I was talking to a friend earlier today and he was like, "You should publicly acknowledge the fact that out of all your classes there's only one that's making you crazy and the rest are great." And at first I was like, fuck that, it's a blog, whatever the fuck. But upon recollection/refiguration a la a transformer, it's true: only one of my classes is certifiably disastrous; the rest are actually amazing. that's partly because I've weeded out bullshit from day one, but nonetheless. I have this remedial writing class (the one with the girl who wanted to "devastate them from the beginning"--probably my favorite quote ever from a student) that, for the most part, has been full of people eager to get the hell out of their "Learning Support" status and on to the actual college writing courses. There has been a lot of dead weight, too, more than half the class either dropped or I had institutionally withdrawn for not coming to class and/or failing. But the ones still around are great. They want to learn. Take a cue, Humanities class. My last class is an English 1101 class that meets once a week. They've got their own problems, like going insane, and because of that not being able to make it to class (I'm not even kidding, that's true: that came from a student who said that she was sad that she couldn't make it to class, but she was being treated for depression/paranoia/anxiety disorder/schizophrenia that day, inadvertently because she had a major attack of something mid-class, another class not mine). Despite that, they're doing pretty well, and are into our class and the reading and writing.
So I've got one class that blows, but I cannot help but focus on that one class. I was talking with the wife about this last night. She was complaining about work. Is it that the bad stories are just better? Is it that we need something to bitch about? What the Fuck? Maybe I should say WTF? Some of my classes are great so don't piss me off.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Another Freak Review
Awesome: thanks so much to Levi Stahl at his blog, Ivebeenreadinglately, for his kind words about Freaks!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
More Shit about Students
I'm in a difficult position: forced to decision. I have a class that's failing massively, like, to say the majority of the class is failing is understatement. I have, perhaps, a single student out of 15 that does passable work.
I've already had a come to Jesus moment with this class, after it was clear that they weren't doing the reading. I broke down to them the system: colleges are tiered. There's Harvard and Yale, there's UGA and UCLA, there's Georgia State and Michigan State Universities, then there's community colleges associated with state public education systems, then there are for-profit colleges.
I always ask them what they're going to school for. Invariably, their answers are for a job or the money that comes from the job. Sometimes I get a student who says something like, "I want to be a nurse because I like helping people." On those rare occasions a beetle does a somersault in my upper intestine.
About a month and a half ago I told my class that, in many ways, they had it a lot harder than the students in the top-tiered schools. They have to work three or four times as hard as some of their peers if they want to be competitive on the job market.
All this is to say that I told my class that I could make their lives easier by being an easier professor, but that I didn't think that would be doing them any favors. They'd end up leaving this community college and going someplace like GA State and passing or failing, graduating or not, but they'd be under a false pretense: that their education was just as good as the students' of these higher-tiered schools.
Let me first say that I'm not naive enough to think that I could--or should--make the workload in my classes equal to what a Harvard undergraduate likely experiences. I told my class that they've already got it a lot easier than some other students. I told them all this not to discourage them, but to attempt to inspire them. Did they think that they deserved that? Did they think that they could rise above their expectations, that they could do college work, that they could be successful? Absolutely, I agreed as they nodded, "I think you're smart, that you're capable, that you can achieve your dreams if you work hard for them."
We left that class and I had the feeling that things would turn around, the reading would get done, the grades would come up, my students would succeed!
You can infer by referring to this post's first paragraph that that is not what happened. At midterm, a week ago, the class's highest grade was 86%, the lowest score a 22%. Most of the class failed. I curved the exam. Yes, a 14% curve. That spread out the pass/fail ratio far more evenly. Okay, so there's the exam.
They also had a midterm essay assignment. Here's where my dilemma lies. The essays are nearly incapable of grading, not to mention reading. To call them essays is an insult to every student who ever graduated from college ever in the history of college or humanity. It's too depressing to even describe what kind of swill was turned in for an assignment that the class has been aware of since the first day of class in January. We've devoted class sessions to working on essays, to discussing how one goes about research and developing a thesis, incorporating quotes, etc. Let me also point out that this is not a writing class. It's called Humanities through the Arts.
Among my problems is that I've got to decide: teach these people how to write an essay, or teach them about art? I cannot do both in a single semester. Unfortunately, the college's prerequisites for taking this class are passing remedial writing, so there's no help there.
What I'm realizing is that unless I have no qualms about failing an entire class for not meeting my standards--and threatening my job security which does not exist, since I'm an adjunct--is that I have no choice but to dumb down this class. In fact, if I want any students to pass this course, I have to make the class easier than a third or fourth grade social studies class. There's literally no way for me to get my students up to speed for college-level work. Not only can I not do it for a class of 15 in three months, but they have no desire to get there. I'm trapped by ennui. And so I must bend to inadequacy.
This is what scares me, what is my real dilemma: this is happening all over the United States, in community colleges, in State colleges and Universities--certainly in the for-profit colleges. The road to equality in education and income and social stratification is bordered by gas stations full of gas station attendants that themselves are better critical thinkers than those traveling the road. How's that for a mixed metaphor?
I'm afraid, very afraid: our nation is fucked.
I've already had a come to Jesus moment with this class, after it was clear that they weren't doing the reading. I broke down to them the system: colleges are tiered. There's Harvard and Yale, there's UGA and UCLA, there's Georgia State and Michigan State Universities, then there's community colleges associated with state public education systems, then there are for-profit colleges.
I always ask them what they're going to school for. Invariably, their answers are for a job or the money that comes from the job. Sometimes I get a student who says something like, "I want to be a nurse because I like helping people." On those rare occasions a beetle does a somersault in my upper intestine.
About a month and a half ago I told my class that, in many ways, they had it a lot harder than the students in the top-tiered schools. They have to work three or four times as hard as some of their peers if they want to be competitive on the job market.
All this is to say that I told my class that I could make their lives easier by being an easier professor, but that I didn't think that would be doing them any favors. They'd end up leaving this community college and going someplace like GA State and passing or failing, graduating or not, but they'd be under a false pretense: that their education was just as good as the students' of these higher-tiered schools.
Let me first say that I'm not naive enough to think that I could--or should--make the workload in my classes equal to what a Harvard undergraduate likely experiences. I told my class that they've already got it a lot easier than some other students. I told them all this not to discourage them, but to attempt to inspire them. Did they think that they deserved that? Did they think that they could rise above their expectations, that they could do college work, that they could be successful? Absolutely, I agreed as they nodded, "I think you're smart, that you're capable, that you can achieve your dreams if you work hard for them."
We left that class and I had the feeling that things would turn around, the reading would get done, the grades would come up, my students would succeed!
You can infer by referring to this post's first paragraph that that is not what happened. At midterm, a week ago, the class's highest grade was 86%, the lowest score a 22%. Most of the class failed. I curved the exam. Yes, a 14% curve. That spread out the pass/fail ratio far more evenly. Okay, so there's the exam.
They also had a midterm essay assignment. Here's where my dilemma lies. The essays are nearly incapable of grading, not to mention reading. To call them essays is an insult to every student who ever graduated from college ever in the history of college or humanity. It's too depressing to even describe what kind of swill was turned in for an assignment that the class has been aware of since the first day of class in January. We've devoted class sessions to working on essays, to discussing how one goes about research and developing a thesis, incorporating quotes, etc. Let me also point out that this is not a writing class. It's called Humanities through the Arts.
Among my problems is that I've got to decide: teach these people how to write an essay, or teach them about art? I cannot do both in a single semester. Unfortunately, the college's prerequisites for taking this class are passing remedial writing, so there's no help there.
What I'm realizing is that unless I have no qualms about failing an entire class for not meeting my standards--and threatening my job security which does not exist, since I'm an adjunct--is that I have no choice but to dumb down this class. In fact, if I want any students to pass this course, I have to make the class easier than a third or fourth grade social studies class. There's literally no way for me to get my students up to speed for college-level work. Not only can I not do it for a class of 15 in three months, but they have no desire to get there. I'm trapped by ennui. And so I must bend to inadequacy.
This is what scares me, what is my real dilemma: this is happening all over the United States, in community colleges, in State colleges and Universities--certainly in the for-profit colleges. The road to equality in education and income and social stratification is bordered by gas stations full of gas station attendants that themselves are better critical thinkers than those traveling the road. How's that for a mixed metaphor?
I'm afraid, very afraid: our nation is fucked.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Back at It
Gave a midterm exam today in an arts appreciation course. This young lady who, frankly, has had an attitude since day one (she was texting while I went over the syllabus about texting and I used her as an example of what not to do, but I was being funny about it, only she just glared at me)was on her phone throughout the exam. I'm giving her a 0 for the test. I mean, what would make anyone at all--ever--think it's okay to use their phone during a test? Anyway, it's not like I've had it out for her or anything, but I will say that it's annoying that on the day we review for the exam, a student sits in class for approximately two minutes, then picks up her stuff and leaves. Never mind the fact that the student attends a class in the same classroom immediately following the class I teach, and said student comes back for said second class, as I'm talking to students with legitimate questions. Said student then asks a question related to essay that's due in one day (major question, like, "We need to have citations?") demonstrating the fact that she has clearly not looked at all at the assignment although it's been assigned since the first day of class, two months ago. Said student seemed upset at the idea that the midterm was not going to be multiple choice, and was miffed when I said that multiple choice exams were idiotic and did not give students an opportunity to demonstrate their knowledge of the course material.
ANYWAY.
My first book, Prose. Poems. a Novel., is now available as a Google ebook. It's cheap, much cheaper than the physical book (although I'm partial to the latter), and I'm donating some of the sales $ to a relief fund for victims of the recent Japanese earthquake/tsunami/nuclear disaster.
ANYWAY.
My first book, Prose. Poems. a Novel., is now available as a Google ebook. It's cheap, much cheaper than the physical book (although I'm partial to the latter), and I'm donating some of the sales $ to a relief fund for victims of the recent Japanese earthquake/tsunami/nuclear disaster.
Monday, March 14, 2011
After a Book Tour a Formal Feeling Comes
Mike Young and I had a long, slow, beautiful, blurring, fruitful book tour down the west coast of North America, during which I was powerful hungry and we saw and met the most bestest of friends. Our raft was a silver Mazda minivan packed with jackets and books and plastic and empty coffee cups and water bottles. We braved great weather and a tsunami.
People and places I want to thank:
Matthew Simmons
Tom De Beauchamp
Pilot Books in Seattle
Kevin Sampsell
B. Frayn Masters
Michael Schaub
Ampersand Vintage in Portland
K. Silem Mohammad
Elliot Harmon
Todd Christopher Cincala
Jeremy Spencer
JP Dancing Bear
Todd James Pierce
California Polytechnic State University San Luis Obispo
The Inn at Avila Beach (Thanks for the free night after the evacuation!)
Ken Baumann
Vicki Baumann
Skylight Books in L.A.
Also, thanks to everyone who came out to see us in Seattle, Portland, Ashland, San Francisco, Davis, thanks if you listened to us on the radio in San Jose, San Luis Obispo, and Los Angeles. If you haven't already, find me on Facebook or something. I met some great new people, and got to see friends and family who I already knew were great.
Oh, and I have to add a huge thanks to Mike Young who was a great traveling partner, an amazing reader and a great writer. He's going to set the world afire.
People and places I want to thank:
Matthew Simmons
Tom De Beauchamp
Pilot Books in Seattle
Kevin Sampsell
B. Frayn Masters
Michael Schaub
Ampersand Vintage in Portland
K. Silem Mohammad
Elliot Harmon
Todd Christopher Cincala
Jeremy Spencer
JP Dancing Bear
Todd James Pierce
California Polytechnic State University San Luis Obispo
The Inn at Avila Beach (Thanks for the free night after the evacuation!)
Ken Baumann
Vicki Baumann
Skylight Books in L.A.
Also, thanks to everyone who came out to see us in Seattle, Portland, Ashland, San Francisco, Davis, thanks if you listened to us on the radio in San Jose, San Luis Obispo, and Los Angeles. If you haven't already, find me on Facebook or something. I met some great new people, and got to see friends and family who I already knew were great.
Oh, and I have to add a huge thanks to Mike Young who was a great traveling partner, an amazing reader and a great writer. He's going to set the world afire.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
End
Tsunami. Cal Poly San Luis Obispo hooked us up with a hotel room at Avila Beach, this quaint tiny town, maybe three hundred beachcombers, nestled between ridges that looked like green shoulders. After hanging with Todd Pierce till 2 or 2:30 AM, I crashed hard, but Mike was checking out the Internet, and saw the earthquake that struck Japan, and that a tsunami was headed our way. He woke me at 4 AM to tell me about it, and that they expected the wave to hit N. America around 8 or 8:30, so we went back to bed until the hotel owner &c pounded the door and told us that the town was being evacuated: 7 AM. The hotel owner was really apologetic, though, and offered us a free room for that night, should we be allowed to come back into town. So with our minimal sleep we huddled into the car and I found a cliff overlooking the sea. Everyone said we should head inland, but I wanted to see a tsunami if there was going to be one. We sat on a log and watched the waves come in. The waves were the same as all the waves that ever hit that beach. We watched for about an hour. I tried to sleep in the car. Todd called, said we should eat breakfast, and that sounded good. Driving in to San Luis Obispo, saw that the CHP had closed off the incoming lanes, so we knew we weren't going to be able to get back in to Avila. Ate breakfast at Luisa's. Todd directed us to a used bookstore where in exchange for the facilities I purchased a volume by John D'Agata. I was dragging pretty hard, and thinking about the more than three-hour haul to LA unnerved me. Mike and I hatched a brilliant plan: we should take up the free hotel room offer and stay another night, chill, should there be minimal tsunami damage. Yes, we are that smart. So that's what we did. of course, despite the massive destruction in Japan, the tsunami had lost its power by the time it reached California, and the result was something like the tide coming in in under five minutes, instead of two hours. That in itself is certainly significant, but I don't think it would've been anything to watch.
Our hotel is to the left (duh) in the first shot here. It's a little blurry, but anyway.
So we kicked it that night, went to bed relatively early, after listening to music and eating antipasto. It was very romantic.
Today we headed into LA. The reading at Skylight was cool. The folks there, Noel and Liz, were really nice and supportive, and Mike and I sold some books. Jereme Dean and Gena Mowish came out to hang and we ate diner food. I had a bowl of chowder, and that is something that white people eat. Just look at "White People" in The Book of Freaks, it says so right in there.
Altogether, it's been fun and worksome, and long, but I'm a little sad to see it end, but I want to get home to my baby and my baby's mama. The baby's still in my baby's mama, so it's easy in that I get to see them both in close proximity.
Favorite meal: dinner at my Aunt Liz's house.
Favorite meal at a commercial establishment: Morning Glory, Ashland, OR
Favorite Song: jingles Mike and I wrote for each other: "You might think he's old, but he's . . .MIKE YOUNG!"; "He's not not you, and he's not me he's . . . JAMIE."
Favorite part of Drive: Coming down Siskiyou Pass into California, near Weed.
Favorite Children: My niece and nephew.
Favorite color: sky.
Our hotel is to the left (duh) in the first shot here. It's a little blurry, but anyway.
So we kicked it that night, went to bed relatively early, after listening to music and eating antipasto. It was very romantic.
Today we headed into LA. The reading at Skylight was cool. The folks there, Noel and Liz, were really nice and supportive, and Mike and I sold some books. Jereme Dean and Gena Mowish came out to hang and we ate diner food. I had a bowl of chowder, and that is something that white people eat. Just look at "White People" in The Book of Freaks, it says so right in there.
Altogether, it's been fun and worksome, and long, but I'm a little sad to see it end, but I want to get home to my baby and my baby's mama. The baby's still in my baby's mama, so it's easy in that I get to see them both in close proximity.
Favorite meal: dinner at my Aunt Liz's house.
Favorite meal at a commercial establishment: Morning Glory, Ashland, OR
Favorite Song: jingles Mike and I wrote for each other: "You might think he's old, but he's . . .MIKE YOUNG!"; "He's not not you, and he's not me he's . . . JAMIE."
Favorite part of Drive: Coming down Siskiyou Pass into California, near Weed.
Favorite Children: My niece and nephew.
Favorite color: sky.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
More Tour
After not sleeping much in Portland had breakfast with Bryan Coffelt and his fiancée and talked about breakfast places of which Portlanders are very fond, something I kinda knew already from Kevin Sampsell and Frayn Masters from when they came to read in Atlanta and they were down for some kickass breakfast but we couldn't get into Ria's Bluebird ever because it's always hard to get in there, and things were pretty much the same in Portland on a Sunday morning with everyone eating before or after church and stuff although I'm not sure how much of Portland is made of church-goers because it seems like a really young city and I know that the people are all highly educated and thus not superstitious. Whilst mid-drive to Ashland we spotted two bald eagles. I bought a six pack of Bud tall boys in an attempt to chill while Mike took the wheel and maybe I could sleep, but I'm not very good at sleeping in cars, so we talked about driving itself and Mike told me how he hit a parked car once. Mike said he gets nervous cause he doesn't drive a lot, which is good. I wish more Americans didn't drive. But Mike said I made him comfortable in the car so we figure if we drove another thousand miles still he'd be a real American by the end of it.
Ashland was rainy and quaint and fun. K. Silem Mohammad met us at his apartment and we then ate latin fusion and the server had trouble knowing what was on the menu that the restaurant didn't have and remembering things we ordered and actually bringing them, but we had mojitos and margaritas and altogether it was good (especially the empanadas) so we left a tip still and the loud drunk girls sitting behind us said that they'd order the same things because one of the girls was the other girl's bottom. The reading there was intimate, which was a nice contrast to the huge Portland reading and I told everyone that I was having a baby, and lots of other very personal things. Mike recited his poem/play, the first section from his poem "Let's Build the Last Song and Sneak Away While Everyone Is Listening" and it went over well. We sold a few books, but more important kicked it with almost everyone who came to the reading at Kasey's house where we re-defined the road novel, created (maybe?) the anti-road novel, talked about the first person omniscient (Whitman), and generally spent the night perusing Kasey's amazing cornucopia of displayed books. Morning brought me Morning Glory, the much hyped (by Mike and Bryan Coffelt) Ashland breakfast Mecca that lived up to its hoopla by serving me a giant chicken fried steak that there was no chance of finishing. I had a bite of Mike's omelette: carmelized red onions, smoked applewood bacon, and fontina cheese: the most amazing omelette I've ever tasted. Mike won.
Drive through the Siskiyous: gorgeous: snow sifting, dusting cedars, big semis. Open vista at Siskiyou Pass and clouded over Mt. Shasta, the peak peeking through. Sagebrush that I miss we don't get sagebrush in Georgia. Or mountains, real mountains, not foothills. Past weed we got a full view of Shasta, to which Mike a funny story told me is tangentially related: Lemurians are an ancient Alien race that live upon Mt. Shasta, according to some weirdos who live around the mountain, particularly around the town of Weed, where a brewery created Lemurian Lager. This cult showed up at the brewery one day, waltzing in clad full in white, carrying a cease and desist letter, claiming "Lemurians are 5,000 years old, they live in the mountain, and they don't drink beer. Please stop production." The delivered the letter then stood around quietly, not saying anything at all in their white clothing. Freaking out everyone, the brewery agreed to stop making the beer but if I were them I would've just changed the name which is what they probably did.
Along I-5 we saw a horse in a pasture chasing a gaggle of geese away like the horse was thinking fuck I'm gonna go fuck with those geese. This conglomeration of blackbirds circled and wheeled over a field and together in unison they made a face of many emotions, a cloud. Mike said it looked like pepper. In San Francisco we saw Jimmy Chen and Chelsea Martin, and that was great to see those old friends. We also saw my pal Todd Cincala and he hooked us up with a couch and cushions. The reading went well there, too, sold books, I got Chelsea to sign my copy of her The Really Funny Thing About Apathy. Jimmy and I talked about making pasta with different delicious sauces and I want to cook with him.
Davis next where we saw Jeremy Spencer of Scrambler Books. Met Mike's parents for dinner and they were really nice. Went to weird college beer bars in Davis that closed at 10 PM, but Jeremy and his buddy Ben were great hosts and it was fun talking to them while in the background one television featured some Hooters things with bikinis tug-o-warring on clouded over beaches, and on another TV snowboarders plummeted from scarped snowy cliffs and performed typical snowboarder antics such as driving RVs and throwing snowballs at one another whilst donning their cool baggy clothing and snowboarding goggles circling their necks and I was reminded of that subculture and how fucking stupid it is. Mike read a sad story in Davis, maybe not really sad, emotional. Mike's dad after the reading said, "I'm surprised. You guys are really good!"
Ashland was rainy and quaint and fun. K. Silem Mohammad met us at his apartment and we then ate latin fusion and the server had trouble knowing what was on the menu that the restaurant didn't have and remembering things we ordered and actually bringing them, but we had mojitos and margaritas and altogether it was good (especially the empanadas) so we left a tip still and the loud drunk girls sitting behind us said that they'd order the same things because one of the girls was the other girl's bottom. The reading there was intimate, which was a nice contrast to the huge Portland reading and I told everyone that I was having a baby, and lots of other very personal things. Mike recited his poem/play, the first section from his poem "Let's Build the Last Song and Sneak Away While Everyone Is Listening" and it went over well. We sold a few books, but more important kicked it with almost everyone who came to the reading at Kasey's house where we re-defined the road novel, created (maybe?) the anti-road novel, talked about the first person omniscient (Whitman), and generally spent the night perusing Kasey's amazing cornucopia of displayed books. Morning brought me Morning Glory, the much hyped (by Mike and Bryan Coffelt) Ashland breakfast Mecca that lived up to its hoopla by serving me a giant chicken fried steak that there was no chance of finishing. I had a bite of Mike's omelette: carmelized red onions, smoked applewood bacon, and fontina cheese: the most amazing omelette I've ever tasted. Mike won.
Drive through the Siskiyous: gorgeous: snow sifting, dusting cedars, big semis. Open vista at Siskiyou Pass and clouded over Mt. Shasta, the peak peeking through. Sagebrush that I miss we don't get sagebrush in Georgia. Or mountains, real mountains, not foothills. Past weed we got a full view of Shasta, to which Mike a funny story told me is tangentially related: Lemurians are an ancient Alien race that live upon Mt. Shasta, according to some weirdos who live around the mountain, particularly around the town of Weed, where a brewery created Lemurian Lager. This cult showed up at the brewery one day, waltzing in clad full in white, carrying a cease and desist letter, claiming "Lemurians are 5,000 years old, they live in the mountain, and they don't drink beer. Please stop production." The delivered the letter then stood around quietly, not saying anything at all in their white clothing. Freaking out everyone, the brewery agreed to stop making the beer but if I were them I would've just changed the name which is what they probably did.
Along I-5 we saw a horse in a pasture chasing a gaggle of geese away like the horse was thinking fuck I'm gonna go fuck with those geese. This conglomeration of blackbirds circled and wheeled over a field and together in unison they made a face of many emotions, a cloud. Mike said it looked like pepper. In San Francisco we saw Jimmy Chen and Chelsea Martin, and that was great to see those old friends. We also saw my pal Todd Cincala and he hooked us up with a couch and cushions. The reading went well there, too, sold books, I got Chelsea to sign my copy of her The Really Funny Thing About Apathy. Jimmy and I talked about making pasta with different delicious sauces and I want to cook with him.
Davis next where we saw Jeremy Spencer of Scrambler Books. Met Mike's parents for dinner and they were really nice. Went to weird college beer bars in Davis that closed at 10 PM, but Jeremy and his buddy Ben were great hosts and it was fun talking to them while in the background one television featured some Hooters things with bikinis tug-o-warring on clouded over beaches, and on another TV snowboarders plummeted from scarped snowy cliffs and performed typical snowboarder antics such as driving RVs and throwing snowballs at one another whilst donning their cool baggy clothing and snowboarding goggles circling their necks and I was reminded of that subculture and how fucking stupid it is. Mike read a sad story in Davis, maybe not really sad, emotional. Mike's dad after the reading said, "I'm surprised. You guys are really good!"
Monday, March 7, 2011
Tour
In Seattle I got into town much earlier than Mike, so I picked up our rental car, which ended up costing more than I anticipated, and that was a little shocking so I had to think for a while whether or not Mike was gonna be pissed, so I left the airport and found a road with a golf course next to it and that golf course had a restaurant/bar/banquet hall where I sat and ate nachos with brisket and grilled jalapenos that destroyed my mouth's lining while the new bartender took over for the old one and she had some serious problems with customers from the night before who had walked out on their tab and I listened while she adjusted her hair into a bun and made that face people make when they're so astounded by some people's audacity, that look that's like seeing the world's largest donut in your bathroom. Mike wasn't pissed and I think the beer I drank helped. We went to the reading and saw Matthew Simmons. I also saw my cousins and some friends from Reno who now live in Seattle. The people in Seattle were cool. Thanks Seattle!
Me, Mike, and Matthew drove to Portland. On the road we thought up a video game called the World of Litcraft, and my idea of this game involves avatars that grow up in weird ways (like, they pick actual strawberries so their mothers can make fresh daquiris and stuff) and that influences what kind of adult they grown into, when they eventually enter apartments with desks and computers where they sit and write stories or essays or poems or all of it and you get to see what kind of writer you've created. In Portland we were invited to Kevin Sampsell's and Frayn Masters' wedding reception. The were delicious sandwiches and cupcakes at this party. We also met Riley Michael Parker and Marika Haskins. They were really nice and fun. We got a cup of coffee that really fucked me up, because my wife's pregnant so we don't drink real coffee anymore it's been about 6 months and I only drink decaf and I'm in Portland right so the coffee's actually a syringe loaded with caffeine and shoved in my spine. I didn't end up sleeping, or I only slept for 4 hours, and that was after a xanax and 9 beers. But before all of this we went to Powell's where I restrained myself and only bought Chelsea Martin's new book along with Jason Bredle's Smiles of the Unstoppable, that Mike's Magic Helicopter Press put out. Then we had this amazing reading at Ampersand Vintage. Kevin and Michael Schaub of Bookslut. I was just meeting Michael, and he was really nice. He and Kevin were great introducers cause they didn't have anything planned but just talked about me and Mike and about our books, and they were casual and funny and it made this ridiculous crowd that showed up feel comfortable. There people all over that place, and they bought our books. Portland made me feel comfortable high up, like on a ski lift. So then it was I could not sleep.
Me, Mike, and Matthew drove to Portland. On the road we thought up a video game called the World of Litcraft, and my idea of this game involves avatars that grow up in weird ways (like, they pick actual strawberries so their mothers can make fresh daquiris and stuff) and that influences what kind of adult they grown into, when they eventually enter apartments with desks and computers where they sit and write stories or essays or poems or all of it and you get to see what kind of writer you've created. In Portland we were invited to Kevin Sampsell's and Frayn Masters' wedding reception. The were delicious sandwiches and cupcakes at this party. We also met Riley Michael Parker and Marika Haskins. They were really nice and fun. We got a cup of coffee that really fucked me up, because my wife's pregnant so we don't drink real coffee anymore it's been about 6 months and I only drink decaf and I'm in Portland right so the coffee's actually a syringe loaded with caffeine and shoved in my spine. I didn't end up sleeping, or I only slept for 4 hours, and that was after a xanax and 9 beers. But before all of this we went to Powell's where I restrained myself and only bought Chelsea Martin's new book along with Jason Bredle's Smiles of the Unstoppable, that Mike's Magic Helicopter Press put out. Then we had this amazing reading at Ampersand Vintage. Kevin and Michael Schaub of Bookslut. I was just meeting Michael, and he was really nice. He and Kevin were great introducers cause they didn't have anything planned but just talked about me and Mike and about our books, and they were casual and funny and it made this ridiculous crowd that showed up feel comfortable. There people all over that place, and they bought our books. Portland made me feel comfortable high up, like on a ski lift. So then it was I could not sleep.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
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