Guy LeCharles Gonzalez (aka glecharles) (aka loudpoet)

An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Monday, Monday. I'm really looking forward to tonight after last week's weather-induced, bad-stomach-bad-attitude debacle. The semi-finals have always been a lot of fun and we've got some great matchups again this year. With Omar, Roger, Oscar, Dawn and Sabrina in the mix, it should be a tight one. Conventional wisdom has Roger, Dawn & Sabrina coming out on top. While highly likely, anything can happen over four rounds and with Sabrina & Dawn leading off the first round and Omar closing it out, the early scores could quickly set the tone for an "upset." Slam strategy is a fragile thing…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Welcome to the next edition of getting to know your friends. What you're supposed to do is copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it nto a new e-mail that you'll send. Change all of the answers so they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people you know *INCLUDING* the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you'll learn a lot of little known facts about your friends. And it's just stupid fun. 1. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? 5:30am if I'm on time, 6:15am if not.…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Josh Gracin. Why does this twangy fool irritate me so? I've been Googling him to get some more information on his status and it's all annoyingly vague and largely supportive. It's disgusting that this guy is living it up in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills, "pursuing his dream," supposedly using his leave-time to remain on the show. Granted, he's not infantry (some kind of maintenance) but the fact of the matter is that we're at war, some of his unit IS deployed and it's a total insult to the other kids who, if not actually in Iraq risking their…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

The antiNOTES…

Blame it on the rain? Maybe. It certainly messed with our turnout last night. I'm thinking my having to be sober through it all is what really set ME off, though. The anniversary show was both a moderate success and a raging bust all at once. I had the whole night laid out on a tight schedule that required us to get started at 7:20pm but with the bad weather, the turnout was light and slow to build. Had to kind of wing it throughout the night and was never particularly happy with how things were going. With my stomach…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

I've found Calista Flockhart's dirty little secret: GASTROENTERITIS. With it, you, too, can lose 7 punds in just ONE weekend. No exercise required, other than the muscles used to regurgitate everything from the night before out of your mouth and any leftovers out the other end. Yeah, I had a wonderful weekend! Stomach's still roiling from it but I'm feeling much better now. At least I can stand for more than ten minutes at a time, stay awake for more than two hours straight and eat more than bread and water. Of course, that's just in time for a snowstorm…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

One of the five people that read this thing is bored at work and suggests I write something today. Not a bad idea as I need a couple of minutes break from work, both the paid one and the poetry one. Stepped in dog shit this morning! Stepping in puddles and dragging my foot through dirt only served to cake it all in the tread of my shoes so I ended up having to wash the damn thing in the bathroom sink at work, hoping no one would walk in and wonder what the hell I was doing. Can't believe…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

The problem with these journals is that by the time you find the time to write something in them, so much has happened that you don't know where to start. Or finish. Besides that, Salome says I've been talking too much about the war. This past Monday's show couldn't have worked out better than if I'd sat down and written it out play by play. Virtually free of Nationals veterans and "slam professionals," it was a bunch of hungry, developing poets leaving everything on the stage for this all-or-nothing shot at the semis. They all came strong and it could…

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