so, if we're not going to turn iraq into a shiny democracy for the middle east: why did we go in the 1st place and why are we still there?!?!?!?!

Most of this summer has been relatively dry 'round these parts. Dry enough that I got concerned before the 4th of July that we hadn't had enough rain for corn (turns out, I was right to be worried). I'm facing thunderstorm #3 in less than a week. The previous 2 occurred in the wee hours of the morning. And man oh man these babies were big. Scary big. Grace leaping out of bed and hiding under the bed big. I'm not sure if it's being so close to the lake or the very very very tall trees on the property, but I haven't lived in a place that highlights storms like this in a long time. My bed shakes. I'm convinced something has been hit out back. It's incredible. The sad thing is that it's too little too late for my beloved farmers. And, if anything, these storms are more damaging than helpful right now.

I did hit the market, of course, this morning: melon, the last of the red Haven and white peaches of the season, dinosaur kale, yellow and red heirloom tomatoes, gouda cheese and eggs, fresh whole wheat bread, and romaine. I'm still working my way through the carrots I bought last week and the green beans. Ohhh! And the purple peppers! Oh hell, I just remembered I even had those purple peppers! I'm starting to get a little sad about the end of the season. I've really had an amazing time shopping and cooking this way. It's been time consuming, but completely worth it. And actually instead of spending a minimum of an hour in Meijer, I spend less time shopping and more time processing and preparing meals. Which is how I enjoy spending my time.

No word yet on the poetry front. It's crazy how crazy it has made me. Tonight marks 2 weeks since I submitted and I've heard nothing. One of the places I'm not expecting to hear from for a few weeks--they have a 2 to 4 month response time. But the one should be any day now. Technically the reading period for the next issue isn't closed until August 31st which means I've hopefully managed to catch the editor's eye enough to keep me in contention as if he really thought it was awful I would have heard. This is good. This not hearing.

If only it didn't make me so crazy!!!!!

we've got some wind whipping from the west, it's gonna be quite a ride home

I would strongly urge those who may be slightly crazy to avoid spending a night watching Walt Disney propaganda films from the 1940s followed by attempting to put together a really complicated puzzle. No one was injured in the making of the evening though the psychological scars left after Reason and Emotion and Education for Death will be around for awhile and my desk is currently covered in puzzle pieces.

I did throw together an outstanding baked eggplant parmesan thingy with homemade tomato sauce that knocked my socks off and was even better today as leftovers. I also just ate my first peach from the batch I bought Wednesday. Holy Lord Almighty. White peaches are divine. I'm sure it was horrifying to watch me eat devour it in the break room, but when something that juicy and delicious is in your mouth one tends to disregard decorum.

This weekend is shadowed thus far. I know tonight I'm going for a hike in the Dunes. I know there will be time put in on this puzzle with some possible Scrabble breaks. I know tomorrow I'll be heading to the market. After that, who knows? Maybe Hastings to see a friend in town from NYC, maybe the Sandbar to see Delilah and the Lost Boys? Maybe staying put and finishing the puzzle? I'm hoping to put in a good chunk of writing time and a good chunk of cleaning typeset time--

Oh yeah! I have typeset! Five gallons of typeset!

i'm rooting for tropical storm erin

Now, I don't mean to sound all cold hearted about the millions of children world wide who are currently having toys yanked from their chubby fingers by completely freaked out parents concerned their child will either eat the magnet from Barbie's pooperscooper or lick Press and Go Elmo, but maybe the real problem is in this country we continue to demand cheap products and the only way to ensure we can buy all the plastic junk we desire is to have it made and imported from China and perhaps instead of wringing hands and demanding action from the federal government we should just.stop.buying.crap? Welcome to America, Americans. If you buy it, they'll make it and they'll make it as cheaply as possible thanks to the beauty of capitalism. No one gets rich caring about lead paint.

Honestly.


And because ranting about the obvious knowing full well you have zero control is just so darn fun, check out this little number from 1994. An oldie but goodie featuring Dick Cheney talking about why we shouldn't invade Iraq. He actually uses the word quagmire.


I biked to the market this morning. It was foggy and surreal and bountiful as usual. White peaches that won't be ready for a few days, red raspberries I'll be enjoying until my peaches are done, kale that has already been cooked and partially consumed, bibb lettuce, broccoli, eggs...
And I didn't inspect the stand closely enough, but I believe I have found a local source for grains! Yippee! Since one of my goals this year was to get over my fear of baking bread, I consider this to be a sign--and the temperature is supposed to drop back into the 70s for highs next week.

As of 6pm tonight I will have officially made it a week without rejection from 2 online journals to which I recently submitted my poetry. I consider this to be somewhat of a milestone as, of course, I've been under the impression the minute my submissions hit an editors inbox it was immediately looked at. Yeeeaah.

And last night I saw Raleigh's work for the first time. I'm psyched. I realized that the poetry selections were entirely too safe and we're back to square one, but I remain calm. I love the poet and I love the artist and I'm confident that the two are going to be a great match.

Erinbone Press marches on.

4m yesterday...3+miles today...

Charles Simic was named Poet Laureate!



Charles Simic is one of my all time favorite poets.


I have been composing a fan letter to Charles Simic for a few months now. It usually starts with "Dear Mr. Simic, You are my favorite poet..."


and then it falls apart. He teaches at the University of New Hampshire which temporarily made me think I should try and get into their MFA program until I remembered that I'm not that great of a poet nor would getting an MFA do much for me personally other than sink me further into academic debt. Here are 2 of my favorites:



Watermelons


Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.


Summer In The Country

One shows me how to lie down in a field of clover.
Another how to slip my hand under her Sunday skirt.
Another how to kiss with a mouth full of blackberries.
Another how to catch fireflies in a jar after dark.

Here is a stable with a single black mare
And the proof of God's existence riding in a red nightgown.
Devil's child-or whatever she was?
Having the nerve to ask me to go get her a whip.

Blissful.

let's see...45min x, udo, 4 miles, udo, 3 miles, udo...

Busy busy busy busy week. Busy. Week. I'm covering for someone who is on vacation and it keeps me, well, busy. And away from a computer. And when I'm actually near a computer we've been busy with patrons. Though I'll be sad when school starts as it signifies the beginning of the end of summer, I cannot wait for the urchins to go back. Oy.

I finished reading "A Moveable Feast." Good stuff. Dang me if I didn't spend all these years hating something based on one horrible experience. I used to hate his prose--too sparse with dialogue, too detailed with seemingly mundane descriptions--and I used to hate the whole expat thing. They all seemed so smug over there living it up, drinking wine all day, going to festas, talking about art and writing and just having the kind of life I always wish I could afford. What a freaking moron I've been. Post WWI, the almighty American dollar was king. Everyone was broke, but their money just went further. Plus most of them were either insane or alcoholics which sort of lessens the romance of the whole thing. Still, I've finally gotten to the point I can appreciate Hemingway's writing. It's been a long trip. Many thanks should go out to Roel and Randy for reintroducing me properly to the man.

I've got a big old stack of books I wandered around and plucked off the shelves for the weekend at the G&T (where I'm fairly confident I won't actually read all that much, but if I don't bring anything all I'll want to do is read): some essays and poetry by Pound, "Tender is the Night",(clearly I've been influenced by my last reading material), some Henry Miller nonfiction, and "A Changed Man" by Francine Prose...a modern novel I've always meant to read, but never got around to.

I've been writing a lot lately. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but it seems as though Berghoef has decided we're engaged in a poem-off. Poem for poem I think I'm ahead, but actual usable work and days-of-writing I think he wins. It's been pretty good stuff. I recently compiled the whole business on google documents and discovered I had 20 "finished" poems. Huh. 20. I'm not sure if I was expecting more or less. Regardless, I have a stack of stuff that still needs titles and editing and all of that rot. I've been threatening for awhile, but I think I'm ready to submit to some online journals.

You all will be the first to know as soon as the rejections start pouring in.

So yeah, the G&T this weekend. Grilled pizza, cute dogs, campfires, lazy afternoons floating down the river, excellent conversation, and a keg of Founders.

I'm ready to go right now.