Saturday, January 26, 2008

"the open wing is very similar to an outspread human hand"

A while back, I wrote a story called "Your friends are all plotting your destruction." and the first line was "There is a tree in your front yard and it is filled with bats."

I like the story, most people don't understand how the title relates to the story. That makes me go "ackgrumblekerfarkugh." Anyway, the story is in the submission abyss right now, but if it gets rejected, I'll post it here and then you can let me know if it's so disturbing that the title doesn't directly relate to bats or trees or the whatnot.

I hate lazy readers (though I admit, I am a lazy reader....and apparently a hipocrit.)

So anyway, point being, I was at work and we received this piece from the fall printmaking class:


If the story was ever a book, this would be the cover. No doubt.





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Thursday, January 24, 2008

luhvul, looeyville, looaville

I went to Louisville, Kentucky for a couple of days, about 10 hours more than my last trip. It was so nice to get out of Chicago for a couple of days, man, I was really down for a while there, but there's nothing like two days with people who make you laugh to raise some spirits. Here, now, are some pictures of drunk people:






















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Friday, January 18, 2008

oh, hello there

more adventures in ear infections, I went to my doctor this week about some pain in my ear. Turns out I have a 2=part issue:

part 1: the muscles in my neck and jaw were tense for about three weeks due to my latest ear infection, blahty blahty blah, even though the infection's gone, the muscles are still tense and sore from being tense and sore, vicious cycle.

part 2: the cool part. There was some "debris" in my ear, so the doctor had to use an air hose to suck it out! gross, I know. I was very scared that it would be all kinds of ancient Egypt and my brain would turn to mush and I'd be dead. But I am not dead. I am right here.



so I was chatting w/ a friend from school last night, and he informed me that in mid-December, he sent out 50 stories to various journals. I have a total of 5 stories. 25-30 of those are at a level that I would consider good enough to actually submit without too much editing and 24-25 of those are actually in the submission abyss right now. 50 stories out at once? crappers, I feel I have fallen far behind on my life goals.


I try to console myself (why is everyone else so prolific? what's wrong with taking 6 months to write a 3 page story?!) by reminding my writerly self that I am working on the Palindrome, which will probably take another 3 years to finish (my goal is chapbook) and will be awesome.


I also have put quite a bit of pressure on myself to get all of my stories arranged and edited and book-ready.


I had an idea for a novel a while back. But I hate novels, so maybe I'll just call in a storrrrrrry. ha.


I like the feeling of knowing that I have many stories out there in submission, I do not like getting rejections.


Oh, and you know what I really don't like? When a journal contacts me directly, asking me to send a story and then they don't respond for 6 months, so I send an email to say "hey, what up? do you want that story? b/c I'll send it elsewhere, no biggie, just wondering" and then they don't respond for 2 more months and, when they do finally respond, it's a generic form letter of rejection.


I don't mind being rejected, okay, i do, but I don't usually blame the journal. I don't even mind being rejected by someone who asked me to submit. What I do mind is that twisted around bull crap and being treated like turd. that journal stinks anway. stinks like poo. horse poo. poo poo poo











Thursday, January 10, 2008

omyfuggingah growing up stinks




Growing up stinks part I:

My internet connection is iffy at best, so when I try to do things like banking and account transfers, I should really double check before assuming everything's good.

See, what happened was, I tried to make it so my student loans would be automatically taken out of an account that has money in it as opposed to an account that has $40.72





But I didn't double check, so I was just on the phone for an hour with the *Most Patient Man Ever* trying to tell him that all I want to do is give the loan people the money. But they were all, no, we're going to keep trying to take it out of the account with no money as opposed to the account with money. So I got frustrated and yelled "I want to PAY YOU, I WANT TO GIVE YOU MONEY, WHY ARE YOU MAKING THIS SO HARD?!" and then I also said "I know it's my fault, I know I messed up, but I just want to fix this." which is a phrase I've become really really really familiar with lately. And then, at the end of the phone call I said "I'm sorry I was a jerk."



Growing up stinks Part II:

Why is it so hard to be a responsible adult?

Why was I better at all of this when I was 22?

Why do I feel like every year that goes by, I get less and less able to function as a human being all on my own?




Growing up stinks Part III:

I know I say this all the time, but I think I'm really done with Chicago. It just doesn't feel right here. I also know that, every time I get the urge to move, I know it's going to get harder and harder and lonelier and more U-Haulier.



Growing up stinks Part IV:

Last night, I made myself a really delicious salad and as I turned to look at the kitchen table where a glass of water and the new issue of "Glamour" were waiting for me, for the first time, I got really depressed about eating dinner alone.




Growing up stinks Part V:

Bob got sick and I had to take him to the vet today.




While I waited for him to get x-rays and blood tests, I had to face the reality that an adorable little living being relies on me and me alone.



Growing up stinks Part VI:

Last night, while I was trying to fall asleep, I heard a noise in my kitchen, that I now know was probably the radiator, but last night sounded like an angel of death coming to get me.





I had to keep my eyes open for an hour until I came to terms with the possibility that I might not wake up. Morbid, I know, but it was 2am, and I wasn't thinking straight, and, at the time, the only possible explanation for my inability to sleep was that I had some kind of psychic sensation that death was at my door! But as I am presently writing this post, we know that psychic sensation to be false.



Growing up stinks Part VII:




There is no such thing as a small mistake anymore.



Growing up stinks Part VIII:

The pressure is on to stop dreaming and start doing.



Growing up stinks Part IX:

Consequences are everywhere!

smoking = cancer
yummy food = heart attack
tv = loss of brain cells
booze = liver faliure
sleeping in = get shit for it every day at work
sex = babies and/or herpes
travel = no money in bank account
pretty dresses = no money in bank account
cute kitty cat = vet bills



Growing up stinks Part X:

I have become That Woman who yells at customer service agents on the phone and then after they help me I have to say, "I'm sorry I was a jerk." Because seriously, That Woman is someone I never thought I'd grow up to become.








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Wednesday, January 02, 2008

2008 - this 'n' that to kick off a new year

  • I like even numbers.

  • I'm listening to a really good song right now. Good beat. I'm bopping and swaying and kicking my feet around in this here rolly chair.

  • Everyone I know is getting married.



















  • When/if I get married, I want to go to the courthouse in a green dress and it'll just be me, the dude, and the judge.

  • I think I would like it if we just looked at each other one day and said, "let's get married" and then went straight to the courthouse. No invitations, no party planning, just a quick stop to get me a green dress.




























  • I quit smoking 18 hours ago, I don't know if I approve of that decision.


  • I worked at my old job this weekend, to help out during the busy season. I sold 5 pairs of amazing glasses. I was a problem solver, a customer service wonder. I liked being an optician, I miss it.




















  • I really want to see "I am Legend" because, apparently, it is about zombies. And that is awesome.


  • I have a few stories out in the submissions abyss. One place has had a story for a very very long time, I wrote to check up on the story and have received no response. Was it really so bad?
  • Another place has had a story for almost 6 months, soon, they will also receive an email from me, asking, is it me? Did I do something wrong?
  • It feels like when someone doesn't have the guts to say "it's just not working out" and instead decides to not return phone calls or friendly "happy holidays" voicemails.

















  • I understand, these editors, they're busy. But still...I'm not. All I have is the time to sit at my kitchen table and wonder.


  • I had an idea for a book and I was going to write it all down until I realized that it really meant nothing and said nothing and would have been an exercise in "getting the shit out."


  • Last year I submitted a piece to a journal and received this rejection:
Interesting work, but I'm afraid it's not quite right for what we are doing. Feel free to try something else on us in the future.


  • Then, I submitted more work to the same journal this winter and received this rejection:
Thanks for thinking of us. These come close but not quite what we are after. Hope to see more stuff from you in the future though.


  • is it an improvement?














or just a re-worded form letter?

  • It is rare that I find a book that I can read straight through without starting another book midway through. There are books that I read, and start another book midway through, and I realize, while reading the second book, that I missed the first. This happened when I was reading "Eeeee Eee Eeee" by Tao Lin and then started "Samedi the Deafness" by Jesse Ball, and I realized while reading Mr. Ball's book, that I really missed the voice of "Eeeee Eee Eeee," so I put down "Samedi the Deafness" and finished "Eeeee Eee Eeee" and then I felt really empty.

  • I've only read two books straight through without stopping. One was an RL Stine book, "The Knife," when I was a kid and couldn't sleep one night at a friend's house. So I searched her bookshelf and read the book beginning to end and then stared out the window until everyone woke up and I pretended to be all sleepy eyed too.
  • The second was "Jesus' Son." I read that straight through last winter/spring. I stayed up until 5am to finish it. Stopping to rest would have been foolish.
  • Maybe the reason I'm such an impatient reader is that I'm constantly looking for that "must stay up all night" feeling. Anything less is simply an exercise in getting the shit out.


  • I really only read on the train or the bus. Sometimes at work. But almost never at home. It makes the empty space where no one is that much louder.




















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