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07:02 pm:

09:48 pm:

11:28 pm: For the Dad that has everything
Why not get him his very own soviet trainer jet? Landing Strip and parachute not included. 

02:21 pm: 5PM Translation: I'm the Most Important Thing in This Room
Prof: Questions, comments, concerns, snide remarks, songs, poems, eloquent discourses on the topic of your choice? No? Good.

Economics Class, East Carolina University
Greenville, North Carolina
via Overheard in the Office, Apr 30, 2008

09:32 am: Free music
Four great places:

3hive. Indie music blog.
eMusic's Daily Download that seems like a huge secret even to someone that has used eMusic for over a year now. Sometimes it makes you log in, sometimes not, so it's not just for paying members it seems.
Insound. Also have a weekly free Mp3, though it's really hit or miss.
Pitchfork's Forkcast. Sometimes it's stream only though.

Either way they are all better than iTune's free weekly tunes. Sorry Steve.

12:00 pm: One day in the distant future I'll get numb to getting poems accepted. Until then, just had a poem accepted by Muse & Stone. Milk that MFA thesis.

09:37 pm: Worst t-shirt/ best misreading of the day
The t-shirt actually said: Jesus died for my space in heaven.

However, I read it as Jesus died for myspace in heaven. Seems like it should be closer to hell.

08:46 pm: The only thing better than a movie about Bob Dylan (I'm Not There)
is a soundtrack of Dylan covers by your favorite musicians: Cat Power, Black Keys, Sufjan Stevens, Iron & Wine, Jeff Tweedy, etc. (well minus the mistake of Eddie Vedder and some others)

01:08 pm: old favorites
Typing up notes from a class I took last fall on Marianne Mooere, Theodore Roethke, and Robinson Jeffers, reminds me of how much I love all three even for different reasons: Moore's wit, use of source texts, Roethke's fresh writing about love, nature, man's relationship to nature both the pleasant and unpleasant,

"I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils"

"I can't crawl back through those veins"

"I wear the leaden weight/ of what I did not do."

"In the worst night of my will,/ I dared to question all/ and would the same again"


"How can I rest in the days of my slowness?"

"I get a step beyond/ The wind, and there I am,/ I'm odd and full of love."

finally Jeffers whose pessism for humanity still reveals a deep love and understanding of nature, if not humanity, with some beautiful long narrative poems.


"Permanent things are what is needful in a poem, things temporally/ of great dimension, things continually renewed or always present"


“I have grown to believe/ a stone is a better pillow than many visions”

"The destruction that brings an eagle from heaven is better than mercy."

"I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk"

"Men's failures are often as beautiful as men's triumph"

Tags: reading poetry american poets

06:03 pm: September 1st means
it's time to start the submission carpet bombing! Cue the Wagner.

09:46 pm: 12PM But Since You're Standing Right Here, I Can Just Tell You in Person

Boss: Can we talk for a few minutes?
Colleague: In a minute. I need to finish writing nasty emails to staff who don't learn.
Boss: We can't write nasty emails! We have to be encouraging.
Colleague: Dear sir, I'm delighted to be able to tell you that you are a complete idiot...

Australia

via Overheard in the Office, Jun 26, 2007

4PM This Is Actually a Great Segue to Your Firing

Manager: At this point we're only hiring servers who I know will do a really great job.
Waitress #1, with a wink: That's why I was hired, right? 'Cause you knew I'd do an awesome job?
Manager: Yes.
Waitress #2: I think I was hired because the regional manager liked me.
Manager: No, you were hired because the restaurant had just opened and we would have hired anybody.

Peppers Ferry Road
Christiansburg, Virginia

via Overheard in the Office, Jun 29, 2007

11:52 am: Happiness is
your eMusic downloads refreshing earlier than you expected.

12:39 am: One Czech, Many Novels.
Milan Kundera Quote of the day


"Life is short, reading is long, and literature is in the process of killing itself off through an insane proliferation. Every novelist, starting with his own work, should eliminate whatever is secondary, lay out for himself and for everyone else the ethic of the essential!" from The Curtain

A bit harsh, but if I understand the gist of this in the essay's context, and it is hard to pull out a part of a thread from a writer like Kundera, not everything a writer has ever written or will write is worth reading. He also believes that a writer can do as he or she wishes with their writing from burning it to publishing it. This argument is a little problematic when he mentions Kafka repeatedly in this book, just not in this section, since allegedly, he didn't want any of his writing published after his death.


Personally, I feel "reading is long" and wish some literature that may be coming soon to a comprehensive exam near me would start to kill itself off or at least go into a very deep coma.

11:40 pm: Summer activities 2
Make something with Leeks

Crack open musty old books- This week Faulkner's Light in August

Finish or start to finish books I've been meaning to finish: Zadie Smith On Beauty

Thomas Keneally American Scoundrel: Dan Sickles

Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens

Take a drug test so I can go back to Target (for the summer only, just like the toxic new Pepsi flavor)

Iron shirts, yeah I know

Organize papers

Exercise multiple times a week

Listen to lots of music

Sometimes, I think for educators and students, the first day of summer break is like everyone else's January 1st.

01:17 pm: End of the Semester
Well almost, Just..must..muster..enough energy to grade finals and final essays. Then stuff a giant backpack like a burrito.

06:39 pm: The Annual Texas Post SXSW Round Up
The Emo Ranch Is Down the Road
Guy: So at this Texas game ranch they release emos, and you shoot at them... I mean, emus.
Overheard by: pace</p>
via Overheard Everywhere, May 5, 2007

05:45 pm:

The Streetcar Only Works Nights

Taxi dispatcher to taxi driver: You don't have to say, 'Taxi 41 calling.' I know you're a taxi. You're not the streetcar named Desire.

Toronto, Ontario
Canadia

Overheard by: Thanks for clearing that up
www.overheardeverywhere.com

09:33 pm: Finally a television show that explains why so many Louisianans
are terrible drivers.

09:07 pm: 'Sup in Badly Translated English
Exercises should probably be kept deep in a drawer, but anyway it's a lot like poetic madlibs:


Translate a Poem of another Poet

Dream Song 4
by John Berryman

Filling her compact & delicious body
with chicken páprika, she glanced at me
twice.
Fainting with interest, I hungered back

and only the fact of her husband & four other people
kept me from springing on her


or falling at her little feet and crying
'You are the hottest one for years of night
Henry's dazed eyes
have enjoyed, Brilliance.' I advanced upon
(despairing) my spumoni.--Sir Bones: is stuffed,
de world, wif feeding girls.

--Black hair, complexion Latin, jewelled eyes
downcast . . . The slob beside her feasts . . . What wonders is
she sitting on, over there?
The restaurant buzzes. She might as well be on Mars.
Where did it all go wrong? There ought to be a law against Henry.
--Mr. Bones: there is.






Trancetune, the forth

Packing her small & succulent self
with chicken Cordon Bleu, she regarded me
two times.
Gasping with delight, I drooled slyly
and just the presence of her spouse and a quartet of others
prevented me from jumping upon her

or dropping at her petite toes and sobbing
'You are the spiciest thing for decades of dark
Hank's glazed pupils
Have experienced, Bright." I stabbed into
(desperately) my Cherry Garcia. –Da G: Yo, check this,
'ere globe, beaucoup hungry bitches.

--- Dark locks, skin pale, shining corneas
closed…. The glutton near her gorges…. What treats is
she parked above, against the wall?
The diner clatters. She should just be in another dimension.
When did I screw up? There should a restraining order against Hank.
Da G- Proper.




Translate a poem of your own


False Moon (original)

Turning over in my bed, a grill,
I look up to see burning rays;
through closed blinds they grid my face
squeezing between bent slats,
enough to let this sphere
prod me awake.

Usually it's nothing
I need think of, but my mind,
a V-6, turns over anyway,
revving something, something, something,
Did I lock my front door?
A student's head is down on a desk.
A girl smiled at me on the sidewalk.
Past, present, tomorrow, I have yet
to find the right cord to sever.

Tungsten lights swim over
stacks of unbuilt houses:
sorted wood, plaster, fiberglass.
Walking past them,
I think of them gone,
of empty lots, a familiar night,
and not knowing how
to put it all together.




Fraudulent Satellite

Rotating in my futon, a griddle,
I gaze up to view lurid light;
between blinds turned up they chart my visage
pressing amid warped metal
until this circle
jabs me to rise.

Typically it's unimportant
what I must ponder, but my brain,
a thermonuclear reactor, deep in a submerged submarine,
keeps the turbines spinning, fission, fission, fission,
did I bar my main portal?
A pupil's skull rests on a workstation.
A woman grimaced towards me on the footpath.
Yesterday, today, the future, I have failed
to locate the necessary cable to yank.

Halogen lamps float above
piles of building materials:
lumber, drywall, foam insulation.
Wandering around each,
I imagine them departed,
vacant fields, a known evening,
and an ignorance of the tools
it would take to make everything complete.

09:44 pm: bassoon quotes
"The bassoon is one of my favorite instruments. It has a medieval aroma, like the days when everything used to sound like that. Some people crave baseball...I find this unfathomable, but I can easily understand why a person could get excited about playing the bassoon."
-- Frank Zappa

"The wedding guest 'ere beat his breast, for he heard the loud bassoon"
-Coleridge, from "Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner"

"You would think the tuba would completely drown out the sound of the bassoon, but it doesn't. Something else will have to be found." -Peter Schickele

"Chopin once said the only thing that sounded more beautiful than one guitar was two guitars. It seems not unreasonable to ask, what sounds better than two guitars? Four bassoons, right?"  -Schickele

"The tone of the instrument is so sociable, so communicative, so in tune with every unspoiled listener that certainly the last day of the world will find many thousand bassoons around us." -Friedrich Daniel Schubart