Whoa, aaack. I'm reading at Artifact this Saturday with Joshua Clover and Steve Farmer. I'd love to see you there. It'll be good. I'm going to try some things. More info here
Before you come to this you should go hear Brandon Brown and Farrah Field plus a film by Nathanel F. Trimboli at Studio One on Friday and then hop to Sunday to go hear Rob Halpern and Arnold J. Kemp read at David Buuck's house. It'll be one of those weekends, kids, and that's a good thing.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Ridiculous
-Crickets are always shipped Fedex
-A Rock Hyrax's closest relative is an Elephant
I don't buy it
-When asked whether he had observed any homosexual behavior within the penguin colony that he lived, the man said no, but mentioned that he had observed lady penguins prostituting themselves: having sex with male penguins in exchange for rocks that they then use for their nests.
-Jellyfish: eyeless, skeletonless, heartless, brainless, who throb along, glowing, stinging, killing and experiencing their lives remind me that life is pointless, but also very beautiful.
-The cheetah at the California Academy of Science is dead. So is the antelope in the glass case with it, however, the cheetah has been made to look alive and fierce with its lips curled back to expose dangerous predator's teeth, while the antelope is allowed to just lay there looking dead, leading us to believe that the dead-alive cheetah killed the dead-dead antelope and I wonder if the curators had to do anything to make the antelop look properly dead, dead in the right way.
-As we watched the jellyfish throb and the coral glow, Julia wondered aloud, "Why don't they make everything glow-in-the-dark?" (Glow in the dark slippers? Glow in the dark underwear? Glow in the dark remote controls? Glow in the dark condoms? etc.)
-The man, "Seth", communicated with us from inside the tank. In answer to his audience's questions he replied heartily but was often interrupted by the sound of his own deep inhalations followed by bursts of bubbles rising from his face.
-I could not find the axolotls. Sorry, Julio Cortazar.
-Miette, the cat, keeps turning on the Voice-Over function when she sits on the computer. When I try to turn it off, it tells me exactly what I'm doing.
-A Rock Hyrax's closest relative is an Elephant
I don't buy it-When asked whether he had observed any homosexual behavior within the penguin colony that he lived, the man said no, but mentioned that he had observed lady penguins prostituting themselves: having sex with male penguins in exchange for rocks that they then use for their nests.
-Jellyfish: eyeless, skeletonless, heartless, brainless, who throb along, glowing, stinging, killing and experiencing their lives remind me that life is pointless, but also very beautiful.
-The cheetah at the California Academy of Science is dead. So is the antelope in the glass case with it, however, the cheetah has been made to look alive and fierce with its lips curled back to expose dangerous predator's teeth, while the antelope is allowed to just lay there looking dead, leading us to believe that the dead-alive cheetah killed the dead-dead antelope and I wonder if the curators had to do anything to make the antelop look properly dead, dead in the right way.
-As we watched the jellyfish throb and the coral glow, Julia wondered aloud, "Why don't they make everything glow-in-the-dark?" (Glow in the dark slippers? Glow in the dark underwear? Glow in the dark remote controls? Glow in the dark condoms? etc.)
-The man, "Seth", communicated with us from inside the tank. In answer to his audience's questions he replied heartily but was often interrupted by the sound of his own deep inhalations followed by bursts of bubbles rising from his face.
-I could not find the axolotls. Sorry, Julio Cortazar.
-Miette, the cat, keeps turning on the Voice-Over function when she sits on the computer. When I try to turn it off, it tells me exactly what I'm doing.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Letters to Poets: Conversations about Poetics, Politics, and Community
Edited by Jennifer Firestone and Dana Teen Lomax
Review by Me
*LETTERS TO POETS Reading at The Poetry Center Thursday APRIL 23
4:30 pm @ the Poetry Center 512 Humanities, SFSU, free
Poets write to each other; they can’t help it. It’s how we argue, persuade, tease, apply for jobs, make friends, make enemies, fall in love, etc. and it seems that these kinds of conversations are happening more and more via email, blogs and even text messages, maybe even more than in person. It’s how we charm, anger, confuse, tickle and inspire each other. The number of emails floating between poets right this second, in the world, in this country, in this city (San Francisco) alone is unfair to ask you to imagine. Now, how many of those poets wonder if those emails will ever be read? I bet many. Letters to Poets: Conversations about Poetics, Politics and Community does an interesting thing in first instigating correspondence between poets and then publishing the resulting letters collectively.
What happens when you collect the letters of contemporary, living, flesh and blood poets together? They, the letters, talk to each other. The intimate correspondence between two poets laying side-by-side with the conversation of another pair, with another pair, with another pair etc. makes something happen—multiplication bunny rabbit-style and soon you have a community, a big fat bunny community of poets all chattering and whispering, debating and placating, and making pronouncements about the state or states of poetry. Some might say that the project feels contrived, that the knowledge that these letters would be published may have somehow corrupted the intimacy of the letters or imposed a distasteful self-reflexivity, but whether it is contrived or not is not important, what’s important is the result—what’s created.
Anyone out there who wants to know what’s in there (the “community”) can know--they CAN know and this book makes that possibility more clear. Poets don’t always play well with others, but because they are playing, others want to watch or join and they should feel welcome to. This book works as an antidote to the solipsistic bumping around that often afflicts poetry circles, in and out of colleges and universities. This book says: here’s the conversation, or a piece of it, the one that is happening right now, and let that conversation be a peep-hole and if you like, let that be your entrée.
Consider the long and varied history of correspondences that have enriched our collective and personal understanding of poetics and poetic communities ie: Duncan and Levertov; Niedeker and Zukofsky; Schklovsky and Triolet; Schuyler and everyone and Rilke and that unnamed "Young Poet". Here in Letters to Poets, Dana Teen Lomax and Jennifer Firestone pair younger up-and-coming poets with more established poets, setting them up for a year's worth of correspondence. What results is a book so various and multiple that it’s fair to say that there is something in it for every one, even and maybe especially for the non-poet.
This poet gave Letters to Poets to her mother by way of explanation of, of all things, her life. How does one explain the kinds of choices inherent in a poet’s life? Why do we involve ourselves in these communities? Why do we sacrifice comfort and financial stability and what for? Why do we engage with academic institutions that may or may not share our values? As poets what do we ask of ourselves and what do others ask of us? What do poets talk about? Why do we feel compelled to write in the first place?
Let’s start with that first question and follow the warren paths from there:
When I write a poem, I almost never look back. It’s like the poem happens within a now that is shifting to a future; I never look back as I do when I am writing prose narrative. Maybe that’s why poets and poetry stay within an eternal emergence. Poetry is fresh and stimulating, it comes almost like a nervous charge to me; I’m sure it raises the blood pressure.—Victor Hernández Cruz
The effect of poetry on the body or its generation within it is an important place to start, especially when the shadow life of poetry, the necessary (or perhaps unnecessary) sacrifices, begin to affect the poet in more practical, physical ways:
I’m thinking about “a life of independence”--the difficult notion of being a free, unaffiliated poet in ‘a free market economy’—that nonetheless you pay a price as we do for everything—because so many times in my life in New York as a poet I wasn’t able to see how wonderful things were because all I wanted was some help, I wanted to win, I wished someone would give me a big fucking grant or something. Being poor for a long time makes you feel small. I think my poems never got small. Oddly poetry seems to expand in relation to poverty—or at least it does for a very long time. –Eileen Myles
While poets want to succeed, want to win, as Eileen Myles says, there is a fear that doing so requires that we become someone’s puppet. Sometimes that takes the form of make-shift apprenticeships where the younger poet becomes the bunny in a more established poet’s hat for a while, hoping to learn to someday be the one holding that hat. Sometimes the expectations of an audience (real or perceived) can be crippling. Just what kind of bunny do they expect me to pull out and what if I pull out a severed head instead? Jennifer Firestone addresses this concern in her response to a letter from Eileen Myles:
How to flip the gaze back onto the audience? When you feel you’re there to be judged, forced to watch others sum you up. How to fight the force of the look and your own self-awareness? Sometimes I feel my body shoved into ‘the role.’ Oh boy, out comes a nervous laugh. Whoops, there goes intense and eager eye contact. Wham, the arms go out and I’m flapping my flippers together or bobbing balls on my nose. –Jennifer Firestone
Firestone’s feelings of unease regarding this kind of forced performance and her desire to flip that gaze, become especially potent when put in conversation with the kind of racial type casting that still manages to happen even within seemingly hyper-liberal poetic circles as described in the correspondence of Truong Tran and Wanda Coleman:
...The managing editor of this journal essentially asked for the following: work that was more traditionally lineated and work that was more Vietnamese in flavor. I am prepared to accept the thinking of the first request. It is the second request that leaves me at a loss for words. It is a request that reaches far beyond the boundaries of my poetry and is a reflection of life as it exists now in this society. It is a society that still insists on filing individuals into a neat rolodex system of race, gender and sexual orientation… –Truong Tran
Let’s address item #2, the phrase that has put you at a loss: “work that was more Vietnamese in flavor.” This is a variation on the old “you’re not Black enough” ploy that, ironically, even when valid, is a convenient repudiation that conceals racist bias (although it may be adamantly claimed otherwise). It is frequently used to demoralize anyone of color. —Wanda Coleman
The linkages continue, the bunny-rubbings and vibrations continue. This book fairly hums with them. The poets included in this book, younger and older, established or emerging can collectively play the part of mentor, ambassador, comrade in arms. If you make the choice to be a poet, they say, here's what you need to know. These are the things you WILL encounter. Here are some possible strategies to navigate this world and some great bits of wisdom; you will need them.
Review by Me
*LETTERS TO POETS Reading at The Poetry Center Thursday APRIL 23
4:30 pm @ the Poetry Center 512 Humanities, SFSU, free
Poets write to each other; they can’t help it. It’s how we argue, persuade, tease, apply for jobs, make friends, make enemies, fall in love, etc. and it seems that these kinds of conversations are happening more and more via email, blogs and even text messages, maybe even more than in person. It’s how we charm, anger, confuse, tickle and inspire each other. The number of emails floating between poets right this second, in the world, in this country, in this city (San Francisco) alone is unfair to ask you to imagine. Now, how many of those poets wonder if those emails will ever be read? I bet many. Letters to Poets: Conversations about Poetics, Politics and Community does an interesting thing in first instigating correspondence between poets and then publishing the resulting letters collectively.
What happens when you collect the letters of contemporary, living, flesh and blood poets together? They, the letters, talk to each other. The intimate correspondence between two poets laying side-by-side with the conversation of another pair, with another pair, with another pair etc. makes something happen—multiplication bunny rabbit-style and soon you have a community, a big fat bunny community of poets all chattering and whispering, debating and placating, and making pronouncements about the state or states of poetry. Some might say that the project feels contrived, that the knowledge that these letters would be published may have somehow corrupted the intimacy of the letters or imposed a distasteful self-reflexivity, but whether it is contrived or not is not important, what’s important is the result—what’s created.
Anyone out there who wants to know what’s in there (the “community”) can know--they CAN know and this book makes that possibility more clear. Poets don’t always play well with others, but because they are playing, others want to watch or join and they should feel welcome to. This book works as an antidote to the solipsistic bumping around that often afflicts poetry circles, in and out of colleges and universities. This book says: here’s the conversation, or a piece of it, the one that is happening right now, and let that conversation be a peep-hole and if you like, let that be your entrée.
Consider the long and varied history of correspondences that have enriched our collective and personal understanding of poetics and poetic communities ie: Duncan and Levertov; Niedeker and Zukofsky; Schklovsky and Triolet; Schuyler and everyone and Rilke and that unnamed "Young Poet". Here in Letters to Poets, Dana Teen Lomax and Jennifer Firestone pair younger up-and-coming poets with more established poets, setting them up for a year's worth of correspondence. What results is a book so various and multiple that it’s fair to say that there is something in it for every one, even and maybe especially for the non-poet.
This poet gave Letters to Poets to her mother by way of explanation of, of all things, her life. How does one explain the kinds of choices inherent in a poet’s life? Why do we involve ourselves in these communities? Why do we sacrifice comfort and financial stability and what for? Why do we engage with academic institutions that may or may not share our values? As poets what do we ask of ourselves and what do others ask of us? What do poets talk about? Why do we feel compelled to write in the first place?
Let’s start with that first question and follow the warren paths from there:
When I write a poem, I almost never look back. It’s like the poem happens within a now that is shifting to a future; I never look back as I do when I am writing prose narrative. Maybe that’s why poets and poetry stay within an eternal emergence. Poetry is fresh and stimulating, it comes almost like a nervous charge to me; I’m sure it raises the blood pressure.—Victor Hernández Cruz
The effect of poetry on the body or its generation within it is an important place to start, especially when the shadow life of poetry, the necessary (or perhaps unnecessary) sacrifices, begin to affect the poet in more practical, physical ways:
I’m thinking about “a life of independence”--the difficult notion of being a free, unaffiliated poet in ‘a free market economy’—that nonetheless you pay a price as we do for everything—because so many times in my life in New York as a poet I wasn’t able to see how wonderful things were because all I wanted was some help, I wanted to win, I wished someone would give me a big fucking grant or something. Being poor for a long time makes you feel small. I think my poems never got small. Oddly poetry seems to expand in relation to poverty—or at least it does for a very long time. –Eileen Myles
While poets want to succeed, want to win, as Eileen Myles says, there is a fear that doing so requires that we become someone’s puppet. Sometimes that takes the form of make-shift apprenticeships where the younger poet becomes the bunny in a more established poet’s hat for a while, hoping to learn to someday be the one holding that hat. Sometimes the expectations of an audience (real or perceived) can be crippling. Just what kind of bunny do they expect me to pull out and what if I pull out a severed head instead? Jennifer Firestone addresses this concern in her response to a letter from Eileen Myles:
How to flip the gaze back onto the audience? When you feel you’re there to be judged, forced to watch others sum you up. How to fight the force of the look and your own self-awareness? Sometimes I feel my body shoved into ‘the role.’ Oh boy, out comes a nervous laugh. Whoops, there goes intense and eager eye contact. Wham, the arms go out and I’m flapping my flippers together or bobbing balls on my nose. –Jennifer Firestone
Firestone’s feelings of unease regarding this kind of forced performance and her desire to flip that gaze, become especially potent when put in conversation with the kind of racial type casting that still manages to happen even within seemingly hyper-liberal poetic circles as described in the correspondence of Truong Tran and Wanda Coleman:
...The managing editor of this journal essentially asked for the following: work that was more traditionally lineated and work that was more Vietnamese in flavor. I am prepared to accept the thinking of the first request. It is the second request that leaves me at a loss for words. It is a request that reaches far beyond the boundaries of my poetry and is a reflection of life as it exists now in this society. It is a society that still insists on filing individuals into a neat rolodex system of race, gender and sexual orientation… –Truong Tran
Let’s address item #2, the phrase that has put you at a loss: “work that was more Vietnamese in flavor.” This is a variation on the old “you’re not Black enough” ploy that, ironically, even when valid, is a convenient repudiation that conceals racist bias (although it may be adamantly claimed otherwise). It is frequently used to demoralize anyone of color. —Wanda Coleman
The linkages continue, the bunny-rubbings and vibrations continue. This book fairly hums with them. The poets included in this book, younger and older, established or emerging can collectively play the part of mentor, ambassador, comrade in arms. If you make the choice to be a poet, they say, here's what you need to know. These are the things you WILL encounter. Here are some possible strategies to navigate this world and some great bits of wisdom; you will need them.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sprang Break 2009. Woot Woot!
-Kept yelling "Spring Break!" and then looking around for something to do and then yelling "Spring Break, yeah! Wooo!" again.
-Missed Stephanie Young's reading at Studio 1
-Made it in time for Kasey Mohammad's (awesome, stunner, stellar)
-Enjoyed after party at Sarah Studio 1 curator's house
-Got a little bit belligerant
-Watched poet jaws drop when Persephone whipped out the gavel that she carries around in her purse and started calling people homo's
-Talked a lot of smack
-Peed behind some white vans in the TL (I couldn't make it and I thought it would be funny)
-Cacklepark in which P and I sat in the park in Hayes Valley drinking coffee and naming passersby (ha, ha, there go Dean and Angela. Hey there's Ashley, he just got back from Ren fair)
-Drank $2 Pabst in the sunny afternoon with P at a punk rock bar whilst reading poetry
-Soul Dance Night in which my womenfolk and I danced and were hit upon by a man who led us to believe he was gay but was in fact quite straight
-Watched Persephone get her game on
-Went to bullshit bar and quickly hailed a cab back to punk rock bar where I grouched and griped, calling any of the guys P thought were "dishy" lame or likening them to Bill Pullman until the bar closed.
-Peed in Alamo Square Park (I could've made it but I thought it would be funny)
-Woke up super grumpy
-Got my head right
-Edited Overboard and wrote new section
-Hung out at Dolores Park with every other young person in the city and Morgan's nice friends
-Ate delicious Vietnamese food
-Tried to mediate
-Home time
-Therapy (first time in about 4 years)
-Thought about that
-Home time
-Started reading Stephanie Young's piece from her reading at Studio 1 (thanks, DZ)
-Cut up Titty Poems and arranged them on the floor in pairs
-Swept the floor
-Thought positively
-Talked to Mom
-Saw William Kentridge exhibit at MOMA
-Felt pride in my interactions
-Felt love for fellows and fellas
-Wanted to help
-Lady time w/ Alli, Morgan and Persephone
-Dressed up in princess outfits: tulle, pink vinyl, tiaras and got crunk to rockabilly
-Dropped P's phone in full bathtub
-Had my contacts accidentally drunk by P
-Wandered around half-blind with my seeing-eye-friend
-Bought mint-infused lemonade from children who were also on their spring breaks
-Cacklepark Part II sans vision (did see a border-line homeless person with a gold-plated bicycle)
-Played country tunes
-Lady time
-Tried to help by text
-Wrote "Casual Encounters" ads for Craig's List with P&M at coffee shop
-Watched "Adam's Rib" with roommate a screwball comedy starring Hepburn and Tracy
-Decided to start saying the phrases, "Search me", "Naturally" and "It's a cynch".
-Watched tv on the internet with Miette
-Made summer plans with Maxwell
-Anxiety attack
-Watched tv on the internet with Miette
-Was offered a reading at Artifact (!)
-Accepted offer of reading at Artifact w/ effusive enthusiasm
-Ate Quiche at Ferry Building and chatted with Brandon
-Went to bar w/ outdoor seating and attempted to drink a bloody mary with P but commenced anxiety and nausea and went home
-Cooked turkey cutlets with P and watched internet tv and "Blowup"
-Felt angry at main character of "Blowup"
-Hit the road to Jenner with a fine crew of lovelies (Jonathan, Jenny, Persephone, Morgan, John, Cat and Brandon)
REAL WORLD JENNER
-Viewed a majestic view
-Drank and ate to excess
-Sunned self
-Boogied
-Talked mad shit
-Hot-tubbed
-Tried to play guitar and could not
-Talked shit
-Tried to harmonize on Brandon's "In a Hot Tub" song
-Should've drank more water
-Slept
-Boldted (similar to Ralfing)
-Grimmaced for about 3 hours and was dubbed "The Easter Monster"
-Missed a delicious breakfast
-Boldted
-Bucked up
-Flaunted my impeccable Kiwi accent but saved the Scottish for another time (dork)
-Listened to John's Greek Accent and Brandon saying, "You're mad!" in a kiwi one many times over. Neither got old. Accents are funny; I don't care what anyone says.
-Ate Easter candy
-Talked shit
-Told Persephone to "be cool".
-Listened to stories about: guns, childhood animal torture, chores, European adventures, run-ins with Australians, The Power Exchange, mutual friends, poets and more while waiting for laundry to dry
-Came home
-Showered
-Bedtime
Spring Break 2009
-Missed Stephanie Young's reading at Studio 1
-Made it in time for Kasey Mohammad's (awesome, stunner, stellar)
-Enjoyed after party at Sarah Studio 1 curator's house
-Got a little bit belligerant
-Watched poet jaws drop when Persephone whipped out the gavel that she carries around in her purse and started calling people homo's
-Talked a lot of smack
-Peed behind some white vans in the TL (I couldn't make it and I thought it would be funny)
-Cacklepark in which P and I sat in the park in Hayes Valley drinking coffee and naming passersby (ha, ha, there go Dean and Angela. Hey there's Ashley, he just got back from Ren fair)
-Drank $2 Pabst in the sunny afternoon with P at a punk rock bar whilst reading poetry
-Soul Dance Night in which my womenfolk and I danced and were hit upon by a man who led us to believe he was gay but was in fact quite straight
-Watched Persephone get her game on
-Went to bullshit bar and quickly hailed a cab back to punk rock bar where I grouched and griped, calling any of the guys P thought were "dishy" lame or likening them to Bill Pullman until the bar closed.
-Peed in Alamo Square Park (I could've made it but I thought it would be funny)
-Woke up super grumpy
-Got my head right
-Edited Overboard and wrote new section
-Hung out at Dolores Park with every other young person in the city and Morgan's nice friends
-Ate delicious Vietnamese food
-Tried to mediate
-Home time
-Therapy (first time in about 4 years)
-Thought about that
-Home time
-Started reading Stephanie Young's piece from her reading at Studio 1 (thanks, DZ)
-Cut up Titty Poems and arranged them on the floor in pairs
-Swept the floor
-Thought positively
-Talked to Mom
-Saw William Kentridge exhibit at MOMA
-Felt pride in my interactions
-Felt love for fellows and fellas
-Wanted to help
-Lady time w/ Alli, Morgan and Persephone
-Dressed up in princess outfits: tulle, pink vinyl, tiaras and got crunk to rockabilly
-Dropped P's phone in full bathtub
-Had my contacts accidentally drunk by P
-Wandered around half-blind with my seeing-eye-friend
-Bought mint-infused lemonade from children who were also on their spring breaks
-Cacklepark Part II sans vision (did see a border-line homeless person with a gold-plated bicycle)
-Played country tunes
-Lady time
-Tried to help by text
-Wrote "Casual Encounters" ads for Craig's List with P&M at coffee shop
-Watched "Adam's Rib" with roommate a screwball comedy starring Hepburn and Tracy
-Decided to start saying the phrases, "Search me", "Naturally" and "It's a cynch".
-Watched tv on the internet with Miette
-Made summer plans with Maxwell
-Anxiety attack
-Watched tv on the internet with Miette
-Was offered a reading at Artifact (!)
-Accepted offer of reading at Artifact w/ effusive enthusiasm
-Ate Quiche at Ferry Building and chatted with Brandon
-Went to bar w/ outdoor seating and attempted to drink a bloody mary with P but commenced anxiety and nausea and went home
-Cooked turkey cutlets with P and watched internet tv and "Blowup"
-Felt angry at main character of "Blowup"
-Hit the road to Jenner with a fine crew of lovelies (Jonathan, Jenny, Persephone, Morgan, John, Cat and Brandon)
REAL WORLD JENNER
-Viewed a majestic view
-Drank and ate to excess
-Sunned self
-Boogied
-Talked mad shit
-Hot-tubbed
-Tried to play guitar and could not
-Talked shit
-Tried to harmonize on Brandon's "In a Hot Tub" song
-Should've drank more water
-Slept
-Boldted (similar to Ralfing)
-Grimmaced for about 3 hours and was dubbed "The Easter Monster"
-Missed a delicious breakfast
-Boldted
-Bucked up
-Flaunted my impeccable Kiwi accent but saved the Scottish for another time (dork)
-Listened to John's Greek Accent and Brandon saying, "You're mad!" in a kiwi one many times over. Neither got old. Accents are funny; I don't care what anyone says.
-Ate Easter candy
-Talked shit
-Told Persephone to "be cool".
-Listened to stories about: guns, childhood animal torture, chores, European adventures, run-ins with Australians, The Power Exchange, mutual friends, poets and more while waiting for laundry to dry
-Came home
-Showered
-Bedtime
Spring Break 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Things You'll Need Another Person for
Yell mouth to mouth
Get picked up by your butt
Play Double Solitaire
Spoon
Hand-clap games
Cats Cradle
Simon Says
Therapy
Oral Sex
Open a business
Tickle
Project
Regular Sex
Sadism
Empathy
Get picked up by your butt
Play Double Solitaire
Spoon
Hand-clap games
Cats Cradle
Simon Says
Therapy
Oral Sex
Open a business
Tickle
Project
Regular Sex
Sadism
Empathy
Friday, April 3, 2009
Chelsea Daily by Maxwell Heller
WORLD: Hilary Clinton Throws Down
After several weeks in the middle and far East during which she shattered convention by mentioning pertinent issues, Mrs. Clinton took time out with staff to bust some moves on a flattened cardboard box. "Oh no she di'n't!" reported one staff member (on the condition of anonymity) after Clinton spun three times on her back and then did the splits during a headstand.
NATION: Oregon Woman's Life Book-Ended by Misery
"Oh..." said Oregon resident Betsy Fuller, 84, as she quietly passed away earlier this morning in the company of her financially ruined family. After watching a FoxNews special on the shanty towns appearing across the US, which brought back memories of her childhood during the Great Depression, Mrs. Fuller realized that she had lived just long enough to suffer for the financial mistakes of both her parents and her children.
LOCAL: Local Man Experiences Moment of Doubt
For the first time since Britney Spears botched her comeback performance at the MTV Awards (2007), local man Alex Trent, creative director for 2(x)ist, experienced a moment of doubt. Having checked his clothes at the door of the Black Party, an annual Chelsea Bacchanal, he was about to have a claim number Sharpied onto his naked body when he blinked twice, shook his head, and seemed to grasp what he was doing for a split second. Fortunately, friends talked him through the moment, and sources say that he was able to stay for duration of the 18 hour amphetamine-fueled event. (Not Pictured)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
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