Jolly Green Grunge

Cleaned the whole of the apartment today. We're talking kitchen countertops to toilet bowls. There were scrubbing bubbles everywhere. Mildew, soap scum, and grease stains ran in horror. I'm cleaning mainly because my Dad is visiting tomorrow to watch the foliage (pronounced foll-idge) change all sorts of freaky colors. I don't clean because I want to impress him (I do, but I could care less about my general cleanliness), but because I know he would clean if I gave him the chance. I'd much rather him hang on the couch while Boone does his worst. So I cleaned and listened to the entirety of Nirvana Unplugged (twice).

There was a stain on my oven-top shaped like Africa. I wiped it away with Mr. Clean and felt like a racist. Seriously, if any of the 50s advertising icons are members of the Klan, it's definitely Mr. Clean. Lord knows the Jolly Green Giant wasn't. You know what they say about green people...


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Had a poem, a sestina, taken to appear in the upcoming Fall issue of Waccamaw. It's a web-zine I dig, even though it's still way young. Looking forward to reading the issue when it debuts late October/early November. Do people know Waccamaw or am I a victim of my Southerly bias here? Is it piss-small?


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David Roderick has an awesome poem in the new issue of Memorious. So does Frank Giampietro. So does Jennifer Chang. You should probably just go read the dang thing.


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Killer first line of the moment:

"I want to write about God and suffering and how the trees endure what we"

from Marie Howe's "Wanting a Child"
(What the Living Do, W.W. Norton, 1998)


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Snow in the forecast for this weekend. This makes me smile, I'm eager to see the puppy tilt his head in confusion at the sky, the ground. The heater in my apartment has kicked on. I wore wool socks with dress shoes yesterday.


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