Ugh...

I'm having one of those days where I don't really like people. (Generally speaking.)

Does everyone feel this way? Every once and awhile?

Two examples: I'm in a CTLT Web 2.0 Presentation today (I signed up hoping to learn more about del.icio.us), and this idiot's cell phone goes off. (Imagine: he's sitting in the front row in a computer lab. And the presenter is standing next to him.) He doesn't silence the phone and apologize. NO, he TAKES THE CALL!!! HE TALKS ON THE PHONE DURING THE PRESENTATION!!! WTF?!?!

Then I sign into my blog and find this ad about some lady who has a book based off her blog which is a bunch of to-do lists (huh?), much like PostSecret lists secrets. While I do like PostSecret (they rock!), I don't like this lady. (Disclaimer: I'm sure I would like her if I met her, but I'm saying this for effect and to illustrate how I don't like people today.) How do these people make money off of this stupid shit? Who do they know? And how can one call this stupid shit art? I got my freakin' MFA. I have freakin' debt. And I can't get this blog turned into a book to save my life! WTF?!?!

In order to stay sane, I'm brainstorming career changes. I need to getaway from these crazy people.

Sadly, I realize they are everywhere.

I think I need a career change that involves being a hermit.

OK, OK, I know God's trying to make me humble and appreciate others' art and feel love and kindness for all that is good, smart, happy, and wonderful. And all this is really nice. Really, really nice.

But today it's pissing me off.

The more I think about creative non-fiction and writing and art, the more the "I" is becoming so boring and drab to me. Even me as an "I" is Snooze Fest '07. And the more I hear about these specialized books like a to-do-list-blog-turned-book, the more I feel disgusted by art, consumerism, and self exploitation. Which makes me wonder what is the point of art today? And wonder whether I really want to contribute to this whole mess of culture. And wonder why I blog and pick blog topics like these that are way too honest and make me look like a schmuck.

Is this frustration stemming from jealous or some inner-battle to get to the heart of my own art and beyond my "I" in my essays and poems? Or is it some intellectual fight with art and society? Or just end of the semester stress? Or dare I be cliche and chuck it up to PMS?

All sound equally good.

Right now, all I know, for sure, is I need something like a to-do-list-blog-turned-book, so I can work a hell of lot less and play on Facebook a hell of a lot more.

Two for Tuesday II

Being very productive means I'm not updating my blog as much as I'd like.

So here's two things to tide us over:

1.) I did not have yoga class today. I am sad. I missed it. I can't wait for next week. During my daily practice though I'm feeling better about my inversion poses.

2.) Last night on the phone with Stokes when I told her she should do yoga, she responded, "I'm not doing that Buddha on the Mountain Bullshit." I couldn't stop laughing. I love how different we are. Sometimes I'm amazed that we're even best friends because we are so different. But maybe being different is what makes us such best friends. Really, what's the fun in being best friends with yourself?

My Two Cents

When I took yoga during my undergrad days at Kent State, my instructor had us keep a yoga log, a little journal that we jotted down poses that felt good or ones that we struggled with.

Well, as you know by now, I'm an over-achiever. My log wasn't a log but a lovely illustrated journal that, seriously and sincerely, connected my experiences with yoga to my writing life, my personal relationships, my driving, my breathing, etc. I think that semester I wrote a few good poems, a good paper, and a sucky paper. Beyond that almost all energy went into my yoga journal.

Needless to say, my instructor loved it so much that she kept it for her teaching portfolio and to use as sample in future classes.

I'm bragging.

About yoga.

Clearly, the plot is thickening.

Because I haven't been able to attend yoga classes at night because I teach during those times, Megan, my yoga teacher, has been having private sessions with me Monday mornings.

Honestly, those sessions with her have been one thing (apart from Dan) that make me happy this semester. They keep me sane.

I've overcome a lot of fears and mental obstacles working with Megan. She's playful yet challenging. Just what I need. And not having others around helps me. It forces me to be competitive only with myself. A lesson I keep learning over and over again. Our sessions have really helped me develop my daily yoga practice and work on poses that help my back and heart (emotionally speaking). And I'm not bragging when I say this, but my practice is growing and I'm proud of my yoga accomplishments, especially my Downward Dog and Inversions. I work hard every morning to center, focus, breathe, and shine. Some days are better than others, but I see my improvements and I'm really proud of them. And there's nothing wrong with being proud, unless it goes to the next level.

When I found out that Megan was teaching a 6:30 class on Tuesday nights, I realized I could attend it. I only teach until 5:15 on Tuesdays. So I signed up.

And this is where my story/yoga journal begins.

It's a Yoga 1 class, so I went to it, thinking, "Cool. I know this stuff. I'll be all good."

I mean I wanted to practice in class again because I wanted the group experience. I like the idea of a bunch of people creating energy in the same space and, figuratively speaking, sharing it with one another. And I like knowing poses already because then I don't feel like an idiot during class.

However, my competition ego kicked in (I blame my competitive ego on my MFA program--survival of the fittest), and upon getting to class I was scoping out which peeps were my yoga rivals. (I know, I know, WTF is wrong with me?!)

I realized this line of thinking (as yoga teaches and Jesus), and I made a conscious effort to let go of this ego. To acknowledge it and then say, "Competition does not belong in yoga unless it is with myself, so the people I am with are my peers, my fellow energy builders..." (Yes, I do honestly say this hippie BS to myself and I believe it.)

The competitive ego started going away, which made me happy.

We started out breathing, doing Mountain, Downward Dog...I was thinking, "Yes, I know all this. Good. I can do this and push myself further in my practice." I was happy with this level. It was safe.

Then we started walking from pinkie toe spreading our foot flesh inward until the whole foot was on the ground--it was so slow. We started "flopping" (on our stomachs with our toes raised, then rolling over or "flopping" so we had flat feet) and "reverse flopping" (from flat foot to toes raised). I got all this, but I had a hell of time doing it. In fact, I couldn't do it.

Suddenly, my thoughts went from happy to "I fucking hate yoga! This class sucks!"

In classes, I always have a love/hate relationship with yoga. Ugh.

Then we did backbends. Fine. I'm working on those. But when we started doing the Table as a backbend, I hit my limit. I couldn't go any further. I was all, "Fuck this!" until I realized I could be hateful and pissy or I could accept my limitations, breathe and realize there's always something I have to learn. And then be open to that learning.

I thought, "I've been doing a lot of learning this semester. I'm kinda sick of it."

Then I almost laughed. Right in the middle of class. I was sounding, in my head--of course-- like an crotchety old man. Me who loves learning. Who loves challenges. Who loves life no matter how shitty it seems to be. Me who is a cute Hello Kitty-loving girl.

I've been taking myself way to seriously lately. And that is why I'm not having fun this semester.

I arrived at my first lesson of this yoga session. On top of "flopping." I'm in for a big treat.

So yesterday was totally shitty, and I was all worked up about stupid department and school bullshit. But now that I wrote this reflection, I realize that yesterday I wasn't practicing what I learned in yoga class. Not flopping, per se, or weird walking, though I am working on these things, but the main lesson--not take myself so seriously. I'm not perfect. I have to learn. What the fuck else is life about? If not these life lessons or meditation practices, then it's about having a job, earning money and dying.

I'll take the life lessons, thanks.

My favorite thing about class was this: I actually craved Savasana.

During my last private session with Megan I told her that my daily practice is really good, but I have a hard time staying in Savasana at the end of it for more than an minute. I just want to get up and get on with my day. Resting and reflecting on the practice is the hardest part for me. She said at some point my body would crave Savasana.

I didn't think it would be that soon.

My body and I are beginning to understand each other. Now if only I could get my mind to settle. Another challenge to overcome. Or still to overcome. Or to always overcome.

I'm thinking, though, that after every class (my private sessions are private) I'm going to write reflections. Not to show off my BOSS reflection skills, but to help me overcome.

This one is already starting to do the trick.

Just one more reason...

...for why I love Tina Fey: she supports writers.

Granted TV writers, but still writers.

Sunday Reflection

Last night, FD and I went to the opera.

For real.

We saw La Virtu de Strali d'Amore (The Power of Love's Arrows), which was put on by BGSU's Bowling Green Opera theater and the Eastman School of Music Collegium Musicum.

It was nothing like what I thought the opera would be like.

First of all, I expected to see women in evening gowns. So I chose to wear a grey dress I'm quite fond of--which looks dressy cas. I fit in perfectly. There were women wearing jeans.

Needless to say, I shouldn't have busted FD's chops for wearing jeans and sport coat. He totally fit right in too.

Then we were worried about being able to understand what the hell was going on. Thankfully, they provide programs with the plot in summary as well as the translation of dialog for each scene. And, even better, our theater had a screen above the stage that showed the translation, much like subtitles in a foreign movie. We knew what the hell was going on after all.

There were gorgeous costumes, a simple yet lovely set, some pretty good humor, fab acting, and three brief intermissions for stretching. (Don't get ahead of yourself, FD and I are certainly not going to become all-out opera goers...but we are going to start going to more university functions. Once I figure out how to find out about them. I heard about the opera through Facebook--see Facebook does have some realistic benefits!)

The main reason we went was because my yoga teacher, Megan, was one of the leads. I know how talented she is. One time, during mediation, she sang to us, and I vowed to go listen to her the next chance I got. And so I saw her perform opera first-hand. Awesome. I don't feel biased in saying this, but I know it will sound biased: she was my fav. She made her character (the god Amore) come to life--with her voice and her body language. Yes, all the cast did a great job, but she really stole the show.

FD and I really enjoyed ourselves. It was neat to do something new on a date night--something we've never done before that showed us a new side of art/culture.

The opera. Who knew?

~

This afternoon, after a much-needed trip to the Anderson's House of Meats, I made one of my favorite cook-aheads--Tamale Pie. I got the recipe from the Low Fat Moosewood Cookbook.

While making it, I chilled out with Ira Glass' This American Life. (Which reminds me, I need to check out Radio Lab...)

This episode was one that will remain dear to my heart. It was on Special Ed. For the first time ever, the voices of those with Special Needs were represented. I was really moved. In that way, that I have so much to say, but I don't know how to say it yet. It really got me thinking about my sister project and ideas for essays.

When I am a better able to articulate myself, I will.

~

Having a weekend at home has been nice. FD and I in our little place. It feels good after so much traveling and so little alone time.

Oh My Goodness, So Much to Post, and So Little Time.

We've been back from Utah for about five days, and this is the first chance I've had to blog about it.

It's just one of those semesters.

We saw Logan, Provo, Park City, and Salt Lake City during FD's mini-book-tour in support of Neck of the World.

Utah is gorgeous! Check out my photo journal of our trip on Flickr.

The highlights for me were FD's interview on Utah Public Radio (a dream come true--This American Life, here we come!), FD's reading in Logan, our side-trip to Park City (where the Sundance Film Festival is held), the Butterfly Reading mobile in the Salt Lake City Library (the MOST beautiful library I have EVER seen and maybe my all-time favorite architecture), and dinner at Metropolitan.

Our trip wouldn't have been half as great as it was if not for the company of our fellow Monopoly competitor Mr. Nate!

And I'd like to thank all of those who hosted us, drove us around, or kept us in good company: Susan, Star, Micheal and Sylvia, Micheal, and Hui-Hui.

For more detailed info our trip you can always read my Twitter archive.

All these links should keep you busy for awhile...

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[While getting the to This American Life, I saw Ira Glass has a Facebook page.

I so friended him!]

About Time

Natasha Trethewey's Native Guard is (I swear) one of the BEST collections of poetry I have read in a long time.

This collection is seemingly simple. The language is clear, stripped down, and imagistic. The narratives are straightforward and very easy to follow, especially for those who don't read much poetry "because it is hard to understand."

But for those who LOVE poetry and understand it, Native Guard is virtually flawless. Each poem is layered in so many different ways one could read the book straight-through in 45 minutes and be pleased with the read. But if one re-reads it again and again, the layers start shedding--in terms of form, fixed form, line breaks, manuscript organization, response to New Criticisms, etc., etc., etc.

Get this: the formal poetry is so veiled by the gorgeous language that I almost didn't even realize it was written in form. How I've longed to be able to pull off that trick!

This book is a throw back to older contemporary poetry--in the good way. It has that pure, honest integrity of Sharon Olds, Jane Kenyon, and, dare I say, Robert Bly.

In other words, Native Guard is sincerely unpretentious. It's not full of experimentation for the sake of experimentation. It's a collection of poetry that is simple--in the most complex sense of word, not at all complicated to be complicated.

I wholehearted recommend Native Guard to poetry readers and non-poetry readers. Its poems about loss, history, the South, race, religion, and humanity are accessible yet exceptionally well-crafted.

This book clearly deserved to win a Pulitzer Prize, and I'm excited to see what Trethewey will do in the future.

The gems in this collection: "Photograph: Ice Storm, 1971," "Myth," "Scenes From A Documentary History of Mississippi," "Native Guards," and "Southern History."

5 out of 5 can-you-believe-it-I'm-so-skeptical-about-poetry Hello Kittys.

Utah Public Radio: A Voice You Might Recognize

While we were in Utah, FD did an interview on Utah Public Radio.

Fast forward to a little over half way.

I hope he doesn't kill me for posting it, but I'm proud of him!

Two Less Specific Reviews (My Airplane and Trip Reads)

I read Flannery's The Weather Makers for the BGSU Common Reading Experience Committee, and I think it's a great book selection for the Common Read--and one that I would recommend to readers interested in the environment.

Like Field Notes by Kolbert, this book tackles the issue of global warming by providing background info, but Weather Makers is much more personable. Flannery gives his own impressions on global warming and its history AND proposes possible solutions to global warming. Kolbert's Field Notes was a saturation of scientific support for global warming, whereas Weather Makers takes scientific facts and makes them very real on a human level.

I wouldn't say this book is a page turner, but it is a lot less overwhelming to those not all that scientifically-minded than Kolbert's Field Notes and it leaves one feeling less saturated too.

I vote for it as next year's common read, and I think it's an important book to read generally speaking.

Four out of five environmentally concerned Hello Kittys.


~

Miranda July's No One Belongs Here More Than You is good, but not as special as I thought it would be. I was expecting something like the works of Sara Pitchard or Aimee Bender. My expectations weren't met. The stories were readable, but after a while I kind of got bored with the first person point of view. And the quirky-ness. I felt like the stories were projecting hipster-indie writing, but they weren't really all that new or fresh. They were different...different, I feel, for the sake of being different.

Maybe I'll back to this book some point later in my life and like it a lot more. But for right now, I felt this collection didn't live up to its hype.

3 out of 5 mildly amused Hello Kittys.

~

The best bookstore we visited in Utah: BYU's University Bookstore. They had the BEST selection of contemporary poetry I have EVER seen in one location.

~

More deets on the trip coming soon!