Mean Week at HTML Giant.
It’s kind of addictive. It’s a sociological experiment, I was thinking this morning. It’s sort of fun, but then I feel bad, even during Mean Week. Sometimes my head does an Existing Picture vs basketball dunk, you know? Like I seriously don’t like mean people. Why be mean? But then sometimes I get really sick of everyone being nice.
I had a friend (still is my friend) at Alabama MFA who said one day, “Why is everyone so fucking nice here? It’s annoying.”
I thought that was a really true and unique thing to say at the time.
Big trees on that campus and a lot of civil war and civil rights. The people who were into the civil war never realized the civil rights history, I remember thinking. The library always sagged. Then one day a girl was walking to class and the wind blew a branch onto her head. Also I remember the students would smell of bourbon. That’s about it, I think, except for the BMWs and the chicken houses. I forgot the cannon, too. Sorry, OK?
Anyway, if you want to say something mean go to HTML and say it. I am SO HAPPY they mentioned Glimmer Train. Glimmer Train be weak like a dented chime.
I like when superficial comments leak out authentic blur. Example. At the grocery yesterday a man with a head like a Pringle says the social lubricant thing, “How are you doing?” to cashier. Cashier gives automated response we’ve all heard, “I can’t complain.”
Then a beat.
Then he says lower, “No one would listen to me anyway if I did. No one listens to me…” trailing off.
The Campaign for the American Reader wanted to know what I was reading.
There you go.
And on Writer’s Read.
I was at a reading last night and four things annoyed me:
1.) People clapped between EVERY poem. This is over-clapping and not necessary.
2.) Woman next to me loudly texted all reading. Click, clack. I had an urge to snatch up her phone and throw it at her Sevens and Eights and Sixes.
3.) No wine.
4.) The room was over lit. The lights crackled like 1960s folk music. My eyes went all rental A/C. They rattled.
Peter Davis was one of the poets. His stuff pretty much rocked, I felt. I didn’t realize he was so funny. Great material and he had this awkward way of shuffling through the papers/poems that worked well with the poems themselves. It was like the time I fell off a ___________ into a ______________.
I felt good. I thought, “I feel good. Too bad there’s no wine to make me feel better then a bit worse.”