chicaloungin

These Photos

I love Scott London's pix. Especially this one. ok, this one too.

Looking Forward to The Shadow

DJ Shadow. Tickets purchased. Part III of celebrating my 40th. groooooovin looooopin holla.r.in hootin mwha

Cowgirl in the Basement

In my quest to spend wisely, I went to the Woodburn Outlets last week... to hit up, mainly, the BCBG store and to find myself a cheap straw cowgirl hat to protect me head (I'm feeling grammatically Bigfoot today, a la the Roumieu). I found ONE ten dollar cowgirl hat with a glued on string and a fake silver *thing.* I knew I could rescue this hat with a little beadwork and new strappery. Instead though of spending time and money all over town, I went to my friend's basement where he keeps his dad's old leather and leather tools. And voila. Here's what the ten dollar hat looks like now... it rests on my new FREE porch table, next to my new FREE plantholder turned candleholder... stuff I picked up from somebody's FREE stash of yard goodies. Oh YEEHAW.

Shower Before Powell's

This morning I had my teeth cleaned. The man did not use the usual pic of the devil; he used some supersonic thing that basically blasts tartar out with a water-fueled laser, taking less time but showering your face with H20 and godknows what sorts of debris. My hair was damp when I lifted my head to clamp down on some flouride molds. No matter how you f-in cut it, the dentist is hell.

With teeth smooth and fortified (hey Portlanders get 33-40% more cavities than folks in any major US cities, no flouride in da'wawa)... I was a good girl and returned two shirts I bought last week that I will never wear. One was too shiny. One was too dull.

With small gap between lower front teeth gappier, I browsed Powell's for the "must-haves" (i.e. a few of the stories I need to read pre-WW-rez next week!!! wa!). I found some of the must-haves (Deborah Eisenberg, Hemingway, and Pushcart XXXII for the short story "Breaker" by Randy Nelson). But dang if I didn't make TWO spontaneous purchases: planetwalker by John Francis, PhD (the PhD is there, so why not) and a FUUUUNY graphic novel Bigfoot: I Not Dead.** I was laughing aloud. And boy, did it sound louder than aloud in my super clean mouth.

Say Ahhh. And read. And walk.

**Bigfoot Discovery: typing in the link, I find there is a SERIES!! OOOOO my sides need stitching already.

What Lasts Beyond the Suns

nabbed from Brezsny's Free Will Astrology... I believe in poetry and planets

Buddha in Glory Center of all centers, core of cores, almond, that closes tightly in and sweetens,-- this entire world out to all the stars is your fruit-flesh: we greet you. Look, you feel how nothing any longer clings to you; your husk is in infinity, and there the strong juice stands and crowds. And from outside a radiance assists it, for high above, your suns in full splendor have wheeled blazingly around. Yet already there's begun inside you what lasts beyond the suns.

Ranier Maria Rilke, translated by Edward Snow from New Poems

encaustic waxing

noooooo this is not the latest women-must-do-for-bathing-suit-season... this is wonderful art and i've got two of her owl pieces buy this woman's stuff UP!!!

It Ain't Easy Being Green

In Oregon of course the green is all around you... but I'm talking gas prices, driving. Still, some days you just hop in and go and all the lush and height and mist is worth it. The dirt is, the rocks are, the rushing white happy water. Your dog on a log balancing with you. Sniffing the sheep and the stallions all the way home.

Nothing Like a Good Snippin

Can I just say it... my new hair makes me feel like a Charlie's Angel. OH! Crea at Hello, Gorgeous Salon, mwah!

World Clique

The world is my clique.

Nam Le's reading last night was packed and amazing and I met a great group of people and everyone knew someone else that everyone else knew and so on and so on and so on, like that Eighties shampoo commercial. While my students struggle through their writing final today, I'll be reading The Boat.

On another note, it is June 5th and I am wearing a wool hat, a wool sweater, and combat boots with SOCKS, yes, wool socks. My friends in other places are complaining of the heat. I will be, for once, a pale Oregonian showing up for July residency. I don't do pale well. I don't. But maybe this is the gods' way of saving my almost-40-year old face from more wrinkles. Hmm. Thanks gods.

I want to go rollerskating.

I am bummed I will miss this show (I'll be dancing the last WW dance with my home gurls)... www.portlandpenshow.com
I like pens & ink & paper. dang

Pals at Powell's

Nam Le is reading from his debut collection THE BOAT at Powell's Hawthorne tonight and his former teacher, my former advisor, Charles D'Ambrosio is introducing him, so show up and support literary fiction. May's Elle magazine--the one with MO-donna on the cover, mwha-- says The Boat contains stories "in which achingly familiar alliances converge in ingeniuosly unlikely places" Now that's a lot of -ly (and -l) words, but I'm there.

Bliss Out

The Cheb show did not disappoint.

I'm a groupie, through and through.

Next stop, Ashland

and his midnight mystic show....

Dirty Nails

Morning down to river and the sky was so blue and the dune grass so red and gold and green we might as well have rallied round the rastafarians, me and the Clem Dog. And then I bought flowers and dug around in the dirt. Kiss kiss lil' flowers, please live. Nap time. And then... we dance.

Classic Laughter

This is sad news. I grew up with Carol B. and cast. I'll rent Blazing Saddles this weekend and perhaps, guffaw.

Peaches Makes Some Dough

When a poet friend of yours wins money for her poetry... your first thought is... HOORAH for my creative, talented, amazing, hard-working, gentle-hearted, fiercely-strong, gorgeous, HILARIOUS, fast-running,and caring friend. The next thought is: Yes. Let this be our vow. With every future win/money earned from these moments born while knowing one another, we will buy and consume a very good bottle of wine together. Hasta July 08, Gurls. The ties that bound us within the first 24-hours of meeting, let no rejection letter pull asunder. We last. Hats off, Capps!

Eeny-Meeny-Miny-MO donna

Me oh my!

My galpals and I were just chatting last week about how much max we'd pay to see our glorious 50-year old DIVA Madonna play. "OH ANYTHING!...

But not a thousand dollars!"

we all decided.

Then galpal texts me this morn with the news: 900 bucks** for front & center, Madonna in BC, pre-Halloween 08.

Cost: fuel to Canada + new kickin boots + something lacy & Madonnish + glittery false eyelashes applied one-by-one and scrumptious 1940s-hairdo+ hotel= One Zillion MFA dollars not yet earned

Option: Eeny-meen-miny-on this weekend's PTOWN shows.

Mark Farina $15 OR Cheb i Sabbah $12

+ brownie mix + cab fare + agua= Sweat I Can Live With

**must find something to pawn

Fire and Rain

My friend housesits from time to time "the big house" in the Gorge. Three dogs, an old barn, a rickety ladder into a tree, and a view that can't be beat. The tall grasses that flow and blow on the hilltop are what draw me most. Clem chased her ball in those grasses Memorial Day. I drank two PBRs, faced the sun, and wrote the shortest short story I ever did write. The wind tried to undo my ponytails. That wind, at night, hit the windows of the little girl's room I stay in when I visit. A corner room. This girl, Talon, had woven super huge extra fluffy pipecleaners of all colors into her bookshelf made of milk crates. This morning, Clemmie Dog wouldn't let me sleep in. She thought all the birds were whistling at her. We must have heard four to five different calls and I thought how the night is given to the breathy voice of women and the morning to the pursed-lip no-nonsense voice of men. The birds sounded like they were wearing suspenders and carrying a pitchfork is what I am saying. Out the side yard, that pink and golden morning light I am usually too cozy to get up for shone. It hit one small tree on the hilltop, one secret nook in the wooded valley, and one long slope in the distance. It hit a white outbuilding, making it the whitest of white... until... leaving that morning fire we drove through rain under marshmallow-cream clouds whipped over cracked rock walls of green skyscraper trees. It would be a hell of a commute.

Jump Style

No idea why this makes me feel good.

Jump around!

Feelin' Free

The essay... it passed.

The dancing begins this weekend and continues on through the end of June until I hop that plane to 10-days in Asheville and once again, enter la-la land, and dance there too.

The inside of my face is smiling. I'm in love with all the tiniest birds and butterflies.

No? Books? for Pleasure?

Yes, please... kill your television.
No, seriously.
I've done the bolding...

In the Works at Narrative

Plans to launch new sections of Narrative directed specifically at the demographic most affected by the widespread American decline in reading, those between eighteen and thirty, are well underway. The urgent and indispensible nature of this project is confirmed by the National Endowment for the Arts in its most recent report, the dismal findings of which are enough, we believe, to alarm even those not already concerned about the future of reading. In 2007 nearly half of Americans between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four read no books for pleasure, and, looking to the next generation, the NEA reported that less than one-third of thirteen-year-olds were daily readers of any book at all. Not unexpectedly, the precipitous decline in reading in this age group has been accompanied by an equally alarming fall off in writing skills. We perceive an important opportunity in this crisis: Narrative 30 Below will find these potential new young readers and writers where they already are—online—and will offer them a multichannel portal with the highest-quality content written, edited, and produced by their peers. These channels will be presented seamlessly within Narrative Magazine’s broader platform, attracting readers from other age groups and bringing young readers vibrantly into the larger world of literature.

I Likey

found a new writer/blogger/Narrative Magazine's Love Story Contest winner today

Maud Newton

and those paper cuts... I'm going there after my meeting.

Half-marathon, Half-memory

huh?
seems the Aloha Run was a 10K not a half-marathon.

Okay then!!!
That means I HAVE to do a halfer 'cuz I'm older and better now.

I'll make myself a t-shirt "I'd rather be running a 10K in Hawai'i"

mmmmm

I graduate January 2009... me thinks me sees my own graduation gift in the making. There is sunshine beaming down upon my head and because I have the half-marathon of fall 2008 under my belt, I am flying, feet in sneaks with double rainbows and wave-riding dolphins on 'em hardly hitting the pavement. A cocktail with an umbrella at the finish line. A little Iz HI '78.

Peace out, as Kip once said.

Decision 2008

First, today I am thankful for all writers who help us aspiring ones write. Is there a greater generosity in the universe? Mmmmm.

Second, I thought in my 40th year on Planet Earth it'd be cool to run a marathon. I've decided to get real and make it a half-marathon-- I made it once, Aloha Run 93 and quite frankly for real

because

for reals real

this essay, this essay, this warren wilson mfa essay
has been my 40th-year marathon and my 4.5-month labor of sextuplets every three weeks and it has made me nauseous and thirsty and it has made my boobs hurt and it has kept me up at night with brain cramps and thank god this f&$*#$% baby is going to be delivered by its final due date: May 7th.

this essay is a Taurus
OLE toro!!! and bring me a cuba libre while you're at it

this essay does not want booties
it does not want onesies
not
not even gold-plated diapers and mobiles made of tiny pink-diamond encrusted cowbells (Mz. Minton quit gluing that shit on right now)

forget what Baby Essay wants just send Baby Essay Mama some of those virtual teddy bears and dark beers

damn is B.E. going to wail when it gets spanked

PS Baby Essay Mama votes Obama!!

Purple Aunties Panties

Driving my 30,000 horsepower chuckwagon across Portland yesterday... I stopped over at my galpal's house for "just five minutes."

There's always a good film on.

And gooooood wine. Galpal is now studying to be a wino, I mean, a viticulturist.

The wine flowed and so did the music from the speakers which were connected to the TV which was running the good film: Walk the Line.

Sang songs with my 5-year old niece. Lyrics went like this:

all my Aunties
wear pretty panties

and

Auntie Bec likes purple
she likes tan and purple
she likes pink and purple
she likes green and purple

If I were technologically savvy, and had we actually recorded these rock solid and amazing tunes, I'd post them.

But for now, it's just the image of last night, a lil' blonde girl on air guitar singing with a twang in her throat and a few good elbow saws.

Rocker

If you happen to be a local chicaloungin reader, make sure to check out my Warren Wilson pal/graduate Majka and her rad book. Wednesday, April 16th!

See what is to be seen, learn about strength and beauty and Africa, buy her book, and then take her out for a beer or dancing afterwards!

Me... I have a date with my essay. :-(

Blue Crow

Could not find the link via NPR but wanted to post this good news before a meeting and teaching class. Seems Taiwan is spending 80,000 USD to protect the Blue Crow butterfly... shutting down portions of a major highway just to make the flight of these lil' winged creatures a bit less hectic. They've planted trees along the highways as well. Blue Crow rest areas.