tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37558102011-04-21T18:56:37.343-05:00A Woman Who Loves InsectsA Pillow Book for the Web from the Land of ArtichokesArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1122503259608721662005-07-27T17:26:00.000-05:002005-07-27T17:27:39.616-05:00PSSST . . .Hey, pssst . . . over here.Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1098362729232387112004-10-21T07:33:00.000-05:002004-10-21T07:56:32.796-05:00THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!
I'm celebrating my birthday today over here at Artichoke Heart Headquarters!
I'm not telling you which one, but suffice it to say . . . I'm getting kind of old. Well, not old old, but geez, old in a baffled, "I don't know how I got to be thirty-(fill-in-the-blank) years old already when I don't really feel that much different from when I was twenty-(Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1098048200851349122004-10-17T16:00:00.000-05:002004-10-17T16:32:33.123-05:00UPDATE TO PUMPKIN UPDATE
Behold the glory of the irrationally- and hugely-coveted Albino Pumpkin! It's albino-ness, in tandem with its pumpkin-ness, have left me beside myself with happiness. When I snagged it out of the parking-lot pumpkin display at the Hy-Vee this week, I wandered through the aisles in a blissful haze (which, okay, may have been partially exacerbated by general lack of Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1097477183340075852004-10-11T01:07:00.000-05:002004-10-11T01:47:49.040-05:00PUMPKIN UPDATE
Having since learned that the Albino Pumpkins referenced below are also tasty, I was bound and determined to Get Me Some of That the next time I stopped by the grocery store. Sadly, though, all the Albino Pumpkins were gone today! Needless to say, I am bitterly, bitterly disappointed. Even a little bit depressed, to tell the truth.
As I write this, Yuki and The Bean Bean are Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1097345060229843212004-10-09T13:28:00.000-05:002004-10-09T23:03:16.596-05:00ALBINO PUMPKINS
It's an achingly beautiful, sun-dappled October day, particularly in contrast to some of the gray, damp days here earlier this week. On Thursday, after being overcast throughout much of the day, night was tucked in with a soft, cool sheet of threadbare fog. Today, though, is perfect.
Somehow, over the course of the week, there's been a Domestic Breakdown that's taken place Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1096524077463917372004-09-30T01:32:00.000-05:002004-09-30T01:01:17.463-05:00HALLUCINATING LESBIANS
I spent the entirety of the day attending to a hideously boring administrative task of mind-blowing tedium. Really, I think I would have had a better time being fitted for a colostomy bag. Once again, Wednesday, my sacrosanct writing day? Not so sacro and not so sanct.
After leaving the office late in the evening, I went to Hy-Vee to pick up some groceries. And I Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1096228760466172942004-09-26T14:40:00.000-05:002004-09-26T14:59:20.466-05:00CONVERSATION WITH SQUIRREL
After running some errands I parked my car in back and came around to my front porch to find an extremely large squirrel ensconced in one of my rose pots, furiously digging away--great wads of peat moss flying through the air to land in brown clumps alongside the terracotta pot. Even though I'm standing about one foot away from him, he nonchalantly keeps digging away.Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1096042397080332182004-09-24T10:36:00.000-05:002004-09-24T11:13:17.080-05:00BIG YELLOW TAXI (HOMAGE AND VARIATION)
Morning light sifts through the window later, and more tentatively, now--taking more time to pool into the hot buttery squares on the floor that the cats love to dip and roll themselves in, as if they were succulent pieces of lobster. Night comes shuttering down more quickly. The band of light that wraps around each day like a wide bright ribbon seems to Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1095860822162844652004-09-22T08:19:00.000-05:002004-09-22T08:47:02.163-05:00BLOG POST ABOUT NOTHING IN PARTICULAR
I find that I frequently feel as if I should be blogging about something, when in fact I'm thinking that perhaps it's really all right for me to blog about nothing in particular. And that blogging about nothing in particular is, perhaps, a way of pushing through the times when I'm not blogging about a particular something. And it's not even that I don't Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1094358054931336712004-09-04T22:46:00.000-05:002004-09-04T23:28:44.366-05:00HAPPY BLOG-A-VERSARY, BAY-BEE! GOTCHYOU ON MAH MAAA-IND!
Two years ago today, I posted my very first entries to this blog, the very first of which included a meditation on the sorry state of having a cat with a cone on its head, as a well as a highly incriminating picture of said cat. (This has always, from the very start, been one of those blogs that indulges in shamelessly gratuitous cat Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1093698447649703182004-08-28T07:50:00.000-05:002004-08-28T08:07:27.650-05:00CONFESSIONS OF THE UNLAUREATED
I'm off to the South Dakota Festival of the Book in Sioux Falls, SD, where I'll be giving a poetry reading with Frank Pommersheim at 4:00 p.m. on Saturday (today) at the Multicultural Center, and another reading/discussion with South Dakota Poet Laureate David Alan Evans and Nebraska Poet Laureate William Kloefkorn (sadly, I, myself, am completely unlaureated) at Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1093503612542562052004-08-26T01:50:00.000-05:002004-08-26T02:00:12.543-05:00WHAT IS IT WITH THE WOMEN WHO WORK AT THE HY-VEE?
Because . . . unless my gaydar's off, which is rare, I could swear they're all gay.
Okay . . . maybe not all of them. Just the ones who are obviously dykes.
The thing is, though, they all wear engagement and wedding rings, and I see them with their "husbands" around town sometimes. Are they simply in denial? Is it all an elaborate ruse to Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1093240976374399812004-08-23T01:02:00.000-05:002004-08-23T01:20:23.206-05:00TONIGHT . . .
There's a low, steady roll of thunder, the popcorn sputter of raindrops striking the air conditioner, and the breathy swish of trees brushing their wet sleeves against the night.
There's wind, and it makes the wind chimes play their obsessive, four-note melody over and over, the hollow wood chimes softly rattling like bones.
I like it . . . this roll, strike, swish, chime, andArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1092883734148483352004-08-18T21:14:00.000-05:002004-08-19T23:55:46.723-05:00BIRD DEBACLES
Now that the birds have discovered the Free Lunch that is my bird feeder, I've been able to enjoy watching the birds who come to my front porch. So far, there's the obsessive-compulsive blue jay who shoves empty sunflower seed husks into one of my rose pots, an entire swarm of house finches, several mourning doves with their songs that sound like deep, hollow wooden flutes, a Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1092726544637827672004-08-17T01:56:00.000-05:002004-08-17T02:09:47.896-05:00ASIAN AMERICAN POETRY: THE NEXT GENERATION
The anthology Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation, has just been released from the University of Illinois Press. Edited by poet (and blogger!) Victoria Chang, who did a marvelous job, the anthology presents a diverse selection of Asian American poets under the age of 40, including fellow bloggers Nick Carbo, Oliver de la Paz, Aimee Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1092634787439769212004-08-16T00:06:00.000-05:002004-08-16T13:24:04.303-05:00COCK-OH-ROO-DOO-ROO!
Two snippets from my day:
Sometimes, when I step outside, The Bean Bean likes to make himself useful by launching himself out the front door onto the porch, where his modus operandi is to roll about in birdseed and poke around for suspicious goings-on. He's a facilitator, that one.
Well, he slipped out today while I was on my way to water the pots on the front porch, and Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1092548069437254042004-08-14T23:55:00.000-05:002004-08-15T00:36:52.223-05:00DYKE
The first time I get called a lesbian is in the fourth grade. I attend a University lab school, and instead of taking fourth-grade classes I go upstairs and take advanced classes in English and math with the eighth and ninth graders. My best friend at this time is a bit of a math genius, and she goes upstairs to take classes with the junior high students as well. Because we're in the Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1092095441484617422004-08-09T18:48:00.000-05:002004-08-11T16:31:35.363-05:00IS YOUR MAIL CARRIER AN EMISSARY OF SATAN?
The problem with having multiple submissions out to literary journals is that one's mail carrier ends up becoming a far more prominent person in one's life than he or she really needs to be. Indeed, the very title, Mail Carrier, begins to take on hushed and hallowed tones . . . it's granted initial caps and italics, and garnished with breathily mythic Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1091641204374743112004-08-04T12:38:00.000-05:002004-08-04T23:29:52.196-05:00THE MELIC REVIEW
One of my poems has been "reprinted" in the current issue of the online literary journal, The Melic Review.
Click here to check it out!Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1091508591828858622004-08-02T23:10:00.000-05:002004-08-03T01:42:07.263-05:00WI FI IS QUITE FINE
Okay. So I realize that all of you have undoubtedly installed your airport cards and managed to hook up your wireless routers ages and ages ago. In fact, by now, your elementary-school-aged children--hell, even your dogs and cats with their very own blogs and such--have probably been wireless for a veritable coon's age.
[Long-Winded Digression]
Do any of you ever wonder Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1090909611157568472004-07-27T00:34:00.000-05:002004-07-27T16:58:46.850-05:00BELATED TRAVELOGUE
I have undoubtedly waited so long to write about my lengthy drive to Billings, Montana, and back that it's on the verge of being completely irrelevant. (And not that I'm assuming any sort of salient and on-the-edge-of-your-seat relevance had I posted it in a more timely fashion, either). It was a pretty amazing drive, though, and I enjoyed my adventure thoroughly. So, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1090341460736811882004-07-20T11:14:00.000-05:002004-07-20T11:41:05.416-05:00OVER THE MOON!
It's been a wonderful cluster of recent days. This last week I decided, on a bit of a whim, really, to put in my very first flower garden ever. And yes, it is a modest (perhaps even slightly scruffy) flower garden . . . nothing too fancy . . . a lot of Vinca and Wishbone Flowers (Torenia, which the hummingbirds are supposed to like!), some miniature Dahlia, a few mums, and a Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1089905937875184052004-07-15T10:31:00.000-05:002004-07-15T10:41:18.050-05:00BACK FROM THE BADLANDS
I'm back from the Badlands, with many, many pictures. I returned very late Monday night, and in the meantime have been recuperating and getting things back on track on the home front. It was a great trip, and I'll be back soon to post my travelogue, including some rare shots of the elusive and camera-shy Japanese Mother. In the meantime, though, I procured, especially Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1089211463097206392004-07-07T09:35:00.001-05:002004-07-07T09:47:10.170-05:00ON THE ROAD
I'm off to do an appearance at the High Plains Bookfest in Billings, Montana, where I'll be giving a short panel reading and participating in a Poetry Roundtable panel with other regional authors--including my own paternal progenitor. (In other words, I'll be hooking up with my parents during my sojourn in Big Sky Country as well.)
I'm making sort of a leisurely trip of it . . . Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-108906501735308502004-07-05T16:15:00.000-05:002004-07-05T18:36:26.963-05:00FOURTH OF JULY FESTIVITIES
The day started off with a strange discovery that the house had been infested with a case of Bug-in-a-Rug Syndrome.
Come evening, I was invited to a feast of profound magnitude with some of my very favorite friends and their progeny--who, incidentally, are some of my very favorite small boys.
Afterwards, we all headed to Barstow Park, behind the local Hy-Vee store, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1088829164665130732004-07-02T22:47:00.000-05:002004-07-03T14:51:21.660-05:00RAINY DAY
Everything was wet and green and thundery and rainy today. Like monsoon season. I had it in my head that perhaps today might be a good day to snag a friend and go commune with the paddlefish and other equally commune-worthy types of aquatic fauna at the Gavins Point Dam Aquarium, but it didn't really seem like a rainy day type of adventure. In my fantasy version of the day, it wouldArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1088656213575492092004-06-30T23:01:00.000-05:002004-06-30T23:31:32.650-05:00GARDENING AND LETTING GO
I spent the afternoon with Cathy and Susan, helping them plant perennials in the gardens around their front walkway. It was such a pleasant way to spend the afternoon . . . digging holes in the dirt, tenderly snugging in Impatiens, Begonias, and Indian Paintbrush. I always think that perhaps I'll weed out and plant in the strip along my front porch, but I've never Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1088489517028563592004-06-29T00:47:00.000-05:002004-06-29T01:21:46.040-05:00THE BLAHS
I have a painful and annoying headache that's been relentlessly coming and going for the past few days, and I'm fucking sick of it. It's sort of an intermittent throb, in the very back of my head, that sort of feels as if the back of my brain is being seized by a pair of salad tongs . . . with each seize there's a bit of vertigo and an electric wash of pain up over the top of my skullArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1088394257979719182004-06-27T21:55:00.000-05:002004-06-28T11:38:26.750-05:00(BECAUSE IT'S BEEN AWHILE) CONVERSATIONS WITH MY JAPANESE MOTHER
West Nile Virus Heading Straight for Me!:
JM: Since you don't watch television, you don't know any news going on. You say you get news on computer, but I don't believe you . . . I don't think computer tell you important thing you need to know.
AH: Oh, yeah? Like what?
JM: You don't know West Nile Virus heading straight Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1088228685242216772004-06-26T00:22:00.000-05:002004-06-26T01:00:35.996-05:00DART BITCH
An enjoyable couple of days . . . went to the VLP poetry slam yesterday, and saw all sorts of people, which was nice. Snuck off to slam down a quick beer with Eileen and Robin during the break, which felt vaguely illicit . . . sort of like drinking in the bathroom during high school or something. Hee.
Tonight, Susan and Cathy invited me over for dinner. Oh . . . it was SO good . .Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1087882875325897262004-06-21T23:35:00.000-05:002004-06-22T00:41:15.326-05:00JUST CHECKING IN . . .
It's been awhile since I've posted, so I thought I'd better at least check in before the AHBA or the like has to file a formal written complaint.
Things here have been good. Not an ecstatic, mind-blowing good--and hey, those kind of good's inevitably only lead to drama anyways--but more of a mellow, easygoing kind of good. My days have fallen into a comfortable groove Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1086752304849250562004-06-08T22:17:00.000-05:002004-06-08T22:40:16.110-05:00SEVERAL UNRELATED MATTERS OF MINOR RELEVANCE
1. I have always been somewhat ambivalent about cilantro. Heretofore, however, I leaned toward pro-cilantro proclivities. The fact that I always felt somewhat unsure about cilantro, in fact, served to create an intriguing sort of je ne sais quoi . . . a compelling kind of a narrative tension, as it were . . . in whatever dish was employing said Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1085978222767074632004-05-30T23:14:00.000-05:002004-05-30T23:37:02.766-05:00CHOCOLATE BATH BEADS
I recently acquired some Chocolate Bath Beads as part of an eBay Bath and Body lot . . . I'm hopelessly hooked on their aromatherapy line . . . grapefruit peppermint bath scrub, eucalyptus spearmint smoothing oil. Mmm . . . ! The Chocolate Bath Beads weren't, in fact, the part of the lot that I was actually interested in, but upon their arrival I became intrigued. They Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1084315093139509272004-05-11T17:34:00.000-05:002004-05-11T17:39:49.026-05:00A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT . . .
It's not easy, being BeanArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1084236792332952992004-05-10T19:48:00.000-05:002004-05-10T20:05:32.370-05:00HEAD-SMASHED-IN
[I'm back from my reading in Asheville, and have been in the process of getting my regular groove back, and ridding myself of the last bit of Onerous Lung Fungus. I've been meaning to post, but I've been rather distracted, so I thought that in the meantime, I'd post my introductory editor's essay for the spring issue of South Dakota Review, which is due out in a matter of weeks Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1083126025765957772004-04-27T22:25:00.000-05:002004-04-27T23:57:07.326-05:00ANOTHER POETRY READING AND GRATUITOUS KITTEN PICS
I fly out tomorrow to Asheville, North Carolina, where I will be giving a poetry reading on Thursday night at the University of North Carolina-Asheville. Click here for details.
I seem to be dealing with my rage regarding the dog poop in my back yard a little bit better today, and the basement laundry issues have been resolved, much to the Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1083044472603175002004-04-27T00:09:00.000-05:002004-04-27T00:47:21.513-05:00I WISH TO LODGE A FORMAL WRITTEN COMPLAINT CONCERNING . . .
(1) This unrelenting sinusitis, which has not only left me with a searing, flaming pain in my sinus cavity, but also a 24/7 headache of a caliber that makes me seriously consider stabbing a pointy stick in my left eye to relieve the pressure and bring some relief . . . furthermore, in addition to the above, this pig-fucking sinusitis Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1082603808046742672004-04-21T21:00:00.000-05:002004-04-22T00:00:06.513-05:00SINUSITIS
Mostly I just like the way the word sinusitis sounds . . . particularly if you say it over and over again several times to yourself, so as to create a whispery, rustly susurration of sound. Sinusitis, sinusitis, sinusitis . . .
Admittedly, though, my upper nasal cavities have felt as if they're being none-too-gently stripped with pipe cleaners this past week, therefore Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1081840441755327982004-04-13T01:57:00.000-05:002004-04-13T02:19:29.543-05:00FLYING TO FREDONIA
Just a quick note to say that I'm flying out tomorrow (via Omaha, Nebraska; Detroit, Michigan; and Erie, Pennsylvania) to Fredonia, New York, where I've been invited by the charming and talented Aimee Nezhukumatathil to give a poetry reading at SUNY-Fredonia on Wednesday night (if you click on the "poetry reading" link, scroll down the Campus Calendar column to Wednesday, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1081313089158640782004-04-06T23:26:00.000-05:002004-04-07T00:05:58.110-05:00ON THE ROAD AGAIN
Tomorrow, I fly out for another out-of-town poetry reading . . . this time I'll be traveling to Carbondale, Illinois, to read at Southern Illinois University-Carbondale on Thursday night.
Just ask Genji (a.k.a. The Bean Bean) . . . he will attest to the fact that it has been a vexingly exhausting day.
First, there was a frantic scramble to finish proofreading the spring issueArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1081144699869087822004-04-04T23:38:00.000-05:002004-04-05T01:18:25.326-05:00DEMENTED TUTU
For perverse and obscure reasons, I've decided to share the Demented Tutu photograph referenced in the post below. Mainly because it brought to the surface a lot of strange, childhood memories for me that I hadn't thought about in awhile. Such as the fact that all my childhood pictures were taken on my parents' dining room table for mysterious reasons still somewhat unbeknownst Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1080839322368916702004-04-01T10:45:00.000-06:002004-04-01T11:14:00.610-06:00HOME IS WHERE THE CATS ARE
After returning late Sunday evening from Chicago, unpacking, and then puttering about the apartment in a jittery, tired/wired state, I eventually hit the sack and woke up on Monday morning with all three cats purring and snoring loudly on the bed. I also found that I'd been systematically snugged in and encircled with almost every kind of cat toy imaginable -- there Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1080288211026237852004-03-26T01:38:00.000-06:002004-03-26T10:14:54.610-06:00UM . . .
I wonder what would happen if, rather than dutifully wending my way over to the conference early tomorrow morning to help my colleagues staff the South Dakota Review table, I just happened to fuck off and, unable to help myself, meandered over to the Art Institute of Chicago, instead . . . where I might blissfully wander through the Contemporary/Modern galleries, not to mention the Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1080198143240010372004-03-25T00:32:00.000-06:002004-03-25T02:02:58.686-06:00UP, UP, AND AWAY
I'm flying out to Chicago tomorrow (well, technically today) to attend the AWP Conference, where my new book, Year of the Snake, is being launched, and to give a poetry reading on Saturday afternoon in a panel with other poets from the Crab Orchard Award Series in Poetry. SIU Press has made me all of these wonderful postcards which will be passed around at the conference -- Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1079940537243882742004-03-22T00:46:00.000-06:002004-03-22T01:33:02.856-06:00DOPPELGANGER
For some reason, all of the gas stations and convenience stores in this region have names that sound like adult bookstores and/or porn shops. Consider, for example, the Kum N Go. Or the Pump N Stuff. Or the Pump N Pak, for that matter. As well as the Shop EZ (which most locals refer to as the Shop Sleazy, where I occasionally, and always against better judgment, can actually Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1079859662550054132004-03-21T02:19:00.000-06:002004-03-22T01:34:54.856-06:00HOWL AT THE MOON
The man in the apartment adjacent to mine has a new girlfriend. Not that I'm listening, but I can hear them having sex. Well, to be accurate, I can hear her when they're having sex, and it's somewhat interesting to note that her orgasms sound like a (highly amplified) pitch-perfect blend of Meg Ryan's diner scene in When Harry Met Sally with those yappy-ass, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1079517563362528932004-03-17T02:10:00.000-06:002004-03-17T13:02:55.186-06:00RECOVERING PIANIST FACES DEMONS FROM PAST
In many respects, my life is quite different from the way I might have imagined it, say, twenty years ago. Although I always vacillated back and forth between music and writing, by the time I graduated from high school, I had serious aspirations to become a concert pianist. All throughout junior high and high school, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning toArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1079252538395306182004-03-14T02:22:00.000-06:002004-03-14T02:24:38.060-06:00EMOTIONAL VENEREAL DISEASE
A little over two years ago, I hooked up with this woman -- I'll just call her the E-Stalker -- on two separate occasions. That's twice. Two times. Preceeded by several months of e-mailing, instant-messaging, and phone calls. But in terms of actual meatspace? Two times.
After the second time we got together, I came away with some serious doubts about whether thisArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1078995832346565682004-03-11T02:40:00.000-06:002004-03-11T03:21:40.326-06:00BOOK IN HAND
My very first, actual real advance copy of my new book, Year of the Snake arrived in the mail today. It's just such a deeply satisfying moment to actually be able to hold the physical, tangible book in your hands . . . turning it around and around, and gently leafing through the pages. It never seems quite entirely real.
I'm very happy with the look and layout of the book. The Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1078901104975511692004-03-10T00:00:00.000-06:002004-03-17T13:03:52.310-06:00A BRIEF NOTE ON CAT POOP
I woke up this morning (okay, it was afternoon, but let's not mince hairs or whatever) to find Genji the Kitten (a.k.a. The Bean Bean) nosing around my face in a friendly and inquisitive manner, stepping on my forehead with his cool little toe pads, and purring a big slow purr that sounded like the lazy thwup thwup thwup of helicoptor blades.
Here's the thing, though . Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1078810564193077912004-03-08T23:04:00.000-06:002004-03-09T00:54:23.013-06:00TEN RANDOM THINGS . . .
1. That song? "If I'd known you were coming, I'd a baked a cake, baked a cake, baked a cake. If I'd known you were coming, I'd a baked a cake. Wacka doo, wacka doo, wacka doo!" It sure is, by golly, a real finger-snapper and toe-tapper (particularly when spiraling and drilling its way through one's brain as the most maggotty of all ear worms), but what the fuck is upArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1066763568459668912003-10-21T14:12:00.000-05:002003-10-21T14:13:32.350-05:00BE BACK SOON!
Just a quick note to say hello, and that I've nipped off to Canada to rendezvous with the Canadian Dyke for a bit, so blogging may be light (or nonexistent) until sometime early next week. I'd planned to drop in earlier and post about my upcoming trip, but had some internet difficulties prior to flying out. At any rate, I will be back soon!Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1065836439394580122003-10-10T20:40:00.000-05:002003-10-10T20:58:08.793-05:00ALBINO SQUIRREL
I thought it might be fun/different to try posting some audio blog readings of my poems every once in awhile. This is a poem called Albino Squirrel, and it's a bit of a Seasonal Affective Disorder poem. In fact, around early November or so each year, like clockwork, I end up writing an annual Seasonal Affective Disorder poem. This particular vintage is from a few years back, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1065656947410628342003-10-08T18:40:00.000-05:002003-10-08T18:50:37.506-05:00COVER ART POLL
The cover art for my new book has been designed, and I got to see it for the first time on Monday. I have to say that I'm just totally fucking ecstatic over the cover!! There are two versions of the design, and apparently I get to break the current voting tie. Personally, I'm leaning toward Version 2, with the image on the top, and the glossy black with title, etc. below. If Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1065399326363683582003-10-05T17:03:00.000-05:002003-10-05T19:52:15.053-05:00ARTICHOKE HEART HOUSE RULES
In accordance with the particular quirks and neuroses of the Artichoke Heart House, and in order to avoid, as much as possible, the quagmire of abject self-loathing that accompanies a less-than-stellar writing day, the following Writing Rules are hereby officially posted on the virtual wall of the Artichoke Heart House for immediate implementation. All resident Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1065149060511067442003-10-02T20:15:00.000-05:002003-10-02T22:39:07.236-05:00BOOK NEWS UPDATE
So . . . things with the new boook are zipping right along. The title is Year of the Snake, and it's scheduled to come out with Southern Illinois University Press in March 2004. In fact, it will be officially "launched" at the AWP (The Association of Writers and Writing Programs) conference in Chicago, where I'll be giving a panel reading with other Crab Orchard Poety Series Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1064619896972924172003-09-26T18:20:00.000-05:002003-09-28T16:41:48.650-05:00GOOD LUCK WRITING HAT!
Having an unfortunate penchant for whimsical hats, I couldn't resist snapping up a whimsical, albeit ultimately ridiculous hat while in Canada . . . all silly and red, and shaped like a Maple leaf. Did I mention that it's utterly, mortifyingly, and ludicrously ridiculous? The thing of it is, though, I also discovered, while in Canada, that this ridiculous hat possesses Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1064444880655241112003-09-24T18:01:00.001-05:002003-09-24T18:08:23.350-05:00BECAUSE I'M A DORK . . .
Heh. Hey, check this out! I'm just a total Dancing Fool!! (Just click on the GO button in the little pop-up browser window to load. And thanks to Friday Fishwrap for the link.) Don't you want to be dancing too? You know you wanna . . .
Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1064435262258724022003-09-24T14:12:00.000-05:002003-09-24T15:38:47.293-05:00FRAGMENTS OF TELEPHONE CONVERSATIONS WITH MY JAPANESE MOTHER
On Learning Of My Upcoming Trip To Canada Over The Summer:
JM: Why you go there? Good grief! Such crazy thing doing! You be careful! I don't know why have to go here, go there, all time . . . spend money like drunken sailor!
AH: I'm visiting an old friend from graduate school, and I'm going to see the Canadian Rockies. It's Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1064192510515088482003-09-21T19:21:00.000-05:002003-09-21T20:50:09.070-05:00TOURETTE'S SYNDROME WITH MARTHA STEWART TICS
I have spent the last week absolutely freaking obsessed with reorganizing, refurbishing, and redecorating my apartment. I have been in major feathernesting mode . . . I pulled out every single one of my closets, cupboards, and drawers and reorganized them completely . . . yanking out junk and setting up user-friendly systems that are more in line Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1063533656306171832003-09-14T04:39:00.000-05:002003-09-15T13:29:24.503-05:00HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN, JIGGITY JIG?
On Tuesday I drove across the entire width of the state of Montana, and down the length of the entire state of North Dakota. On Wednesday, I drove across the entire width of the state of North Dakota, and then down the length of the entire state of South Dakota. For the record, these big square states are, most definitively, exceedingly big . . . and squareArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1062786889711359942003-09-05T13:34:00.000-05:002003-09-08T15:53:12.283-05:00SPEAKING OF ARTICHOKES . . .
I'm the daily featured poet today over at Poetry Daily!
Click below, if you'd like to take a peek:
Girl With A Bowl On Her HeadArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-1062713241397405612003-09-04T17:07:00.000-05:002003-09-04T17:11:13.090-05:00HAPPY BLOG-A-VERSARY TO ME(!) . . . EVEN THOUGH I'M A SUCKY BLOGGER?
Long, echoing halloos out there to the blogosphere . . . it has been way, way too long since I last updated my blog, and since I took my somewhat unintentional summer hiatus! I have been heavily invested in real life for awhile, though, which has been good . . . including finalizing my teaching duties prior to my year off for Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-951806432003-06-02T01:23:00.000-05:002003-06-02T02:28:48.000-05:00OH, CANADA . . . OH, MY!
For starters, I have to say that I really didn't feel at all inclined to leave Canada. In fact, for innumerable reasons, I think that I may have enjoyed it far too much for my own good!
Also, Southern Alberta is, well . . . it's absolutely breathtaking!
During my trip I stayed in Lethbridge, Alberta, which is home to the University of Lethbridge, as well as to my Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-948151712003-05-23T23:18:00.000-05:002003-06-02T00:27:23.000-05:00RAN OFF TO CANADA
In an attempt to be a classier blogger . . . the kind that accounts for his/her whereabouts, I feel compelled to make the following Public Service Statement:
(1) I am running away to Canada tomorrow . . . southern Alberta, to be precise.
(2) I'm not coming back for a whole, entire week.
(3) I plan on being up to no good, whatsoever.
That is all.Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-942504162003-05-13T01:38:00.000-05:002003-05-13T01:45:59.000-05:00CHOCOLATE MARTINIS
Ever had a chocolate martini? Their chocolatiness does not seem to interfere in any way with their alcohol content which is, well . . . disconcerting. I'm just not sure how I feel about that.
Do you ever wonder why the chain of Happy Chef restaurants isn't called the Disgruntled Fry Cook? Wouldn't it be more honest? (And let's face it, we're talking about a chain of Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-938477032003-05-06T01:44:00.000-05:002003-05-06T01:44:40.863-05:00SEX
The very first time I have sex I sneak out over the lunch hour with the first chair cellist in the high school orchestra. The cellist’s mother works during the day, and their house is across the street from the high school. I am fifteen. I have been reading way too much Sylvia Plath. I am particularly impressed with the scene in The Bell Jar where Esther Greenwood decides to liberate Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-936414512003-05-02T03:57:00.000-05:002003-05-02T04:30:36.000-05:00HAIRBALL FORMULA, MY ASS
I would like to briefly touch upon the topic of Cat Puke. Because it is all very well and fine to go out and purchase the special hairball formula of what-is-already-grossly-overpriced cat food for the cats, in the hopes that one might be rewarded with getting to spend less time handling and disposing of what is inevitably bound to be either (1) a warm and squishy Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-935788362003-05-01T00:31:00.000-05:002003-05-01T00:31:53.996-05:00POCK-MARKED GIRL BABY
I had a feeling today would be the day, and sure enough, the envelope was waiting there in my mailbox when I came home from the office. It felt sort of thick and solid, which seemed like a promising sign. "Ding" letters usually only entail one sheet of paper, but really . . . one can never tell for sure with these sorts of things.
I pinched the envelope for a bit to Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-934449502003-04-28T23:18:00.000-05:002003-04-28T23:27:07.000-05:00AND BY THE WAY . . .
I only have two words for this.
Well, okay, maybe technically nine words altogether for this, at the risk of being all OCD and shit.
Goddamnit, Yuki!
Are you just Satan's Spawn, or what?!?!
Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-934322032003-04-28T19:27:00.000-05:002003-04-28T23:31:54.000-05:00WORST. BLOGGER. EVER.
Really. I am. The lamest and most maladroit of all bloggers. Ever. Unlike classier bloggers, I can't even seem to post up a "Temporarily On Hiatus" note when I go on hiatus. No. It's even worse than you might imagine. Not only can I not post up a "Temporarily On Hiatus" note when I go on hiatus, I exist in a profound state of Hiatus Denial, in which I vigorously Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-907881302003-03-15T21:40:00.000-06:002003-04-28T23:24:15.000-05:00PLANES, TRAINS, AND AUTOMOBILES
[This post was actually composed late Thursday night, March 13, but as I was unable to get on-line until now, I'm afraid that, two nights later, it has possibly passed its expiration date and become rather stale.]
It has been a day of planes, trains, and automobiles, and I have set foot in a whopping total of five states today. My day began at 4:30 a.m. after Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-904187042003-03-09T16:02:00.000-06:002003-03-09T16:25:38.000-06:00FRAGMENTS OF PHONE CONVERSATIONS WITH MY JAPANESE MOTHER
Regarding Influenza B:
JM (Japanese Mother): Don't go out from your house anymore. There's terrible flu epidemic. Everybody getting it. Influenza B. I been so worry you going to get it because you always going out so stupid with head uncover and let your feet get wet so catch cold.
AH (Artichoke Heart): So in between the winter Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-898239392003-02-27T00:45:00.000-06:002003-02-27T01:34:08.000-06:00CERAMIC PIG
Perhaps some of you may remember the mortifying Driving Debacle from a few weeks back, in which I was dispatched in a State Motor Pool Vehicle to pick up an incoming job candidate arriving to interview for a tenure-track position with our department. As you may recall, there were mishaps in direction following, much aimless driving about in The Hinterlands of Bum Fuck South Dakota, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-895699412003-02-22T17:01:00.000-06:002003-02-26T23:15:41.000-06:00FAT BASTARD
Late last night, deep into a bottle of Fat Bastard Shiraz, I realized that I had an undeniably powerful urge to jump on the bandwagon, and have my very own wee mee representation by which to validate my ontological sense of self. So here I am, in all my wee-ness. (That is, by the way, a hypothetical wee-cigarette . . . I have still quit smoking, but I figure that my wee mee might Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-894162922003-02-20T00:03:00.000-06:002003-02-20T01:17:53.000-06:00ALBUQUERQUE
I spent most of last week in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I gave a poetry reading, as well as a panel presentation on negotiating the erotics of the creative writing classroom, at the Southwest Texas Popular Culture Association Conference. It was wonderful to get out of town for awhile, stuff myself full of decadent food at nice restaurants, hang out with other writers and prove Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-887904842003-02-09T01:41:00.000-06:002003-02-09T02:16:17.000-06:00POETS AGAINST THE WAR
I just finished posting one of the poems from my book at the Poets Against the War website. The particular poem I picked is called "Hiroshima Maiden," and it's a dramatic monologue written in the voice of one of the twenty-five young Japanese women severely disfigured as a result of the dropping of the atomic bombs during the second world war. These women were Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-884622612003-02-03T02:03:00.000-06:002003-02-03T11:56:40.000-06:00SOMETIMES I AM JUST SO UNSPEAKABLY LAME
Thursday night I was assigned the task of driving to the airport in Sioux Falls to pick up a job candidate arriving to do an on-campus interview for one of our tenure-track openings. On the one hand, it's nice to think that one's colleagues and job search committee members view one as being the sort of person who can be entrusted to pick up a job Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-878524722003-01-22T12:32:00.000-06:002003-02-03T00:32:57.000-06:00ARTICHOKE, ARTICHOKE
There have been all sorts of wacky hijinks and shenanigans going on over at Fragments from Floyd, leading up to the fact that Fred has given everyone a writing assignment, and is, furthermore, collecting assignments over at Fragments. It should also be noted that Fred's being kind of a scary hardass about this, and isn't allowing anyone to claim that their Dog has Eaten Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-877730742003-01-21T01:49:00.000-06:002003-01-21T02:02:06.000-06:00IT IS VERY UNPLEASANT
. . . when one wakes up in the morning and cannot move one's head because the upper part of one's spine has clenched up into an immobile column of pain. One sticks a heating pad on the whole mess to try and make it go away, but a certain Siamese cat who's a sucker for heat keeps clambering on top of one's shoulder and attempting to lie down on the back of one's neck so as Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-875210012003-01-15T23:38:00.000-06:002003-02-09T02:10:06.000-06:00IT IS PLEASANT
. . . to come trudging home through the snow from the office, where the better part of the afternoon was lost attending to niggling bits of administrivia, and realize that one has a refrigerator chock full of soup that simmered on the stove all Sunday evening until the kitchen windows were misted with a cool slick rime of steam. A quirky ox-tail kind of soup, the recipe for Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-874032852003-01-13T23:49:00.000-06:002003-01-13T23:56:07.000-06:00IMAGINARY CIGARETTES
It’s not so much that I miss them in the concrete . . . it’s more that I miss them in the abstract. It’s really the idea of the cigarettes that I miss. You see, I quit smoking for about the gazillion-umpteenth time the week before X-mas. I decided to get an early jump on things and avoid the whole quitting smoking for New Year’s cliche, particularly since there was one Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-872104652003-01-10T03:07:00.000-06:002003-01-10T23:23:48.000-06:00I'LL SHOW YOU MINE IF YOU SHOW ME YOURS
I find that I am utterly riveted by The Web Fridge Project going on over at Friday Fishwrap, because I am the sort of compulsive-eavesdropper-who-can't-take-a-pee-in-someone-else's-house-without-also-taking-at-least-a-little-peek-if-not-snooping-outright-in-their-medicine-cabinet-because-I'm-pathologically-nosy person who is, not to put too fine a point onArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-869939682003-01-05T23:55:00.000-06:002003-01-08T02:06:27.000-06:00FRAGMENTS OF CONVERATIONS WITH MY SIAMESE CAT, YUKI
(OR WHY, IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING, ALTHOUGH I CAN'T IMAGE WHY ON EARTH YOU WOULD BE, MY CAT THINKS HER FULL AND PROPER NAME IS GODDAMNIT-YUKI)
Regarding Cornish Game Hen
SC (Siamese Cat): (Lifting front forepaw to delicately “point” at Cornish Game Hen). Ooh . . . is that Cornish Game Hen? Can I have it?
AH: Don’t you even think aboutArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-869095892003-01-03T23:35:00.000-06:002003-01-03T23:37:02.000-06:00TURNAROUND
Maybe it’s the let-down exhaustion that kicks in full swing once the final grades have finally been turned in . . . after all the niggling over the negotiation of incompletes; the mind-numbing process of constructing, deconstructing, and constructing again student paper after student paper; and the agonizing over the two F’s that were more-than-deserved, yet nonetheless made me feel Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-862601282002-12-19T01:25:00.000-06:002002-12-19T01:26:39.000-06:00THINGS THAT ALWAYS MAKE ME THINK OF X-MAS
Chef Boyardee Raviolis: When I was a kid, I always used to get to pick whatever I wanted to eat on X-mas eve before we opened up presents. We always used to open presents up on X-mas eve, too . . . although later on, there was an inexplicable switch to X-mas morning, I'm not sure why. At any rate, I got to pick any dish of my choice . . . and I shouldArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-858823032002-12-12T01:10:00.000-06:002002-12-12T01:25:40.000-06:00LOST IN TRANSLATION
A visit to Stacey's blog earlier today -- where he was taunting visitors with a cryptic bit in Japanese script -- which I, even though I'm half Japanese, couldn't read, got me to thinking about bilingualism and, more specifically, my lack thereof. My mother must have spoken Japanese to me as an infant and a toddler, because when I first started talking I spoke in a form of Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-856652192002-12-07T22:08:00.000-06:002002-12-07T22:20:48.000-06:00HYBERNACULA
Perhaps the strangest thing was that I didn’t really know for sure how long the bat had been in my house. In retrospect, throughout some of the recent clusterfuck and scramble that makes up the end-of-the-semester death spiral, I vaguely remember hearing a clicking sound late one afternoon shortly after returning home from the office. The landlord was downstairs in the basement at Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-851490122002-11-27T00:22:00.000-06:002002-12-07T01:07:02.000-06:00MICROWAVES
In a recent epiphany, I hit upon the perfect X-mas present for my parents . . . the Telezapper. As some of you may recall from previous posts, my parents no longer answer the telephone (as if they ever did anyway), and, in fact, have recently made assertions to the effect that the Telemarketers have gotten so bad that, according to my mother, they "never want to have to answer phone Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-847975252002-11-19T22:08:00.000-06:002002-12-06T17:40:34.000-06:00DEPARTURES
The first time was an accident, really. I was maybe three at most, and accidentally wandered away from an English Department picnic that was being held in the mountains. Somehow, I remember being convinced that being lost meant that I was lost for good, and I assumed that everyone would just go home without me and I would have to live in the woods forever by myself. It's odd, Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-845082952002-11-13T22:23:00.000-06:002002-12-06T17:44:20.000-06:00FRAGMENTS OF PHONE CONVERSATIONS WITH MY JAPANESE MOTHER
You Should Marry A Carpenter
JM: Isn't it nice that E. have carpenter husband so can fix her house? You should find handy carpenter man and marry so when you buy house he can fix all up for you.
[Indignantly wanting to retort that I don't need a man to fix up my house for me, while simultaneously having to acknowledge to self that Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-844519972002-11-12T21:25:00.000-06:002002-12-06T17:45:13.000-06:00WOOD SMOKE
Isn't it strange how a single smell can take one back years and years, calling up a lost memory? I spent the entire day wrestling with a migraine . . . one that slowly climbed up the back of my neck, paralyzing each vertebrae one by one until everything was stiff and brittle and locked . . . then it started up in broad, liquid circular washes of pain first in the back of my skull -- Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-840460852002-11-05T00:10:00.000-06:002002-12-06T19:42:58.000-06:00POMEGRANATE, POMEGRANATE
Tonight there's a soft feathery snow that's falling light as goose down . . . it makes the trees look as if they've been spritzed with fake Christmas tree snow (it's that frothy and sparkly), and covers the ground in white puffy fluffs like a head of whipped cream melting into black cappuccino. The cats have been alternately quarrelling over the choicest Heat Vents and Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-837602092002-10-30T01:42:00.000-06:002002-11-04T23:27:53.000-06:00Pithy Nuggets Of Wisdom From My Japanese Mother
On Frugality
Best way is you have to be a little bit stingy. Not like you. You buy presents for everybody, go eat in restaurant, go rent movie, and buy cat food all time. Who you think you are? A Rockefeller?
Look at you. Already middle age and you don't have own house. E. have own house. P. have own house. Why you don't have own house Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-836029462002-10-27T13:34:00.000-06:002002-10-27T13:38:43.000-06:00Snow That Sounds Like Rain
Today the snow looks like snow . . .
but sounds like rain.Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-835702482002-10-26T18:02:00.000-05:002002-10-26T18:16:01.000-05:00Things That I Adore About Some Of The Women I Know
I love the way C. walks down the street, oblivious, reading a book. I love the way it feels to bask in her warm, soothing glow -- how she makes me feel calm and good, like a cup of Chamomile Tea. I love her wonderfully modulated voice, and her quiet intelligence. I love how she always calmly proceeds at her own pace. I love her fabulous Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-834417912002-10-23T22:43:00.000-05:002002-10-25T22:23:22.000-05:00First Snow
On and off, for the past two days, the first snowfall of the year. Small dry, crisp flakes gently sprinkling down from the sky as if hundreds of salt shakers were being rhythmically shaken over the Missouri River Valley. The flakes make a soft whispery sound brushing the dry leaves of the trees, like the rustling of tafetta skirts. Now there is a delicate, shivery dusting of white Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-833423242002-10-22T03:11:00.000-05:002002-10-22T11:09:25.000-05:00Indoor/Outdoor Humans
It's difficult to conceptualize the degree to which one is dependent on indoor plumbing until one is forced to do without it for even a relatively short period of time.
Now don't get me wrong. I grew up in Wyoming. It's a large, square state with lots and lots of empty space between towns and very few rest stops. I grew up in Wyoming with public-bathroom-phobic parents Artichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-833153052002-10-21T15:59:00.000-05:002002-10-21T16:30:25.000-05:00Mysterious Pumpkins
Ladybugs are everywhere now. I find them clinging to the curtains, inching across the linoleum of the kitchen floor, hunched in odd crevices and corners here and there. There is something oddly fluid about the way they slowly creep along . . . even though their legs are scurrying down below in jerky, mechanical synchronicity, all one sees moving are the shiny polished domesArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3755810.post-832173002002-10-19T11:44:00.000-05:002002-10-21T11:52:02.000-05:00Ariake - Poems of Longing by Anonymous Woman Courtiers from Heian-Period Japan
Am I to go on,
Forever yearning, my thoughts
Tangled as seaweed
Swaying with the waves, neither
Drifting out nor coming in?
* * *
As night succeeds night,
I seek in vain to decide
Where my pillow should go.
How did I sleep on the night
When you appeared in my dream?
* * *
All too soon, I fear,
WildArtichoke Heartnoreply@blogger.com