Saturday, February 10, 2007
I have achieved post-breakup hair. I was telling Kaplan last night that I had to get my hair cut because of the breakup, and he was totally uninformed as to the American cultural ritual in which female breakees must radically alter their hair as a response to the loss of the relationship, and as a token of a new beginning. Well, here we go!
Look at me. I am serious and dramatically lit. And my hair is tragically short. Willow, won't you weep for me?
No willows? How about tulips? O tulips, will you weep for my wistful hairstyle?
No tears...? Fine, then. Guess what I'm doing, huh? I'm not not eating tulips, that's what.
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Friday, February 09, 2007
OMG. iTunes has, like, every freaking Meat Beat Manifesto song. Why did I not know?
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Many thanks to the anonymous donor of
Cat and Girl merch. Love may come and love may go, but t-shirts are forever.
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Thursday, February 08, 2007
Koanish #1:
Be the mustache.
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Thanks again for all the well-wishing. Doing okay. Not sure if that's just because it hasn't all sunk in yet, or because, after the last month (which was pretty hellish), I've pretty much pre-mourned the relationship. Still, it sucks.
Getting (slowly) through everything. All outstanding Big Game orders should go out tomorrow. I've been designing a broadside for the BAP series. Kind of silly and fun. Non fiction and manga keep me happy. I'm reading my umpteenth book on type design. Someday I will be able to remember the differences between leading, tracking, and kerning, and exactly how much of an inch a pica is, and be able to tell Garamond from Baskerville at 100 paces. I like Garamond better. Its serifs are friendlier, rougher and more organic.
Dana Ward is reading at Ruthless Grip this Saturday. Yay! I will be interested to hear him read; I have been admiring his work from afar for years.
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Wednesday, February 07, 2007
K. Lorraine Graham talks
tinysides. There are still some sets of 21-25 available!
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Tuesday, February 06, 2007
The shoe has dropped. Five years, not exactly down the drain, but over. That's what I have to deal with now.
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Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. All you impecunious and not so impecunious poets out there, consider donating a little something to
Frank Sherlock, who finds himself in a bad way, medically. As CA Conrad has said, poets refine money, and such a donation would purge you of all negative monetary karma for a while to come.
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The filthy hovel is half-cleaned. I have ridden the wave of the latest anxiety attack, and been washed up ashore, pearly and glistening. I am halfway through my current non-fiction book. Borders curses me by refusing to have the next volume of my manga in stock.
This weeked: framing many many broadsides and an overdue haircut. Still thinking about getting a tattoo. It's weird, but it seems like it would help. I watch Miami Ink a lot (or at least I did until the channel became possessed by some kind of audio problem that renders everyone's voices mute, and makes the background music really really loud), and it always interests me how many people come to get tattoos as a way of making peace with something: commemorating their loved ones, or making a statement for themselves about putting a part of the past away. Although tattooed people are certainly of my acquaintance, I have never really asked anyone why they got one.
Tonight I am going to try to work on poetry for the first time in a very long time.
Applies to Oranges, with its themes of loss, alienation, and miscommunication seems more relevant than ever, although I can't tell anymore whether I identify more with the narrator, stuck on his podunk island among his ruined orchards, or the unnamed You that he apostrophes, out there, somewhere, and no idea why he/she left.
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Monday, February 05, 2007
This week, I will...
Clean my filthy hovel
Read non-fiction
Continue furtively reading manga
Work on
Applies to OrangesDesultorily practice the harmonica
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Sunday, February 04, 2007
Everyone should have one really annoying talent. Mine is playing the theme from Popeye on the harmonica.
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