Pumpkin Seeds: Random as Ever Edition
1. An innocent compliment gone awry, or people with too much time on their hands? Depends, I guess. Poyer was simply my shorthand for poet-lawyer, aka the multi-talented hyphenate Nina Parrilla. It was spurred partly by her recent post on realizing how much her lawyer-side “has become a huge part of [her] identity.” I appreciate poets (or any creative types) that acknowledge being multi-dimensional, particularly those like Nina who pursue their other facets with equal vigor and success.
2. There’s a ton of “poets” out there, including some of my favorites, who have no other significant identity to claim. If not for poetry, they say, they’d be nothing. While a tad melodramatic for my tastes, I understand their point. Some of them, at least. In the end, though, a poet with nothing but their poetry to sustain them dries up pretty quickly, which I guess explains the lameness of most poetry!
3. Speaking of, help a good poet (and father, and PR guy) out and pre-order his book here. If you don’t know him, I’ll vouch for his work. He can actually, you know, write.
4. I had pretty low expectations of Amish in the City when I first heard about it, so low that I had no intention of watching it, but Salomé sold me on the first episode and I’ve been happily hooked ever since. The timing of its bittersweet juxtaposition of city life against the “simpler” life of the reclusive Amish couldn’t have been worse, though, as it’s been feeding my sense of discontent that’s risen up the past few months. It’s very similar to how I felt throughout the summer of 2001, the only difference being having the skewed experience of Virginia to cloud the issue.
5. The Surreal Life is even more bizarre than I thought it would be. And Jordan Knight needs to get a grip on reality. Stuck-up has-been! [Dyanna, I believe it was his brother everyone thought was gay.]
6. I skipped three consecutive poetry readings I’d expected to go to this week and only plan to attend one the rest of the month. Have to take break every now and then and indulge my other identities. [Yes, Omar, that includes some time for D&D!]
7. Farewell, Art Howe. And good riddance! Time for the Mets to clean house completely – dump Piazza, Leiter, Franco, et al – and start from scratch. Gary Carter as manager would be a smart place to start.
8. For some reason, today’s poll numbers (Bush: 311, Kerry: 223) aren’t the least bit shocking. I’m now looking forward to 2008 and what I can get involved in locally between now and then to make a difference. I will watch the debates, though, purely for their entertainment value as Kerry imitates Gore and misunderestimates Dubya. Again.
9. I’ve spent most of the day hiding in someone else’s office in order to get some work done. Writing four media kits, two virtually from scratch, doesn’t go well with constant interruptions.
10. This too shall pass.
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The compliments have restored my recently damaged ego. You can call me a poyer whenever you want to.
Dude, it was SOO Jordan they were talking about. Not my beloved Jonathan. I’m SURE of it. Just as I am sure that George Michael wrote I Want Your Sex for his girlfriend. mmhmm.
Denial is very powerful, ‘innit?
The Sureal Life is crazy, mad, nuts. Who’d a thunk that Flava Flav was such a sweetheart. Loud as hell and out of his mind but sweet. Bridgite scares me to death. Jordan is bloated has been asshole. “Ryan Starr” needs to realize that she never was and what’s with her “ew, boys” attitude? Joey (he wasn’t there uncle) is cool. So damn normal. And Charo rocks, “ees li’ figh’ chic-hens in meh-hico.”
And about the poets being nothing without their poetry. Sometimes we’re not really good at anything else. Sometimes we’re barely good at that. So unless their is a job opening for fountain of useless trivia, then I’ll send my resume.
Also Johnathon was rumored to be gay. Because he wasnt’ mackin on the ladies like the rest of the crew. But it was really because he developed extreme social anxiety disorder.
Boo yah! I know everything.
B.