they win and everyone who ended up paying $3500.00 for a speeding ticket gets their money back - and I most certainly hope it's returned with an apology - and interest - not only from the state iteslf, but also from the main sponsor of the bill, one David Albo a part-time legislator from Fairfax County and a full time partner in the law firm of Albo and Oblon where he handles, you guessed it, mostly traffic cases.
God, it's enough to make you want to puke. Or at least un-elect someone.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Some days
I'm aware that poetry just doesn't matter.
Not at all.
Not even a little bit.
Nine Firefighters die in Charleston, S. C.
Rest in peace. Your brothers and sisters salute your bravery and your dedication and we mourn your passing.
Not at all.
Not even a little bit.
Nine Firefighters die in Charleston, S. C.
Rest in peace. Your brothers and sisters salute your bravery and your dedication and we mourn your passing.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Hot Metal Press
Oh Happy Sunday!
Woke up this morning to hot tea already prepared, cats already fed and a brilliant sun shining through the balcony doors. What more can one ask for?
How about a poetry acceptance letter?
Got word about an hour ago that Martin Willitts, who is editing an anthology on Cancer for Hot Metal Press, has accepted my one and only offering, In Utero, for inclusion in his upcoming project which was sponsored by a grant from The Chenago County Individual Artist Grant Program 2007
YAY me!!
The acceptance letter was a bit different. I almost didn't finish reading it because it read very much like the standard rejection letter I've come to expect. It began with the familiar:
"Thank you very much for submitting your poem, ________________. I received many more submissions than expected and cannot possible include them all. Many good poems and poets had to be eliminated.
I am pleased that so many people from around the world participated. I hope
I provided a slight chance to represent some good poetry. Unfortunately I
could not accept everything.
But at the end of the familiar two paragraph explanation was the unfamiliar single stand-alone sentence:
"I would like to accept your poem."
Talk about a pleasant surprise!!!!
It's always gratifying to have a poem accepted for publication - always - and no matter how many poems get accepted there's always that same catch of breath and that same sense of wonder and pleasure at the proof that someone, somewhere, considers you good enough to publish so that other people can also read you.
When the poem is accepted by a publication with an underlying worthy cause, however, there's a special feeling of pride and an accompanying sense of fear that the poem will somehow not live up to the initial vote of confidence. The book will be reaching out to an audience other than poetry lovers - and this one will be reaching out to a group of people who have lived through fear and tragedy that I have only written of - to people with a courage I cannot imagine possessing. How will it meet with them?
I've always felt that being capable of writing poetry is as much of a responsibility as it is a gift.
Now I know it is.
Woke up this morning to hot tea already prepared, cats already fed and a brilliant sun shining through the balcony doors. What more can one ask for?
How about a poetry acceptance letter?
Got word about an hour ago that Martin Willitts, who is editing an anthology on Cancer for Hot Metal Press, has accepted my one and only offering, In Utero, for inclusion in his upcoming project which was sponsored by a grant from The Chenago County Individual Artist Grant Program 2007
YAY me!!
The acceptance letter was a bit different. I almost didn't finish reading it because it read very much like the standard rejection letter I've come to expect. It began with the familiar:
"Thank you very much for submitting your poem, ________________. I received many more submissions than expected and cannot possible include them all. Many good poems and poets had to be eliminated.
I am pleased that so many people from around the world participated. I hope
I provided a slight chance to represent some good poetry. Unfortunately I
could not accept everything.
But at the end of the familiar two paragraph explanation was the unfamiliar single stand-alone sentence:
"I would like to accept your poem."
Talk about a pleasant surprise!!!!
It's always gratifying to have a poem accepted for publication - always - and no matter how many poems get accepted there's always that same catch of breath and that same sense of wonder and pleasure at the proof that someone, somewhere, considers you good enough to publish so that other people can also read you.
When the poem is accepted by a publication with an underlying worthy cause, however, there's a special feeling of pride and an accompanying sense of fear that the poem will somehow not live up to the initial vote of confidence. The book will be reaching out to an audience other than poetry lovers - and this one will be reaching out to a group of people who have lived through fear and tragedy that I have only written of - to people with a courage I cannot imagine possessing. How will it meet with them?
I've always felt that being capable of writing poetry is as much of a responsibility as it is a gift.
Now I know it is.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The 13th Annual Poetry Conference at West Chester
We left town early yesterday to attend the last day of the 13th Annual West Chester University Poetry Conference. Actually, we didn't "attend" much - mostly we just hung around and met people in person that we've known in print for years. It was great to finally put faces to names - Michael Cantor, David Landrum, Toni Clark, Greg Dowling, Bruce McBirney, and Wendy Sloan from Eratosphere, and Robin Kemp and Marilyn Taylor from Formalista. There were a few others attending that I really wish I had been able to locate but time was short and the few hours we had there flew by and the day was over long before I was ready for it to end.
We hung around long past prudent leaving-time in order to hear Alicia Stallings, Dick Davis and H. L. Hix give readings and I'm really glad we did so.
They were, all three, wonderful. Dick Davis read several very funny and well-written poems loosely centered on random events at last year's conference which kept the audience in stitches throughout. Alicia read from Hapax as well as from her newest collection and gave us a long poem on the Plague from a translation she's been working on for over a decade. H. L. Hix read several poems which were fashioned solely from phrases taken from Bush speechs and one framed around words spoken by Saddam Hussein. He also did a most moving rendition of Shield of Achilles by W. H. Auden. Unfortunately we had to leave at that point and missed the readings by Molly Peacock and X. J. Kennedy.
It struck me while I was there that I was surrounded by the rarest of all poetic breeds - poets and artists who lived and breathed in form and meter and rhyme. I was talking to them, I was eating brats and drinking beer with them, I was listening to them read. For one brief and shining moment I was not a freak, I was not alone, I was not uncomfortable, I was not "different," I was not out of place. I was just like everyone else - albeit not nearly as talented.
Next year - as God is my witness - next year, by hook or by crook, by scholarship or by cash, we will attend the entire event.
I'm fired up.
We hung around long past prudent leaving-time in order to hear Alicia Stallings, Dick Davis and H. L. Hix give readings and I'm really glad we did so.
They were, all three, wonderful. Dick Davis read several very funny and well-written poems loosely centered on random events at last year's conference which kept the audience in stitches throughout. Alicia read from Hapax as well as from her newest collection and gave us a long poem on the Plague from a translation she's been working on for over a decade. H. L. Hix read several poems which were fashioned solely from phrases taken from Bush speechs and one framed around words spoken by Saddam Hussein. He also did a most moving rendition of Shield of Achilles by W. H. Auden. Unfortunately we had to leave at that point and missed the readings by Molly Peacock and X. J. Kennedy.
It struck me while I was there that I was surrounded by the rarest of all poetic breeds - poets and artists who lived and breathed in form and meter and rhyme. I was talking to them, I was eating brats and drinking beer with them, I was listening to them read. For one brief and shining moment I was not a freak, I was not alone, I was not uncomfortable, I was not "different," I was not out of place. I was just like everyone else - albeit not nearly as talented.
Next year - as God is my witness - next year, by hook or by crook, by scholarship or by cash, we will attend the entire event.
I'm fired up.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Poem For Ari
This is how you thought they'd learn -
by being drawn and quartered,
humiliated, abandoned, set in stone.
But before the lesson's end,
before you grinned and walked away,
you should have turned your head
and taken one long and lasting look
into the lion's eyes. You would have
seen how still they shone.
by being drawn and quartered,
humiliated, abandoned, set in stone.
But before the lesson's end,
before you grinned and walked away,
you should have turned your head
and taken one long and lasting look
into the lion's eyes. You would have
seen how still they shone.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Introducing "Ari"
Meet Ari!! Ari is Hebrew for "lion" and this particular lion named Ari happens to be a "Shameless Lion" and by virtue of my adopting him, this blog is now a member of The Shameless Lions Writing Circle.
He still needs a poem, though. And I'm still working on it.
Tomorrow, the poem will be here tomorrow.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
I Tell Myself
I Tell Myself
(for Patti)
I cannot bear to talk of how you died
by your own hand. I cannot bring myself
to cry in front of anyone. My pain is shame;
my grief is guilt; there is no way to blame
this loss on God or fate - and so, each time
I'm asked, I lie. I say that I've survived
your death and life goes on and nothing's changed
except you're gone. I do not speak of things
unspeakable - I mutter platitudes.
I keep the circumstances of your death
tucked hidden with your note. I lick the blood-
stained envelope to seal away the pain.
I tell myself repeatedly that guns
and ropes and razor blades are just the same
as unchecked cancer cells and others die
in self-same ways a hundred times a day.
I cope. (I do not cope.) I comprehend.
(I will not ever comprehend.) I cry.
(I'll never cry again.) And when I'm asked
if I am on the mend, I tell the truth.
(I lie.)
(for Patti)
I cannot bear to talk of how you died
by your own hand. I cannot bring myself
to cry in front of anyone. My pain is shame;
my grief is guilt; there is no way to blame
this loss on God or fate - and so, each time
I'm asked, I lie. I say that I've survived
your death and life goes on and nothing's changed
except you're gone. I do not speak of things
unspeakable - I mutter platitudes.
I keep the circumstances of your death
tucked hidden with your note. I lick the blood-
stained envelope to seal away the pain.
I tell myself repeatedly that guns
and ropes and razor blades are just the same
as unchecked cancer cells and others die
in self-same ways a hundred times a day.
I cope. (I do not cope.) I comprehend.
(I will not ever comprehend.) I cry.
(I'll never cry again.) And when I'm asked
if I am on the mend, I tell the truth.
(I lie.)
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Two New Poems in PoetryRevolt
I've just gotten confirmation from Dr. Maryke Cramerus, the editor of The Poetry Revolt that she's accepted two recently written poems of mine for the next issue of, well duh, The Poetry Revolt, of course.
It's been a long time since I've submitted anything anywhere - and an even longer time since I've had a acceptance.
Very nice magazine, very nice editor. She was very enthusiastic and positive about the poems and she very tactfully suggested some painless changes which turned out to be real improvements. It's really hard for me, as an author, to accept ( much less acknowledge) requested changes but I did want to call attention to the fact that here's one editor who really knows her "stuff" and who knows how to approach even tempermental and opinionated old hags like myself.
Anyhow, I've made the changes and the poems (Shooting Ducks and For Elizabeth)are on their way to publication.
Feels good. Looks like hard work is worth something.
Smells like vindication!!
It's been a long time since I've submitted anything anywhere - and an even longer time since I've had a acceptance.
Very nice magazine, very nice editor. She was very enthusiastic and positive about the poems and she very tactfully suggested some painless changes which turned out to be real improvements. It's really hard for me, as an author, to accept ( much less acknowledge) requested changes but I did want to call attention to the fact that here's one editor who really knows her "stuff" and who knows how to approach even tempermental and opinionated old hags like myself.
Anyhow, I've made the changes and the poems (Shooting Ducks and For Elizabeth)are on their way to publication.
Feels good. Looks like hard work is worth something.
Smells like vindication!!
Sunday, May 27, 2007
How Revisions Work (Or Don't)
Generally when I post a poem here it's pretty new....and hence, it's pretty rough. As the days go by, I make revisions - and more revisions - and still more revisions. Up until now, I've simply erased each version and posted the newer one so that no one would ever really know I'd made changes. Unless they had memorized a line or two and I sincerely doubt that anyone's gone that far.
This time I've decided to post each revision as it happens - while leaving the previous one posted below. My own little "workshop" so to speak. None of my changes are ever big ones - usually a word here or a word there - or some meter-fixing and rhyme adjusting. It might be interesting (even for me, since I never revise except to change the original on the computer and I never save an earlier version) to watch a poem evolve.
And so - here goes.
Suicide
revision #1
So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home, aware too late that no one wins;
Or here, where bullets know my name and why
I've come - and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the star that lights the city sky?
Or shall I choose to live as old men live -
with palsied limbs and shuffling gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I held dear no matter how I try;
With tired heart and sagging flesh no cash
or costly drug will heal or help disguise?
I fear free will is nought but final ruse.
There is no choice save this; And thus I choose.
_________________________________________________________
Ill Fated
Original version
So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home and suddenly aware that no one wins -
or on a street where bullets know my name and why
I'm there and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the only star that lights the city sky?
Or shall I choose to live as old man live -
with palsied limbs and shuffing gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I've held dear no matter how I try and try -
With skipping heart and stiffened lungs
that costly drugs can not quite manage to disguise?
Perhaps free will is just the final ruse.
There is no choice. I shall not choose.
This time I've decided to post each revision as it happens - while leaving the previous one posted below. My own little "workshop" so to speak. None of my changes are ever big ones - usually a word here or a word there - or some meter-fixing and rhyme adjusting. It might be interesting (even for me, since I never revise except to change the original on the computer and I never save an earlier version) to watch a poem evolve.
And so - here goes.
Suicide
revision #1
So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home, aware too late that no one wins;
Or here, where bullets know my name and why
I've come - and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the star that lights the city sky?
Or shall I choose to live as old men live -
with palsied limbs and shuffling gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I held dear no matter how I try;
With tired heart and sagging flesh no cash
or costly drug will heal or help disguise?
I fear free will is nought but final ruse.
There is no choice save this; And thus I choose.
_________________________________________________________
Ill Fated
Original version
So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home and suddenly aware that no one wins -
or on a street where bullets know my name and why
I'm there and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the only star that lights the city sky?
Or shall I choose to live as old man live -
with palsied limbs and shuffing gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I've held dear no matter how I try and try -
With skipping heart and stiffened lungs
that costly drugs can not quite manage to disguise?
Perhaps free will is just the final ruse.
There is no choice. I shall not choose.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
David Graham's Poetic Library
I've discovered an excellent new (to me, anyhow) resource for poets and those poetically inclined/interested.
It's called David Graham's Poetry Library and it's designed and maintained by, of course, none other than David Graham. (Go figure!!)
Anyhow, it's a must-check-out for anyone with even a teaspoon of interest in poetry.
So what are you waiting for? Go!! Check it out!!
NOW!!!
It's called David Graham's Poetry Library and it's designed and maintained by, of course, none other than David Graham. (Go figure!!)
Anyhow, it's a must-check-out for anyone with even a teaspoon of interest in poetry.
So what are you waiting for? Go!! Check it out!!
NOW!!!
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Deaths, Disappearances, Duct Tape and Diapers
Stories like these just ruin my weekend.
Baby Microwaved or The Devil Made Me Do It
Baby Dies After Having Mouth Taped For Talking During Nap Time
4 Year Old Missing After Being Left In Hotel Room While Parents Are At Dinner
Ack, yanno? So sad, so unnecessary. It's harder to adopt a kitten than it is to assume responsibility for a child. Parenting/babysitting isn't all that easy - but it shouldn't be this difficult, either.
Baby Microwaved or The Devil Made Me Do It
Baby Dies After Having Mouth Taped For Talking During Nap Time
4 Year Old Missing After Being Left In Hotel Room While Parents Are At Dinner
Ack, yanno? So sad, so unnecessary. It's harder to adopt a kitten than it is to assume responsibility for a child. Parenting/babysitting isn't all that easy - but it shouldn't be this difficult, either.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Leaving Eratosphere Behind
Well, I've done it now. I've gone and quit the ole workshop.
And it feels right - it feels good.
Workshopping can be a very valuable tool in the right hands and at one time I learned much at Eratosphere - but that time is gone and those days are past and the current state of affairs leaves much to be desired in that particular place.
I hope for those remaining that the problems there are resolved quickly. I'm just not sticking around to the bitter end even though the end is probably not very far off.
Sometimes the center really cannot hold.
And it feels right - it feels good.
Workshopping can be a very valuable tool in the right hands and at one time I learned much at Eratosphere - but that time is gone and those days are past and the current state of affairs leaves much to be desired in that particular place.
I hope for those remaining that the problems there are resolved quickly. I'm just not sticking around to the bitter end even though the end is probably not very far off.
Sometimes the center really cannot hold.
Friday, May 04, 2007
post removed
Sorry 'bout that....Poems don't stay up. Poems get taken down or fall apart or lay around, but they don't stay up.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Mo' Boards
It's May and Poetry Boards are springing up like Hydra's head!!
Dr. WhupAss's Bitch Ass Poetry Round-Up is not limited to poetry and, much like Eratosphere, it has a double function and duel boards which encourage free speech as well as free verse.
There's a rather lively discussion about what constitutes a
Real Poet going on over at Eratosphere. I'm afraid I lost my temper once again.
And finally, for the eyeroll factor alone, I am including the story of The Judge Who Lost His Pants and Wants To Sue the Cleaners For $65 MILLION Dollars. Only in DC, yanno?
God, I miss Indiana!!!
Dr. WhupAss's Bitch Ass Poetry Round-Up is not limited to poetry and, much like Eratosphere, it has a double function and duel boards which encourage free speech as well as free verse.
There's a rather lively discussion about what constitutes a
Real Poet going on over at Eratosphere. I'm afraid I lost my temper once again.
And finally, for the eyeroll factor alone, I am including the story of The Judge Who Lost His Pants and Wants To Sue the Cleaners For $65 MILLION Dollars. Only in DC, yanno?
God, I miss Indiana!!!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Note to Anon
It's a shame that such well thought-out and worded posts can't (or won't) be posted here. There is, of course, a part of me which would like nothing better than to post the comments I've recently received. But the better part of valor is always discretion - as I assume you are all aware - since your refusal to comment under your own names while being perfectly willing to allow others (such as myself) to take the heat for broadcasting your ideas and opinions speaks volumes of your own courage and your own fears.
This is not to say that I disagree with them - or with your rights to vocalize them. Just not in my playground and just not under the broad cloak of "anonymous."
I would, of course, appreciate being able to correspond with you guys since apparently we share many of the same views even if we don't agree on how and/or where to best express them. These one-sided conversations leave me feeling just a bit out-of-sorts and irritated. How can I respond to your charges if I don't know who or where you are?
Besides, if you're truly serious, how on earth do you expect that the "problem" can be addressed if we all choose to remain anonymous? There's strength (and safety, if any one's afraid) in numbers, yanno?
As for me, I walk the narrow line because it seems the kindest and wisest thing to do.
Convince me otherwise.
This is not to say that I disagree with them - or with your rights to vocalize them. Just not in my playground and just not under the broad cloak of "anonymous."
I would, of course, appreciate being able to correspond with you guys since apparently we share many of the same views even if we don't agree on how and/or where to best express them. These one-sided conversations leave me feeling just a bit out-of-sorts and irritated. How can I respond to your charges if I don't know who or where you are?
Besides, if you're truly serious, how on earth do you expect that the "problem" can be addressed if we all choose to remain anonymous? There's strength (and safety, if any one's afraid) in numbers, yanno?
As for me, I walk the narrow line because it seems the kindest and wisest thing to do.
Convince me otherwise.
Comment Moderation
At least for a while the comment moderation feature is going to be turned on.
I'm a big believer in free speech - I'm just not a big believer in cheap speech.
I'm a big believer in free speech - I'm just not a big believer in cheap speech.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
"Poet and Critic"
Allright! A new workshopping board for metrical poets!!!
Not only that - but a new workshopping board for metrical poets who don't feel like wading through tons of personality crap and bullshit cliques to get there.
One with the focus on poetry rather than on popularity.
What more can a misfit metricist like myself ask for?
Poet and Critic
Not only that - but a new workshopping board for metrical poets who don't feel like wading through tons of personality crap and bullshit cliques to get there.
One with the focus on poetry rather than on popularity.
What more can a misfit metricist like myself ask for?
Poet and Critic
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Wish-Fullfillment
Today at five o'clock I shall fullfill one of my lifelong dreams. Yes, you guessed it, we are getting a dorm sized refrigerator for the bedroom.
Ahhh....bliss.
All I need now is a microwave and hotplate and I'll never have to get out of bed again.
Ahhh....bliss.
All I need now is a microwave and hotplate and I'll never have to get out of bed again.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Damn Near A Sonnet....Rocky Scan
Rahula
Come sit, Oh fat and Buddha-bellied cat
who thinks he’s kin to humankind. Reach up
and touch your paw against my face before
you climb into my lap. Turn once, then turn
again and find a place of joy. Stretch each
small claw - first sheathed and then unsheathed and knead
and purr and knead and kneed until your heart’s content.
We’ll sit together, you and I, and rock and reminisce
on lives once lived and loves once lost,
while safe within the fireplace, the dying embers die.
You’ll recollect an alley draped in dark,
and I, a house too cold and damp. Your mother’s
milk was all you knew - and I, those children,
soft and warm, small hands against my face.
Come sit, Oh fat and Buddha-bellied cat
who thinks he’s kin to humankind. Reach up
and touch your paw against my face before
you climb into my lap. Turn once, then turn
again and find a place of joy. Stretch each
small claw - first sheathed and then unsheathed and knead
and purr and knead and kneed until your heart’s content.
We’ll sit together, you and I, and rock and reminisce
on lives once lived and loves once lost,
while safe within the fireplace, the dying embers die.
You’ll recollect an alley draped in dark,
and I, a house too cold and damp. Your mother’s
milk was all you knew - and I, those children,
soft and warm, small hands against my face.
Well Worth Reading.....Jehanne Dubrow
I don't often find "contemporary poets" that I'm willing to recommend - but Jehanne is different. She's really good. I don't know her, but I wish I did.
Follow the poetry links, please:
Notes from the Gefilte Review
Follow the poetry links, please:
Notes from the Gefilte Review
Friday, April 13, 2007
Heard On CNN This Morning
Deidre Imus - "You must stop sending hate mail to these women. If you must send hate mail, send it to my husband."
Go, Dedrie!!!
Go, Dedrie!!!
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Rudeness in the Workshop
If I am rude in defense of someone who has been the unwilling victim of rudeness what does that make me?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Corps Places Faulty Pumps in New Orleans
NEW ORLEANS - The Army Corps of Engineers, rushing to meet President Bush's promise to protect New Orleans by the start of the 2006 hurricane season, installed defective flood-control pumps last year despite warnings from its own expert that the equipment would fail during a storm, according to documents obtained by The Associated Press.................
The pumps are now being pulled out and overhauled because of excessive vibration, Corps officials said. Other problems have included overheated engines, broken hoses and blown gaskets, according to the documents obtained by the AP.................
The drainage-canal pumps were custom-designed and built under a $26.6 million contract awarded after competitive bidding to Moving Water Industries Corp. of Deerfield Beach, Fla. It was founded in 1926 and supplies flood-control and irrigation pumps all over the world.
MWI is owned by J. David Eller and his sons. Eller was once a business partner of former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush in a venture called Bush-El that marketed MWI pumps. And Eller has donated about $128,000 to politicians, the vast majority of it to the Republican Party, since 1996, according to the Center for Responsive Politics.
MWI has run into trouble before. The U.S. Justice Department sued the company in 2002, accusing it of fraudulently helping Nigeria obtain $74 million in taxpayer-backed loans for overpriced and unnecessary water-pump equipment. The case has yet to be resolved.
Entire Article, NW Ind. Times
So the nation has, in effect, re-hired a company which they are already suing for fraud.
I'd do that, too, wouldn't you?
Especially if Jeb Bush was a friend of mine.
The pumps are now being pulled out and overhauled because of excessive vibration, Corps officials said. Other problems have included overheated engines, broken hoses and blown gaskets, according to the documents obtained by the AP.................
The drainage-canal pumps were custom-designed and built under a $26.6 million contract awarded after competitive bidding to Moving Water Industries Corp. of Deerfield Beach, Fla. It was founded in 1926 and supplies flood-control and irrigation pumps all over the world.
MWI is owned by J. David Eller and his sons. Eller was once a business partner of former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush in a venture called Bush-El that marketed MWI pumps. And Eller has donated about $128,000 to politicians, the vast majority of it to the Republican Party, since 1996, according to the Center for Responsive Politics.
MWI has run into trouble before. The U.S. Justice Department sued the company in 2002, accusing it of fraudulently helping Nigeria obtain $74 million in taxpayer-backed loans for overpriced and unnecessary water-pump equipment. The case has yet to be resolved.
Entire Article, NW Ind. Times
So the nation has, in effect, re-hired a company which they are already suing for fraud.
I'd do that, too, wouldn't you?
Especially if Jeb Bush was a friend of mine.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Any Man - revision # 1
Any Man
Remember how when we were young, we walked
outside the rapist's house, back and forth, to
and fro, until at last our parents called
us in? My mother said, "You're teasing fate."
Your father said, "You're tempting man." But we
were ten - and curious - and sex and rape
were two small words we did not understand.
But now that I've been raped by love, and you,
my friend, by marriage vows, we comprehend.
The face that sometimes hides inside a closed
suburban home - where fancy curtains can
not keep a secret kept - is someone's son
and someone's spouse and that his name may quite
well be the whispered name of any man.
Remember how when we were young, we walked
outside the rapist's house, back and forth, to
and fro, until at last our parents called
us in? My mother said, "You're teasing fate."
Your father said, "You're tempting man." But we
were ten - and curious - and sex and rape
were two small words we did not understand.
But now that I've been raped by love, and you,
my friend, by marriage vows, we comprehend.
The face that sometimes hides inside a closed
suburban home - where fancy curtains can
not keep a secret kept - is someone's son
and someone's spouse and that his name may quite
well be the whispered name of any man.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Women Rule!!!
Notice - it's the females who learn the new tricks first......
Chimps Fashion Tools to Hunt Bush Babies
By Rick Weiss
The Washington Post
February 23, 2007
Chimpanzees living in the West African savanna have been observed fashioning deadly spears from sticks and using the handcrafted tools to hunt small mammals--the first routine production of deadly weapons observed in animals other than human beings.
The multistep spearmaking, documented by researchers in Senegal who spent years gaining the chimpanzees' trust, adds credence to the idea that human forebears fashioned similar tools millions of years ago.
The landmark observation also supports the long-debated proposition that females--the main makers and users of spears among the Senegalese chimps--tend to be the innovators and creative problem solvers in primate culture.
Using their hands and teeth, the chimpanzees were repeatedly seen tearing the side branches off long straight sticks, peeling back the bark and sharpening one end, the researchers report in Thursday's online issue of the journal Current Biology. Then, grasping the weapon in a "power grip," they jabbed into tree-branch hollows where bush babies--small monkeylike mammals--sleep. "It was really alarming how forceful it was," said lead researcher Jill Pruetz of Iowa State University in Ames, adding that it reminded her of the murderous shower scene in the Alfred Hitchcock movie "Psycho." "It was kind of scary."
The new observations are "stunning," said Craig Stanford, a primatologist and professor of anthropology at the University of Southern California. "Really fashioning a weapon to get food--I'd say that's a first for any non-human animal."
While a few chimpanzees have been observed throwing rocks and a few others have been known to swing simple clubs, only people have been known to craft tools expressly to hunt prey.
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
Chimps Fashion Tools to Hunt Bush Babies
By Rick Weiss
The Washington Post
February 23, 2007
Chimpanzees living in the West African savanna have been observed fashioning deadly spears from sticks and using the handcrafted tools to hunt small mammals--the first routine production of deadly weapons observed in animals other than human beings.
The multistep spearmaking, documented by researchers in Senegal who spent years gaining the chimpanzees' trust, adds credence to the idea that human forebears fashioned similar tools millions of years ago.
The landmark observation also supports the long-debated proposition that females--the main makers and users of spears among the Senegalese chimps--tend to be the innovators and creative problem solvers in primate culture.
Using their hands and teeth, the chimpanzees were repeatedly seen tearing the side branches off long straight sticks, peeling back the bark and sharpening one end, the researchers report in Thursday's online issue of the journal Current Biology. Then, grasping the weapon in a "power grip," they jabbed into tree-branch hollows where bush babies--small monkeylike mammals--sleep. "It was really alarming how forceful it was," said lead researcher Jill Pruetz of Iowa State University in Ames, adding that it reminded her of the murderous shower scene in the Alfred Hitchcock movie "Psycho." "It was kind of scary."
The new observations are "stunning," said Craig Stanford, a primatologist and professor of anthropology at the University of Southern California. "Really fashioning a weapon to get food--I'd say that's a first for any non-human animal."
While a few chimpanzees have been observed throwing rocks and a few others have been known to swing simple clubs, only people have been known to craft tools expressly to hunt prey.
Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Bashert
Bashert
You speak to me in unfamiliar tongue -
Your mother's verse and chapter flooded
through your flesh at birth until the songs
that once were sung at cradle time
became your breath and blood.
Bathsheba, Sarah, Rachel, Ruth, Rahab -
Your women share my bed - I share their grief.
Masada, Gilboa, En-gedi, Ahlab -
The soil's in your soul. I cannot till the earth
you walk upon without exhuming bone beneath.
Moses, Isaac, Levi, Daniel, Job -
The strengths and sorrows of the fathers are
his offspring's board and chalk.
Havaye, Elokim, Kel Shakai - The One
These names you hide inside your mouth and speak
instead of sacrifice and sin, of shield and sun.
Halakhah - teach me how to walk.
You speak to me in unfamiliar tongue -
Your mother's verse and chapter flooded
through your flesh at birth until the songs
that once were sung at cradle time
became your breath and blood.
Bathsheba, Sarah, Rachel, Ruth, Rahab -
Your women share my bed - I share their grief.
Masada, Gilboa, En-gedi, Ahlab -
The soil's in your soul. I cannot till the earth
you walk upon without exhuming bone beneath.
Moses, Isaac, Levi, Daniel, Job -
The strengths and sorrows of the fathers are
his offspring's board and chalk.
Havaye, Elokim, Kel Shakai - The One
These names you hide inside your mouth and speak
instead of sacrifice and sin, of shield and sun.
Halakhah - teach me how to walk.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Poets Who Lie, Poets Who Love
Two things which are definitely worth reading today:
Jeffrey Levine's Dorset Prize Dustup as published in Poets&Writers by Kevin Larimer (with thanks to Kristy Bowen for pointing it out.)
All My Poems are Love Poems - When Two Poets Fall in Love published in Poets.Org and written by Craig Teicher.
Jeffrey Levine's Dorset Prize Dustup as published in Poets&Writers by Kevin Larimer (with thanks to Kristy Bowen for pointing it out.)
All My Poems are Love Poems - When Two Poets Fall in Love published in Poets.Org and written by Craig Teicher.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Education vs Effort
Interesting discussion here which I got into late and probably should have stayed out of, but didn't.
Sometimes I just get sick of highly educated people telling lesser educated ones what they should or should not be capable of wanting and/or doing. In the end, it's motivation not money, effort not education and determination not destiny which drives people to accomplish whatever it is they've accomplished. A lack of education is a hinderance, a lack of time is a drawback, a lack of money is a drag, but none of those things are insurmountable and many good things can still take place in spite of all those supposed negatives.
Writing poetry would be one of those things. Writing poetry which other people can actually read and relate to is another. Being proud of who you are and accepting of yourself (even if no one else is) is a third.
Sometimes I just get sick of highly educated people telling lesser educated ones what they should or should not be capable of wanting and/or doing. In the end, it's motivation not money, effort not education and determination not destiny which drives people to accomplish whatever it is they've accomplished. A lack of education is a hinderance, a lack of time is a drawback, a lack of money is a drag, but none of those things are insurmountable and many good things can still take place in spite of all those supposed negatives.
Writing poetry would be one of those things. Writing poetry which other people can actually read and relate to is another. Being proud of who you are and accepting of yourself (even if no one else is) is a third.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Makes Sense to Me
Michael Lewis, a journalist and the author of “Liar’s Poker” and “Moneyball,” appeared in the magazine Poetry for the first time in the summer of 2005, with a satirical piece called “How to Make a Killing from Poetry: A Six Point Plan of Attack.” It offered its advice in bullet-point businessese: “1) Think Positive. Nobody likes a whiner. And poets always seem to be harping on the negative. . . . 2) Take Your New Positive Attitude and Direct It Towards the Paying Customer. The customer is your friend. Your typical poem really doesn’t seem to pay much attention to the living retail customer. . . . 3) Think About Your Core Message. Your average reader might like a bit of fancy writing, but at the end of the day he will always ask himself: what’s my takeaway?”
The New Yorker
The New Yorker
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Poem for Elizabeth
Elizabeth Siddall Rossetti
For Elizabeth Siddall Rossetti
Who Suffered and Died and Was Buried
For the Sake of Everyone Else's Art http://www.scholars.nus.edu.sg/victorian/painting/millais/paintings/4.html
And when the artist says, "Don't move"
do you laugh a febrile laugh
or do you shiver at the fantasy
of faking ancient death?
Does your pale flesh crawl as you draw
that last warm breath
submerged as you are (impeccably dressed)
inside a tub as cold as Satan's soul?
At what grave cost do you suppress
each wracking ragged cough?
Poor Ophelia-Necrophilia!
Eventually you'll find the love
you think you've missed.
It's painted in the poppies
in the bouquet at your wrist.
For Elizabeth Siddall Rossetti
Who Suffered and Died and Was Buried
For the Sake of Everyone Else's Art http://www.scholars.nus.edu.sg/victorian/painting/millais/paintings/4.html
And when the artist says, "Don't move"
do you laugh a febrile laugh
or do you shiver at the fantasy
of faking ancient death?
Does your pale flesh crawl as you draw
that last warm breath
submerged as you are (impeccably dressed)
inside a tub as cold as Satan's soul?
At what grave cost do you suppress
each wracking ragged cough?
Poor Ophelia-Necrophilia!
Eventually you'll find the love
you think you've missed.
It's painted in the poppies
in the bouquet at your wrist.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
The Horrible Secrets of Motherhood
In honor of the Chicago Bears going to Super Bowl 41. Here are 41 things that have changed from the last time the Chicago Bears played in the Super Bowl (which was Super Bowl 20 in 1986):
1. Brian Urlacher was in 2nd grade. Rex Grossman was in kindergarten.
Peyton Manning was 10 years old. Eli Manning was 5 years old. Their dad, Archie, had just retired from the NFL two years earlier.
2. Lovie Smith was in his first college coaching job at University of Tulsa.
3. Ronald Reagan was the President, and Harold Washington was the Mayor. James R. Thompson was the Governor running for re-election and his office was in the new State of Illinois Center, which is now called the James R. Thompson Center.
4. George W. Bush was 39 years old and still drinking. His father would run for President two years later.
5. Rod Blagojevich was just out of law school and was a low-level prosecutor working for the Cook County State's Attorney, Richard M. Daley.
6. Barack Obama had just moved to Illinois, and Osama bin Laden was fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan.
7. Red Grange and Sid Luckman were still alive.
8. The Colts had just moved to Indianapolis from Baltimore and were the doormat of the AFC EAST. The Bears were the champions of the NFC CENTRAL.
9. Property in Wicker Park and Bucktown was cheap because they were really bad neighborhoods.
10. CD players, cellular phones and fax machines were expensive, cutting edge technology and only a few people used them.
11. "Surfing the net" meant a volleyball game at the beach, and virtually no one used the "@" key on their TYPEWRITER.
12. Sam Walton was still alive and was wealthier than Bill Gates.
13. Windows were panes of glass...not a computer operating system that was a pain in something that rhymes with glass.
14. The Soviet Union was our main enemy, and Saddam Hussein was our ally.
15. There were no lights at Wrigley Field, and the oldest park in baseball belonged to the White Sox.
16. Michael Jordan and Ozzie Guillen had just finished their "Rookie of the Year" seasons. Jordan's coach was Stan Albeck and Guillen's manager was Tony LaRussa. (Three out of four of those guys are now wearing championship rings, but what ever happened to Stan Albeck???)
17. Soldier Field had AstroTurf. The Houston Oilers played in the AstroDome.
18. The Fox TV Network didn't exist, and ESPN had yet to air a single live pro football, baseball, or basketball game.
19. MTV played music and so did some AM radio stations.
20. Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff weren't born yet; Jackie Gleason and Richard Nixon were still alive.
21. Hillary Clinton had dark hair and was the First Lady......of Arkansas!
22. "The Love Boat" and "Diff'rent Strokes" were still on network TV every week.
23. Martin Luther King Day was about to be celebrated as a National Holiday for the first time.
24. "9-11" was a phone number many cities were just adopting for emergency calls - not a date of terror.
25. I-88 was called "Illinois Rt. 5" and I-355 hadn't been built yet.
26. What the CTA now calls "The Blue Line" had just been extended to O'Hare, and the Orange Line to Midway hadn't been built yet.
27. Q101 played adult contemporary music and most teenagers listened to WLS. Music from the 70s and 80s wasn't "retro" yet.
28. Tiger Woods hadn't won an amateur golf tournament yet.
29. Most people knew Seattle just as a city in the Northwest U.S. - not the home of grunge or Starbucks.
30. Only Southerners went to NASCAR races and only Northerners went to NHL games.
31. The Chicago area had no Wal-Marts, Targets or Home Depots, and Walgreen's was only in the Midwest.
32. Depending on your bank, your ATM card was good at only "Cash Station" machines or only at "Money Network" machines, but there were no fees.
33. "The Phone Company" was Illinois Bell.
34. They still sold leaded gasoline and you couldn't pay for your gas at the pump.
35. Discover Card hadn't been discovered yet, and Miller Genuine Draft hadn't been brewed yet.
36. Stereo TVs were the rage that HDTVs are now. 8-track tapes were still being made.
37. All of the Blockbuster Video stores that are now closing hadn't opened yet. Betamax was still competing with VHS.
38. You paid cash for your groceries and fast food, and you used a travel agent to book airline flights.
39. Bowl games didn't have corporate sponsors, and if the #1 ranked team was in a conference that played in one bowl game and the #2 ranked team was in a conference that played in another bowl game, then so be it! They let the sportswriters vote on the national champion. (and no college football games were played after New Year's Day)
40. The Baltimore Ravens were the Cleveland Browns. The Tennessee Titans were the Houston Oilers. The Oakland Raiders were the Los Angeles Raiders that had just left Oakland. The Arizona Cardinals (the former Phoenix Cardinals) were the St. Louis Cardinals, and the St. Louis Rams were the Los Angeles Rams. The Jacksonville Jaguars, Carolina Panthers, Houston Texans, and the Cleveland Browns (not to be confused with the Cleveland Browns that are now the Baltimore Ravens) didn't exist. The Seattle Seahawks (last year's NFC Champions) played in the AFC.
41. There were no iPods - just Sony Walkmen - so if you said something about a "shuffle" on your Walkman, they assumed you were listening to "The Super Bowl Shuffle"
Source: Unknown
This is a tough year for my house. Sons # 1 and 3 live in the Chicago area and are die-hard Bears fans. Son #2 has his football roots back home in Indiana and is equally passionate about The Colts. Fortunately for me, Dan is out of it - his being a Pats fan and all. (Better luck next year, Honey!) Any way you look at it, I am going to get telephone calls tonight.....and someone will be happy and someone will be sad. I shall be forced to celebrate and mourn at virtually the same time. I shall also be forced to deny having three-way calling capability on my cell phone so that no child in the presence of his siblings can catch me in the act and call me out on feigned sorrow or phony joy thereby solving once and for all (in the loser's mind) the age-old mystery of just which son it is that mom loves most.
Ahhhh....the horrible secrets of motherhood. No one told me there'd be games like this.
1. Brian Urlacher was in 2nd grade. Rex Grossman was in kindergarten.
Peyton Manning was 10 years old. Eli Manning was 5 years old. Their dad, Archie, had just retired from the NFL two years earlier.
2. Lovie Smith was in his first college coaching job at University of Tulsa.
3. Ronald Reagan was the President, and Harold Washington was the Mayor. James R. Thompson was the Governor running for re-election and his office was in the new State of Illinois Center, which is now called the James R. Thompson Center.
4. George W. Bush was 39 years old and still drinking. His father would run for President two years later.
5. Rod Blagojevich was just out of law school and was a low-level prosecutor working for the Cook County State's Attorney, Richard M. Daley.
6. Barack Obama had just moved to Illinois, and Osama bin Laden was fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan.
7. Red Grange and Sid Luckman were still alive.
8. The Colts had just moved to Indianapolis from Baltimore and were the doormat of the AFC EAST. The Bears were the champions of the NFC CENTRAL.
9. Property in Wicker Park and Bucktown was cheap because they were really bad neighborhoods.
10. CD players, cellular phones and fax machines were expensive, cutting edge technology and only a few people used them.
11. "Surfing the net" meant a volleyball game at the beach, and virtually no one used the "@" key on their TYPEWRITER.
12. Sam Walton was still alive and was wealthier than Bill Gates.
13. Windows were panes of glass...not a computer operating system that was a pain in something that rhymes with glass.
14. The Soviet Union was our main enemy, and Saddam Hussein was our ally.
15. There were no lights at Wrigley Field, and the oldest park in baseball belonged to the White Sox.
16. Michael Jordan and Ozzie Guillen had just finished their "Rookie of the Year" seasons. Jordan's coach was Stan Albeck and Guillen's manager was Tony LaRussa. (Three out of four of those guys are now wearing championship rings, but what ever happened to Stan Albeck???)
17. Soldier Field had AstroTurf. The Houston Oilers played in the AstroDome.
18. The Fox TV Network didn't exist, and ESPN had yet to air a single live pro football, baseball, or basketball game.
19. MTV played music and so did some AM radio stations.
20. Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff weren't born yet; Jackie Gleason and Richard Nixon were still alive.
21. Hillary Clinton had dark hair and was the First Lady......of Arkansas!
22. "The Love Boat" and "Diff'rent Strokes" were still on network TV every week.
23. Martin Luther King Day was about to be celebrated as a National Holiday for the first time.
24. "9-11" was a phone number many cities were just adopting for emergency calls - not a date of terror.
25. I-88 was called "Illinois Rt. 5" and I-355 hadn't been built yet.
26. What the CTA now calls "The Blue Line" had just been extended to O'Hare, and the Orange Line to Midway hadn't been built yet.
27. Q101 played adult contemporary music and most teenagers listened to WLS. Music from the 70s and 80s wasn't "retro" yet.
28. Tiger Woods hadn't won an amateur golf tournament yet.
29. Most people knew Seattle just as a city in the Northwest U.S. - not the home of grunge or Starbucks.
30. Only Southerners went to NASCAR races and only Northerners went to NHL games.
31. The Chicago area had no Wal-Marts, Targets or Home Depots, and Walgreen's was only in the Midwest.
32. Depending on your bank, your ATM card was good at only "Cash Station" machines or only at "Money Network" machines, but there were no fees.
33. "The Phone Company" was Illinois Bell.
34. They still sold leaded gasoline and you couldn't pay for your gas at the pump.
35. Discover Card hadn't been discovered yet, and Miller Genuine Draft hadn't been brewed yet.
36. Stereo TVs were the rage that HDTVs are now. 8-track tapes were still being made.
37. All of the Blockbuster Video stores that are now closing hadn't opened yet. Betamax was still competing with VHS.
38. You paid cash for your groceries and fast food, and you used a travel agent to book airline flights.
39. Bowl games didn't have corporate sponsors, and if the #1 ranked team was in a conference that played in one bowl game and the #2 ranked team was in a conference that played in another bowl game, then so be it! They let the sportswriters vote on the national champion. (and no college football games were played after New Year's Day)
40. The Baltimore Ravens were the Cleveland Browns. The Tennessee Titans were the Houston Oilers. The Oakland Raiders were the Los Angeles Raiders that had just left Oakland. The Arizona Cardinals (the former Phoenix Cardinals) were the St. Louis Cardinals, and the St. Louis Rams were the Los Angeles Rams. The Jacksonville Jaguars, Carolina Panthers, Houston Texans, and the Cleveland Browns (not to be confused with the Cleveland Browns that are now the Baltimore Ravens) didn't exist. The Seattle Seahawks (last year's NFC Champions) played in the AFC.
41. There were no iPods - just Sony Walkmen - so if you said something about a "shuffle" on your Walkman, they assumed you were listening to "The Super Bowl Shuffle"
Source: Unknown
This is a tough year for my house. Sons # 1 and 3 live in the Chicago area and are die-hard Bears fans. Son #2 has his football roots back home in Indiana and is equally passionate about The Colts. Fortunately for me, Dan is out of it - his being a Pats fan and all. (Better luck next year, Honey!) Any way you look at it, I am going to get telephone calls tonight.....and someone will be happy and someone will be sad. I shall be forced to celebrate and mourn at virtually the same time. I shall also be forced to deny having three-way calling capability on my cell phone so that no child in the presence of his siblings can catch me in the act and call me out on feigned sorrow or phony joy thereby solving once and for all (in the loser's mind) the age-old mystery of just which son it is that mom loves most.
Ahhhh....the horrible secrets of motherhood. No one told me there'd be games like this.
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