First Day Back In Brooklyn

Putting It All Together

Every time my girlfriend calls me she asks what I ate or what I'm eating. Lately I've been lazy and the answer is always a garden burger. Today I could not eat another garden burger. I decided to roast potatoes with onions, garlic and basil (all from CSA).



I sauteed zucchini, jalapeno peppers, (both CSA) and sunflower seeds.



Finally, a burrito with avocado (from gf) cheddar cheese, black beans, and tomatoes (CSA). I ate two of these. Now I'll digest. Make espresso in about an hour and head back to work.

Hippie 101

What to do when hungry & lazy? The above dish is evidence that although I was born in Philly & pretty much grew up in 'Jersey, I've put my time in at places like Eugene and Portland, Oregon.

I put on some Here We Go Magic & hoped for some culinary magic. This took all of 10 minutes- maybe less. Tofu, garlic (from Chinatown) scallions, kale (CSA) sunflower and flax seeds (the nuttiness goes well with this particular style of kale) and brags for taste. Honestly, this is super-clean and completely healthy tasting if only a bit bland.

Didn't We Say We Were Going To Tour The City Tasting Sweet Potato Fries?

Secret School 01: Language, Memory at OTO, Brooklyn.

January 17, 2009 from 7-10PM
OTO, 60 North 6th Street
Brooklyn, NY 11211

Wheel In the Sky. Hong-An Truong.

Secret School is pleased to present Wheel In the Sky, a three-channel video installation by Hong-An Truong. Wheel In the Sky investigates the possibilities of media to bear witness to moments of trauma and moments of poetry when human memory fails. As the video unfolds, the artist questions her father about his interest in the band Journey, and his responses reveal a frustration and acute sensitivity to the loss of meaning in the translation from their native Vietnamese tongue into English and vice versa. The conversation also suggests what impact the years of colonization have had on his perception of Vietnam’s most treasured art form, the poem.

Secret School will collaborate with Hong-An Truong to create a text that reveals, complicates, and further conceals what is lost in translation, creating a liminal space out of what is inexpressible.

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WHERE: 440 Gallery, 440 6th Ave. at 9th St., F to 7th Ave., Park Slope, Brooklyn

WHEN: Sunday, January 18th from 4:40 to 6 pm Admission Free

WHO:

Meghan Punschke is the author of Stratification (BlazeVOX Books, 2008). She resides in New York City and has an MFA in Poetry from the New School. She is the curator and host of Word of Mouth, a reading series dedicated to poets and fiction/non-fiction writers. She is Managing Editor for the literary journal Oranges & Sardines. Punschke also teaches Communications and Writing courses for the University of Phoenix in Jersey City, and works as the Director of Business Development and Marketing for a technology corporation during the day. Her poetry was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2007. Please visit www.megpunschke.com for more info.

Eva Talmadge is a graduate of the University of Florida and the fiction MFA program at CUNY Hunter College. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and has appeared in Subtropics, the New York Tyrant, the New Orleans Review, Sleepingfish, elimae, and elsewhere. She lives in Brooklyn.

Paige H. Taggart lives and works in a house in Brooklyn. She has an e-chapbook out with Scantilly Clad Press, Won’t Be a Girl. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in the Agriculture Reader, La Petite Zine, My Name Is Mud, Blazevox, Ditch, Elimae, Robot Melon, Caketrain, Critphoria, EOAGH, Sawbuck, and Eleven Eleven.

In Obscured Offerings, Richard Eagan presents two strains of his characteristic constructed paintings. The first employs "bursting" elements to suggest the decline of Coney Island's amusement beach, while the second presents variations on the "target" theme reminiscent of the live-ammunition shooting galleries on the streets of Coney. A founding director of the Coney Island Hysterical Society, Eagan is active in the struggle to preserve the zoning and character of Coney Island's world-famous amusement zone.

About 440 Gallery: Park Slope's only artist-run gallery, a jewel box space offering an alternative venue for Brooklyn artists. 440 Gallery seeks to present surprising, unexpected art to the community through exhibitions, talks, readings and events centered around direct contact with the artist. Open Thursdays and Fridays from 4-7 pm, and Saturdays and Sundays from 12-6 pm, or by appointment.

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About those sweet potato fries

We put our peaches where they had to go

One of the best feelings is finding out you don't have to teach on a day you thought you had to teach- in other words, no Staten Island Ferry for me on Friday.
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Yesterday I had to do cross-exam-grading. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but definitely happy to be through with it.

Right before I left yesterday I stopped at a bench in the hallway to make a call. As I was on the phone a student passed by me and smiled. Then she said I was "cute." This was unexpected so I said nothing. She laughed and walked away (slowly). I thought maybe it was a joke, but I didn't see anyone else around, as yesterday the school was pretty empty except for evening students who had finals during the day. Weird. I was seriously rocking some corny, boring, black, teacher pants and need a haircut....
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I recently watched the French film, Elevator to the Gallows (1957) and I'm thinking about seeing Tell No One. Has anyone seen it?
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This week is the final Word of Mouth of 2008. I'll post details tomorrow. I also have a friend's bday party. Then holiday parties on Friday and Saturday night. Hopefully I'll get my haircut on Sunday.
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Today, I received an unexpected text declaring love for a particular poem I wrote. That was sweet and made my day!
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I'm eating Tempting Trail Mix from Trader Joes, ever have it? I recommend it. Tonight I think I'm making gnocchi with mushrooms, carmelised onions (sauteed if I get impatient), fresh salted tomatoes, black olives, and arugula in a cream sauce. I'll have to make it soon, before I lose motivation.

Are You a Dom or Sub or Both?

I recently read Nick Courtright's blog Tier 3 and his thoughts on submissions sent my own mind wandering. I think it's a good post- gets one to think about ego, the role of poems kept or shared, and the intrinsic vs extrinsic nature of writing/creating. The comments are definitely worth checking out as well.

One of the things Courtright touched on was the "act of submission or submitting" and the fact that he feels dread-- you know that feeling like he's doing something wrong. I think this is because of the nature of the word itself. Submission is to put yourself or poems to the will of another in hopes of approval/reward. This is why Subs and Doms consist of a subsection of sexual deviance (deviance here conveys a good thing as the act of deviance is compared to the moralistic right). There are those that have a burning need to be dominated and this domination, in turn, results in pleasure, and there are those who get off on the dominating i.e. control every emotion/physical action/reaction. My assumption is that Courtright prolly doesn't visit or desire to spend much time with Doms and to take it out of the sexual realm-- he prolly doesn't even surround himself with a bunch of bossy, demanding friends which is why he feels such dread when it comes time to submit. He toys with the thought of hoarding all of his poems so that they are discovered and published only after his death ala Dickinson. This, appears to me my friends, as the ultimate form of control- the easiest way to keep him-- which the creative process is a manifestation of. Once he's dead then something greater than life has taken over and his hands are clean.

Yet, like a lot of us, Courtright does submit. He gives in to the unpleasantness of it all and fills out those SASE, folds those poems, writes those cover letters, attaches his document and hits send. Why? Simple because he reads and respects the journals and wants to be included (no matter how painful the process) in the ongoing conversation that each journal puts forth. Most of us not only find an ego-pleasing thrill to see our names in print or on screen, but an even greater thrill when we recognize and respect the company we are included in. Certainly when Sink Review published my poems I was even more excited when I realized that I was included with J. Mae Barizo, CA Conrad, Julia Cohen/ Mathias Svalinas, and Nicole Steinberg (who edits LIT, which is a journal I once read for).

So this leaves me with a few questions:

What if journals came up with another name? Something other than submission? A name not so easily rooted in binaries of Master/Slave context? Would those that dread submitting feel better? (& you have to dread submitting- not getting rejected- there is a huge distinction between the two)

For the poets that also edit journals does this give you a chance of ultimately evening out your Dom/Sub tendencies, therefore keeping a harmonious ying/yang effect?

Should I be doing something better with my Saturday morning like drinking coffee and eating breakfast and having real-life interactions?

One by One We Close Our Eyes

My herbs are dying. I think my room is too cold with the A/C constantly humming.

I went out to dinner with some friends last night & then we went to the dessert truck that is parked near the Starsucks at Astor place. All the desserts are $5 and I quite tasty!

There's also a gourmet (I believe organic) ice cream truck parked on Greene street near Houston that's worth giving your tongue a tingle on these hot days/nights of our fake/other/real/invented/lives

I'm reading Mina Loy , Rain Taxi, Oranges & Sardines, & a bunch of basketball blogs.

Bread Alone

Every summer I renew my vows with basil, thyme, avocado, and other sandwich items. Grand Daisy Bakery over on Sullivan Street has the perfect baguettes to make a quick meal or for a chill snack of bread & cheese. Does anyone know if there are better baguettes in the city? We should each make a simple sandwich and then have a taste-off in the park. What do you think?

Week/End/ W(rap)ped

Friday's LIT release party kicked off what would be a longish weekend for me. The party was great- if you missed it (poor poor you!) The new ish of LIT looks all grown-up and classy. The party was held at a gallery in the Parson's School of Design building where there was plenty of white wine, radishes, grapes, brownies, and limited Coronas.

Heather Christle read her poems and pretty-much had every eye and ear a swooning.
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Picked up tacos from La Esquina while walking home and settled into a night of Heroes watching.

Roommate (aka Deep Disco) came home and wanted to go to the Hedi Slimane (ex Dior/ rock n roll photographer guy) after-party. It was 2 blocks away + the last night I'd see my roommate for the rest of the month since she was leaving for Europe on Saturday. So off we went. The space is nice- two huge floors. There was a punk band and open-bar when we arrived which soon turned into a pay bar and dj's djing on both floors. Only two forms of punctuation were allowed at this party: question marks and exclamation marks. There was a lot of standing around, some fawning, some incredulous eyes, some lusty mouths, and a ton of pouting cigarettes. My roommate busted out the body jams to a bunch of 80's jams and I made the "Sorry I'm straight face" as well dressed boys attempted to grove their way in my direction.

We leave.

My roommate packs and cleans.

It's 4am. I try to sleep.
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Saturday is H-O-T. V texted to say she was heading over to Governor's Island. We both had mutual friends there for the 1920's Jazz day event. I lack motivation and never catch the ferry. Saturday passes slowly like sticky unwipeable sweat.

5PM Jared's backyard for his bbq. Garden burgers, beer, fiction writers, poets, journalist, and horses running around on the TV screen. Jared (aka Czar Hohl) will be gone all summer. Adam will be in Jamaica for July then moves to Africa in August. Damn what eva will I do? P.S.G.'s on straight summer hiatus.

I make my way to the Fou Magazine party. The editors do their thing. The readers rock- ALL OF THEM. Afterwards, I talk to some poets I know and meet some new poets.
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Sunday I get two poems in my inbox from a poet I met at the Fou party. That made me smile.

Sunday was about food for some reason. Sandy was in the Chinatown hood so walked over to 88 Orchard for Iced Soy Lattes, went to Lovely Day for brunch, went to Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, went to Grand Daisy Bakery (formerly Sullivan Bakery) and picked up a baguette then bought avocados from a Chinatown stand, bought vine-ripened tomatoes from Gourmet Garage. I pulled basil from my herb box. I made an avocado, basil, tomato, sea-salt/pepper/thyme-olive-oil sandwich. Ate two of them. They were little.

Went to a bar and watched the finals by myself. Had a couple of Newcastles. Ate fish n chips- by far the most expensive and disappointing meal of the day.
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Monday now. Nothing going on. Drinking espresso. Will read. Will return library books. Will look for work. Will work on submissions. Will try not to melt.

Smack Dab In The Middle

Here we are 16 days into the new year. I emailed Veronica to see how her writing was going now that we're in a new year, and like me, she hasn't written too much... I did manage to write a poem yesterday but probably won't even give it a look-over until the weekend least I be fooled by elation of accomplishment!

Yesterday was my friend and neighbor, Ai's, birthday! A bunch of us met after work for drinks at EN. Mina picked out a saki which was billed as rich and bold. Bottom line- it was delicious! Then as hunger started making its music inside hollow stomachs a splintering occured which included Angelique, myself, Sandy, Shipra, and Monica (temporarily) in search of food which landed us Quantum Leap.

I can still taste the jalapenos from my veggie burger this morning despite many stints of teeth brushing and coffee consuming.

After that Shipra got her Pink Berry fix on only to discover that Red Mango does it better and myth goes that Pink Berry stole Red Mango's idea and launched it in the states, nonetheless, Red Mango uses real ceritified yougurt and Pink Berry is fake, fake, fake which might be better if you're the title of a Blonde Redhead albulm but not if you want to eat a frozen treat.

Friday Zadie Smith will be at McNally Robinson over on Prince Street and then there's that Poetry Brothel which I blogged about on Sunday(?) which I'm going to skip. I have a bday party on Saturday, then there's a decent reading at 440 Gallery on Sunday which I'll post later this week.

Surprisingly there are no pictures from Ai's bday (except promo pick for her and mina's design company) so I'll just leave you with these words.

No Bag or Nothing, you know?

Today I left for work sans bag, sans lunch, sans books, sans magazines (well not really, I checked me mailbox on the way out and found a the latest ish of Poets & Writers so I did bring that along) all because I'm gonna be up outta Eos early today. This will be the first time in ages that I've left work while daylight is still in full-effect!

I mean, damn, I've eaten my bagel and have consumed my cup of crappy coffee so can I go already?

What am I going to do with this new lease of Friday afternoon life you query? E-r-r/ands, but of course. Hustle that chapbook MS to the post-office, drop off laundry, buy a bottle of wine for Xmas dinner- shite like that! But the upswing that is the wind beneath these unflappable wings is that I have drinks scheduled in with none other than Czar Hohl (who's newest story debueted at WoM last Thursday and is pure poetry!)

I'll be watching his cat while he and his wife are Iowa for the Holidays.

Then later in the evening I'll hit up Earshot to watch Dan Maegers do is thing.

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So Susan Choi is in the new ish of P&W (i've never read her, sorry Susan) and in one picture it looks like she's cradling a Powell's coffee mug (damn- Sandy/Joseph how long has it been since we were clocking hours up in that mug?) it seems like decades since I've lived and worked in Pdx.

Ah sweet merciless time you just done run up the game didn't you?

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Speaking of Pdx I wish I was drinking Stumptown right now and going to The Farm for dinner, though I had Dumont's last night and that Skate just doesn't disappoint!

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Okay I'm going to get another bagel 'cause I'm one of like 5 poeple in the office today and also because I can be greedy like that sometimes.

Da Chumps

So after riding two empty MTA trains, one empty Metro-North train, and a company- not-named-Eos' shuttle (also empty) I've deduced that only the chumpiest of chumps are working today! So these dedicated unfortunates have brought their dogs, puppies, babies, and kids, while the chump known as myself has only brought tired lids and a penchant for clock-watching

tickety tock tickety tock

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After I get off of work I'm hoping to drop off my laundry, walk to the produce place on Court Street and buy asparagus, green beans, lemon, and maybe a mango. I've been craving them a little spicy like the way the serve them in Redhook at the infamous Latin stands, but I could salt and pepper them too, or just eat one as is. Also Persimmons. I don't really like them but two guys (not at work today therefore more evidence of their lack of chumpness) have been eating persimmons as if they were everyday apples and I'm am envious of their collected eating pleasure, therefore, I will give this lovely colored object another taste and see. Worst case scenario I'm going to write a poem about it b/c as much as I like food it's generally absent in my poems.