blue bike, red door

Media, Consumerism, Sex:

2012-02-09T11:29:00.000-08:00

Two very different, very intelligent articles worth reading right now:

"Who Can You Trust?" in The New Inquiry:

"In personifying the inanimate through unique monikers, brands like J.Crew and Warby Parker are capitalizing on our search for authentic relationships with the Named garment. Buying into Named garments like Minnie reflects a vulnerability perpetuated by lives spent in the virtual world."

"Wiring Sexual Tastes to Hairless Genitalia... Oops!" in Psychology Today. Here's the intro. There are so many good things in this article: scary assertions, brutally honest observations by anonymous people, etc.

"At present, our culture both underestimates the power of erotic cues and misinterprets their significance. That is, sexual cues are presumed harmless because sexual tastes are thought to be hardwired whatever one views. Two circular assumptions follow from this faulty premise: First, we assume that what one climaxes to reveals one's unalterable nature; and second, we assume that if one begins climaxing to something incongruous one is merely discovering one's "true" nature. Such flawed reasoning arose in part due to medical politics which gave rise to a staunch refusal to investigate the plastic effects of sexual behaviors on the brain's delicate reward circuitry."

One anonymous man in the article talks about his experience with porn, how it changed his brain. He says, "If you stick with it [separating from porn] you'll get to a place that is something like who you were before you started using porn." Something I think about, and worry about, with my generation and those younger than us, as we were raised with porn so accessible on the Internet, is: what if porn was so much a part of your sexual development that there literally is no "who you were before you started using porn"?! I think this may be the case for more young people than we'd like to admit. I'd like to see more articles, like this one in Psychology Today, and more research conducted on the way young brains and sexual identities alike are being molded by society and its fetishes.

In related news: Sexologist and author Logan Levkoff is speaking at Tulane on Valentine's Day!

That time of year:

2012-02-08T19:21:00.000-08:00

This has officially started.

In one week, we get a whole week off of work and class, even though the holiday is technically over on Tuesday, Februrary 21st. Oh, New Orleans.

Wislawa Szymborska:

2012-02-02T11:22:00.000-08:00

Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska died yesterday at age 88. I was introduced to her book Grains of Sand about seven years ago, as a senior creative writing major at Cal Poly in a class on "world poetry in translation" (Milosz, Rilke, Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Akhmatova, Montale-- this class was momentous, crucial).

Now, I'm teaching my own poetry workshop to junior and senior creative writing majors, introducing them to important poets, and, on Monday, to Wislawa Szymborska. I can't believe how lucky I am.

In honor of and with gratitude to Szymborska, and these mysterious cycles of life that don't make sense and don't make sense and then, suddenly, do, here is a poem by her (one of my favorites):

Reality Demands

Reality demands
we also state the following:
life goes on.
It does so near Cannae and Borodino,
at Kosovo Polje and Guernica.

There is a gas station
in a small plaza in Jericho,
and freshly painted
benches near Bila Hora.
Letters travel
between Pearl Harbor and Hastings,
a furniture truck passes
before the eyes of the lion of Cheronea,
and only an atmospheric front advances
towards the blossoming orchards near Verdun.

There is so much of Everything
that Nothing is quite well concealed.
Music flows
from yachts near Actium
and couples on board dance in the sunlight.

So much keeps happening,
that it must be happening everywhere.
Where stone is heaped on stone,
there is an ice cream truck
besieged by children.
Where Hiroshima had been,
Hiroshima is again
manufacturing products
for everyday use.

Not without its charms is this terrible world,
not without its mornings
worth our waking.

In the fields of Maciejowice
the grass is green
and on the grass is -- you know how grass is --
transparent dew.

Maybe there are no fields other than battlefields,
those still remembered,
and those long forgotten,
birch woods and cedar woods,
snows and sands, iridescent swamps,
and ravines of dark defeat
where today, in sudden need,
you squat behind a bush.

What moral flows from this? Maybe none.
But what really flows is quickly-drying blood,
and as always, some rivers and clouds.

On the tragic mountain passes
the wind blows hats off heads
and we cannot help--
but laugh.

(translation via)

Also worth reading: Szymborska on "How to Write Poetry" over at the Poetry Foundation.

"This is instead of telephoning because I can't look you in the voice:"

2012-01-24T19:48:00.000-08:00

Oh, just Dorothy Parker being witty and awesome, as always. And isn't true? I email when "I can't look you in the voice." Sigh.

Also: I finished my nonfiction Lafayette book! That deserves a celebration! Now I just need to: a) change names and conceal identities, and b) get some lovely readers to offer feedback. Anyone? Anyone? It's 180 pages of romance and Cajun dancing fun! I'll send you hand-made art as thanks!

via Brevity's Nonfiction Blog.

Self-portrait (if I looked like an elf):

2012-01-22T14:24:00.000-08:00

Well, this is inspiring:

2012-01-19T20:26:00.000-08:00

This is for you, my creative and awesome friends who just might be "in academia and hating it" but are secret "playwrights" (metaphorically and/or literally). You know who you are.

Untitled Feminist Show

Art I made:

2012-01-19T17:58:00.000-08:00

I'm offering a new service for boys who are looking to explore their optimal facial hair looks. It's free(ish), and it comes with handy ~~judgements~~ constructive criticism!

A Worthwhile Kickstarter:

2012-01-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

By Futurepoem (yeah JT!):

On makeup and beards:

2012-01-15T20:32:00.000-08:00

I have a weird thing about facial hair on men, I really do. I just can't stand it-- beards especially. Okay, moustaches, too, but I feel like I am more in the norm about an anti-moustache thing than an anti-beard thing. There are girls who love beards. Boy, do I wish I was one.

But I'm not. I've been thinking about this a lot lately-- about why and what it means. I can trace it back to a few sources:

1. A friend's father-- a really sweet guy, great dad, etc-- has always had a big beard and this big beard would kiss us goodnight when we were little and I was sleeping over. It was a kind gesture, but always made me feel slightly uncomfortable because it wasn't my dad. Beards, then, evoke that discomfort, as well as the image of a very manly, capable dad figure (i.e. unsexy).

2. Beard = old. No beard = youthfulness. I think this is the type of equation that works for both sexes, although women don't grow beards. So maybe substitute wrinkles? Age spots? (Just kidding, those aren't voluntary!)

3. Okay, this is the serious one, what really irks me. Men can grow beards and it is socially acceptable. No one trusts a man with facial hair less than a man without. (With some exceptions.) If a man gets tired of, what, shaving his face for fifteen minutes, once a week? (I'm totally excluding stubble in this rant), then he can, out of sheer laziness, or the desire to be unattractive (which can have a reverse effect, as some women find beards attractive!), stop shaving his face.

But women don't have such a luxury. As young girls, we absorb the idea that we must look pretty, and must do whatever we can to achieve that outcome. This idea is so deeply engrained in our cultural and gender norms that it's sickening. And this is what fires me up so much about beards. Women raised in an environment and living in a society that values beauty over anything else they have to offer -- well, to stop caring about one's appearances for a while simply isn't worth the risk.

There's an article from October 2011 (!!!) in the New York Times titled "Up the Career Ladder, Lipstick in Hand." It's all about how research shows that women wearing makeup are evaluated as more likeable, competent, and trustworthy by other adults. An economy professor and author of a book titled "Beauty Pays" ends the article on this note: "I’m an economist, so I say, why not?" Exactly: if you, as a woman, have an opportunity to appear more attractive, via makeup, hair color, clothes, dieting... why not?

This is, after all, what society tells us. TV shows like "What Not To Wear" and "Toddlers and Tiaras," magazines, and blogs all tell us that a woman isn't valuable unless her appearance and her wardrobe and her awards act as a signpost to indicate her worth.

We see a video like the one below, and it's funny, because this little girl seems to be actually laughing in the face of these ideas. It's possible she's even mocking them! At such a young age! "I show my belly to the judges. Look at this big thing. They don't know a good thing when they see it."

But after watching that, I followed the thread of videos and was soon watching other young beauty pageant contestants, with far less tongue-in-cheek humor. Which led to videos of young girls detailing their daily makeup routines, and videos on the power of makeup to change one's appearance. Again, only some of these were sarcastic, most were heartbreakingly earnest.

This is what it means to be a female in today's society. I know very few women who haven't internalized this idea in some way. I'm hugely guilty of it! But, hey, studies show... and research proves... and if you can get a leg up, then...

What irks me most is how little males have to care about this sort of thing, to this extent. My "weird thing" about beards? It's jealousy. And frustration. I wish I had the ability to simply not care how others see me. I'm getting there, but my self-worth is too tied up in external factors, with thanks to American society, and biological drives, and my own compliance in the ugly truth of it all.

Big Sur Reunion Skype!

2012-01-15T16:06:00.000-08:00

Well, that really cheered me up. Thanks, friends! Miss you!

The saddest songs are always the simplest:

2012-01-13T23:07:00.000-08:00

Reading:

2012-01-12T17:18:00.000-08:00

Dear friends and blog-readers who are in NOLA & BR,

I'm reading this Tuesday, January 17th at the Columns Hotel for the 1718 Reading Series. I'll also be selling/signing chapbooks.

What an honor this is. I remember coming to this reading series as a grad student to hear Claudia Rankine... and Richard Siken... and talking to him amid the luxurious decor of the hotel that was the setting for 1978's controversial Pretty Baby...

... which is quite an unsettling movie! Have you seen it? My poems will feel, I think, very much at home there.

My dad's latest painting:

2012-01-10T12:28:00.000-08:00

Oil on canvas. Still in progress. Amid a resurgence of flailing around and anxious decision making (should I do this? do that? should I change directions? move?), it's always art that provides some calm, a comfortable place for happiness. What a good reminder. A painting, song lyrics, music, poetry, books: these are the arrows I should follow. And nothing else.

On the internet + females + writing, or "What it means to be ugly:"

2012-01-09T09:07:00.000-08:00

A new poem by Ariana Reines over at The Rumpus. The ending is my favorite few lines:

I bore
A hole in myself at the thought of my lord you.
Go with me. Drag me down
To your level, just do it. Try. If we ever get there I swear
To you I’ll be faithful

There is also this:

World,
Nothing could possibly be said of you that wouldn’t
Be true. Sometimes I think about the internet
And what it means to be ugly and my fantasy
Of transparency like a see-through Jean-Jacques
Rousseau.

Which makes me think of this art review I just read: "You Know You're the Prettiest Girl."

"In a 2006 interview with The Believer, Nakadate claimed her work, in part, was about “the ridiculousness of showing up anywhere and thinking anyone will give you attention.” It’s ridiculous because attention, in the world she delineates, always costs something. The retrospective suggests what her cumulative strategy has been for translating this idea into visceral feeling: She seems to want to exhaust us with a series of conniving demands for attention that, to be aesthetically effective, must exceed what we’re already willing to devote when we go to see art. Only then will we be pushed into acknowledging the place Nakadate seems to want to reach, where the integrity of how you feel about yourself, the possibility of recognizing the sincerity of your own emotions, is sacrificed to the need to be looked at — and not even necessarily with approval. It comes slowly into focus that one is never more lonely than when bathed in attention and that to escape loneliness would require not more attention but a willful annihilation. Her search for this place, for the identity-dissolving end point of attention seeking, is what makes her work so disturbing."

I read that article because of this and this, which also brought me to this article, "All The Sad Young Pretty Girls":

"We’re bombarded with images of the pretty young girl, and if she’s only an image, and never given a voice, even a flawed, imperfect, bad-faithed perspective, this is a huge fucking problem.

What I don’t understand, or rather, I do understand all too well, and don’t like, is why in these situations it is almost always the girl branded as the criminal for the “confessional” and asked to feel bad, to feel guilt or shame for writing the truths of their experiences, are sometimes even diagnosed as being borderline, inappropriate, toxic, messy, etc., while men have written of their affairs and sexual relationships always and their ethics are rarely questioned. This to me is a form of discipline and punishment that we internalize, which is why so many women writers self-censor. You know what it’s called when male writers write of their sexual exploits? LITERATURE. "

Shell Beach Ridge:

2012-01-08T18:13:00.000-08:00

I've driven by this little mountain range (or is it a hill? I get confused in California; compared to Louisiana, it's a mountain) a gazillion times but hiked it for the first time with Krysta the day after Christmas. I learned that going up is harder and scarier than going down (that must be a metaphor for something...). Krysta just moved back to the central coast; she lives in Pismo Beach, works at a winery-- not sure it gets any better than that!

Oh wait, it does: she's going to visit me in April!

Last days:

2012-01-03T15:41:00.000-08:00

"Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."

This quotation is posted on the gate at the entrance to the Henry Miller Memorial Library. It was closed. Nonetheless, I got to Big Sur for the first time in a year and a half, with two amazing friends. Hiked to two waterfalls, through green ferns and streams and redwoods. Ate a picnic lunch on the beach at Limekiln. Drinks by a fireplace at a lodge. Sunset into the Pacific. We got two hours in to the heart of Big Sur, then turned around. My soul can relax for a while; it can carry those images and smells and the feeling of the place until summer.

Last day in California. I'm not ready for the city, for the South. It took three weeks to feel like myself again; to reconnect with all of my out-here friends and to make new, inspiring friends; to love and argue and explain myself and, in a way, re-introduce myself to my family; to remember how much I love this area, how rich it is with nature, people, ideas, health, happiness. And then it's time to leave again.

2011-12-31T00:36:00.000-08:00

(New favorite band. Heard it in a shop in Cambria.)

I'm the villain, too.

2011-12-31T00:19:00.001-08:00

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://kellyannemasigat.bandcamp.com/track/heart-in-mouth"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Heart In Mouth by Kelly Anne Masigat&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

(Can't stop listening/believing/resonating.)

Blue bike, red flowers:

2011-12-30T00:48:00.000-08:00

My parents and I ran into this outside a shop in Cambria. I love that town. It's a tiny, artsy coastal village tucked between hills teeming with pines and cypresses, adjacent to Moonstone Beach. Everything about this place is magical and reminds me of an Eyvind Earle painting. (He's one of my most favorite artists ever. His life story is inspirational-- and he created the unique look of Disney's Sleeping Beauty!) His paintings of Big Sur are absolutely perfect.

(What the hills around Cambria look like.)

“For 70 years,” Earle wrote in 1996, “I’ve painted paintings, and I’m constantly and everlastingly overwhelmed at the stupendous infinity of Nature. Wherever I turn and look, there I see creation. Art is creating... Art is the search for truth.”

A Sanders family Christmas:

2011-12-26T01:03:00.000-08:00

My family matches the candles. And each other. Except for me. I wore blue, and attempted to offer my hair to my father's head. The things we do for love.

In other news, this is an awesome tumblr: Slaughterhouse 90210. Literary quotations meet pop culture. You have to check it out!

Christmas morning reading:

2011-12-25T13:31:00.000-08:00

A beautiful essay on Joan Didion, "California Girls," in the Paris Review Daily:

"[Didion] loves the state as only its exiles can; she recognizes that California is a land for the stupid and beautiful and she knows that there is still a romance to it that, even if you are not stupid or beautiful, makes you wish to belong.

Joan Didion is the patron saint of girls like me, and it was not until I was gone that I learned that I was not some lone misfit but one of her tribe: girls who grew up bookish and uncomfortable, who left home only to find themselves drawn back to it. I had no idea that I was a California girl until I left and found myself, finally, somewhere else. It turned out to be pretty nice but it will never be home. "

Love these people:

2011-12-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

Krysta! Connor! (Robbie, too, but he didn't make it in the picture.)
Santa Maria is OK when these people are around.

Real life:

2011-12-21T15:22:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling a violation of privacy lately in a number of ways and am thisclose to making this thing private. Mean commenters who keep snooping around, who emailed links to people who will now find said links deleted, thankyouverymuch.

I spent an afternoon with my high school English teacher, an amazing woman with whom I have more in common than I do with most of my friends from high school. Inspired by that realization and by the night I recently spent cleaning up Claire's Fb page, I went on an unfriending spree. I'll probably deactivate again as well (I was off of it for the past few months, which was immensely enjoyable).

And, I think it's important to note, this blog is different from Fb because it's a voluntary offering to readers-- most of whom I know and love. It's also a venue for my art and writing. As I often tell my students, everything we write has a certain voice. This voice? It's a fabrication; it isn't truly me, nor is it even true! It's an edited, a censored voice. And my writing? That's another voice-- a persona. It works this way for every one of us.

But, just when it all felt really gross and invasive, I ran into an old friend here in SLO who reminded me that anything happening in the world of "virtual reality" isn't actually real. A mean comment has nothing to do with me and everything to do with that person's issues. What matters is real life: how people act towards each other. A "real friend" will talk to you, not cut you out of their life. To a "virtual friend" you simply exist as a number on their Fb page. I think it's important to keep those two things pretty separate.

In the meantime, I'm going to be thankful for the love and support from the people in my life who are actually in my life.

My heart in his mouth:

2011-12-18T19:55:00.000-08:00

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://kellyannemasigat.bandcamp.com/album/love-faith-and-victoria-ep"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Love, Faith and Victoria EP by Kelly Anne Masigat&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

This is the EP of my friend Kelly Anne Masigat. She's offering it for free on her bandcamp page. Kelly Anne and I took dance classes together, and went to high school together, and then reunited in SLO over a mutual friend's band, which she then became a member of, and moved to Portland with... and and and... this girl is so amazingly talented. I'm so glad she's doing a solo project. I could listen to this all day.

When I think of her lyrics and her voice I think of opposites: shattered and strength. Lacy spiderwebs, icicles hanging dangerously along the roof.

For my dad:

2011-12-12T21:31:00.000-08:00

Resilient:

2011-12-12T09:21:00.000-08:00

(For M.)

That face:

2011-12-12T09:19:00.000-08:00

Looks nothing like Jack Johnson in real life, apparently only in my painting mind.

Watercolor and permanent pen (no smearing!).

New art series:

2011-12-12T09:14:00.000-08:00

The first one is a photograph of me around age ten. The second is for my mom. The ink is mixing with the watercolor on the faces too much and messing up the color; I'm still working on getting it right.

Get it while you can:

2011-12-11T19:50:00.000-08:00

“I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.”

-- Joan Didion, in a 1975 commencement address at the University of California, Riverside

(thanks, Chris)

Also, an amazingly awesome tumblr: Fuck Yeah Joan Didion.

Reminder:

2011-12-08T13:51:00.000-08:00

no leaders, please

invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
don't swim in the same slough.
invent yourself and then reinvent yourself
and
stay out of the clutches of mediocrity.

invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
change your tone and shape so often that they can
never
categorize you.

reinvigorate yourself and
accept what is
but only on the terms that you have invented
and reinvented.

be self-taught.

and reinvent your life because you must;
it is your life and
its history
and the present
belong only to
you.

-Charles Bukowski, from The Pleasures of the Damned

On 28:

2011-12-05T21:36:00.000-08:00

In my 28th year, I published a chapbook; lost Couscous; started new writing projects; made paintings and mixed media art and songs and a video; finally went camping in Louisiana (twice!); got my bike stolen; got a better bike; learned how to be a cocktail waitress; re-taught myself to use a sewing machine; decorated a new apartment; introduced students to books and ideas; made new friends; made mistakes; felt loved; felt frustrated; and tried to love others. I'm happy with all of that.

Gutted:

2011-12-05T20:58:00.000-08:00

This is an awesome poster. As is this mug. I want to buy one for all my writer friends, who I love so much.

I just stumbled upon the advice column that these are from, Dear Sugar. It's life and love advice from an author. How perfect.

This post may be my favorite. I could picture reading it to my Spring poetry workshop poets:

"I hope when people ask what you’re going to do with your English and/or creative writing degree you’ll say: Continue my bookish examination of the contradictions and complexities of human motivation and desire; or maybe just: Carry it with me, as I do everything that matters. And then smile very serenely until they say oh."

Brief thoughts on pining:

2011-12-04T23:07:00.000-08:00

fig. 1: pine tree

What is pining exactly? Does a vague birthday post constitute pining? I guess it may, if you interpret other unrelated posts to be about the supposed pinee. But they're not.

Nope, not pining. Just sending good wishes out into the ether. "I wish nothing but the best for you." Sorry that message got interpreted differently. I guess lyrics can be that way.

But thanks for checking up on me.

fig. 2: do pine trees make good campfires?

Musical couple magic:

2011-12-04T18:19:00.000-08:00

Shovels and Rope played New Orleans last week with Andy's band, England in 1819 (he made the band's new website-- check it out!). I posted a video of her singing an old Waylon Jennings the other week; she has a killer voice and it's a beautiful cover. I'm so glad I got to see them live.

Amazing:

2011-12-03T21:55:00.000-08:00

Such care:

2011-12-02T01:11:00.000-08:00

This video is riveting. It is Sophie (2 years, 4 months) & Itay Yatuv at the 2011 Contact Improvisation Festival in Ibiza.

I kept waiting for the baby to fall. To not hold on tight enough. To slide too far, too quickly, down the man's body. To land on her head.

But pretty soon it became apparent that none of that was going to happen. The man has control over their movements and safety, always. Is it a sign of his talent that he looks so graceful and spontaneous? Is that part of the performance? Is he ever hiding his fear? And how is the child so trusting, so sure that there will be long arms to catch her. A soft place to land.

I think their dance--their beautiful, graceful, thrilling, joyful (I love her giggles), peaceful dance--must be a metaphor for something, like love. Or raising a child. Or both.

I like that there is such care in his movements.

I like that we call it improv, and then go along trying not to hurt the other people too much.

More inspiration:

2011-11-29T20:13:00.000-08:00

MIRANDA JULY IS TOTALLY NOT KIDDING

“It’s kind of about letting go of that feeling of my 20s, that feeling that I will do absolutely everything, I will have sex with everyone, I will go to every country,” she says. “In your 30s, it’s obvious that a finite amount of things will happen.” In “The Future,” the characters sum it up. Sophie: “We’ll be 40 in five years.” Jason: “Forty is basically 50. And then after 50, the rest is just loose change.”

Comfort food:

2011-11-28T22:48:00.000-08:00

WHY SHE WRITES by Jayne Anne Phillips

"Other things do happen, but we don't know what they are until we write about them, or think about them in words, or remember them in phrases. Experience, more real than words, vanishes. Intimacy is transitory, but its effect lasts as long as consciousness regards it. Words float memory, awaken desire; words do pull people in, even demanding, haunting words, because language is, finally, a matter of survival. Mama. I want Yes. No. Stop. Go. And more.

The writer's first affinity is not to a loyalty, a tradition, a morality, a religion, but to life itself, and to its representation in language. Nothing is taboo. The writer will go anywhere, say anything to get it said; in fact, the writer is bent on doing so. The writer is bent."

Inviting the light in:

2011-11-21T22:34:00.000-08:00

Recently I learned about Saturn Return, for which you could buy a survival guide.

I feel like this applies to almost everyone I know in their late twenties, in a really concrete way: M. in Seattle with her art, Chris moving to Chicago, Claire's last couple years, Carla, Andy's dream. My sister, who just moved back to San Diego. I also think of my uncle, who moved to Nashville at 29. My parents, who got married, both for the second time, around this age.

Chapbook Finalist

2011-11-15T10:45:00.000-08:00

My second chapbook, Photographic Evidence, was recently a finalist in the Ahsahta Press 2011 chapbook contest. The judge was Cathy Wagner, who teaches at my old alma mater, Miami University, and is an amazing poet. Even though she didn't select my chapbook, it's thrilling that the Ahsahta editors liked my work enough to send it to her, and that she read it!

Surrender

2011-11-13T19:45:00.000-08:00

We rode bikes to a nursery on Tchopitoulas Street and picked up some supplies for a hanging herb garden!

My new vintage bike!

Marigolds, mint, rosemary, and basil. I guess we could've cut the corner of the filler, oh well. Still cute.

Heartbreak

2011-11-10T13:05:00.000-08:00

I made this video last weekend while house-sitting. This is the apartment where I first wrote this song, and back then I was waiting for someone (someone specific) to magically pop up and have time for me. Or to show care-- care which I knew (know) exists.

This isn't a great video and it was my first time using iMovie. It has a lot of flaws. But still, to me it captures the sadness, coupled with hopefulness, that I carried with me that week.

Things To Save from Kristin Diane on Vimeo.

Anyway, it's a silly video. I had a little help editing it, too, so thank you for that.

Chapbook Release and Signing!

2011-11-08T19:52:00.000-08:00

I'm giving a reading this Thursday, November 10th at the 17 Poets! Reading Series at the Gold Mine Saloon in the French Quarter. The reading will start at 8 p.m. I'm reading with Alison Pelegrin, who is celebrating the release of her book, "Hurricane Party."

I'll be selling and signing copies of "Orthorexia."

Can't wait to celebrate with the great folks who run this series. Come join us!

The knock-out power of simple, old songs:

2011-11-08T19:44:00.000-08:00

Can't stop watching what is the coolest music video concept ever:

2011-10-28T13:02:00.000-07:00

Photos!

2011-10-25T14:21:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my friend Alex and I drove to the Marigny for an afternoon photo shoot! I wanted some high quality "author" photos, and she wanted to add to her portfolio, so it worked out perfectly. Plus, it was a blast.

Here are some of my favorite artsy shots:

And here's the website for Alex Eve Photography. I love my talented friends!

Also related to my writer persona: I'm considering making a new, ultra professional website. I checked out Tumblr, but someone already has a website under my name and it's... uh... very cool and gutsy but definitely a little embarrassing that some people might think it's mine! The owner never states her age or location (17? Midwest?) which makes it all the more awkward. Why, OH WHY didn't I go with my middle name for all of my art?!?

This one time, on an airplane:

2011-10-02T11:31:00.000-07:00

A short nonfiction piece of mine is up at Airplane Reading, a new site dedicated to all stories flying-related, run by two of my Loyola colleagues. Here's my piece: "Holding Hands."

If you have any story you want to tell about an airplane incident, or observations to make about airports, flying, etc., you should submit to them! They take anything except poetry, and they're interested in all voices (not just people who identify as "writers").

New sound:

2011-09-20T19:25:00.000-07:00

I'm moving to Sound Cloud. Here are two songs from a collaboration with my NOLA friend, Ben Shea. I wrote the songs, but he turned them into edgy, lo-fi awesomeness! (Initially, everything I write is just me on a (poorly played) acoustic guitar. Maybe I'll get a version of these songs recorded in that vein, too. I've got new ones to record and I want to make little videos, too, in the near future.

In the meantime, enjoy!

Latest tracks by KristinDiane

My home as a breakfast diner:

2011-09-08T18:43:00.000-07:00

We used the good dishes! And it wasn't even my own idea. (A man after my own heart.)

My chapbook!

2011-09-01T20:13:00.000-07:00

dancing girl press has published my chapbook and it looks beautiful! You can buy a copy for just $7.

Also, I reviewed Jenny Boully's newest book, "not merely because of the unknown that was stalking toward them" over at HTMLGIANT. The book's editor, Christian, posted the review and some kind words over on Tarpaulin Sky's blog.

Painting on other people's walls:

2011-08-25T23:22:00.000-07:00

This is in the carriage house of my friend Tamara, who owns my favorite NOLA coffeeshop, Velvet.

One more, for Kerry and Charlie:

2011-08-25T23:13:00.001-07:00

Been home, saw all my favorite loves:

2011-08-18T12:12:00.000-07:00

Since pre-school!

Since high school! (New KriTayKra addition: Avery!)

Since SLO, 2004!

Harper!

John makes this.

Since birth!

They made me.

Lilly: new little sister.

The best thing about working at Hands Gallery:
my friendship with Kerry!

2011-06-26T16:25:00.000-07:00

Last blog post for a while. Too much sadness right now, and the world is too confusing right now, and this blog has stopped being a way to work through that confusion. The internet, technology-- it all seems so silly. I'll probably make this blog private in a bit, too, if I keep it going-- I know who a few readers are but email me if you want.

Couscous' last day.

at the end

2011-06-21T17:23:00.000-07:00

In the last few days, both nostrils were blocked entirely by the fungus growth and would occasionally bleed. His nose was swollen; the area beneath his eyes was covered in black mucus and it was clearly painful for him when I tried to wipe it away; the whole area must have been very sensitive. He would sneeze for something like twenty times in a row, trying to get the bad stuff out. His breathing sounded like a man snoring. His spatial abilities were failing: he fell off the bed, or else he took five preparatory shuffles to jump up on the bed before becoming discouraged and just giving up. He wasn't himself. He didn't lick me anymore (he couldn't smell whatever was in front of him-- food, fingers), he didn't fall asleep on my lap, he didn't come when called. And then he would seem normal for awhile, eyes open, following me around, sleeping on the pillow next to my head. It was easier to think about what was going to happen when he seemed very sick. Not when he seemed relatively healthy again.

I took him to the vet at 10:45 on Monday morning. I signed an euthanasia consent form. The vet prepared me for what would happen. He was alive. The vet and her assistant laid him on his side. I petted his head. I started crying. They gave him one shot in his leg vein. He was still alive. She left the room, and came back with another shot. She gave him a second shot in his other leg. He was still alive; his eyes were moving. I was petting his head. And then she listened to his heart and she looked at me and said he's gone.

They left the room and I stayed and cried, looking at the body on the table. The body of my best friend for the past six years.

And then-- again, because of the money, and how little I have, and how expensive cremation is-- I had to bring his body home in a cardboard box. Andy dug a hole. He's in a plastic bag in a cardboard box in the ground in the backyard of Andy's rental.

I miss him so much already.

Couscous:

2011-06-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'm going to put up a picture from every year of Couscous' life.

This first picture is from Year One. I can't find any pictures of his first few months. He was a gift, from my then-boyfriend. This is in April of 2005. I was in my first year at Cal Poly, having just transferred from Miami of Ohio. He must be a few months old. When we first got him, he was a little tiny fluff-ball. The color of couscous.

This is Couscous and his best friend, Bullet, in November, 2006. Still living in SLO (my second year at Cal Poly). I always regret not asking those neighbors of ours if they wanted to have Couscous, to keep him with Bullet. They got along so well.

First year in New Orleans and at LSU: November, 2006. Couscous loved the big house we rented, with a little hole in the front screen so that he could go in and out. He was in a lizard-catching phase.

Second year at LSU, 2007-2008. Couscous and I move to Baton Rouge. I cut all my hair off, post break-up. I selfishly make him stay indoors. He kills rats in this apartment. Intense bonding occurs.

Third/final year in the MFA, 2008-2009. Couscous and I move to this little studio apartment. He starts going outside.

Third year/house in BR, 2009-2010, with roommate Clay and his cat, Kevynne. Couscous and Kevynne never become friends, but they tolerate each other pretty well. On some winter nights, we all cuddle in the same plush chair. I'm in the PhD. Most of the time, we keep the doors open. Cats run in and out.

Return to New Orleans, August 2010. Couscous likes the street cats who live beneath us, but they don't like him. He constantly pees on the bath mat, kitchen mat, and carpeting upstairs, for unknown reasons. Also has lots of hairballs. Likes to sit on the top step of the stairs, with the door open.

May, 2011. New apartment. I take Couscous to the vet for his increase in sneezing. $700 later, Couscous is diagnosed with cryptococcosis (a fungus in his nose). I treat him with daily anti-fungal medicine. Four weeks later, we return to the vet. He's getting worse. The options for treatment are more medicine: one is only administered by a vet, which costs $25 just for each of the three-times-a-week vet visits-- counting the cost of medicine, it's roughly $600 per month. The cheaper medicine option is the non-generic brand of what he's currently on. This will cost $450 per month. Either medicine option must be given for many months, possibly up to 8 or 9.

I cannot afford the treatment to get Couscous healthy. He's going to be put down some time in the coming weeks. He's lethargic and can't breathe properly, and isn't eating much more than tuna-- he can't smell anymore because of the growth in both nostrils, but he can hear the sound of a tuna can being opened. The disease is probably going towards his brain at this point (2 months in), because he's now having trouble jumping onto the bed. Last night he fell off the bed. So his spatial abilities are starting to fail.

Even if I spent the money on medicine, it's not guaranteed, and surgery could be necessary to remove the growths. A feeding tube is also a possibility, if the more intense medicine makes him stop eating.

(Can you tell I'm justifying this?)

He's still here now, doing okay. I'm working up the energy to take him for his final vet visit. And then I'm planning on crying in my bed for a week. Expect many more tributes and cathartic writing on here about losing my companion of the last six years.

On playing guitar:

2011-06-07T10:26:00.000-07:00

Here are some magical guitar babies. I've been "learning" for almost five years now, and I still suck. MAGICAL GUITAR BABIES: TELL ME YOUR SECRET!

Question:

2011-06-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

1. This movie looks AMAZING.

2. So does this hurt or help the fact that I've just started planning/writing my own version of this? If you substitute the old man for a young female character (okay: me), and substitute the cooking/accordion playing for dancing, and substitute all the elderly folks for young folks, add a little dramatic romance-- that's the story I want to write. Would it be more or less interesting than this version? Should I quit now, knowing that it will only look like a variation of this story? Or should I assume that this movie: a) won't reach many American audiences, or b) will help increase people's interest in the Cajun world.

And thank you to the lovely friends who said such nice things about my apartment! I'm flattered that you all like it so much!

el gato y el apartamento:

2011-06-02T14:07:00.000-07:00

My apartment is almost completely furnished! So, here's a walking tour (don't worry: with only three rooms, there's not much walking to be done):

View from the front door through the entire apartment:

Look to your left. There's the tiniest of kitchens! It's hard for two people to cook in here. Good thing no one really cooks in here! (Ha.) I use the dishwasher as a drying rack, since I'm too lazy to buy dishwasher fluid or figure out how to work it.

Look to your right: there's the tiniest of bathrooms! Okay, it's got a pretty swanky shower for a tiny bathroom. It was hard to photograph right, but basically it's a little tiled box and I've decided to forgo a shower curtain. I forgot to hang my hand towels! But there on the counter is one of my prized possessions: a painted mug by retired artist David Gurney, whose ceramic artwork we used to sell at Hands Gallery. It says "Burning Bush" on one side and "Quaking Tree of Life" on the other. I love that.

In the entryway, I've hung this new print I just ordered from Hammerpress:

Now we're in the living room. I bought this cute yellow table on Craigslist, but it's too small and I'm still hoping to upgrade to a better eating/craft/work table. I found the chairs on the side of the road, and am planning on sewing cushions for them. The canvas is a not-yet-started art project. The bookshelves were heroically driven from Baton Rouge and carried up the stairs by Andy!

This table is another curbside find from a few years ago, which Claire and I re-covered with feather wrapping paper:

Poetry book collection on the left. All others on the right.

This is the vintage Ikea sofa I bought on Craigslist for $60. And I gave the couple $20 for delivering it and assembling it. I made the large artwork above the sofa. The coffee table was a curbside find, and I still plan on painting it, as was the rocking chair, the trunk, and the white shelves. Andy's dad found the lamp-- I bought a cheap shade but I'm going to decorate it soon.

I sewed these pillows! Out of Anthropologie dishtowels on sale for $3 each! And the California dishtowels are from Hands-- I had been planning on making a pillow out of them for at least five years. Better late than never!

Bedroom, with floor-to-ceiling screened windows that open out onto a shared porch:

This adorable vanity came free with the bed I bought on Craigslist:

Found this chipped mirror on the side of the road and knew it would be perfect for the mantle! Tree artwork on the right is by Maritess; the framed piece to the left of it was a gift from an Italian artist whose name I've sadly forgotten.

Little collection of pages from Kidnapped and Treasure Island, and a print by my old roommate's friend (I don't know the artist's name again, oops):

More prized possessions! (Even if I don't actually wear jewelry much.)

Built-in mirrored closets:

Notice how the painters forgot to finish painting around the closet on the left? Yet one more way that this place wasn't exactly "finished" before they set the move-in date. I've been here for two months, and they just got everything-- from rods in the closets to blinds to a bathroom mirror-- finally installed.

Couscous came out from under the bed for the photo shoot! If you look to the left of the photo, you can see the front door. The bedside table was a gift from Lisa when she was moving out, and the lamp was one that Andy wasn't using. I'm going to re-do the lampshade on this one, too! The sculpture is my favorite "story" by Brian Andreas: "This is a creature on fire with love, but it's still scary, since most people think love only looks like one thing, instead of the whole world." My parents got it for me for my 21st birthday, and had it signed by him in Santa Barbara.

My porch, with other found furnishings. Sometime soon this will have a few plants, maybe a container herb garden. Especially to indicate to my neighbors that they aren't welcome on my side, in front of my bedroom, no less! I'm seriously irked about this. Plants should help.

Plus: a magnolia tree! Minus: new siding and old trim, both of which are in dire need of a paint job. No joke, this place looks like a dump from the outside.

Thanks for taking the tour! More info coming soon on Couscous, which is a sad situation. Notice the way I've successfully distracted myself with this entire post, though.

______________________________________________

P.S. A note about art: I have some REALLY COOL big art-- a framed piece by a Southern California lady, a few paintings I did, and two awesome pieces on found wood by Brad Bourgoyne. But I took those to Calilfornia with me and left them there, thinking I was returning soon. I figured that carrying around big art was difficult while I'm living a transient life. But they are beautiful pieces and I can't wait to bring them back with me after this August visit home.

Furnishings:

2011-05-25T14:58:00.000-07:00

When I left Baton Rouge, I gave away all my furniture, since I was planning to move to Nashville. When I got the job in New Orleans, it was supposed to be for only one semester, so I rented a furnished apartment. And when the job in New Orleans became a year-long instructorship for next year, I moved to a new, unfurnished apartment, in hopes of settling into a place that was more "mine."

Then I realized I have no money with which to furnish a home, and no desire to develop an attachment to tons of stuff, since I'm not sure how long I'll be in NOLA.

So, I've been scouring the sidewalks for free things, scouring Craigslist for cheap things (already got a queen bed for $175 and a vintage Ikea sofa for $60 and a little formica table for $40), and scouring the Apartment Therapy blog for inspiration. These are the pictures that I'm currently using as inspiration:

My summer projects include: spray-painting furniture! sewing pillows! planting a container garden! (I probably won't get around to (a.k.a. have the funds for) all of those aspirations.) But I will post pictures of my apartment, once it feels closer to being fully furnished and decorated.

The most depressing thing.

2011-05-11T10:47:00.001-07:00

I just “testified” (i.e. shared my story of needing Planned Parenthood when I was un-insurable and un-insured by my employer for a year) at a meeting of the House Committee for Health and Wellness in the Louisiana State Capitol. Two Planned Parenthood representatives also spoke to the committee about all the positive things Planned Parenthood does for the women and teens of Louisiana (pap tests, cervical cancer screenings, breast cancer screenings, providing birth control and education, etc.).

And then the committee voted almost unanimously (one “no” vote by Baton Rouge Rep. Jackson, my new hero) for a “resolution” bill that de-funds Planned Parenthood in our great state of Louisiana.

Wow.

Because apparently the need to appear “pro-life” (I hate that term so much) in a very “pro-life” state (i.e. retain your political seat in your district) is that much more important than providing reasonably priced, life-saving preventative health care to women and teens.

Creative collaboration:

2011-05-07T15:22:00.000-07:00

A random stranger (turned friend) recently contacted Andy, wanting to make a music video for one of England in 1819's songs. This is what he came up with...

(And the parents in the video are Andy's mom and dad, and the house is theirs, and his sisters, niece, and brother-in-law are in it, too!)

Although, the video isn't fitting perfectly on blogspot-- the right part is cut off-- so here's the link to the video on YouTube. The band also posted the video on Reddit.com, where it's received a ton of positive feedback only in one day! Congrats to England in 1819 and the director, Stephen Kinigopoulos!

Cat Update:

2011-05-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

CousCous has Cryptococcus. It has already cost me two vet trips and $500 to reach this diagnosis (at first they thought it was just an upper respiratory infection). At least we've ruled out cancer and Feline Leukemia.

Basically, he has a yeast/fungus growth in his nose, which is blocking one nostril completely. He sneezes a lot, wheezes a lot, and sounds like breathing is becoming more difficult by the day.

Luckily, there is medicine! I will pay $50 a month for it and give him the liquid drops once a day. Possibly for up to 8 months. But I hope for only a few months, since we're catching this pretty early and the growth isn't eating the inner division between his two nostrils yet. (Ew.)

Unluckily, the medicine can be very hard on cats, and can make them anorexic, in which case they need a feeding tube. I really hope it doesn't get to that point with CousCous, because I just don't know if I can afford boarding fees and feeding tubes and all that jazz.

So, for now, he's moping around the new apartment, sleeping all day. He's not even interested in going out on the porch or meowing at the door to explore the outside world, which is how I know he's really sick.

___________________________________________

This also means that I'll probably be driving to California, with Cous in tow, for the first three weeks of August. I just can't imagine asking anyone to deal with a sick cat for three weeks, so I'll take him with me. The silver lining to that is having my car in CA, which will make visiting everyone much easier! It also means, though, that if I stay at your place, he'll have to stay there, too. Ok, I admit I haven't really thought this out very well. Blergh. If you have any ideas, let me know.

For Claire:

2011-04-27T22:12:00.000-07:00

I am now a cocktail server. At this place.

This is my temporary, 4-month summer job. It ends in July. I started in April. I'm counting down the months already! Why? Because this is hands-down the hardest job I've ever had. From aching feet after ten-hour shifts, to the vast amount of cocktail and alcohol knowledge that I'm having to quickly learn, this job is physically and mentally grueling. It makes teaching look like a breeze!

But, okay, it's not really that bad. I work with really great people, and gaining cocktail knowledge is fun, and I get to eat yummy food every work night (albeit, often at 12 or 1 a.m.... but did I mention that the food is amazing!?). Also, the customers are very nice and not a rowdy crowd at all (usually). The bar makes a lot of the ingredients-- house-made bitters, shrub, grenadine, etc.-- and we don't serve any of the "usual" alcohols. Want a Jack and Coke? Don't have it. A Grey Goose Martini? Nope. Kettle One Martini? Not that either. Maker's Mark? Only if you mean Maker's Mark 46, the upscale version. Instead, we carry four vodkas (I can recommend which one you'll like) and a ton of European and American Whiskeys and Gin and Genever. A lot of my job requires explaining the menu to customers (we have a seasonal menu of cocktails created by our bartenders) and helping them find something new to try that will suit their tastes.

To further emphasize how classy this place is, here are the "house rules" (I really like how these are written), which include no shorts on men and no hats.

But still, the place gets crazy busy and with two cocktail waitresses a night-- one for the outside patio, one for inside-- it can get very difficult. Especially since I'm not coming in with any previous serving experience. I'm still learning how to juggle multiple demands at once and not forget someone's quickly mentioned order. Carrying a small notebook in the back pocket of my black jeans (we waitresses wear all-black outfits) helps with this, but I still make mistakes.

In the end, it's humbling to make a lot of mistakes, as a grown adult learning something new. I'm growing from those mistakes.

But it's also deliciously humbling-- for the customer-- whenever they ask, "Where do you go to school?" and I say, "I teach school" and they say "Oh! What age?" and I say, "College."

P.S. If you are a NOLA friend reading this, come in at your own risk. Because I know you, I will no doubt take advantage of the fact that you won't get mad at me if I forget about your table for a while or make you wait a long time or make a mistake. In other words, the service might be lacking. And I might not have much time to socialize anyway. But I'll try my best!

On loss:

2011-04-23T13:15:00.001-07:00

From this:

To this:

So it goes. Goodbye, old home. I spent one year with you, roommate Clay, Couscous, and Kevynne. It was a good year.

And also, a much sadder goodbye to Jeanne Leiby, editor of TSR, mentor, and friend. I worked for her for one year. She was the epitome of a strong, opinionated, hardworking, complex woman. We were closest during the year I spent dating men twice my age. She really disliked that. I'm not sure if she knew where I am now, in love with someone my exact same age... but I think she would be really, really happy about that.

I will always remember the advice she gave me, the lessons I learned from her.

Paparazzi-style!

2011-04-08T18:44:00.000-07:00

We were spied at the Baton Rouge Music Studio's performance at the St. Jude Fair! (I think of it like dance recitals, but for baby musicians instead of baby dancers.)

Also: WE HAVE THE SAME HAIR COLOR!