A week filled with grr

Wednesday is almost over. Therefore I feel I can say that I hope the second half of the week is less annoying than the first half.

NaNo starts in a little over an hour. I'm skeered.

I have absolutely nothing to write about. Every year before I've had ideas going in. I'm really skeered.

I see the turkey. I also see the crazy.

Yep, looking in a mirror again.

Doing NaNoWriMo for the fourth time. I've won once and lost twice. Gotta get that percentage back up to 50 or I'll look like a loser. Um, more of a loser.

Scavella's in. Who else?

"I see the turkey. I do not see the sexy."

Offered without further comment.

With thanks to Bookshelves of Doom for bringing this to my attention.

Reminder for those who are true gluttons for punishment

If you want to read the whole blank verse challenge so far, go here.

I don't know that I can recommend it, but you at least have the option. It's like a 70's stewardess saying, "Coffee, tea, or a strychnine souffle served by Carrot Top?"

Yick

In pursuit of something ended in this endlessness
Snow, so much more satisfying than any salt
He lost his way.

The color white. He walks
Over a carpet made
of corals.

Without eyes or thumbs
He suffers when he tries to play piano
But the quiver

In the packmule's shadow holds new arrows of endlessness
How saddlebags hold nothing for a wound
His hand isn't left.

Snow, so much more satisfying than any salt
In the desert's endlessness



Well, I tried, but I don't think I managed to make a "complete and satisfactory poem." In fact, I'm sure I made "a stinky mess."

Go Rockies!

Oh, and I don't live anywhere near Montana, o Googlers.

I might be too sad to say it tomorrow

But thank you, Cleveland Indians, for the funnest season since 1995.

I wish my dad could have seen you. Oh, he would have loved this team.

Experiments in tiny casseroles

I'm doing experimental cooking again. Steve would be cowering somewhere if he weren't watching football.

Today's experiment? Chili with a cornbread topper. I made individual chilis in ramekins, added a muffin's worth of cornbread to the top, baked, and am going to chill and freeze a couple to see if they survive the process. 357 calories per ramekin.

Originally, I wanted to get some little casserole dishes so I could make individual servings of things that Steve won't eat, like lasagne or tuna casserole. But then, in an extremely martyr-y move, I decided to try to make things that appealed more to him than to me.

I need smacked. If you come over to smack me, you can have some chili.

That's Madam Vice-President, to you

I forgot to mention that I have officially been promoted to vice-president at work.

It doesn't seem to gain me anything but the ability to snootily say, "I'm the vice-president."

And, well, you'd be amazed how rarely opportunities to say that snootily come up.

I'm gonna photoshop myself onto Mt. Rushmore any day now and hang the picture on my door.

Stressin' to the stress test

We had to be at the cardiologist's office at 7 am for Steve's stress test and... be still my heart (pun not originally intended but left in to demonstrate that I can at least be unintentionally funny) but Steve got a thumbs up from the doc on the ole tickeroo.

It was too late to avert my stress headache and sweating nausea, but better late than never.

I shouldn't be around people. I always assume they are dying. Sometimes they are, but dammit dammit DAMMIT, sometimes they aren't.

Hug your loved ones. If you don't have loved ones, I'll send you some, freshly pickled.

Some days...

... it's just fun being a fan. This has been a hugely entertaining postseason for me, watching my team grow up. *sniffle*


Ever since some time in the first inning, I kept asking "What's with the chicken?" There was a person dressed like one in the stands at Jacobs Field.

Finally, it dawned. Bird. Paul Byrd. Oh.

Now I feel stupid.

And then I come share the stupid with you, because I am generous that way!

Ryan Garko, funnyman

My cousin, “Big Body” Erb, texted me today. He’s back in North Carolina now. He was probably out somewhere watching this game tonight. He’s bugging me about getting him a signed bat to put up in his room, but he’s going to have to wait until after the season. I don’t remember him asking me for a signed bat when I was in Buffalo.

From Ryan Garko's postseason blog.


No matter what happens in the rest of the postseason, this Cleveland team is so much fun to root for. Every one of these guys just makes me happy to have followed them all year. Joyful, tough, goofy, talented. I don't want them to win for me; I want them to win for them.

Wow, I'm tired

I feel like I could sleep until Christmas.

The Indians are up 2-1 in the ALCS. I thought this series was a tossup and I fully expect it to go to 7.

So sleepy I could cry. I haven't recovered from last week.

Steve owes me big, dammit.

Big shocker here

You Are 50% Left Brained, 50% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning. Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others. If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic. Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet. The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility. Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way. If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art. Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

Eek eek eek!

More playoffs.

Actually, I'm a lot calmer about this one than the Yankee series. I would really have hated to lose to the Yanks.

Rik's challenge

See, Rik? I'm finally doing it. Guilt works on me so well.


Here's the question: Tell us all about three jobs you ran away from.

1. Bridal retail: Bridezillas. They come in all shapes and sizes and ages and colors and MY GOD MAKE THEM STOP! When I got engaged, I was so afraid of being a bridezilla that I didn't really make any decisions at all. I just showed up when and where I was supposed to. It worked out well, or so I'm told. How the hell would I know? I'm still in shock and it's ten years later.

2. Chemistry tutoring: I tutored college athletes at Notre Dame. Yeah, 'nuff said.

3. Roustabout: I could actually feel my IQ sinking as I did this job. Drive drive drive stop look listen drive drive stop lean drive drive climb climb climb dip reel drive gasp drive eat. The longer I did it, the worse I was at it which can't be said of that many things.

I'm it!

Christine of November Sky Poetry has tagged me. And since I'm waiting for some turkey noodle soup (so appropriate since I've been dealing with a turkey all day), I have time to kill. Sooooo:


What is your favourite guilty pleasure?
Totino's Pizza Rolls. They are evil and so, so bad for me.

How do you take your coffee?
Coffee is also evil. While I adore caffeine, I get it in Diet Coke and black tea. Coffee always smells so good, but I think it tastes like burning.

Who were you in a previous life?
Some peasant who died anonymously in a stupid way. I probably got run over by a wagon full of night soil.

What is the worst film you ever paid to see?
I don't remember the name of it, but it starred Norm MacDonald. Ah, "Dirty Work." Really really really really really really bad. No redeeming characteristics whatsoever.

What is the best thing you can ‘buy for’/’do with’ a dollar? / a euro?
Pay my library fines.

What is the worst present you’ve ever received?
My husband used to buy me computer games all the time. It was bizarre. Most of them were never opened.

What is your favourite word?
Palimpsest. Though I'm also a fan of geek and smurgle. "I'm such a geek that I smurgled the poem for using 'palimpsest.'"


I'm tagging Patti and Rik even though I didn't do the last tag Rik put on me and he'll probably shun me. *sob*

The Google hits just keep coming

While it's distasteful to talk about Leo Yankevich, I'm happy to say that people doing Google searches on his name are finding their way here in droves.

Which means that I can say, simply, do your research. His beliefs and disgusting thoughts are available online if you look for them. He periodically will make some attempt attempt to hide his racist, Nazistic leanings, but the truth always comes out in a frothing, screaming mess.

And if you piss him off, he'll write hilarious things about you on his blog. Then he'll delete them which is a bit disappointing, but you can't have everything.

Steve's home, unexpectedly

It didn't look like he was going to be sent home today, and then it all happened in a flurry.

Hurrah!

He'll probably sleep for days, now. Why are hospitals so incredibly loud? Everything has an alarm on it, and no one seems to care if the alarms go off. Grr.

And I believe I have contracted the Hospital Epizootic. I gurgle in your general direction.

Tuesday blues

When I went to bed at 12:30 I was happy about the Indians advancing in the playoffs.

Unfortunately, Steve woke me about two hours later and we had to rush to the ER.

He's been admitted. All they'll say is that it wasn't a heart attack.

Every time I get too high, something shoots me down.

WOOO!

6-4.

Now I need a lie down.

Urk

8-4.

Someone hold me!

Now here's a journal everyone can submit work to

The Futility Review.

'Cause they'll reject your ass anyway.

When (if ever) are we tarnished by where we publish?

I've mentioned before how there are formalist journals I will never submit work to because I am uncomfortable with their political stances.

With the exception of one journal, however, I wouldn't never look cross-eyed at a poet for submitting work to such places, and I would never assume (again, with that one exception) that submitting work to such places means anything about the morals, judgment, politics, or general nicey-niceness of any poet.

But there is that exception, for me. Ignorance, of course, is a great excuse. If a poet doesn't know the proclivities of a journal or editor they can't be held in any way responsible for what that journal or editor says. But once that ignorance is gone, by way of someone showing them explicit documentation, what is the poet's responsibility, if any?

Granted, publication isn't that important to me, so it's easy for me to say that poets should thumb their noses at such publications. Still, I do expect people to stand up for what's right. It doesn't always have to agree with my personal moral compass, but I do expect something beyond "they were willing to publish me."

Part of me thinks I'm being unfair. Then again, part of me is always trying to see so many sides of an issue it's amazing I can walk straight.

So, by their fruits and publishing credits may you know them?

If you follow baseball...

You probably have already seen how Cleveland Indians fans, in the form of tiny midges, attacked and distracted the New York pitcher Joba (pronounced like the Hutt) Chamberlain and possibly cost the Yankees the game.

It was a fairly freaky scene if you aren't into insects, and I'm so not into insects.

But it's also pretty damned fitting. I figure there will be a river of blood before this thing is over. Let My PEOPLE GO!

Woo x2!

2-1.

This time, I need vodka.

Powered by ScribeFire.

My favorite, and best, high school teacher has died

He was only 55 years old. How could have have been that young?

I remember how disappointed he was that I didn't go for a Chemistry degree. "You're a scientist," he said. "You're a born scientist."

But I didn't. And I do regret it, Mr. Thrush. I do.

Woo!

12-3.

I need antacids.

Powered by ScribeFire.

Oh, how adorable

I just love it when Nazi sympathizers get all personal and stuff. After all, you know people by their enemies, even more than by their friends. And certain enemies just give me a warm glow.

In any case, it appears that my distaste for Leo Yankevich has hurt his widdle feelings. Who knew that was even possible?

To reiterate: Joseph Salemi didn't proofread. Leo Yankevich sucks. My right foot is asleep. The Indians are in the playoffs. The chair is against the wall.

Superstition, thy name is Julie

So the Indians are in the playoffs, but I'm afraid to talk about it lest I doooom them.

I could, too. I have my doomable shoes on. They crush dreams to dust, I tells ya.

Indians vs. Yankees.

Someone hold me.

Powered by ScribeFire.

You people are just weird

You know what's leading my Google searches right now? The thing that's bringing the most people to this site? Google string "best smelling armpits."

You're weird. All of you!

Powered by ScribeFire.