Slam for Social Justice

I didn’t get around to writing a story based on a picture. Surprise, surprise, par for the course.

BUT

I do have some pretty exciting news (at least I’m excited about it). Two weeks ago (ish) my poetry class had a big slam poetry day where we all wrote and performed poems. I was really nervous but had a lot of fun with my very first slam performance. At the end of class, our professor handed out a flier he found in a coffee shop for the Feminist Alliance’s “Slam for Social Justice” reading on November 5th. I stared at the flier for almost a week wanting to submit my poem, which conveniently has a ‘fight the power’ type of undertone. Thursday, still staying home from class because I felt like absolute and utter crap, I decided it was time to submit.

I waited in agonizing turmoil for three whole days and today, got a response. The group liked my work and invited me to perform at the event. I got the e-mail at work so I had to keep my excitement to a reasonable level, but I still was pretty worked up.

Sooooo…. If you’re in the Moscow, Idaho area on Friday November 5th (I don’t remember the time, I think it’s at 5 p.m.) you should come listen to my poem! Or at least come have a drink with me afterwards. I’ll probably be riding some serious adrenaline for a few hours after the show.

Just in case you can’t make it, this is the poem I will be reading. It was inspired by Gregory Corso’s “Marriage.” DISCLAIMER: there is one instance of profanity and sexual suggestion. You have been warned.

Fences

The best picket fences are painted, stark right
the color of the world after staring at the sun for too long.
They are tall
And they are sharp, each pointed top gleaming in the smiling sunlight
dripping in suppressed emotion and blue sky.
Perched on top of each post, balancing on dainty feet,
are the mothers of every boyfriend past, present, and, oh god please don’t say future.

 

She’s asking if I’ve been baptized,
have I said all of my hail mary’s today?
She’s asking me a question half in Yiddish,
is this Kosher?
She’s asking about my studies,
do I have homework?
Yes ma’am, of course I enjoyed mass.
Yes ma’am, the synagogue is beautiful.
Yes ma’am, I’m a straight-A student.
Yes ma’am, of course I’ll be attending your service, with your son, every Sunday until the day we die.
I’ll even wear a cardigan and a skirt.
 
Then one day I’ll buy a right dress to match your right picket fence.
I’ll wear it down the aisle in front of hundreds of friends and family members.
I will look really damn hot for such a conservatively dressed girl.
I’ll go home and tie a polka-dot apron around my waist,
and I won’t take it off until the cooking is all done – apron, dress, slip
Don’t worry, I’ll only fuck your son for procreational purposes
We’ll have a son of our own but,
I’ll be like her
Uptight and maybe a little… tense
And I’ll take a spot
right next to them
Poised on my tiny feet
on top of the very best picket fence.

Photo story

Busy? Around midterms? Never.

So I’m going to keep it short and sweet but I decided I have a new game for myself to try out and I think everyone should join me. It’s like this, you take a picture and then write something (probably flash fiction) about the picture. You can play the game in one of two ways. You can take a picture (or find a random one) and write a short little story about it (fiction or not) OR you can post/e-mail a picture for me and I’ll write a story with it.

I really want to violate the privacy of strangers so I’m going to attempt to get pictures of people I don’t know and write something either involving them or about them. Or maybe they were dreaming all along. I’ve been feeling the need to get creative with my prompts because I feel like I’m exhausting my regular styles in all of my classes. I think this will be just the odd little prompt to get me going. I hope to have my first one up by the end of the week.

On a random side note, if you’re going to be in the Moscow, Id area on Nov. 5 (I think) you should come to the slam poetry reading. It’s a feminist thing but there is a chance I’ll be reading there. I just have to grow a pair and get it done. I’ll let you know if my piece is accepted and you can come cheer me on. Or throw things. Your call.

Sleep poetry and other stuff

Yesterday was international coffee day. I am obliged to make the standard joke here. I like my men like I like my coffee; sweetened, with bitter undertones and easy to disguise alcohol in.

I started doing this thing I call ‘Sleep Poetry.’ It was inspired by my sudden realization that I’m a terrible fiction writer (according to a few random sources). See, what happened was after a peer review of a story I was particularly fond of, I overheard a peer talking some serious smack about my piece. I called him on it and he said he was just trying to tell his friend how cool it is that I try so hard to write even though I’m not a creative writing major.

I AM a creative writing major.

When I told him, he looked pretty embarrassed and apologized but I was still pretty butthurt about the whole situation. A few days after I recovered, a professor came up to me and told me my writing was immature and the dialogue was really weak (I’m paraphrasing that first part. It took him almost two whole minutes to get that point across). Another professor called a scene I did for her class “very English 101″ because it was so uncreative.

Thus, I’m clinging to the handful of poems my professors have liked and the whole “prosetry” (prose poetry) thing because apparently that’s my strong point.

Enter ‘Sleep Poetry.’ Basically all of the poems my professors have liked best are ones I would describe as “full of teenage angst.” Fine by me, I can get angsty all they want if it means a pat on the head by the editor of Blood Orange Review. I realized I’m the most angsty when I’m sleepy and irrational. Ta-da! Instant poetry. I just leave a notebook by my bed and dwell on situations in my life, other people’s lives or fictional character’s lives and BAM! I’m on the fast track to a pushcart! Right? Maybe. Here’s my first poem. I’m pretty sure the backslashes were supposed to be line breaks but… it’s anybody’s guess. I was half asleep.

So many words bubble to my lips like acid vomit/ stinging, stuck in my chest, in my throat/ words I want to say but don’t want you to hear/ feel the way they rise/ choking me with their weight/ acid thoughts on my acid tongue/ weighed down with you

Are you full of angst yet? I sure am.

The problem with being an amateur writer, (is there a level before amateur?) I’m discovering, is nobody will look at your work without a lens. If I ask Isaac to read what I’ve written, it’s lose-lose for him. He can either say he loves it and I’m let down because he doesn’t offer me suggestions for improvement or point out weaknesses OR he can give me a few things to work on and I’ll be annoyed because he didn’t love it (he’ll at least sugar coat it because he’s a sweetheart). Granted, most situations end up like this when asking for a significant other’s opinion on things. At least I’m honest about it.

Blargh, I really wanted to talk about how the internet is rocking the journalism world and that business is blowing my mind but… it’s not really related and I have to leave for the bus in… two minutes. Whoops.

Post me some sleep poetry! You’ll have fun, I’m (pretty) sure of it.

GPOYW hair edition

Check it out, I’m participating in Gratuitous Picture Of Yourself Wednesday! Last weekend I decided I was tired of having so much hair. It’s great when I actually do something with it, but on the whole I prefer to go no farther than the blow dryer… and even that is a stretch. Thus, my weekend in hairstyles.

Friday night, getting ready to head to the toga party.

Like my toga? It's got a thread count of about 300.

Saturday morning I woke up and felt ambitious. So I searched some salons in the area and couldn’t justify spending more than $20 on a haircut. I’m trying to be frugal here. I found a coupon for $2 off at Supercuts and I’ve had two solid experiences there so I figured I’d give it a go. The lady asked me what I wanted and I told her to spin me away from the mirror and cut away. I’m pretty sure my specifications were “shoulder length-ish” and “I’d like it to kind of make a ponytail.” So she started chopping. We talked about tattoos (she had some cool ones) and those crazy transdermal implant piercings (Caution: if you google this, crank up the safe search. Not really for the faint of heart). When she was finished she gave me a quick style and ta-da! Presto-changeo new hair. My bangs are very Ghost Whisperer-esque. The cut was $11 after coupon and I tipped the lady $3 (because I have NO CLUE what a good tip is for a haircut).

Check out those side-bangs. Jennifer Love Hewitt would be proud.

Saturday evening I picked up a box of haircolor for $4 at WINco. I always love taking a good gamble on box color. Sunday morning I went ahead and busted the box out. Bam. check it out.

Check out that polka-dot towel in the background. So cool...

Makeover grand total: $18. Value rating: SO WORTH IT. I love the new cut, I can just shower, dry it briefly and be done. It’s a beautiful thing. Now I’ve got to try it with curls… It’ll be a fro. So great.

Music monday – dance edition

I always love good dance music. Thus, a brief playlist to make up for all of the Music Mondays I missed.

First, Jamiroquai – Canned Heat with probably one of the coolest/trippiest music videos ever

Next, the best thing to come out of the early 2000s, Junior Senior – Move Your Feet

Another crazy video, Justice – DANCE

And to round it out, don’t judge me… I really like this song. It’s catchy, okay? Lady Gaga – Just Dance

Ta-da! I might add more to this as the evening progresses, but until then, dance your heart out.

More Poetry

So I’m making scones and reading about spoken word poetry (pastries and poetry… good things come in P’s) and it made me remember that I need to get creative more often and post some of my work. A professor told me the other day my writing style was “prose poetry” which I didn’t even know existed but come on, a prose poet? That would be so awesome. Anyway, for your intellectual pleasure (or displeasure, I’m not going to tell you what to think) here the a “prose poem” my professor liked in the first place. I think the assignment was a ten minute free write about how you spend your time or your place of work. Those are synonymous to me so… Yay for work!

Red ink soaks into every tabloid-sized page, warm out of the over sized printer strewn across a cold metal desk in a grey and white room. The ink sinks through the page every night and wipes from desktop to hands to the white Apple keyboard. It is wiped away absently while I answer the shrill ring of the office phone – the press needs a new file – and by the end of the night coats my pink hands. An endless shuffle of 80′s, 90′s and rap hit music plays through the office interrupted by the crackle and squeal of the police scanner. Pages scratched in red in pass from one desk to another catching and reflecting the glow of florescent lights. A bright flat monitor displays the final product, what all of the red ink changed and replaced. Helpless black text waits in the queue to be cut and reworded again by the heartless red ink.

And now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go spend the rest of the day excited about the premier of the Big Bang Theory and SUPER bummed I’ll be working so I can’t watch it. Don’t fail me now internets!

Music Monday (after much ado)

Now that work has started to level out and I actually have down time (uh, what?) I can actually make a post. Thus, my very first Music Monday post (it’s still Monday… right?). Today, I’m listening to The Princess and the Frog on repeat. I can’t get over how great of a villain the ‘Shadow Man’ is. Thus, my happy music monday post is ‘Friends on the Other Side.’ Let your vodoo show, people.

So glorious.

Degrees to Pokemon

I’m the biggest loser.

This is true for a few reasons. First and foremost, I’ve been doing Weight Watchers with my mom and I’ve lost 11 pounds and counting since I came home for the summer. My pants don’t fit and I’m okay with it. In fact, it’s awesome.

The second reason is, of course, I haven’t posted in a while and that’s simply inexcusable. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to say, it’s just that I’ve been at a loss of ways to say it. Free time which varies from day to day doesn’t help either.

The third and most likely most notable reason is a concept I’ve shared with my sister but never thought to share with anyone else. Most likely this is because I’m a total nerd and I was actually looking out for myself by not posting it but, alas, the socially acceptable filter of my brain has taken a holiday.

So here’s the theory. I’ve discovered/decided any idea or thing etc. is only five degrees of separation to Pokemon. I feel like I’ve read this somewhere but I had to share because it cracks me up.

Example: Harry Potter -> Potter Puppet Pals -> Potter Puppet Pals creator Neil Cicierega -> Cicierega’s video about who he was going to vote for which was called… “123456 Pokemon.”

That was only three degrees, but I’m sticking with five just in case it takes me too long to get to “scissors -> Scyther.”

But yeah, I accept that my coolness has never been a variable. C = 0 where C is the value of how cool I am.

Did you hear that? That was the sound of the final nail in my coffin of nerdishness. And yet, I’ve lost 11 pounds and gone running TWICE this week (it’s only Wednesday, yeah, so awesome) so THERE.

That is all.

May your May be May-ish

So I’ve started to hit this point where when I don’t update for a while I feel really… guilty.

I’ve been crazy lately, job searching and whatnot but the highlight of my summer “break” so far has been my sister’s birthday. My mom and I planned it sort of last-minute because we wanted to do something nice for the kid (I swear, May birthdays are the worst because everyone is so busy). So we planned a surprise Karate birthday party for her. It was great! The kids all had a blast and I think my sister really enjoyed it, which is what counts. We also redecorated her room (which she has been talking about for a while now).

Birthday girl prepares to break a board with her foot

After the lesson, we drove all of the kids back to the house where they ran around crazily (naturally) and later indulged in the best ice cream cake I’ve ever made while Bri opened gifts.

Later that evening, my brother signed his letter of intent to Chemeketa Community College in Salem where he has been scouted to play baseball.

Pretty much it was all of the excitement I could handle for one day.

On a totally unrelated note, I keep starting posts, and not having time to finish them but I promise I’ll have a non-lazy post in the next week or so. Probably.

In the meantime, enjoy my “you’re an asshole” move of the day.

My grandma on my mom’s side has been in the hospital with some mysterious stomach flu virus type thing. She just got out Wednesday and came to visit us today. She said they kept her for so long because her blood pressure kept getting higher (in the hospital? No way…). So my mom was taking her blood pressure in our kitchen to see if it was lower in a less… sterile… setting. The readings kept coming out high so I had the genius idea to go get my cat. Cats have been, for the record, clinically proven to lower blood pressure. So I bring little Jude out and say, “Hey, did you know cats are proven to lower your blood pressure?” And my little grandma says, “Did you know I’m  allergic to cats?” All I can think is, “Well shit, I try to be nice and now I’m just a jerk.” In my defense, she did tell me I’m getting shorter. So, I’ll say we’re square, Grandma.

I hate buses

Every time I see school buses I think of middle school. Missing the bus after class (probably from trying to suck up to a teacher) and running down the street hoping someone will notice me – backpack bouncing off my shoulders and spine, fluorescent lunchbag flying in the wind like the banner of my lost dignity – only to be spotted by one of the high schoolers. Of course, the day I remember was the day the best looking guy on our bus (by a long shot) noticed my sweat-riddled, pudgy, 13-year-old self sprinting after the big yellow bane of my existence. I suddenly wished our bus driver wasn’t so strict about the “only open the window to the third notch” rule because I DEFINITELY was ready to dangle out the window and have a sign whack off my upper body. With my luck, it would only seriously maim me and I would have to scootch around in a full body cast that emphasized my round face and tummy. Then it would be pretty impossible to catch the bus on time. But if you’re nice to me, I’ll let you sign the fattest part. Just don’t draw any patterns that will draw the eye to it. I’m gonna need all the help I can get in this thing.

Well, there’s my raw and unedited thought of the day. Feel free to give me some of your terrible bus experiences. I’d like to know there was at least someone else out there who got forgotten, had their stop skipped because they were too short to be seen by the bus driver or had to pull themselves up onto the steps using their entire body when they first started riding the bus (I definitely have experienced all three of these).