Monday, October 29, 2007

Psyche Takes the Plunge

I'm so jealous cause Patterson Hood offered a woman I know a drink of whiskey at the Drive-by Truckers show in Baltimore last night. Dag.

I'm going off blog now til Thursday after sundown for the Three Swingin' Nights of Samhain. Wish me luck in the underworld, in my underwear, playing the la la la la...

Sunday, October 28, 2007

A Whiff of Hysteria

Got a pack of samples from Scent Bar the other day. And the winner is Let Me Play the Lion by LezNez, storm-broken linden-tree branch from above and leatherbound Catholic hymnal frankincense up close. Will never lose my allegiance to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab's supernatural scent oils, but a little artificiality never hurts, for balance alone.

Five poems to go. Plus a story to revise by tomorrow. Between the World Series, Halloween, paying work and drama, drama, drama, I'll never have a minute to myself again. Mercury, I can't wait til you turn your ass around Nov. 1.

PS: Despite perfect weather, all my favorites in the Marine Corps Marathon came home a little bummed. Didn't get the times they wanted, and one ironman fell victim to IT band just a week before (and did it anyway. Ow.). I think there must be something about that course, cause it seems to whupass every time.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Out of the Zone

I'm trying to finish a 50-page poetry manuscript. Deadline, Halloween (or as My People call it, Samhain. Some call it corn.). This year, I think I'll dress up as an irrelevant, discredited art form no one pays you for and everyone fears you're going to force them to read. With fishnets and the Louise Brooks wig, of course.

Meantime, in honor of the change from zones to meters, here's my current favorite blogger to enjoy. Really, go anywhere else. Poetry is here. And the meter's running, baby.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Muskie. Yes, It Was.

My friend BA sends me this and it all comes back to me, the long love/hate relationship I maintained with that big, tough, son of a bitch, Mark Trail. Man could really throw a punch, but I ain't no Amy Winehouse, so I don't play that. But this guy helped me get through the withdrawal. Many thanks, brothers and sisters.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

I'll Deal

Of course I'm listening to the new Radiohead (which, incidentally, we paid going market CD rate for) over and over and over like my daughter with a new My Little Pony video. I had to look up lyrics, but after reading his slightly tired retread of some 60s cocktail party scenario, I decided I prefer MY version:

I don't want to be your friend
I just want to be your lover
No matter how it ends
No matter how it starts
Forget about your house of cards
And I'll deal mine
Forget about your house of cards
And I'll deal mine
Throw your keys in the bowl
Cause you're spending the night

It's more Prince/Bryan Ferry this way, isn't it? There are advantages to partial hearing loss. Misheard lyrics are the sweetest.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

You Will, Oscar

Hail the birth of Oscar Wilde, the bodhisattva superqueen, the selfless giant who did time for our crimes of homophobia and denial, denial, denial! Venus' slave and avatar, genius of love! The man whose wit saved my life and always will! Immortal, no magic portrait required!

What he said to his friend the Sphinx, Ada Leverson (who said "Everything comes to the man who won't wait", another Libra, born Oct. 10, and who also deserves rereading) when she met him on his way home from jail: "How marvelous of you to know exactly the right hat to wear at seven o'clock in the morning to meet a friend who has been away."

Saturday, October 13, 2007

If Running Was Easy, It Would Be Your Mama

Have to bail on the marathon next weekend. Why should I spend my money limping through San Francisco when I can buy more yoga classes, heal my injury, and maybe learn to wrap my legs around my neck?

Keep hope alive.

I'd planned 8 miles today. Three miles in, my left leg folded. I decided to finish out the 8 just to get an idea of how it felt to run hurt, and if I could survive. I did it. I could probably do it for 26.2 on codeine and/or hydrocodone, and isn't it an indictment of our druggy athletic arena that I'd even consider it? Tsk tskafuckin tsk.

So w/o drugs, how did I negotiate the remaining 5 miles of hard road? Why, through a psychological technique called external dissociation. In layman's terms: Who Would You Do: The Crescent Trail Edition.

But as mamas everywhere say, sex can't last forever! In my case, it only lasted about five miles. If you really want to go the distance, you need a deep, sincere, lasting foundation of money, for massages, yoga lessons and personal training. Sigh. Keep hope alive.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Oh, Christ! I Couldn't Care Less

NPR wonders if Al Gore will fall victim to the Nobel Curse. Well, to come full circle in our unintentional series on this dyn-o-mite prize package, one could speculate that Al Gore has already suffered the effects of the curse, and that his life is written backward, by Harold Pinter.

Starring Karl Rove as the Weasel Under the Cocktail Cabinet.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Sweet Li'l Thom Yorke Destroys Music Industry

OK, I had to add this cause it's just too damn cute.

Insomnia + Procrastination - Inspriation makes an ass out of u and me. Damnit would you just go to bed. Can't write and it's too rainy to run.

Feminism! Science Fiction! Uplifting Remarks!

OK, so that Harold Pinter Nobel speech was good, but he ain't got nothing on Doris Lessing.

LONDON (AP) — Doris Lessing pulled up in a black cab where a media horde was waiting Thursday in front of her leafy north London home. Reporters opened the door and told her she had won the Nobel Prize for literature, to which she responded: "Oh Christ! ... I couldn't care less."

..."I'm sure you'd like some uplifting remarks," she added with a smile.

..."I can't say I'm overwhelmed with surprise," Lessing said. "I'm 88 years old and they can't give the Nobel to someone who's dead, so I think they were probably thinking they'd probably better give it to me now before I've popped off."

Monday, October 8, 2007

Everybody Loves Lupe; or, Back and Burned

This weekend I took my semi-annual pilgrimage to Playa del Fuego, a regional Burning Man event, for a low-key immersion in age-inappropriate behavior (watch the hip, watch the hip! And dear, please don't come near me with that body glitter; it enhances wrinkles). One of many rambling conversations was about the kids today and their destructive rap, with a lawyer, a teacher, and a civic activist/indy media person with a nonprofit startup representing the constitution, the schools, and the left, respectively but not exclusively, and me, the conscienceless artist (perspective disclosure: I'm writing it, and I keep on hoping to hell you're gonna pay me or love me for it, but even if you don't I'll keep doing it and expecting it, because that's the definition of artistry as well as of insanity).

Then on the way home, my Dearest Friend and I caught a few minutes of Kojo Nnamdi, where he had a hip hop discussion panel on. He promised to post the panel's favorite examples of "good" hip hop, and here they are. Panelist DJ Eurok says crappy bling-n-butt hip hop is the result of media ownership consolidation, and because I believe media ownership consolidation is behind just about every evil from lead poisoning to my running injuries, I say a limited "yay" to Monsieur Eurok.

OK, so a lawyer, a teacher, an indy media person and a poet walk into a bar, don't want to hear the rest.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Jesus, Rocktober, I Thought You'd Never Get Here

So I've got ITBS in both legs, now. (And that's NOT IBS, BTW. FCK U.) I made it 10 miles thru the 20-miler and had to stop. Fuck fuckimoto fuckity fuck. It's back to Hot Yoga classes and short runs with the magic bands on both legs for me. Seven seems to be the magic number that I can make band-free and pain-free. I'm just trying to make it to the women's marathon in a month. I think I'll wear pink lace garters over both my leg bands.

Happy birthday, Sting.