The Best Flight Ever

These things will never happen again. But let me tell you about the best flight ever.

*Drive to Manchester Airport and get there 3 hours to early. Yes I am a total dork.
*Results in attendant very pleasantly asking me if I want to take the earlier 5:55 flight instead of the 8:05 one.
*I still get my window seat.
*In a span of 20 minutes, I am through the security, quick stop to the bathroom and on the plane.
*There is no one in the middle seat, and the aisle seat has a nice and silent man in it. (Silent is most important when you don't have any music heaphone thing to listen to.)
*Flight was very very smooth.
*There were no babies on the flight.
*Jay is right at the airport, no waiting to be picked up.
*My bag is the FIRST one off the baggage carosel.


Note: these things will never happen again.

Feminist rant for the day... or at least this minute

So, I hate the word "lesbianism." I saw it in an article today about Sheryl Swoopes. I looked at the word and went, eeeeew. I mean the word "lesbian" on its own is not that great. But I love lesbians regardless what you call them. I mean its bad enough that most slang for the vagina is just brutal and gross sounding: meat curtains, tuna boat, cum dumpster, hairy taco, cunt, etc. Most slang for the penis is not that degrading and can be bandied about without much recoil: cock, prick, dick, trouser lizard, little bishop in a turtle neck, etc. I hear those and its like, oh, penis. I hear meat curtains and want to vomit a little in my mouth. And I love pussy or box. Those are ok. But come on, we all love our own genitalia, let's be more loving when naming them.
The word "lesbianism" is out there and it just sounds like a nasty disease. You would only see that word in a mainstream media site like CNN or NBC or something. Doubtful that you would see it in an actual source that cares about all people. It's just such a word that does not sound like something you should be comfortable in.

Sara Recommends

Buckling down
So, yes, this little poet finally did it. I buckled down and worked out a system for sending out submissions. I have at least 10 pregnant little envelopes on their way to get shredded to bits by some nasty mo-fo of an editor. But its all good. My friends from UNH kept a wall of rejection from every grad school or job they gor denied from. I think its kinda a weird motivator. Like you want to prove it wrong. So, I just really want to get published. I have very little ego when it comes to my creative work, but I just really want to share it. One of the RAs that puts together a news letter for the arts living community asked for some of my work for it. And you'd think that Hayden Carruth himself had asked for a copy, I was that flattered.

Cowboy Boots
I have never talked about one pair of footwear as much as I have these in my whole life. Seriously, if I could wear them every day I would. They are that exciting and they make great clomping noises and you just feel like you have a lively swagger with them on. I highly recommend them.

Green Earth toilet paper
You'd think that recycled (not from other toliet paper, but from other paper... duh) TP would be scratchy and bark like. Oh no. it's even quilted. Oh yes, now my bum can be eco-conscious too!

Joss Whedon commentaries on any of his shows
I was feeling a little low, and needed a comforting geeky voice to make me smile. Well, I just turned to my own little idol, Joss. He has this slight little lisp that bleeds the geek he is into what he is saying. He goes off on tangents and love his actors so much. He really uses them to their best abilities. He really is quite brilliant. He creates well-crafted pieces of art out of TELEVISION shows. To me, he made me love good TV again.


Six Feet Under, end of season four
And speaking of good TV... What the fuck?! I need season five RIGHT now. I don't know how long I can hold out. The tension waiting for it is going to be unbearable. But waiting makes it that much sweeter. I just hate to see it end. It makes me Book 7 sad.

Seriously, could we be cuter?

I just had my sister scan a bunch of pics for me. And this was one of the gems. I am cuddling Chronicles of Narnia books in my arms. Torrey said that should get me into the movie for free.

Reasons I work with college students: #256

This morning we took a van full of RAs to Portland Hall for a meeting. On the way back, we were discussing a program that they are doing in Robie-Andrews between the two men's floors: The Great Beard off. Starting on November 1st they shave clean and the day before Thanksgiving break, they judge on several different categories: best overall, fullest, thinnest, patchiest, etc. The conversation was just all together hilarious.

Then we got talking about neck beards. How some guys will shave but miss the neck all together. A concept I had never thought about before, but identified immediately. One of the RAs said, "Well, maybe they don't shave it to cover up hickeys." To which I reply, "Ok, because I would give a hickey over a neck beard." Ewwwww.

So, I love these random conversations that I think sometimes adults are afraid to have. Debates over the better PEZ flavor and how it tastes better out of a certain dispenser (Batman and Muppet ones are the best to me) or beards. And then get into an honest discussion about anti-discrimination and such. My mom calls this profession denial. I call it knowing where its at and not letting adulthood grab me by the proverbial balls and yanking me into mediocrity.

Quote from Sonia Sanchez

"All poets, all writers are political. They either maintain the status quo, or they say, "Something's wrong, let's change it for the better.' That's what my life has really been about."
-Sonia Sanchez

I saw this quote yesterday, and I got caught up in it. What do I do to change wrong as a writer? I know what I do as a person, but as a writer, there has to be more. I am not just talking about content, but community, or pushing envelopes in the world. Not just writing poetry for poets. Exposing myself and others to art that can change the world. I once got into a conversation with this drunk writer at Geno's who really just wanted to hear himself talk, and occasionally I got a word in -- but it was interesting how passionate the conversation got when we talked about poetry being a key to social change. Imagine if you knew what lit the fire for everyone. Use that to get people to move, and change the apathy, bring a little heart into what makes bureaucracy run, to the political system, to people waiting in lines, hell, I will do anything to get one more SUV off the road (short of guerilla tactics, but I did just sharpen my knives last night.... anyway...).

Poem by Martha Collins

Lines

Draw a line. Write a line. There.
Stay in line, hold the line, a glance
between the lines in fine but don't
turn corners, cross, cut in, go over
or out, between two points of no
return's a line of flight, between
two points of view's a line of vision.
But a line of thought is rarely
straight, an open line's no party
line, however fine your point.
A line of fire communicates, but drop
your weapons and drop your line,
consider the shortest distance from x
to y, let x be me, let y be you.

-Martha Collins

Sara recommends

Serenity
Were we all waiting for this from me? Not only did it meet my expectations, but it exceeded them. My expectations were also pretty high because I have been waiting for long and I also worship Joss, as we all know. Somethings happened in the film that elicted a stronger reaction from me that they normally do. I don't want to spoil anything. But seeing it I was so fully immersed in it, that coming out of the movie theatre, I just wanted to sit there and process and leave that 'verse on my own terms. I love silence coming out of a movie. Usually by time I get to the car, I am ready to talk. I have seen it four times. And oh my, it will never get old. Bring on number two.

Organizing your CDs
I have rediscovered jems I forgot I had -- Aretha Franklin, Velvet Underground, Morphine. And unearthed somethings that I am ashamed to admit I owned: Pavorati and Friends 2 and the soundtrack to Phenomenon. Yes, this was back in the day where you could not buy one song off an album, so my whims cost me 15 bucks a pop.

Bringing back TV shows that the networks were too blind to see their genius
Case in point, Firefly is the perfect example, this got turned into a film and made its cult fan status even higher. Browncoats unite.
Other shows that need to be brought back: Wonderfalls, My-so Called Life (although, I kind of don't want the question at the end answered, I like not knowing). But thank god they let Point Pleasant die. Oh, Marti, what were you thinking.

Listing things I do not care a lick about. But admitting I might be prone to bitching about later, because no one is infallible.
*Ashlee Simpson
*The DaVinci Code
*Reality plastic surgery TV shows
*High School reunions
*Wedding cake
*Football
*Donald Trump
*Cars that imply status
*Brad, Angelina, Ashton, Demi, Jen, Tom, Katie and all those other relationships that sour my happy buying food time at the grocery store because all I see is their freaking faces at the checkout line

Poem by Maggie Nelson

A Misunderstanding

I thought Zen poems
were supposed to sound wise.

Now I'm going to buy
as much beer as five dollars

can buy and drink it
right here on the sofa.

-Maggie Nelson

Wear green, be a rebel.

PROTEST "YES ON 1"
Wednesday, October 5th - 4 to 6 PM
Masterton Hall Steps
USM Portland Campus

Mike Heath, Executive Director of Christian Civic League and the leader on the campaign to make discrimination legal, will be speaking on campus to tell people why we should ALLOW discrimination in Maine. We will stand on the steps of Masterton to let everyone know that we will not be fooled by scare tactics and disillusionment. We need to make it clear that USM is not going to allow discrimination to happen.

When asked to move their venue to a larger space where everyone could participate, the "YES on 1" campaign said NO! We were also told that our questions must be submitted before hand to be asked at the event! They are not supporting FAIRNESS, OPEN DISCUSSION, or EDUCATION at USM!

We will show Mike Heath that the "NO on 1" campaign is about doing the right thing - making discrimination illegal. Please join us on the steps of Masterton Hall to protest the event. We will all be wearing green, there will be plenty of posters and the media will be present! Don't forget - WEAR GREEN!!!

Please pass this on to everyone you know, we need all the help we can get! If you have any questions please do not heisitate to ask.

Together Against Discrimination,
The Coalition to Vote Louder


Who submits questions before an event? I typically think of a forum or speaker of a topic might be open to an opportunity to engage with people about a topic they love to talk about. Part of me wants to listen to this crack pot. Hmmm, I love protests. Just one more thing to not get me elected president. Oh, wait... I am already a woman and can think for myself... that is -2 points for me from the get go. Damn. See you there!



You don't want to make the sisters angry by discriminating. Look at the narrowed eyes, see, you are afraid, eh?

Vote NO on 1

In Maine, there was an anti-discrimination extension to peoples of all sexual orientations passed the Maine Legislature in March of 2005 with support from a strong bipartisan majority in both houses of the Maine Legislature. Now, its being put up for repeal on the ballot.

There have been some yes on 1 stickers places, namely on this guy's bag I saw today at breakfast. I grimaced a little to the people I was sitting with and started talking about the voting issue and such. The guy with the sticker (which is red, white, and blue of course, the whole NO on 1 campaign is green and white. Just and observation.) is standing at the grill when my order is called up. I go up and have to walk past the Yes guy. I get back to the table to one of my fellow liberals pointing out that he was checking me out at the grill. Personally, I think he was reading the back of my shirt, but none the less, it was pretty ironic. How might that pick up go?

Yes guy: So, do you want to go out? Watch Armageddon, get some pie maybe?
Me: Erm, I vote NO on you.

Vote NO on 1 in Maine on November 8th

Happy Birthday T.S.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T. S. Eliot

S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, `` What is it? ''
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening.
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains.
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys.
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me.
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ``Do I dare?'' and, ``Do I dare?''
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: ``How his hair is growing thin!'']
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: ``But how his arms and legs are thin!'']
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep. . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: `` I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all''--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: ``That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.''

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow, or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
``That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.''
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Ramblings of the 3am On-duty person

I have a weird job. Resident Director is an odd thing if you look at it from the framework of the pragmatic 9-5er type of view. But I have been doing it for a long time, and while not wholly convienient at times it makes sense. I am on call this week, which basically means I can get called about anything from a lock out to vomit all over a bathroom to sending someone to the hospital. Weekend nights of on call are never much for good sleep, especially towards the beginning of the semester because you never know what you are going to get. So, I cuddle up on my couch with my day clothes still on, protected by my blue & green afgan and try to catch some "duty-sleep" in front of a trusty movie. But tonight, the shallow sleep did not happen, my head is too full of things to let myself drift off. I think about the state of the nation, the state of my students, the book I am reading, how can I ever rock as hard as Jack Black, the start of my student loans, the state of my heart, how much I love Ruth Fisher from Six Feet Under, the Serenity movie and how much I just want that verse to never end, writing and the block that I sometimes need a jackhammer to get chip away at it, what I am going to do for Thanksgiving, who can I call at this hour who won't mind it too too much, the additions I want to make to the tatoo on my arm, the age of thirty, the age of twenty nine, the age I will be when I feel like an adult, how tiny Hannah is, kisses, actually missing the push to write to send a packet into my professor, how the moon looked last year in Deer Isle, how much I really want a Pumpkin Head ale, who can I trust in politics, voting No on 1 on November 8th, the state of marriage and how ludicrious it is that the religious conservatives can tell anyone who they spend the rest of their lives with, how sometimes I think I was a gay man in my past life, if I could perform magic what spells would I cast, how cool telekineis would be minus all the crazy Carrie pig's blood prank and massacre, the comic book convention in Boston next week, Homecoming, job searching, what the hell it would be like to live off campus, and many other things that just kind of add up like small bees in my head until I have a swarm buzzing around in this hive-mind. I need a bee keeper to come with their calm mask and slow smoky vapor to lull the bees to sleep, let me collect the sweet combs of sleep and drink the honey until I am rested and sleep drunk off the nectar. It makes me wish I was four again and I could count on someone tucking me in and rubbing my back and smoothing the hair back from my head to find the cool side of the pillow. Sleep is a weird mistress. Sometimes she will readily bed you and hold you in her soft arms, and other times she won't put out. Damn crazy bitch.

Poem by James Wright

The Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is as delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

--James Wright

Sara recommends

The Poem Adept -- Songs for the long lonely drive
I have had this album for a year, and for some insane reason it got put to the back burner of my rotation. Well, after seeing Pete Rothbart play again this week -- its back and its better than I remembered. And this lyric sent me off from "This Hotel Room" send me off into a new poem: I'll get a chair for you to stand on and get your words down from off of the shelf. An artist that can make me write on the spot always gets a special place for me.

Not getting Gesso on your clothes
Saucier has been working on this crazy community of arts program in Robie Andrews and I decided to take one of the seminars. Krista was so interesting and fun to observe being a teacher that I totally lost track of my brush and splattered white Gesso all over. Eh, small price to pay for a learning experience. Next time... aprons.


Dar Williams -- My Better Self
Ok, I am a total sucker for the Dar. She is just a great songwriter, I admire the poetry of her work, and how it seems like she always knows exactly what I wanted to listen to. This is her new album and oh my it does not disappoint. She laid down some bluesy tracks, a cover of Comfortably Numb with Ani Difranco, and its just another solid album. And "Miss you till I meet you" is another song that I could kick myself for not writing. She did it again. But then again, she has one up on me... you know, cause I can't play a tune. Defeated, but so deliciously.

Naked Food Juice -- Superfood Blue Machine
My blueberry hunger cannot be quenched sometimes -- I just love the little plump berries and how they burst sweet and tart on my tongue. This juice is obviously not the same experience -- but it gives me some of that lovely taste. I am a fan of the Odawalla blueberry based juice -- but sometimes its a little too pulpy. This one is good for a smoother drink.

September 30
If you don't know by now... you really don't know me at all.

Politics smolotics

You are a Social Liberal (66% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (5% permissive) You are best described as a: Socialist Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid

What's that baby? You're a Level 5 Chaotic Evil Half-Orc?

Now you know what I do on a lonely night...

Poem by Kim Addonizio

So, I am becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack of appreciation for poetry in the world. Ok, I know what you are thinking, Sara just got her MFA and is feeling high and mighty about preaching poetry awareness...blah blah blah i wish she would stop talking so i could make a cheese sandwich, you can't cover poetry with delicious cheddar, hmm, sharp, man i am hungry.... LISTEN! The thing is, I hate the lofty better than thou poetry that poets only write to other poets. I like accessibility and beauty and tangibility. I don't write something that someone is not going to "get". I don't spell it out for people either -- but I to use imagery and senses to bring people to a different place. So, I could use this blog as a masturbatory forum where I only post my own stuff -- but its bigger than that. I have decided to post some poems I think would appeal to people on different levels, and ones that I love. Feel free to post your comments and thoughts on the poem -- and in essence if that happens -- great! Lets start talking. Poetry is the key to what is lacking in this world. And when I say that, lets not assume I think there is only one lock... and there ain't no skeleton key either. So, enough of the rant, onto the poem, and I hope you enjoy the new feature.



Fuck

There are people who will tell you
that using the word fuck in a poem
indicates a serious lapse
of taste, or imagination,

or both. It’s vulgar,
indecorous, an obscenity
that crashes down like an anvil
falling through a skylight

to land on a restaurant table,
on the white linen, the cut-glass vase of lilacs.
But if you were sitting
over coffee when the metal

hit your saucer like a missile,
wouldn’t that be the first thing
you’d say? Wouldn’t you leap back
shouting, or at least thinking it,

over and over, bell-not clanging
in the church of your brain
while the solicitous waiter
led you away, wouldn’t you prop

your shaking elbows on the bar
and order your first drink in months,
telling yourself you were lucky
to be alive? And if you wouldn’t

say anything but Mercy or Oh my
or Land sakes, well then
I don’t want to know you anyway
and I don’t give a fuck what you think

of my poem. The world is divided
into those whose opinions matter
and those who will never have
a clue, and if you knew

which one you were I could talk
to you, and tell you that sometimes
there’s only one word that means
what you need it to mean, the way

there’s only one person
when you first fall in love,
or one infant’s cry that calls forth
the burning milk, one name

that you pray to when prayer
is what’s left to you. I’m saying
in the beginning was the word
and it was good, it meant one human

entering another and it’s still
what I love, the word made
flesh. Fuck me, I say to the one
whose lovely body I want close,

and as we fuck I know it’s holy,
a psalm, a hymn, a hammer
ringing down on an anvil,
forging a whole new world.

--Kim Addonizio

Things I am currently obsessed with

*Six Feet Under (I finished season 2-- so don't spoil anything)
*Make Believe - Weezer
*Zinzibar & Altaro from the Body Shop
*Stash's English Breakfast Tea
*Serenity (yeah, kids, this one ain't going away)
*Hot rice pack for all your aches and pains
*My toes (I got a pedicure and the woman insisted i get a star painted on them. Got to admit, its pretty damn cute)
*Not swearing (it costs me 10 cents every time)

Fuel

"The poem will not be denied; to refuse to write it would be greater torture. It tears its way out of the brain, splintering and breaking its passage, and leaves that organ in the state of a jelly-fish when the task is done."
-May Sarton

Sometimes I feel like writing is something I do in my sleep, with each breath, each touch. I think that I should just use my skin as a tablet, thick black strokes, curved words imprinted on white. Would that make my words breathe more? Live more in this world, give them feet to walk around in? Do they get lonely and restless sitting in my books, hidden away in my bedroom, not allowed to see the moon smiling sad and cockeyed in the sky?