Snow in the Foothills

For a brief two-hour period, there was snow in the Foothills of Mt. Baker. I had been swaddled in blankets watching television when it started to hail. Then the hail came down slower. Then slower yet. Soon there were large flakes settling to the ground, pressing against the deck-railings, clumping up in the flower boxes. I was sad to see the snow melt away before 2PM, but I expect we'll have a few more sudden storms in the weeks ahead.

***

It's still a bit hard to talk and turn my head. I'm slowly starting to push it, as my surgeon had recommended. He didn't want me walking around with hunched up shoulders. Meredith frowns at me everytime she sees me walking with my shoulders arched up. She'll stare me down and tell me to relax my right shoulder. I've been deprived of Hershey's Kisses for not following her commands.

The dog seems to know something's up, too. He's been resting his head on my knee a lot. He's also been good about not waking me up too early in the morning. I do suspect that the sudden turn in the weather has more to do with this . . .

***

I'm back in the classroom today, though it's still tough for me to move around. I'm giving out mid-quarter exams, so I won't be speaking much. I just hate missing time, as I mentioned in an earlier blog. It screws up the whole calendar.

***

I filled out a Marketing Questionnaire this weekend . . . that's all I'm saying. ;-)

Post-Op

For those of you who were wondering, I'm fine. I'm home now, and I'm as comfortable as I can be, given the circumstances. The surgery took longer than originally anticipated (add an hour and a half to the two-hour estimate). The compliment from the surgeon was that I had a lot of well-defined muscles in that region which made it hard to operate.

The night at the hospital sucked. It's hard to sleep when your head's elevated and you've got nurses checking your vitals every hour. Lucky for me, my parents and Meredith were around regularly. I basically watched a lot of Top Chef and drank a lot of clear liquids. Marcel is a jerk.

Anesthesia's a funny thing. I remember smelling the ether-smell. Then I remember looking at what appeared to be a drop-ceiling with the texture holes. I remember hearing the anesthesiologist telling me to breathe deeply, and then I remember seeing the dots and holes in the drop-ceiling whiz back like I was seeing them blur by from a car window. Then I'm out.

I hope to see some of you at UW this Thursday. By that time I should be able to move and function better. I'll probably not read too much. I don't want to get fatigued. Anyway, I'm perfectly fine. Thanks for asking.

UW Poetry Reading

A Poetry Reading on the campus of the University of Washington.

Thursday, November 2

3:30-5:00 PM

Johnson Hall Room 175

Poets Reading:

Rick Barot, author of The Darker Fall
Oliver de la Paz, author of Names Above Houses
Rigoberto Gonzalez, author of Butterfly Boy, Crossing Vines, and So Often the Pitcher Goes to Water Until It Breaks

The reading is sponsored by the Department of American Ethnic Studies and the English Creative Writing Program.

The World Series

So it's the Cards vs. the Tigers. Baseball is alive and well in the Midwest. I'm actually rooting for the Tigers, 'cause I like Jim Leland.

***

Lyric in my head:

"One shot, one beer, and a kiss before I go."

***

I was floored by the outcome of Project Runway. I thought Michael's stuff was totally disappointing and overly "hoochie." I thought Laura's pieces were gorgeous but predictable, and I thought Uli's stuff was going to win. But I think, in the end, Jeffrey won the vote because he KNEW what his point of view was and he could articulate his aesthetic the most effectively. I didn't like his clothes so much, but he knows his audience and he knows who he is as a designer.

***

I'm slowly becoming addicted to Battlestar Gallactica.

***

I love wearing Fall clothes. Scarves, yes. Elegant wool jackets, yes. Knitted caps, yes.

***

Should I watch "Flicka" or "Flags of Our Fathers"? I'm still puzzled about a piece of dialogue from the "Flicka" trailor. So the wife of the father tells the father that he is like his daughter. . . At some point, someone tells the daughter or says the daughter is like the horse . . . therefore, does that make the father a horse?

The film I REALLY would rather see that isn't here is "Marie Antoinette." I curse this rural life-style.

Surgery

So . . . I have to go in for surgery. It's not a big deal, or so I've been told, but it's still surgery. Yuck. What I'm most concerned about is the recovery time. I hate being bed-ridden. Anyway, I think I've got my classes managed. Gosh, I really really hate messing with syllabus calendars.

***

Still listening to Alt-Country. Currently spinning Neko Case's "Fox Confessor . . ."

***

Project Runway tonight. I hope Jeffrey doesn't get kicked off because he out-sourced. A big part of me believes he IS that fast with a needle and a thread.

***
It's been a busy academic year for reading appearances. I've got one coming up at UW on Nov. 2nd with Rigo and Rick. I've also got a few in the Winter and the Spring. Oh happy day.

The new Beck album . . .

. . . has stickers!!!!!

***

Re-spin on the iPod = Ryan Adams & the Cardinals, "Magnolia Mountain"

***

honky-tonk |ˈhä ng kē ˌtä ng k; ˈhô ng kē ˌtô ng k| noun informal 1 a cheap or disreputable bar, club, or dancehall, typically where country music is played : country bands at highway honky-tonks. • [as adj. ] squalid and disreputable : a honky-tonk beach resort. 2 country music : good-time urban cowboy fare with a hint of honky-tonk and a healthy measure of rock. 3 [often as adj. ] ragtime piano music. verb [ intrans. ] listen to or dance to country music : come on, let's go honky-tonking. ORIGIN late 19th cent.: of unknown origin.

***

Going to work on the well with the neighbors tomorrow. I'm a county boy, now.

Waltz, Foxtrot, Rumba . . .

My parents are taking dancing lessons. Initially, this was an embarassing point. The thought of my father "sweeping" my mother off her feet had originally made me want to hide. But now, I'm getting used to the fact that my parents have a life outside of my own. I suppose I've been going through this phase as a married man, where I recognize the necessity for a private moment with one's soul mate.

I swear, growing up, I had never seen my parents hold hands, let alone kiss. Now, whenever I see them walking side by side, they're hand-in-hand. Oh don't get me wrong . . . my dad still tries to shout conversations with me while I'm speaking with my mother on the phone. They still have their tiffs, their spats, their disagreements. But now, I can see them as a married couple and not just my parents.

I tried calling them tonight, but I then remembered it's dance night. I'll call tomorrow.

Some poems of mine online

. . . in the new issue of Siren: Clicky

AWP here I come . . .

Spent the better half of the morning getting all the forms together so that my department can pay my way to the AWP conference. I had to fill out blue forms that weren't blue, pink forms that weren't pink . . . Anyway, I'm looking forward to going as I do every year.

***

I'm finally getting settled into my quarter. The first week's always messy with students dropping, adding, scrambling for books and spaces.

I've got a routine now, and it seems to be working for me. My summer was too good to me, you know? Now I've got to rein in my scattered brain. I had spent a lot of time thinking about my own poems, writing my own poems, now it's time to give.

***

I'm sad I'll be missing Patrick's book launch party. It'll be a lot of fun for many lucky duckies.

***

Finally, Project Runway is on tonight and I'm DVR'ing it again. I think it's a gripe-fest night . . . we'll see.

Been slammed . . .

Sorry all. I've been slammed by the start of the new Fall quarter and I've been trying to get things up and running. On top of that, I've got several projects on the hot plate.

***

The Seahawks stunk it up yesterday. I fell asleep during the game. Not good. Not good at all.

***

We invited all our neighbors over for a Southern meal: Grilled Pork Loin, Collards, Baked Mac & Cheese, Cornbread . . . It was quite tasty. We were up way past our bedtimes and that messed with our sleep patterns for the rest of the weekend (see above).

***

I've resolved to get all my classes prepped a week in advance. We'll see how long THAT lasts.

Hamsters on a Plane!!!

Clicky

Confession . . .

So . . . I love Project Runway.

Meredith and I are addicted. We both loved Laura's cocktail dress. We both were shocked when a French citizen egged Michael Knight's couture gown. We both think Jeffrey's an ass, but we liked his couture gown.

Help. It's being TiVoed right now and Mere's not home. I want to sneak a peek, but . . .

Fall Cometh

Meredith and I are enjoying the last of our Summer vacation. The weather has gotten palpably colder, and the sun has been setting sooner than I've been used to. I've also been feeling sleepy at 10PM. That's a sure sign to me. We've been trying to watch X-Files Season 3 DVD's and I've been falling asleep through some of the episodes (I've already seen all of them, but I need to stay awake to field questions from the significant other).

***

Many folks have been talking about the Best of American Poetry series. To be honest, I stopped buying the series years ago. I'm less interested individual poems, these days, and more interested in what an artist does over a long series. Anyway, what's evident is that poetry, or for that matter, the arts, is operating in a patron/patronage system, and many people wish for a more democratic system. Rather than the wealthy or the nobility commissioning writers/artists to create a portrait or write an ode, nowadays we have grant-giving institutions issuing monetary grants--mentors bestowing blessings upon their betters. We hope that such an institution, again, would be more democratic but often the selection committee members know of a dude who knows a dude. What we need to be clear about is that the arts and many other ventures function under a gift economy (quid pro quo). I do like what what Charlie has to say about this whole affair.

To be sure, I've participated in this gift economy. I've told friends to check out this journal or that reading venue. I've also been solicited by friends to submit work to journals, anthologies, etc.. At the time I've done these "favors," I didn't see them as "favors," but as community-building. Would I like a system that allows for a broader democratic participation? Of course. I would also love more acts of charity as well as humility. Meantime, I'm going to continue writing, sending my work out to journals, filing my rejections in a large folder, filing my acceptances in a small folder, and I'm going to do my best to model my understanding of what it means to be a writer.

***

I've been cleaning up my office. I finally hung up some curtains. They're quite ugly and they don't fit correctly on the posts. At least I won't have the administrators staring at me while I surf blogs . . .

The Woman Warrior at 30

The Woman Warrior @ 30

September 29, Friday
1pm-5:30pm panel discussions
NYU Kimmel Center
60 Washington Square South, Shorin Performance Studio, 8th Floor

7pm Reception at the Asian American Writers' Workshop
16 West 32nd Street, 10th Floor (between Broadway and Fifth Ave)

RSVP by Tuesday, September 26 to (212) 992-9653, apa.rsvp@nyu.edu or
online at www.apa.nyu.edu APA

Join the afternoon panel of writers, artists, scholars, and the author
herself as they pay tribute to the legacy of Maxine Hong Kingston's
seminal 1976 semi-autobiographic novel The Woman Warrior. The afternoon
panel topics include: The Woman Warrior, Literary Forms and Other Genres;
Women and The Woman Warrior; and Politics, Immigration and The Woman
Warrior. The tribute culminates in an evening reception at the Asian
American Writers' Workshop.

Panelists include:
Meena Alexander
Christine Balance
Fay Chiang
Luis H. Francia
Gloria Jacobs
Susana Lei'ataua
Sunita Mukhi
Crystal Parikh
Cyrus Patel
Sheridan Prasso
Kate Rigg
Svati Shah
Karen Shimakawa
Ellen Wu

In collaboration with the Asian American Writer's Workshop and the
National Book Foundation

For more information:
Alexandra Chang
Events Coordinator
Asian/Pacific/American Institute
New York University
41-51 East 11th Street, 7th floor
New York, NY 10003
212-992-9651 office
212-995-4705 fax
achang@nyu.edu

I Love This Video!!!!

OK Go - "Here It Goes Again"

The end of summer

Yesterday, Meredith and I went shopping for decorations. We've redesigned parts of the house, most notable being Meredith's office. It's a cute little cubby, but she needed flooring and bookcases. Anyway, it rained almost all day and it's slated to rain for most of the week. I suppose it's fitting that the last days of Summer serve as a transition into Fall. A part of me is grateful for the rain because it means I can start planting trees to patch up some of the dead spaces on the grounds . . . the other part of me dreads the coming Fall because I know it means the long rainy season is upon us.

We were stacking wood that I had chopped earlier in the evening and the cedar smell was reminding me of my first days of school when I was a kiddo. I loved getting those packets of #2 pencils. I'd have 'em all sharpened that evening. WWU's first days are coming. I've got meetings, etc., that come with returning to campus. I've been slacking with my course prep, partly because I've taught the classes before. However I am using a new text for my Introduction to Poetry Writing. One thing I know about the students I've taught is that they're nowhere near as well-read as they THINK they are. I had taught the earlier classes with a handbook (thin with no examples/poems) and three collections by poets. The students weren't taking the time to actually read the collections, even though their grades depended on their discussions and analysis of these collections. I suppose they hadn't learned how to read a collection because they hadn't seen enough variety. This time I'm using a thicker handbook with more examples by other poets. It's so difficult choosing a "good" textbook for an introductory class. Most of the time I supplement a great deal of the resources.

***

Currently spinning in my iTunes: Before Night Falls soundtrack. Thank you S.B. and A.M.

***

Also bought seasons 2 and 3 of The X-Files. Meredith is hooked. We were watching DVR's of the X-Files from TV, but they were out of sequence and she was getting confused. It's funny to see the transition in Gillian Anderson's appearance. At the start of the series she's dowdy and her hair's fairly long. By the end of season 2, she's glammed up. The camera's panning closer to her face, her skin's flawless and her hair and her clothes are much more fashionable.

Meanwhile Meredith has fallen in love with David Duchovny. That's okay, I suppose, if you like tall, dark-haired guys with good abs, conviction, and intellect with a deep emotional scar that fuels their passion . . .

Busy day

I was an industrious little bee today. I mailed off manuscripts to contests and spent nearly $200.00 in the process. Why are these things so damn expensive?

***

After my month of rapid writing, I'm feeling kind of tapped. Out of the flurry, I think I wrote about ten or twelve pieces I can revise and submit. And I need to toss them out of the house soon or I'll go mad.

***

Reading Ann Lauterbach's book of essays as well as Steve Scafidi's new collection (thanks Pat).

Check out this poem by Mr. Scafid from his book For Love of Common Words:


The Boy Inside the Pumpkin


At five hundred and thirty pounds it won the blue ribbon
at the Fredrick County Fair and because all such vegetables
are too bitter to eat something had to be done--

and it was decided to haul the pumpkin to the river and the boy
inside the pumpkin meanwhile lay curled in the dark mash
while they rolled it to the edge of the tailgate and heaved it

to the ground and he must have been in there all spring and all
summer and through the long hot hours must have grown
restless in the goop although he looked almost peacful lying

naked by the river among the broken leaves and the seeds where
the ambulance drivers stood on their knees amazed
beside the boy opening his eyes as the slow Potomac moved

to the Chesapeake bay and the ocean where the waves make
their way to every coast in the world and the boy inside
the pumpkin lies quietly in this world like a fact of the unlikely

and the most unlikely things happen everyday in this world
and we go on unchanged and a body was found
on a baseball diamond in Frederick Maryland last spring

wearing only a t-shirt face down with both arms underneath
the body and the details are listed in the Metro Section
of the Washington Post and so when you read about the child

you learn he was only nine years old and had a faint birthmark
the exact shape of Kentucky on the small of his back
and could talk like a duck when he wanted to and you learn

the most unspeakable things in the slender Metro Section
of the Washington Post and it corrupts your sense
of the world to know how often the impossible happens upon us

without mercy and it is not the fit subject of poetry and it is
offensive to redeem the horror of that boy's last hours
but I can't stop trying to salvage something from the murderous

and the poisonous and last spring some small ordinary blossoms
grew suddenly more gigantic everyday and the boy inside
the vine became the boy inside the pumpkin who became

a turning in the darkness no one noticed although for a week
hundreds of people at the fair stroked the fat sides of
the pumpkin and were amazed and a boy leans up on his elbows

now in the moss beside the river and looks around bewildered
and asks for his mother and his father and they are delivered
amazed and these things never happen. They happen everyday.

Lesson #8573

iTunes store purchase+ dial-up connection = 5 hours downloading a single album.

Wait for it . . .

. . .

(looks around for muse)

. . .

Patrick Tickling the Ivory

Patrick Tickling the Ivory
Originally uploaded by odelapaz.

Patrick came up to Bellingham/Maple Falls for a visit. We had pizza at the North Fork Brewery. Then we took him up to see views of Mount Shuksan and Mount Baker. He was quite freaked. :D

Later that evening, he played some piano. After dinner, Meredith and I scared him with our stories of coyotes, bears, snakes, and brown recluses.

So if you're ever up near Bellingham, look us up. We'll give you acrophobia and then we'll talk about all the scary wild animals in our wilderness.