More Happenings

Everyone is happening this month...I hope I can get to some of this but day job is interfering. Still, I can shoutout, no?

Tonight Mad Hatter's Review is having their Friday night reading at KGB, featuring Norman Lock, Terese Svoboda, and Deb Olin Unferth. They know how to lasso the talent for these things. For info click the link and scroll down.

Next Wednesday January 31 8PM, Poetry vs. Comedy (PVC) will greet the new year at a new venue, the Bowery Poetry Club. It's a super-fun event, way better than American Idol! Poets alternate with comedians in 8 minute sets, followed by an improvisational showdown to determine the winner. Judges provide commentary, and host Carolyn Castiglia provides jabs and laughs. This month's performers are Brandy Barber, Michelle Buteau, Luke Thayer, Shane Luitjens, Zaedryn Meade, Thad Rutkowski, and Pindeldyboz as musical guest (I've heard they're hilarious.)

Next Thursday, February 1, Virginia Vitzthum's book, I LOVE YOU, LET'S MEET, officially launches! Adam's Books in Park Slope, 8:00PM.

Next Friday, February 2, my troubador friend John Kessel is playing Hank's Saloon (I believe this is Hank's in Brooklyn--dont' know of others). Check out his song, "Thrown Away," on his Myspace page. I love this song.

Probably just the tip of the iceberg.

And because I'm all over the place today, here's a crappy video of our dog Willie taking his medicine. Crappy because the sound got out of sync. I have a lot to learn.

I Love You, Let's Meet: The Musical

Check out the trailer my write-club cronie Virginia Vitzthum did (with some very talented friends), for her new book, I LOVE YOU, LET'S MEET: ADVENTURES IN ONLINE DATING. It features cats! And a ukulelist!





Book trailers, who'd'a thunk it? I had the opportunity to read this book as it was coming to life, and it's riveting. I don't date any more (except going to the movies with my sweet hubby), and boy, times have changed. She dissects the primary conundrum of dating in the internet age--what happens when you fall in love with someone's writing, but it's not the same in real life? How does one use the resource of the internet to find compatible people, when there are too many people to choose from? Is it like shopping for humans? When does the shopping end? But too, is it good to be able to ask for what you really want? And isn't it nice to be able to craft a profile, and put art into how you put yourself out there?

I can't wait to read the finished book. Hope you enjoy the musical version.

I'm Reading This Sunday at Pheonix Series

Haven't decided, but I may bust out the ukulele for this one. Carol's a fellow cat person, and I do write songs about cats. And Rob appears to be a dog person, and I do write songs about dogs. Plus there's the song about the flying lion, but I can't worry too much about common ground there.

If you come, bring your stuff for the open mic!

THE PHOENIX READING SERIES @ HIGH CHAI
18 Ave B (between 1st & 2nd)
212-477-2424


Sunday, January 21, 2007 2pm

Carol Novack is a long lapsed criminal defense/constitutional lawyer. Her writings can and will be found in many publications, including The Penguin Book of Australian Women Poets, American Letters & Commentary, Anemone Sidecar, Big Bridge, BlazeVOX, Del Sol Review, Diagram, First Intensity, 5_Trope, La Petite Zine, LIT, Milk, Notre Dame Review, Salt River Review, and Word Riot. Carol publishes and edits the offbeat e-journal Mad Hatters' Review, teaches innovative fiction writing at The Women's Studio Center, curates a reading series at the KGB Bar, and writes a humorous advice column for City Scoops under the nom Loopy Lulu.

Anne Elliott 's poetry has been featured in anthologies including Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe, Poetry Nation: the North American Anthology of Fusion Poetry, and Verses that Hurt: Pleasure and Pain from the Poemfone Poets. She has performed (with and without ukulele) at the Whitney Museum, PS122, Dixon Place, St. Mark's Poetry Project, and others. Her short fiction has appeared in Hobart and Pindeldyboz, and she currently seeks a home for her novel, Starving Hysterical Naked. She blogs on the writing life and feral cat management at http://assbackwords.blogspot.com.

Rob Stephenson is NYC based writer, composer, and visual artist. His writings have appeared in print and online in such publications as Entangled Lives, Skin and Ink, Blithe House Quarterly, Velvet Mafia, Dangerous Families, Problem Child, Best Bisexual Erotica, and Perspectives on Evil and Human Wickedness; writings will also emerge shortly in Issue 7 of Mad Hatters' Review. Rob Stephenson's first novel is forthcoming from Suspect Thoughts Press. His drawings have been exhibited at the Intersection Art Gallery in San Francisco, the Headlands Center for the Arts, the Katona Museum, and the Wexner Center for the Arts. His experimental music CD "dog" composed with Mikael Karlsson is now out on Please MusicWorks. Visit www.dog-cd.com.


OPEN READING FOLLOWS—AS TIME ALLOWS

One Purchase & Donation

Greetings from the Cute Farm

Sometimes I fear this sweetness will plunge me into a diabetic coma. Here's Angus playing with his new Christmas toy.



And here's a boy's Nap Club struggling to keep eyes open on the sofa.




I don't really have anything better to blog about. I've been writing every day, working on the new novel, ALMA, submitting stories, and applying for this and that residency, etc. I've been really enjoying the research aspect of the novel, looking at books about the theater, also spiritual stuff from AA and the Episcopal church. I'm not a believer in God, but I do find reading about it interesting, and it is proving to be the main theme of my novel, not God, but rather the absence of God, or what happens internally when one loses faith and feels like she is in the minority.

So, back to work I go. Hope you all are enjoying the new year so far. I am!

Wilbur's Christmas Hangover

Okay, we have one spoiled doggy here. We took him up to Buffalo for a not-white Christmas with Hubby's family. I don't know if it was the lack of snow that got the dog depressed, or the fact that his hip hurts, which may be arthritis and may be something else, but all he wanted to do was sleep on Grandma's bed. Which he's not allowed to do, but we left on a day trip to Toronto, and the dog took liberties.

Here's a piece of Toronto, by the way, shot near the very diverse Kensington Market. I had never been there before and I absolutely loved it. Hubby says we can move there if another Bush gets elected in '08. Then we got caught in a bad traffic jam and we started to rethink that plan.





Christmas was quiet, except the present part, which got the dog wound up. I tried to tell him that Christmas was about the baby Jesus but he didn't get it. He likes opening gifts, ripping the paper. I wish we had video, it's pretty funny. Here he is in the joyful aftermath.

The New Smokelong Quarterly is Live

Matt Bell did a great job guest editing this issue. I'm so stoked to be in the company of these rock stars. If you haven't discovered Nadine Darling yet, discover her. There are several contributions from the Michigan/Hobart posse, and even one from Stephen Elliott, who I want to believe is a distant relation of mine, one of the talented ones.

Interview in Until Monday--718 in the House!

Hi folks, sorry I haven't been posting much lately. I've been busy reading (Tennessee Williams), writing (fiction), and prepping for the holidays.

The incomparable poet and memoirist Cheryl Burke interviewed me for this interesting publication, Until Monday. It's a Brooklyn guide and more. Check it out! I'm gonna bookmark this site. They have good tips on places off the beaten path where I can go off my diet. Plus profiles on my fellow boroughites, and cool event info.

Hope you are staying sane, dry, and warm. My thoughts go out to my family in the Pacific Northwest, who have been unreachable in the power outage. I trust they are okay, they are hardy, smart, and are probably hunkering down to wait it out.

Me With Comedians? I'll Give My Best Shot

I'm reading at PVC next Thursday, come on down! I've decided to leave the ukulele home and do straight poetry. I miss that. Stoked to be reading with friends Gloria and Hal. Thanks, Cheryl, for booking me!

Cheryl B. Presents:
PVC: The POETRY vs. COMEDY VARIETY SHOW
December 7th, 8PM
Galapagos Arts Space
70 North 6th Street, Brooklyn
L Train to Bedford Ave.
FREE
www.myspace.com/pvcshow

About the Show:PVC is neither an ordinary poetry slam nor a stand-up comedy show. The Poetry Vs. Comedy Variety Show is a battle of wits and rhymes where the stanzas and the stand-up collide. The show is monthly at Galapagos Arts Space in Williamsburg (70 N. 6th St). Produced by writer and literary series curator Cheryl B., PVC boasts a line-up of venerable poets and rising star comedians.

EMCEE: Carolyn Castiglia (Caroline's)

STARRING:

Comedians
Joe Dixon (NYC Comedian)
Lang Fisher (VH1's Best Night Ever Podcast)
Jenny Rubin (Oh My God)

Poets
Anne Elliott (Pindeldyboz)
Gloria (Kanipchen-fit)
Hal Sirowitz (NPR, MTV, PBS)

MUSICAL GUEST:
The Goddess Perlman (TLC, MTV, Metro Channel)

Attrition

Sadly, our little Junior-girl has left us. We haven't found a body, but we haven't seen her since early October. So, we're facing facts. The odds are not with her, poor thing.

Junior came to us as a tiny, barely-weaned kitten in the summer of 2004. We named her Junior, thinking she was a boy. She made it through the winter, and come spring, we trapped her and got her neutered along with the rest of our little colony. We tried from the beginning to tame her, but only got her to allow petting while she was eating. Chances are very slim that she has found a human family, since her level of trust is quite low. There is a possibility she found another wild colony to live with--perhaps one of the two black-and-white colonies in our immediate vicinity--maybe even with her own blood relatives. We have no idea who her parents are, for sure. (Her cross-eyes do indicate that Angus might be her father. Though I've always thought of Angus as a gay cat, you never know.)

Urban feral cats rarely move outside a one-block radius. Experts advise never to try to move them, they will only seek their original home, risking life and limb to get there. It is much more likely that she got trapped somewhere (they can live for three weeks without water or food, I'm told), poisoned (possibly intentionally), hit by a car, or died of an illness.

Natural attrition is the goal of TNR, but it's still sad to see them disappear. Godspeed, little Junior, wherever you are.

For the Love of the Loose Cannon

I was biased going into Jim Tomlinson's short story collection, THINGS KEPT, THINGS LEFT BEHIND. Glad to report it met my high expectations.

The collection has eleven character-driven stories, most set in rural Kentucky. One of the book's characters, an old man on his deathbed, tells his nurse: "My son's a writer...he can imagine anything, make it up from nothing, and care like it was real." A good characterization of Tomlinson's work. Care is evident on every page--care for language, care for people, and not just fictional characters, but the very real aspects of ourselves that they represent.

What struck me most is Tomlinson's real sense of loose-cannon personalities: the stubborn elderly mother, the brother prone to violence, the businessman who suddenly drops everything, the young idealist who burns his draft card. The cranky, the war-broken, the adulterous--and the people who live with them--these are Tomlinson's cast, each portrayed with empathy and grace. The grace comes, I believe, from his precision. The prose is economical, but not sparse. The diction is regional, but never parody. Exasperation is always a product of familiarity, which goes hand in hand with love.

This juxtaposition of gentle telling with not-gentle characters is the key to the success of these stories. Tomlinson loves these characters the way flawed people love themselves, the way family members quarrel and reconcile. They are not rural eccentrics designed to entertain the rest of us with their novelty. They are essential beings, whose choices carry gravity.

This love of character is what makes realist fiction satisfying for me, when it is done well. I don't need neat endings or dramatic "arcs" or all that crap that short story people fetishize. What I need is to know that people are loved, even the difficult ones. And Tomlinson is one writer who understands why and how this love is a craft issue.

Catching Up

Sorry, I haven't been posting. Believe it or not, it's because I've been writing. I know, blogging is writing, but it ain't the same thing. I've been working on my new novel, and just finished draft one of section one! So, I'm five chapters / 20,000 words / 71 pages in. Feels like a real commitment.

As promised, here is a brief history of our holiday cards. (I even got Hubby's permission to post them here.) Usually they have messages like "Peace on Earth." Apologize for the dust on the scanner.

Here's 2002, our first year in the new old house. Opie is in my arms, and fat Boo is in hubby's. Wilbur is very excited.



Here's 2003, when I think we had a freak snowstorm in November. It was cruel not to let Wilbur out in the snow. He loves snow, and besides, he got all dressed up.



Here's 2004, the peak of our household count. You can see Angus, in front of Opie, is missing half of his ass. When we brought him in he basically had to have a full body shave because of abscess. He's all better now! Also pictured is Egypt, who was a holiday guest. There's catnip in the bowls, in case you want the secret.



And finally, 2005. It's a bittersweet picture, because Opie is in the urn on the table. Still, Angus is hard not to laugh at. He grew up on the streets and does not like to wear "outfits."



We're working on 2006 now. Nothing good yet, but we still have time. In the meantime, I got this cute shot of our newest family member, Ava:



And this one can be Willie's album cover. When he becomes a folksinger.

Toy or Tool? Or Both?

Confession time, I have a new bourgeois toy. Sweet Hubby got me a new camera for my 40th. I'm just starting to figure out what it can do. I'm starting with portraiture. Above is Queen Egypt Holwerda-Williams, who visits us for about a month every year while her folks go to Holland. And boy, is she in charge.

The new camera lets me capture motion. Here's Ava trying to decide which food bowl is better.



I'm still getting the hang of it. The lens gets some good color. Here's our little crosseyed Angus.



What I like is now I have more control, I just need to learn how to use it. I can manual focus, and turn the flash off, to get natural light. Like the gorgeous brown eyes of Wilbur, now free of that green crap I used to get whenever he looked in the lens.



So first project is to make a good Christmas card. We've done family portraits for the past three years. Maybe I'll try to digitize them and share our little history, with its changing personae.

Dia De Los Muertos

My mother had the good sense of humor to die on November 2nd, Day of the Dead. So I take the day to remember her, and as the years pass, the memories change. The first few years I had vivid memories of her last days in the hospital, the details of the room, the crowd of people gathered, bonding with each other over our shared love of the woman in the bed.

This year, without any forcing, my memories are of her as a vibrant not-sick person. She was a proj-aholic too. She put muslin banners on our kitchen walls in Seattle, to pin up our art projects for proud display. She was a constant cheerleader for the creative lives of the family members--my father's music, my writing and plastic arts, my brother's theater. And she was wildly creative herself.

For her, creativity was her way of playing, reconnecting with her own innocence, fostering mental health. If she had aspirations to become a professional artist, she didn't push them. For her, it was the joy of the project itself. Knitting, of course, she usually had a sweater or afghan in the works. Drawing--she was a gifted cartoonist, too. Gardening--her roses were incredible. And music. She played organ, and was one of those musicologists who could identify a composer by hearing just a few bars. She had her favorites, particularly "Mr. Brahms," as she called him. She sang, for pleasure, in the car and while working in the kitchen, and in choirs. She was an alto, like me.

She was also messy, like me. Hurricane Jane was one of her nicknames. She used to say, "if you want creative children, you have to be tolerant of messes." One of her mottoes. Another: "if you want to be an artist, you need to learn a trade." So I can credit her with a few things--my messy studio, my tolerance of day-job compromises, my ability to make a living but not forget the art, my intense craving for creative endeavors of all kinds.

She was a lover of cats. We couldn't have cats in the house because of allergies, but she became best friends with an outdoor cat when we lived in California, who stuck with her through her illness. During some of the rough spots, she would lie on the couch with a towel across her chest, and Tillie, a big white fluffball, would be allowed inside to sleep on top of her. Tillie was a good kitty, she knew not to wander the house. She knew what her friend Jane needed. Maybe Tillie needed it too.

Cats symbolized something for Mom. A certain independence, a kind of childlike devilishness. Cats are very busy creatures. They also like a good hug every now and then. Mom was the same way.

I miss her terribly. Her legacy is obvious, it's all around me, the knitting book next to my elbow, the graph paper and pens under my laptop right now, the stack of papers behind that, and the joy I find in all these things. So if I can't have her nearby, I can at least know her ideas have shaped my life for the better. The things she taught me are among the things that keep me sane.

Thanks, Mom, I'm turning out like you and it's not so bad. I wish you could meet my beautiful husband, and my family of four-legged furry ones. I tell them about you, every chance I get.

Friday Night, Let's Dance!

My esteemed Russian colleague reminds me that her people really know how to dance. She shared with me these videos, which I'll share with you.

Here's how the pros do it:





And not to be outdone, here's how average citizens do it:





Let's roll back the rug and join 'em! Wilbur, start the barking now!

Ringnuts and Nuts Mourn Russell

I learned today on Carol Novack's blog of Anna Russell's passing.

I think there's a lesson in her journey. From the NY Times:

Ms. Russell gave a number of explanations for why her ambitions changed from being a serious singer to being a serious satirist. Ms. Russell said that one factor was that when she was 16, bones in her face were broken by a hockey stick: “That ruined my acoustic.”“I had no range, no color,” she said, “But I could sing loud. And it grew louder and louder and awfuller and awfuller.”

The result was one of the funniest, most unique voices in history. I adore her version of Wagner's "Ring."

I need to learn how to turn moments of disappointment--clashes between ambition/expectation and the realities of my given talents--into something pure and real. But how? What is the THING I have to offer the world? How am I nutty and unique? Today, I have no idea.

What about you? What is your unique thing? How has accident shaped it? When did the river reroute, and did you follow the new route, or fight to get back on course?

My Untamed Thoughts Accumulate Like Laundry

I think I’m suffering from Blog Procrastination. It’s what happens when I have way too many things to talk about and next thing you know the list is a mile long. Anyway, here’s what I’ve been reading, in a chaotic burst.

My friend Pia is down in New Orleans being a Swiss journalist and bilingual blogger. She’s been getting firsthand stuff since Katrina (flew down from NY with her cameraperson a week after the storm, been there on and off since) and her followup has proven quite interesting—a cross between a European view of this distinct American culture and a humanitarian view on the current money flow problems. Check her out! And don’t skip the video from Troy “Trombone Shorty” Andrews.

My other journalist friend Rob moonlights from his financial-journalist job on his blog, The Luna Park Gazette. He’s been exploring his Brooklyn roots, and talking about his Dad’s recent move to a rehab facility following a stroke. The facility is in Coney Island , and in typical Rob gallows-humor, he remarks, “the Stillwell Avenue station is the end of the line, literally, for several trains. Walking into this facility, it’s hard not to think of the word ‘terminal.’” Check out his post to find out what movie is playing in the patient lounge…thanks Rob, for making me cry at the office…it’s really bittersweet stuff.

I’ve been grooving on the Craftzine Blog too. Lots of daily posts, enabling the proj-aholic. Ach! This should be blocked from my machine. It’s like crack.

Speaking of craft, not crack, have you seen the new Gee’s Bend Quilt postage stamps?



Gorgeous! I can’t stop looking at my new stamps. Or these quilts. To me, these people are like rock stars. They are giving me ideas. Just what I need, more ideas.

I got a radio tip for you fellow podcast junkies: PublicRadioFan.com. It’s an awesome podcast directory, through which I found the Writer’s Voice series. Listen to the session in which Spencer Overton talks about his book Stealing Democracy: The New Politics of Voter Suppression, and Francine Prose talks about Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and For Those Who Want to Write Them. I can’t wait to read the Francine Prose book. I may even have to buy the hardcover.

And also on the literary front, Tin House #29 is a must-buy. Not only does it have a cover and several graphic pages by Lynda Barry (plus an interview with same, in which she talks about selling her work on Ebay), it has superheroes dug out of the mothballs, drawn by younger versions of lit-heroes Michael Chabon, Jonathan Lethem, Chris Offutt, et al. This is a full-color dream of an issue.

"The Holocaust Kid"--Staged Reading

One of my mentors, Sonia Pilcer, wrote a linked short story collection called The Holocaust Kid, then adapted it into a play. I'm going to the Friday night performance. See you there?

Here's from my Amazon review of the book:

In a world where there seems to be a code of rules about how the Holocaust should be discussed, Sonia Pilcer dares to dissect the rules themselves, from a very personal vantage point, in The Holocaust Kid. This collection of stories centers around Zosha, a very American young woman whose parents are survivors. The weight of the Holocaust and the necessity of remembrance is an everpresent burden to Zosha, for whom these "memories" are important but also surreal, dependent on the multitude of stories shared among her parents and their friends. Survivor's guilt is passed down to the second generation, in an adulterated, confusing form that leaves Zosha simulaneously alienated and obsessed with the residue of the war.


Friday, October 13 @ 8:30 pm
Saturday, October 14th @ 3:30 pm

The Ensemble Studio Theatre
549 West 52nd Street (between 10th & 11th Aves)
call 212-247-4982 for reservations
with
Elizabeth Aspenlieder, Seth Kanor,
Nancy Rothman & Edgar Weinstock
directed by
Susan Willerman

Octoberfest 2006!
suggested donation $10/5

And I Thought I Was a Proj-Aholic.

On a tip from Make Magazine, I went to a Swap-o-Rama on Sunday, held at Third Ward in Williamsburg. Here's how it worked: you bring a bag of clothes you don't want and $10. People sort the stuff onto tables, and you wander around and take as much as you can carry. During breaks from the digging, you can have a cocktail, talk to a stylist, or learn how to make your own maxipads.

They had lots of workshops, like tee shirt redesign, silkscreen, applique, and my personal favorite, re-knitting. Look, they have samples of re-knit tee shirt, denim, and even plastic grocery bags.




I scored a zebra striped raincoat and some red snake-patterned pants. And, I got a free copy of the new Craft magazine, which has cool articles about knitting with telephone poles and embroidiering your skateboard, among other things. Craft has a whole slew of photos of the Swap-o-Rama here at flickr.

Pics from my Trip to Beautiful

I went to visit my family out West. (I'm from there, though I've lived in NYC longer than anywhere else.) My first stop was Snoqualmie, Washington, where my folks live, in the foothills of the North Cascades. My brother flew up from Los Angeles and the two of us went on a hike to Wallace Falls. He took the above pic of me, under the evergreen canopy, sheltered from both rain and light.

I'll leave the family out of the pictures, since I haven't asked their permission. I keep forgetting to do that. But I did see a few things other than family. Like a whole lot of coffee kiosks. This is a phenomenon we don't have out East. We don't have windmills that serve cappuccino in the middle of nowhere.



In Brooklyn, we don't have mountain mist:



Or its cool byproducts, like moss-covered trees:



We got to sit and watch a herd of about 60 Roosevelt Elk, outside North Bend, Washington, where they used to film Twin Peaks. (Obviously, I didn't get too close to the big guys.)



And I got some gardening tips from my talented stepmom. Check out her chard!



I had a blast from the past, driving past this "Wayside Chapel," about the size of a big doghouse, which I used to love when I was little. It shrank a LOT.



Then my bro and I flew down to LA for the weekend. We went to the Museum of Jurassic Technology, where they had a beautiful exhibition of portraits of Soviet space dogs. Highly recommended! Plus, the tea is free!

I had a day alone in LA, so I bought tee shirts at my favorite thrift store in Culver City, strolled the beach a little, and went to LACMA for the very-cool Breaking the Mode show. 1980's fashion was so wild! Issey Miyake is such a brain! He's is the one who inspired me to go to fashion school, where I got jaded fast and transferred to the sculpture department. But this show made me remember what I used to love so much about sewing. Maybe I'll dig out the old machine.

And I got to hike Runyon Canyon with my bro, his excellent wife, and many cute dogs I don't know.



The dogs were grabbing slivers of shade, gulping water, and panting like crazy. Me, I wish I brought my sunglasses. Here I am with the Hollywood sign sticking out of my forehead.

Countdown to Forty

In the last remaining hours of my thirties, I am doing irresponsible things like blogging at work. Please forgive me, work. I am still a tender young thing. I am also wearing pink striped socks, which are totally inappropriate.

Tomorrow I'll be crossing the line. Me and my birthday-mate Sherman Alexie. Happy birthday, Sherman, and have a great reading tonight at the New Yorker fest! I won't be there, I was too slow to get tickets.

This weekend I celebrate by eating french toast at the diner, then going to the movies, probably The Science of Sleep. And hugging my incredible Brooklyn family. Especially that cute guy I married.