I Hate How Gmail Can Tell What I'm Into, and How They're Always Slightly Off

This appeared on my little gmail message bar thingy:

Poetry Contest - DorothyPrizes.org - Prizes of $1000 to $25000. Heartfelt poems due Nov. 6.

Let's write a heartfelt poem together and win 25k. That way we can buy a house in Bloomington.

I can't tell if this is awesome or not

These folk paint things they want for sale at the amount of how much their want costs, and then people buy those things, and they get the things they want.

Also, Meghan's reading was awesome. She made me laugh hysterically.

*interactive* vote for what I should read

I dislike readings. When we did readings for my book, I always mispronounced "Thames." A British person who inexplicably and briefly lived at my house several years later pointed this out, even though I already knew.

My friend Dave Snyder bribed me to do a reading on Monday with some other people.I would like the two to three of you who read this blog to vote for which thing to read. You will vote blindly, just as I read.

Option A: Piece 1
Option B: Pieces 2 and 3
Option C: Something someone else wrote.
Option D: Nothing!

This is not a picture of the reading. The reading is happening at a bar called "Whiskey Road."

cat quandaries

Dear Venom Literati,

I have nothing literary to write about but I do have two current cat quandaries: one is mine, one is Mr. Cake's.

The first one (mine) is the mystery of Mr. Cake's age. Until the other night I thought he was like five, because Garrison has always said very firmly that he is five. The other night we were talking about Mr. Cake's previous owners--there are many, which is why he suffers from serious abandonment issues. He was originally discovered by a woman named Liliana, who was from Columbia. When she finished school, she had to return to Columbia, which is how Gato became Garrison's.

Liliana inherited Gato around the time she first started school, and was in school for four or so years, which would make gato like 7, which is still okay with me. However it was revealed to me the other night that Garrison has no idea how old Gato was when he was discovered by Liliana. He could have been a tiny newborn or he could have been seventeen. There is no documentation of this anywhere, and Liliana is lost in Columbia, so we can never know. So my beautiful kittycat could be anywhere between seven and fifty three years old. This is so disturbing, but also maybe better, but also so sad.

This is Gato's quandary: it involves the new litter we bought him because Garrison liked the demonstration of it that the Petco lady gave us. I thought the lady and her litter were weird, but whatevs, it's called 'World's Best Cat Litter' or something and it is weird and made of corn. Gato doesn't know whether to eat it or crap in it; mostly he just digs around searching for his longlost previous litter. (See: abandonment issue #3,456)

Gato has other quandaries, too, such as which human foods to like and which to dislike. He won't eat any meat that humans eat; he loves butter but not bread, and also loves cucumber dill hummus but not other flavors of hummus. I guess he is a spread man, but he is so particular about them. I had the idea the other night of dousing Beachwood in butter so that they could become best friends instead of hating each other. Once I left a half-eaten granola bar in the windowsill and I am pretty sure he devoured it.

What should I/Mr. Cake do about these quandaries? Literary solutions only, please.

chatty kathy: brothers and sisters in love

me: i am really into plot lines where brothers and sisters fall in love
Vinnie: gross
me: i don't know why
i think it's romantic
that's so weird, right?
but i do. like...
you totally can't choose who you love.
it could totally be your sister.
i mean, when i think about falling in love with my brother that's obviously totally gross. or you falling in love with your sister--gross. but when i see it on tv or read it in a book it seems romantic.
Vinnie: I wouldnt tell people about that one
me: haha
whatever.
like in the royal tenenbaums
or in middlesex
or in the sound and the fury
or on abc's brothers & sisters which is coming up next
or the brother and sister on lost
Vinnie: royal tenenbaums?
oh, right
but she was adopted
that's different
me: i mean, not really. they still grew up together right? as a family. psychologically it's still the same i think.
Vinnie: still different
me: alright, whatever.
people used to marry their cousins.
Vinnie: im just saying
you first say it
you get the gag reflex
me: well yeah.
romance and gagging are interrelated
Vinnie: gross
me: right.

Collaboration: It's not just for businesspeople

I am thinking about collaboration and how much I like to write stuff with my Venom Literati galpals because mostly they just let me do what I want, and I let them do what they want, and we just kind of fit.

But also they make me better. Thank you for making me better.

Our new soon-to-be bestie, Matthew Rohrer, is also a collaborative type. Here's him talking about it with his co-author, Joshua Beckman.

I like how for most of the answers, it seems like they're speaking in unison.

MISSING: Matthew Rohrer

So I bought that Matthew Rohrer book from Amazon. It arrived in the mail on Saturday. I was so excited that I made Garrison drive us wherever we were going so I could read in the car.

I said: "Matthew Rohrer has arrived. Therefore you will take the backseat and chauffer my ass around. Bitch."

Anyway so I read Matthew Rohrer in the car, sort of, except reading poetry in the car is not advisable. All poetry read in the car or in motion becomes bad. Plus there was some rap shit on the radio, which did not mesh well with Matthew Rohrer. Rap shit is never funny; Matthew is. You can see why this doesn't work.

Anyway so then we went to Jewel. I put Matthew Rohrer in my purse, which--I have to have purses that are big enough to cart around at least 2 books plus all my girlstuff, so clearly the book fit securely in there. Clearly. Or else I could have left Matthew Rohrer in the car.

Either way, the next day, Sunday, I was so excited to get up and read Matthew Rohrer. I went to my purse and he wasn't there. I went to Garrison's car and dug around and looked everywhere, even in the trunk. He wasn't there either. I looked all over our house. Nowhere. I looked in my car, just in case Matthew had fled Garrison's tidy car in favor of my gross car. Nope. I looked in the cars at least four times. We looked all over the apartment. Nothing.

I was so upset that I couldn't read anything until like 4 hours later. Because when I have something that I want to do and don't get to do it, my whole world crumbles. Eventually I read something else, but it was not the same.

Now I am wondering who has my book. Because, get real, it's a book of poetry and nobody would want it. I think I remember feeling a stealing sensation, like a hand slipping into my purse, while we were in Jewel. Maybe poets sneak all around the city, peering into big weird purses because they know there are poetry books in there, and steal the poetry books, and run off cackling. Maybe a Jewel employee stole it for fun. I am pissed that I didn't put my name and phone number inside the front cover like I used to do with every book because all my "friends" would steal my books, so my name in there was like a reminder of their guilt.

that dog is dead

i just ordered blake butler's chapbook 'pretend i am there but very little.' i ordered it completely on the merit of its title. i like that title. you can read the whole thing on his blog if you want but i get impatient reading things online. and with a title like that, shoo.

i think maybe it should be our next official book after 'a green light,' yes? i will buy the whole literati a copy if only you will let me have my way.

also i forgot to tell everyone that i was in juked a few weeks ago. read it, eat it.

sarah was reading 'a green light' this morning and then we had this conversation:

sarah: why is poetry so much better than fiction?
me: because poetry is better.
sarah: shut up.

this is the greatest!

Lynda Barry has a new book out called "What it is". Barry's book "The Greatest of Marlys!", is pretty much the best book ever, and I usually want to burn books with children in them. "What is is" was apparently rejected by Sasquatch Books, which I don't even understand, because my friend Novella used to work there, and Novella is pretty much the coolest chicken herder and goat milker of Oakland (I don't know any other goat milkers in Oakland, but I'm still certain Novella is the coolest and the coolest beekeeper). She has a book coming out soon too, and I bet it will have all kinds of stories about goatling butts, goat milk cappuccino, bunnies and biofuel.

chatty kathy: 'going out' clothes

hey. i am starting a new column called chatty kathy.
it will consist of gmail chats.
here is the first one. it is with matthew savoca:

me: do you have 'going out' clothes?
i am making fun of my co-workers for having them.
i mean, i really don't 'go out'
but if i did, i would not change into a sparkly cleavage shirt and boots
that is weird.
matthew: the plumber is almost done
i do not have going out clothes
you are totally right
me: ha.
matthew: going out clothes are gay. unless you are gay. then going out clothes are totally straight.
but in an uncool way
i have going out shoes
what this means is
i look outside
and if the ground is wet
i have to wear special shoes
otherwise, i wear my super comfortable shoes with the holes in them
me: haha
that is a different kind of 'going out'
let me ask you something.
matthew: true
me: do you 'go out'?
matthew: no
me: did you ever 'go out'?
matthew: never
no
me: interesting.
have you ever shelacked your hair for the purposes of attracting women?
matthew: no
me: how do you spell shelack
matthew: shalack i think
i have never once attracted a woman
brb
me: hahaha
i just read what you wrote about your shoes
and my co-worker said, "is he talking about crocs?"
it's shellac
matthew: haha
crocs
no
not crocs
me: what kind of shoes are they? please describe them. the ones with the holes in them i mean.
matthew: yeah shellac. that's what i said
my shoes with the holes in them are pumas
they are small and sleek and make your feet look streamlined and uber cool
they used to be navy blue with a white puma
now they are like grey
with a dirty brown puma
me: no you said shalack
matthew: i know i did

Furniture staining and dragon literature

Matthew Savoca interviewed Kathy on his blog. It made me laugh a lot of times.

Kathy and Matthew are starting a movement. I'll let you guess what it's about.

i don't like pictures of killers who are also landmark seminar leaders

that picture on sarah's post is making my stomach hurt so i am posting something new. hello? people! the next book we are reading is 'a green light' by matthew rohrer. live it. love it. eat it.

also matthew savoca has two new poems in no posit that are super good. also, did you know that ken baumann (he edits no posit, keep up) is a movie star and is giving away money? sheeeeeit.

It's so nice out I have to do something to ruin my mood. and yours.

Is everybody else sticking their faces in trees to smell flowers and then having extended eye-based allergy attacks? Spring has made me happy. While walking home yesterday, I almost rolled around in freshly-lain sod.


I'm so happy I'm attempting to achieve equilibrium by reading stuff about serial killers and chatting to Kathy about serial killers. Check out this Radar article about this dude who pretended to be a little kid and wrote to serial killers for advice. Charles Manson is very, very crazy.


That pictured dude is a guy who killed his wife, and then was all like, "Wait, what about me? I lost my wife, too. You should probably feel sorry for me." That is not a direct quote. I learned about him in my chat with Kathy.


Also, let's all rally behind Kathy to start a new blog called "Chatty Kathy" in which she just posts her gchats. She already had that idea, but it was about celebrity gossip. I like the gchat idea better.

Congrats Maud Newton!

Maud Newton is my new bff, even though I've never met or talked to her and she probably doesn't know we're bff's. She is always linking to my stories, and recently, she won second place in StoryQuarterly's love story contest. I would link to it if I understood how. I could never get second place in a love story contest. I could probably be an honorable mention in a How to Write the Most Depressing Things That Will Make People Stop Talking to You contest. Anyway, congrats!

Seriously

we need a new book to read. What shall it be?

Swissotel Woman

See that there picture? It is of the Swissotel. That is where I am right now; on the 28th floor, exercising my rights as a hotel woman by playing on the internet and being glum.

Last night while I was waiting for Garrison to get done working I took a bath in our bathtub, which was not as gigantic as I had imagined; also there was no whirlpool, and the free bath products were not even Bath and Body Works or anything good: they smelled like air. The bath was sort of a sad experience. The lighting in the bathroom is really good, so I could see all of my slackerliness in full view: the darkest, longest leg hairs, the gunk under my toenails, etc. So I shaved off all my body hair. Haha, no I didn't, but I did clog the drain. No, I didn't, but the very white bathroom looked disgusting after I shaved, which had probably not happened in a couple of weeks. The hotel-light made me feel very guilty, but also very accomplished post-shaving. It made me want to go up to the penthouse workout room/pool, which you have to pay for, and lay on the floor naked with Wayne Koestenbaum and talk about red turtlenecks.

Also I didn't know there were Swissotel bathrobes in the closet, and was sad to find them after I was already dressed and sitting in front of our window, which looks out on a bunch of office buildings and a piece of the lake, staring out and thinking about where all of the people below were going. I decided all the people below had money, and that they were going somewhere awesome, like the businesspeople I'd seen sitting at Houlihan's having after-work drinks in a big group. They all looked happy and also beautiful and very tan.

Now it is thunderstorming. This is no fun. But it sort of is fun. I think I'll meditate or something. I think I can only meditate in hotels.

You guys, my eye hurts

I spent the better part of the morning whining about how much my eye hurts, splashing water into my eye in the bathroom, pounding on my desk, and whimpering.

Then Kevin got me eye drops. And now I am fine. This is like the time when my sunburned friend Pete discovered that aloe is soothing. Or that time when Pam had to crush up aspirin into Michael Scott's afternoon snack to countereffect the foot burn from his George Foreman grill.

Mostly there are remedies for everything. Many of them are over-the-counter.

Seattle is somewhere everyone has lived

I like Tao Lin's article in The Stranger about Seattle. All people do in Seattle is talk about Seattle and The Stranger. They don't like either, but everyone has written for the latter and no one wants to move to Portland.

Everyone leaves Seattle, and new people move in every five years. Seattle has 10 permanent residents whose job it is to send reports of Seattle to everyone else and keep track of the new names of bars and restaurants, which also change every five years. The list of new and old bar names is stored on an enormous mildewy scroll, underneath Mount Rainier.

The new library is a secret graveyard for failed Ikea furniture designs. The 10 Permanent Residents of Seattle know that the books are stored at Suzzallo Library (see above) at the University of Washington, which connects to Allen Library (named after Paul) through a secret passageway so you don’t fall on your ass walking from Suzzallo to Allen over wet bricks. These are the only bricks in Seattle.

If you take a plane from Chicago, the Seattle people stand around politely, planning where to move next, while stout Chicago people push to the front and honk. If you lived in one city your whole life, you might honk too.

My name doesn't rhyme with anything good.

Question: Did Jenny Boully start selling wool on Etsy under the name woolly boully because she genuinely has a thing for selling wool? Or was it all because of the name?

I feel sad that my last name doesn't lend itself easily to connection with a rhyming nonsense song from the mid-60s that also invokes crafting.

Also, those knots are perfect and beautiful. And I really like [one love affair]. You all should read it, and then we can pretend to talk about it.

cows and french fries are people too

There is a new Veggie Bite in Wicker Park, which is totally vegan and serves awesome french fries which remind me of the ones at Dick's on Broadway in Seattle (see the Sir Mixalot song where he raps about Dick's on Broadway). I haven't seen anyone I know yet, so I suspect the restaurant is hiring vegan actors or just importing vegans from other states until Chicago has enough vegans and vegetarians.

Also, cow burps are worse for the environment than my poor excuse for a car. And also, gross.

on publishing

I get tired of rejection letters from magazines no one reads. A lot of times those magazines will reject something, and I just change the title and send it a magazine I like, which usually works.

I don't keep very good track of things, so sometimes I think I'm being rejected, and really, nothing is happening. It's hard to tell the difference between rejection and nothing happening.

Sometimes I come up with theories about why my stories are being rejected, but actually, I haven't sent them anywhere. My theories usually are related to the perceived lack of interest in hallucinatory visions of Gumby.

Some magazines make you mail things, but I am too impulsive to mail anything, except seasons of DVDs to relatives who have shingles and are tired of everything on cable. Sometimes an activity like that can take all day, and I don't even have shingles. I'm not convinced mail ever leaves Chicago.

Anyway, I've included this rejection letter from Disney. I would like to receive a rejection letter like this. Perhaps I already have, but I don't check or open my mail.

"An angry hamster looks exactly like an unangry hamster because the anger is within."

yesterday i got tao lin's new book "cognitive behavioral therapy." i read it last night. i really like it. after i read it i felt like i had been inside his head for six months, sitting in his room, drinking his energy drink, feeling kind and confused. here is one of my favorite lines:

my favorite emotions include 'brief calmness
in good weather' and 'i am the only person alive'

also my absolute favorite is "hamsters are heads with little characteristics on the head, part two." it's about a hamster taking a shower and feeling sad, and i really want to type the whole thing here, but i feel like i can't. can i? if enough people say i can, i will.

i am a fan of cognitive behavioral therapy. i have been doing metta meditation, which i think is kind of a cognitive behavioral therapy. possibly that is an offensive statement. but anyway.

metta meditation is when you say blessings for yourself, and learn self-compassion. and then once you've got that knocked out, you say blessings for a friend, a neutral person, then an enemy. and then you gradually come to feel compassion or "lovingkindness" for all things.

it's good for people who hate themselves. you might not think you hate yourself but odds are you probably do.

They are going to remodel your favorite bar

They are going to turn it into a cold stone dungeon with higher-priced drinks. There will be girls in there.

Old Cork.

New Cork.

chicago earthquake teaches us an important moral lesson

In Seattle, we had an earthquake once where the building hopped up and down for two terrifying minutes. I stood in a doorway, like they did during the earthquake episode of Beverly Hills 90210. Some of my coworkers had panic attacks or crawled on the floor, awaiting death. All I could think about was: why didn't I buy a latte this morning? I was going to die all uncaffeinated.

After the pathetically small earthquake in Chicago this morning, I invite you all to reconsider how you could have spent the earthquake, such as delivering a baby in an elevator, like Brandon did, or going to therapy, like Donna did at the suggestion of that boyfriend who threw her down the stars.

UPDATE: I guess we had a second earthquake about 20 minutes after I posted this. I didn't notice at all, though the projector in my classroom looked a little wonky.

call me when you're 25

I just watched that pregnant teenager movie, and Ellen Page and her sweater vests are so adorable. I want to give her the pinch-punch. Not in that way, sickos. She is like 12 and was born in 1987. 1987! Ellen Page, please call me in 2012, when you are 25, and I am, uh, 29. Yeah right. 29.

today's celebrity crush is elimae

I just read the newest elimae. I think everything in it is perfect, just like a crush. I always like elimae, but this one is exceptional and even inspired me: a person who is incapable of inspiration these days.

I always have crushes on inspiring people, like Kim Kardashian and her enormously inspiring ass, and the rest of the Kardashian family, too.

my celebrity crush is patricia arquette

i love her blond bob and soothing voice. also, she is my psychic role model. please recall the i-dreamed-sarah-dyed-her-hair-and-then-she-did incident. also i like how she can dress in businesswoman suits without looking like a d-bag. also i like her in the movie "human nature," because if there's one thing i love more than psychics it's werewolf syndrome.

REAL celebrity CRUSH

I am my own celebrity crush!

Did I mention that these photos have NOT been retouched?!!? GOD! Look at those teeth.

My hair is as soft as a duckling-butt and my nose as cute as a kitten's nipple! My chin is as smooth as the knee of a Great Dane taking its first breath after emerging from its mother's womb. My brows are fuzzy but neat like the belly of a chimp. I smell like....are there any animals that smell good....umm...a chihua- no. I smell like the flower-scented beak of a hummingbird collecting its sweet, sweet nectar. My bosom is supple and firm like the shoulder of a champion race horse. They call it animal magnetism...you need it to be a celebrity.

I'm psyched about the new Portishead album

I'm psyched that there's a new Portishead album. People born in the 1980's might think of Portishead as a "fondue band" (see the above-linked article from the New Yorker), but they are cheesy in the best sort of way, intense, like that roommate you had in college who was always scribbling into an ugly velvety notebook and having deep intellectual thoughts about the universe while doing too much speed. You might wince a little, but you know you love it.

My celebrity crush ensemble

MI-5, the British spy series, is awesome. Everybody on it is totally hot, especially when they're performing admirably under pressure, or being really smart or brave or cruel.

The picture is of Ruth (her name in real life is Nicola Walker). You may look at her and say, "Wha? This does not seem like celebrity crush material." You are dead wrong because you do not know Ruth like I know Ruth. Everybody underestimates her, and then her brain leaps up and kicks their asses.

Also, I just learned from her imdb page that she is practically six feet tall. That's hot.

I also have raging crushes on David Oyelowo and Keeley Hawes and Rupert Penry-Jones, but Ruth has my heart.