Ghost Riders

b's topic this week: things that piss me off.

this could be a series.

so who are the ghost riders and why do they frustrate me so? the ghost riders lurk in the halls of the williams building, particularly on the first and second floors. i have a feeling that they have returned in a ghostly afterlife after some kind of untimely death in an elevator shaft, or possibly after dying in a fire while trapped in an elevator. their mission: to piss me off.

i should first say that i am primed to be pissed off when i encounter the ghost riders and their shenanigans. typically, i am out of breath and in a hurry, having just walked 1-2 miles from my car with my 84 pound backpack on my shoulders. there are no lights above the ground floor elevator, so i have to lean my ear close, listening for movement, anticipating the arrival of the slothful transportation device. finally, when the doors open, i step inside and press "3" to get to my office where i will finally be able to dump my burdensome crap and pee.

the elevator takes off like a clunky old car, slowly climbing the shaft, and i say, "please don't ding, just keep going," but the ghost riders know this. they like to torment me. it is the only pleasure they have. the elevator stops on the first floor. the doors seem to take forever to open. no one is there. i frantically press the door close button, to no avail. i wait for the ghost rider to board and get his kicks. second floor. same thing.

so what seems like two hours later, the two ghost riders and i disembark on the third floor, and stumble into the bathroom where they forget to flush. yes, that's them too.

Everything's Yellow

if pollen were pixie dust, i could fly instead of having red eyes and a throbbing headache. my van could fly too.

why, flowers, trees, nature, in the peak of your beauty, do i suffer so?

Now I'm Depressed

i'm very sad today. but emma did finally get to dress up like molly brown and give her presentation.

so, who's up next? i'm ready for a new topic. and, do we have a new blogger/bloggers??

i knew it was only a matter of time. it was going to happen sooner or later. this week, it did - per sandra, the theme is SEX.

This Little Piggy

i understand why toes are called piggies. but why the market? why roast beef?

looney tunes characters were fond of this rhyme, like when sylvester the cat is hanging onto a clothesline by one foot, and tweety plays this little piggy until, "oops! ran out of piggies!" but the thing never changes. toes two and four always get screwed.

continuing in my celebration of feet, i would like to liberate toes (piggies) from their boredom and create a new mad libs version of "this little piggy" for all to enjoy.

this little piggy went to (place);
this little piggy (past tense verb) all night;
this little piggy drank (alcoholic beverage);
and this little piggy saw (excellent band) in concert;
and this little piggy went "(expletive, plural noun)" all the way to (exotic place)!


play along in a comment, if you like. your piggies will thank you.

Feet, Part 1

one way to celebrate this too often scoffed at body part.

Just Kick Me While I'm Down

when i put emma to bed, she feebly asked me to cross out today on her kitty calender. this is what i saw. she marked it as soon as she got the assignment.

will she get over it? she already has.

will i? never.

Sometimes Life Just Sucks

two weeks ago, emma came home from school with an assignment. she had to pick an american historical figure and write a report. she picked "the unsinkable molly brown."

for the past week, she has been diligently preparing, taking copius notes, bugging me to help her on msword, and she has a polished 3 page paper, the result of her hard work and enthusiasm for the project. in addition to the paper, the students get to dress up as their historical figure and read their report to the class. that day is today.

last night, emma printed her report and beaming, read it aloud to me to practice. she found a plastic sheath to put it in so it would not get damaged. we found a great floor length black velvet and red chiffon dress in her closet (not sure where it came from), a string of pearls, and digging around in the garage, a black hat with a flower in it, just like molly brown wore in the pictures of her. i gave her a shakespeare book to carry. molly brown loved literature.

this morning at 6am, as i was sleeping on the couch, i heard footsteps on the stairs. emma came down crying, went into the bathroom, and puked her guts out.

why does this happen? certainly there are worse disappointments, but to an eight year old, this is big. all morning she has cried, angrily confronting me, she feels fine, why can't she go to school, she wants to see everyone else's costume. i want to look away, to run away, to not deal with her heartache. if i do, i cry. i have no words for her. it's school policy. it's not fair to the other kids. she'll get to make it up. maybe the teacher will take a picture. i'm so, so sorry.

really, it just f-ing sucks. i think the best thing for me to say is nothing. when she sees me cry, she gets it.

Here We Go

greetings, blog friends. first, please welcome will to the blog ring. we love will!

this week: FEET.

blog amongst yourselves.

Woe Is Me

i just wanted to say that I HATE GRADING PAPERS.

but i am learning things. for instance, transgender operations are bad because they will ultimately result in the extinction of the human race. oh, and did you hear? america is one huge melting pot of different races and cultures. and, get this: when guys sleep around they are "cool" but when girls do it, they are "sluts." can you believe that double standard?

okay. i feel better now. 26 down, 10 to go.

all quiet on the western front.

The Adjective Form of Therapy

therapeutic. right? as in, "that therapy session was not very therapeutic."

parting with the noun and embracing the modifier puts a whole new spin on things. writing is therapeutic. so is drinking beer. and eating cheese fries. and watching movies. naps.

this therapy i like. as it turns out, the very things i am in therapy to change are indeed "therapeutic." i think i have just unlocked the key to the universe.

party on, wayne.

John Tesh Explains It All

mya picks "therapy."

john tesh told me something today about therapy.

he was talking about binge eaters who get their stomachs stapled. once they have the procedure, they lose the weight and suddenly realize that being thin is not the answer they were looking for so they "switch addictions." the fat girl in wilson phillips had this problem. she got skinny and became an alcoholic. jt says that this happens because the deeper issues that were causing the binge eating in the first place were never addressed. therapy, he says, is the answer, not gastric bypass. thanks, john.

i wonder if this two minute snippet actually helped anyone, sent someone to the yellow pages to find that perfect counselor who takes his or her insurance. i wonder if the hour i spend in the counselor's office, and have spent off and on since the age of 14, really helps me. sometimes i think counselors, john tesh, and oprah (the antichrist) are extending a hand to help us up with a foot planted firmly on our backs. making us feel worse, making us feel like we need them, which in turn, pays their bills. dredging up the past is good, if it serves a purpose, but often i feel like i just sit there and analyze the week's events in light of my "story" and still run around in hopeless circles like a hamster on a wheel. is this just life? and, if it is, do i need to pay someone to listen to me talk about it? and this aspect of therapy seems counterproductive to boosting my self-esteem; you are only listening to me because I'M PAYING YOU. shit. i really am a loser.

of course, i don't mean that. i believe that the money i have spent on counseling is like donating to charity; i am very good at spitting out the same wisdom i am given to other people, and i say it with authority like i know what i'm talking about. and sometimes, i say it over miller's cheese fries.

which, coincidentally, i am addicted to.

the end. so sad.

Say, Joey, Have You Ever Seen A Grown Man Naked?

this week's theme: "nudity" a la katie.

the word "nudity" makes me think of movies. rated R movies. movies that are rated R because they have "nudity" or "partial nudity."

what is "partial nudity?" a butt cheek. maybe one boob. what is full on "nudity?" harvey keitel in the piano. i have heard of women who complain about all the naked chicks on the sets of movies and protest: what about eye candy for the ladies?

i ask, who are these women?

the movie the piano was up for an academy award. what do i remember about it? holly hunter got her finger chopped off and i saw harvey keitel's wiener. that's pretty much it. i have heard that men are visual creatures, enjoying the sight of the female anatomy, but i am no man. i had no desire to see harvey keitel's saggy business. it just appeared on screen out of nowhere, like a train wreck. i stared in horror. and, really... harvey keitel?

i'd much rather see harrison ford or liam neeson in a tuxedo.

Punk'd, AWP

so how do two fiction MFA's from FSU entertain themselves at the VIP party on the top of the hilton? easy. we approach writers from various universities, claim to have been in their workshops, watch them squirm as they try to remember and then say "oh, yes, of course!" to top it off, we ask for a picture. katie was quite enthusiastic in this game, and i was proud to be her friend.

it got better when mark winegardner got in the action, first accusing us of being mean, then pointing people out for us to scam. note him giggling in the background of katie's picture with dan chaon.

good fun? we thought so. good for our writing careers? probably not so much.

but we did meet some neat people on the up and up, like tom franklin and todd pierce.

and, yeah, what's up with my freakish red eye?


read katie's version.

Is Krispy Kreme a Gay Hangout?

will's nanny thinks so. this is us eating mexican before the VIP party; when we got to the door at nikolai's lounge, we were told that katie's invite was only good for her and one guest. i was the lucky cat chosen to accompany her and we made some trouble i don't have have time to blog about now. later, with pictures! off to little five points.

it's been a full three days. i've been to some interesting panels: writing faith for the faithless, research and the novel. party nation led the awp disco on thursday night, a nice spectacle (see man dancing). b has forced me to talk to people i wouldn't normally talk to (see the green lady in the pic who was staring us down... i said what's up with the green lady staring? and b said, i don't know, let's go talk to her!) turns out she's from alaska and bob butler's book changed her life.

lee smith gave a great keynote address... touching, inspiring. i snuck into her after party but was disappointed because i didn't get to meet her and all the food was gone. tonight we are going to the VIP party with ann beattie... katie dirtied up an invite so we'll be legit. but first, we are going to cruise the receptions in search of free food (after all we are starving artists) but we unanimously decided that we cannot take any more cheese cubes. we draw the line there.

all in all, good fun.

AWP continued...

AWP!

we're here! the drive was fun. we decided that we would rather be able to fly than read minds or have the ability to turn invisible at will. katie made an official AWP soundtrack which provided us with listening pleasure. jessica told an interesting story about a flat tire that i can't repeat. b took a nap (see picture).

on my way to the hilton to mingle and try to get a book deal...