weekend plans

Heading up to Northern Jerz tonight for the beginning of Rachel and Donna's Most Awesome Shakespearian Adventure.

Cross your fingers I make it home alive.

aghast

Sigh.

I mean, really, I take back all those nice things I said about thinking I could learn to love a city like Fort Worth.

Anniversary of Stonewall. Coincidence?

because you were lacking in reading material.

Two new poems up at Decompression this month. Yeah.

being awesome WIN

Last week, Kim Ficera, author of Sex, Lies and Stereotypes, and all around kick-ass person, posted a note on Facebook that she was looking for guest bloggers for her blog, Pimp My Wry. After a brief email exchange, I present to you my being awesome WIN for this Friday:

my guest blog over at Pimp My Wry!

I take on Elisabeth Hasselbeck's plagiarism scandal - check it out for yourself!

And while we're at it, let me just jump up and down like a little girl for a second: Kim Ficera posted something I wrote. All kinds of yay!

how about we just glue some quarters up there instead?

Donna and I are having trouble.

You see, I bought this adorable house, and we moved into it about two weeks ago. In the living room, there is a wall that is perfectly-sized for a large piece of art. The space is probably 4.5 x 4.5 ft, and we painted the wall a deep green color (I believe the color was Holly Green, for those who are interested). We've spent a few days discussing what might end up on that wall, and we came pretty quickly to the same conclusion: rather than spending $20 on a cheap poster and another $20 on a crappy frame from Target, we agreed to spend some time looking at original pieces of art - photographs, canvases, whatever. We like the idea of supporting artists who are producing original and exciting work, as we are trying to do just that with our writing.

It turns out, though, that we have hugely different aesthetics. I don't know enough about art to really clarify or classify it accurately, but I can say this: we both like very different versions of "moody" art. I like photographs and paintings that are sort of dark, black-and-white, broody, lonely. Donna likes the more romantic version of moody, I think. Some examples:

I like this. She likes this.
I countered with this. I think she liked it, but not enough.

I tried StumbleUpon today - I have "photography" listed in my interests on SU, and sure enough, I found something I like:

Kevin Van Aelst, who takes some amazing photographs.
My favorites (so far):
Serotonin
Circulatory System (Heart On Your Sleeve)
Right Thumb

Clearly, I like nerdy art, too.

The question now is: what are the chances these photographs are anything near affordable? This dude has done editorial work for some major media outlets, and as much as I like supporting artists who are alive and working, I am broke-ass artist myself. So hm.

new poem

"The Second Fall" is up in Sotto Voce's Summer issue.

Hooray!

dramz in L'ton

So I bought a house.

I mean, really, what could be more stressful than juggling a full-time job, taking two classes, raising a son, trying to maintain some momentum in poetry, and being part of a relationship? I decided that wasn't enough, so I threw the house in for good measure. But clearly, the universe decided that still wasn't enough, because the day after I settled on the house, the house ate my cat.

This is my boyfriend:

His name is Duncan. He's fat. He's cuddly. We're best buddies. He has another girlfriend named Cocoa, who is cute, but not nearly as fat or cuddly.

On Saturday night, Donna and I left the new house and headed back to the condo for the night. On Sunday morning, we couldn't find Duncan. But we did find that the access panel in the bathroom was dislodged - clearly the work of Smart Evil Kittehs.

Cocoa ambled out of the access panel after about an hour. Duncan, however, remained inside. For four days. During the course of those four days, he didn't make a damn sound. Clearly, he was pissed about the move, and was hiding. But I was convinced that he either a) got stuck in a small space because of his fatness and couldn't get out; b) fell inside a wall and died (seriously); or c) ate something terrible inside the wall and was dying. At various time over the four days, I lined up animal control, pest control, and someone to cut open my walls. I also visited Lowe's for a flashlight, and came home with a crowbar, too - I was ready to open that shit up myself.

Last night, Duncan finally came out of the wall, and we sealed up the hole. But sheesh, people. Kittehs are good at making me worried.