Monday, May 16, 2005


I'm alive. No crabgrass death for me. No, I'll die a slow death of deferred promise in debtor's prison. Now that Bush has signed the new bankruptcy bill into law, the poor house will no longer be a metaphor. All this is about the job I may not have next year. I'm pretty sure I have the opposite of the midas touch--everything I touch turns to pennies. Not even full-copper pennies; regular old nickel-plated ones. For instance, I found out I would only be paid half as much in May as I had thought. This is fine, since Erik worked 42 hours overtime in Las Vegas. But still, I'm turning into a money pit. We'll blame the baby. Now is a good time to start.

I was also looking, happily for Quarterly West and for most of my publications, at I think his justifications for his rankings are ethical and interesting, but I doubt Missouri Review is less renowned than, say, Callalloo. But long-runningness plays into the rankings, which explains a lot of his partular system.
What are magazines I'd give some of my pennies to get in to?
Tin House
Southern Review
The Canary
Hotel Amerika

Why these? They seem so elusive & cool. I'm hoping the Drunken Boat picks up one of my poems. They're weird AND cool.

And, last rant, related to this post only via the massive amounts of crabgrass that I lamented first: Why do people think sunny weather is "good" and rainy weather "bad." It's so prejudiced. Jeff Chapman and I were discussing this dumb weather categorization. I say, to be contrary, that wet, cloudy weather is best--it's darker so you can sleep in, there's more water for your plants, driving is more fun, and it's better for your skin. And it's cooler. I'm in a bit of a panic about how hot it's going to get.......

And for that matter, perhaps crab grass is just grass should be left to grow.

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