Pre Trip Party

A little get together with the guys before my trip... from left: Nathan,
Pete, Will, Goa, Jeff A., & Jeff P.

Road Trip - Prelude

Last Saturday I was hanging out at home and our friend Peggy was over working on costumes for her dance company's Solstice performance while, at the same time, she was stressing because her oldest daughter Sedona is trying to get home from Atlanta where she moved a few short months ago with her boyfriend (who seemed like a sweet guy but turned out to be a jerk). He moved her out there because he was going to medical school and they were supposedly going to be together forever. So, anyway, said jerk meets someone else (hence his nickname) and tells sweet Sedona that he "wasn't sure" about their relationship before they moved--egads (what a jerky thing to do). So, anyway, now she's brokenhearted and stranded in Georgia (Georgia, for god's sake) with no friends. She decides to move back to Ashland but Peggy can't find anyone to drive with her (because Peggy doesn't want Sedona driving across the country by herself). So Peggy is super stressed and her husband, Don, is super stressed and I'm thinking, "driving across country sounds like fun" and, really, what else do I have to do? So I tell Peggy I'll fly to Atlanta and help Sedona get home. Peggy breaks into tears and says, "really?" and I say, "of course" and we have a good hug and now I'm flying to Atlanta on Thursday. It's a win, win, win, win because , Peggy is happy, Don is happy, Sedona is happy (for now anyway--she hasn't, as yet, spent 12 hours a day in the car with me) and I'm happy because, well, ROAD TRIP! I've decided to post our adventures here AS THEY UNFOLD (or shortly thereafter), so break out the popcorn and stay tuned...

Poetry is Elitist

so I’m going to a reading
and none of my friends want to go
because they think poetry is elitist
and maybe they’re right
but then I start thinking
that maybe they think I’m an elitist
and then I start thinking that maybe they’re right
but I don’t care because
they’re a bunch of philistines anyway
So I go to the reading
and there are a bunch of hipster types there
and I start wondering
if I look like a philistine to them
so I try to act ironic
and sit by myself
in the corner next to a stack of books
at least one or two of which I know I will buy
even though I’m nearly broke
but I feel kind of guilty
because I know poets don’t make any money
it seems elitism doesn’t pay very well
but poetry is better than TV
because it makes you think
and TV only makes you want
and I don’t care whether I get it or not
just that I got something that I can’t get from TV
and, besides, I didn’t waste another night watching
a bunch of dancing has-beens or housemates
fighting over a peanut-butter sandwich
and then I wonder if there’s anything elitist about peanut butter
but I think that’s probably reserved for preserves
and then a voice cajoles me from my smugness
and I realize I’m missing a poem
and think, for a moment, that I may not get it
but then I remember that that’s not the point
so I settle in to be enthralled
but I can’t help but notice the woman next to me
is wearing a too-tight t-shirt
and I think, “wow, that’s a tight t-shirt”
and then I wonder if maybe I’m just here
because I like funky, intellectual girls with hip eyeglasses
and tight t-shirts
and I wonder if that counts as elitist
and I decide it counts for something
meanwhile, the poet is droning on about kittens
but he’s using kittens as a metaphor
not as literal little cats
but I’m not sure what the metaphor is for
because I’ve been too busy wondering if I look ironic enough
to be hip but not too elitist that I look unapproachable
but then I wonder what the fuck I missed
those kittens sure seemed profound
but now he’s on to angst
and I have enough of that
because all that thought of peanut butter has made me hungry
but now I’m trapped here next to these books
one or two of which I know I will buy
instead of food
and I decide that’s fine
because I get to get inside someone else’s head for a change
and, besides, there’s a funky, intellectual girl in a tight t-shirt
sitting three feet away from me
and I realize I don’t really care if it’s elitist or not
I really like poetry

Since November

1) I weave a purple cold cap.

2) non-stop to eat every day but can not do sports, I like a pig.

3) tearing down the gel nail, and now my fingernails with SAW II poster comparable.

4) I am looking «fashion moment».

5) tearing down the fake lashes, every North Korea when I do not know where the eye.

6) friends again to catch other people's fiancee, I would like to kill him.

7) the eight-hour day wearing orthopedic underwear makes me want to die.

8) stewardess peanut butter and I was maimed DoubleStar.

9) back cartilage transfer, physical therapy.

10) ipod nano maintenance period imminent, a new free-for-the.

11) despair miss crabs.

12) Ricepaper French Kiss super-delicious, AE platinum card, 50% (card: Princess Margaret Road Road).

13) the entire November, can only go to work for two days.

14) see the parents is an fears about the activities.

15) received a set of «Galaxy Railway 999», thank you.

What Can $200 Million Do for Poetry?

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2007/02/19/070219fa_fact_goodyear

Phase Grams of Health

The acquaintance did not know why people criticize me, still insignificant?

If you are like me, as a mother, land-guys -with a gooseneck Bridge vicious cur -to my 27.

The others are all trivial.

1. "Days at you." *

2. "Plot you, because living ending years啦." *

3. "Your company - lowly grid, the microphone to marry message that ah." *

4. "I keep eyes on the release of long life, to see your point miserable." *

5. She would wash my most beloved Black the most expensive clothes, forever.

6. She would kick Tu I have spent a good foot, most of the time.

7. She will be demolished my letter box inverted箧 View turned my garbage has been.

8. The end-to-end she would not seek marriage for me signed, executed under under.

No fortune teller know, she and I are of a certain phase grams of Health.

In fact, my mother loves me, I love my mother.

However, I still leave the better.

Hearsay

Male: "someone said, in the Lan Kwai Fong to see you, and a man who tailor."

Daughter: "so?"

From August 2006 to July 2007.

Exactly 12 months.

Once the men are not the only close one?

Jumping feet of the pain, Chasing not changed for several people.

It turned out that was only one year.