Not a poetry blog: two favorites

It's weird to say that I "love" my poems. I worry that it sounds egotistical, and also, honestly, I don't really think of my poems that way. There aren't many that I would say I "love," but there are at least two--a
a couple in one of my manuscripts that I honestly do love dearly. Writing them taught me a lot and reading them still does.

I sent them out for publication for quite some time to a variety of magazines and man oh man did they have it rough--repeatedly rejected, and worst, ignored. (And I started having those fun writerly thoughts like: Are they any good? How come the ones that aren't as dear to me get accepted for publication but the rare poems that I actually love aren't getting any attention? What is going on? Maybe everything I know about poetry is wrong!!! I'm going to quit writing and take up boxing!)

But the good news is that TODAY THEY HAVE A HOME! AND FRIENDS! Finally! In Super Arrow, the journal with probably the best name ever. Not a bad way to close out the year. Thank you, Super Arrow!

Winter fragments

1/ I love my husband with all my heart. Really I do. But sometimes it's nice when he's away for the weekend. There's that sweet, familiar "I miss you" feeling... plus I actually get stuff done.  My relationship with the internet's pretty much like that. It was nice to take a little break from it while visiting family at Christmas, but it sure is great to be together again.


2/ How to start the perfect Christmas: Have your husband, Santa, or anyone else besides you, make delicious Bloody Marys for the whole family.

Here's Mr. K&G's lovingly and meticulously perfected special recipe for spicy Bloodys. (It'll help you start the perfect New Years day too.)

A beverage that comes with snacks--
can't beat it!

Fill a cocktail shaker halfway with ice. Add four shots of V-8 Spicy formula. Add one shot of vodka. It doesn't matter what kind. Then add about four dashes of Tabasco sauce, about two dashes of Worcestershire sauce, a couple shakes of garlic powder, a couple shakes of celery salt, a couple grinds of black pepper, and a little lemon juice. Shake it up, strain it into a highball glass, add a celery stalk and a lemon wedge to garnish, and make your hangover go away.

If you're wondering how to end the perfect Christmas?: Go see The Fighter with a belly full of turnips and pumpkin pie--and with no one else in the theater!


3/ The day after Christmas it snowed in South Carolina. Let me repeat that: Snow in South Carolina! We don't see too much legitimate snow in the South and never this early, so it's especially magical when we do.  I remember as a kid getting so thrilled over the tiniest little 1/4 inch of icy, wet "snow" (that was probably more like sleet) and this time the feeling was no different. Except this snow was real--official, dry, fluffy, snowball fight-ready, crunch-under-your-feet snow.

My mom and I put a sweater on the dog and took him into the back yard. He was scared at first, and then realized how fun pushing a gross old tennis ball around the fresh clean snow with your nose can be. We walked around the yard, played with Simon, and delighted in the puffed-up flashes of scarlet from a handful of cardinals watching us from snow-lined pine branches. It was just us--My mom and me and the snow, our faces turned, mouths open, catching big fat snowflakes on our tongues. It was one of my very favorite moments of the year. Really, it was one of my very favorite moments ever...

Snow is for gettin' goofy. 

A secret is something you tell one person at a time.

I don't know where that's from, but I didn't make it up. Anyway, I don't have a whole lot to say lately, but I do have a secret to share with you.

I've heard it a few times every year for, like, 20 years or so. I may have loved it this whole time and not really known it. But now, as of like 3 days ago, I know.

I love Wham!'s "Last Christmas."

By the way, I am not wearing my American Apparel leotard plus knowing about the latest band before you while updating my Tumblr. In other words, this is true love, people. Not that hipster just-for-show ironic love.



Wham - Last Christmas
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Well, there it is.

Speaking of butter...

I've always liked those Tibetan Buddhists.

1/ Their favorite color is my favorite color:  Orange! 

2/ Their throats do this amazing craziness:




You probably already knew those reasons the Buddhists are cool. Here's the best one, though--

3/ They drink TEA MADE OUT OF BUTTER!

Butter tea, people. Every day. All day long. Did you know about this?!

I kind of want to try it, but the question is do I have the cajones? On one hand, if I do try it, I can be all like, "Hey people, I have real butter cajones! (And the clogged arteries to show for it!)" On the other hand, apparently I could also get hooked. According to this article, "Many non-natives find the taste of this tea a bit rank, but supposedly, once hooked, to go without it causes backaches." (So, it's like drugs...?)

The Best Butter In The World*

So, guess who likes butter?

This guy. 

That means that when I make these--

I have to be extra vigilant of a certain additional unwanted helper using his paw as a beater.


Also, when I make these--

I use this: 

It is the Best Butter In The World. 

We first started using this butter about four years ago, when Mr. K&G picked it up from the local co-op in MA. (You can also find it at Whole Foods, or other similar fancy food places that you can only afford to shop at on pay day or special occasions.) While prepping to make The Joy of Cooking's Rich Rolled Sugar Cookies, my husband unwraps a stick of butter and says, "DUDE. You. Have. To. Smell. This."

What would you say in this situation? Something like "Umm, No thanks--I've smelled butter before?" Well that's what I said. Multiple times. But he kept insisting in a way that I have never, ever heard of someone insisting someone else smell butter before.

So I gave in and smelled the butter.

And that was when I realized I had never, ever smelled butter before. Nearly 30 years with a nose, and I had never smelled butter. I knew then and there that every butter experience I'd previously had had been in black and white. A fake. A fugazi. A matrix projection. A slippery, cream-colored shadow of false truth sliding down Plato's cave wall.

And then came Kate, the little Maine farm girl churner, angel of silky, delicious saturated fat, and bringer of The Best Butter Ever into my life.

Get Kate's butter. Smell it. Bake with it. Eat it. And then be that crazy person at the party who's preaching the gospel of the Best Butter In The World.



*Technically, probably only America. I'm pretty sure the Europeans have the best butter in the actual whole world.

It's the most punderful time of the year

Huge morning!  I drove my husband to school, made a cup of coffee, entered a Paula Deen sweepstakes to win cookies and an iPad, and whipped up some puns. It's amazing what one can accomplish when there's no class to teach. (What will happen next?!)

In response to the #ScienceCarols list on Twitter, here're my contributions. Are you sitting down? Are you ready to be more be-dazzled than an acid washed jean jacket at the Gordo, Alabama Mule Day Chicken Fest? Excellent! Because...

"Ions Dreaming of a White Christmas" 

"Alkaline Is Here" 

"Silent Nitrogen"

"Little Saint Nickel"

"O Tantalum"

"All I Want for Christmas Is Joules"

"Good King Celsius" 

"Proton the Housetop" 

"Jolly Old Saint Osmosis"

"I'll Be Ohm for Christmas"

Does anyone want to record a "Christmas for Science-y Geek Types" album with me? I can play the triangle AND that wooden fish instrument from 4th grade music class.



Bonus: The Red Sox have just snatched up Carl Crawford from Tampa Bay... who will heretofore be known and loved as Carl Crawdad.

Guess who's coming...

Good news--I really think Krampus is working! I feel at least 60% more Christmassy now than before.

And this is absolutely hilarious: 

Merry Krampus, everybody!

Workin on it

It seems to me that a lot of people have this magical relationship with Christmas. These are the people who get giddy when they hear "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" playing at the mall on Halloween, or who put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. (I break out in hives at exposure to anything Christmas-related before Thanksgiving's over.)  These are the people who cannot wait to bake and ice three dozen sugar cookies for the office party. (I stress out that there won't be enough and that my decorations will look lame.)

A friend of mine once announced, in November, "Christmas is coming and I can't wait!" I think she has what these other people have: The Christmas Chip. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I like Christmas just fine. In fact, I love a lot of stuff about Christmas. But I don't have the chip. My first reaction to "Christmas is coming" is not "I can't wait," but something more like "Didn't we just do Christmas?" 

I've learned that, just like non-frizzy hair, lipstick-free teeth, and my savings account, cultivating the Christmas spirit is a part of life that may come naturally to others but I have to work at. 

Over the years I've identified these as some of the necessary steps to activating my Christmassy side: 

Drink eggnog (the real kind, with the real stuff in it) 

Send cards

Knit gifts

Drink Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride Celestial Seasoning's Tea

Hear "Baby It's Cold Outside"

Hear Vince Guaraldi

Weep at the end of A Christmas Carol (the one with George C. Scott, which is the best ever)

And, this morning, a new step I've discovered that may help--Christmas Krampus! I think I've briefly heard a little about Krampus but I didn't really know much until I stumbled across an article this morning. Krampus is pretty much St. Nick's evil sidekick: A EUROPEAN HORNED GOAT-LOOKING FANGY DEMON THAT KIDNAPS BAD KIDS AND SPANKS THEM WITH SWITCHES! Now that says "holiday spirit" to me! 

If you're a weirdo like me who has just discovered that terror is a necessary step in getting Christmassy, you might like this very cool vintage Krampus card collection: 

I can't decide which is my favorite Krampus. Maybe the one at the end in the tux and monocle. I mean, just because you're terrorizing 5 year olds into peeing their pants doesn't mean you can't do it with some class.

Better, bonus

I had a really rough day today. And it's hard to write a non-grumbly blog post when you've had one of those.

So I thought I'd share a picture of two things that have made today better:

1) This enormous sunny orange bloom of the near-dead Hibiscus I bought from the Lowe's clearance rack a couple years ago. It's probably my most successful plant rehabilitation ever and it's still blooming. In December!

If surprise huge orange blooms on tropical plants out of season don't make you at least a little bit happy, then you are Rosemary's Baby. That is a fact.

2) Knob Creek bourbon. My doctor told me that the best remedy for post-Thanksgiving/ pre-Christmas family craziness decompression is bourbon. True story. So it's like a prescription and a vacation souvenir all in one!

Drinks are cheaper in my home state of SC than they are here in AL. And when I say "cheaper" I mean "it costs what it should cost," rather than "what it should cost x 2 + 9-12% sales tax." Hooray for non-state owned liquor stores! And boo for the AL law that one can't transport booze across state lines. It stresses me out a little, cause I really don't ever wanna to have to say, "No, really, Mr. Officer, I totally bought this bottle in AL. Why would anyone want to have options and pay $35 when they can have a very limited selection and spend $72?!" (Maybe I should rehearse that line a little...)

While I'm doing that, check out the #3 Better Day Maker: one additional cheery orange thing...

Who doesn't love a bonus round? 

Happy things: sentences written in actual English

So I've returned from Thanksgiving break to find myself not only a couple lbs thicker, thanks to Sweet Potato Casserole and other Usual Suspects, but also in the thick of the almost-end-of-semester essay grading flurry. And it's not pretty. Neither of those types of thicknesses are pretty. 

cummings's style: perfect for poetry;
lousy for emailing your instructor a question you
want her to actually understand and answer. 

Today as I was learning from student essays that "the information informs us" and that "if we look deeper we can defiantly [definitely?] find the hidden messages of deaf  [death?] in the poem," and responding to various emails that look like e.e. cummings poems minus the line breaks... I thought of my husband's former thesis advisor commenting on a grammatically confounding phrase that he should "try English." After a semester of deciphering all kinds of sentence fragments, run ons and phrases tangled beyond hope like every necklace chain I've ever owned, I would love to try English. 

And soon, when the semester's over, I'll get a chance and I can't wait! I'm going to start with the pile of poetry books shuffled around on my desk for months, along with these books I just got for my birthday: 

How to Fight Like a Zombie

Paul Guest's memoir One More Theory About Happiness

The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2010

All in my sweet future. All written in the actual, beautiful, readable, non-headache-inducing, makes-sense ENGLISH I crave and remember so fondly....

The question is...

Why wouldn't anyone want to eat my poems? 

There is a season, turn turn turn(ip)

Of the hundreds of dishes at my family's Thanksgiving spread, one of my very favorites is my Mama Jo's turnip greens. I appreciate them more after living in AZ and MA, where for some weird reason, bitter greens aren't all that popular like they are in the south. (Wake up, people! Southerners know food! It's not by accident that Paula Deen is the Fairy Godmother of America's Growing Waistlines.)

Anyway, in honor of those tasty greens, and to celebrate the only successful crop to come out of my garden, I present you with the life cycle of the turnip:

1) Pre-plantation: Get all irritated because the only two home and garden stores in your town do not have seeds even though it's fall harvest planting time. Then, order them from a less stupid company.

2) Life is given: The seeds are planted and dazzling in their cuteness. (Holy crap! I made life! BEHOLD MY POWER!!!!! )

Soon, a little metal stake with two big dangling CDs grows alongside the turnips. A one-sided relationship forms in which the CDs get nothing in return but the turnips are protected from the sparrows who are notorious wusses when it comes to sparkly moving things.

3) Turnips continue to take take take. Meanwhile, the preemie carrots develop an inferiority complex and ultimately give up on life. Even though you sang "Carrot Suicide, Don't Do it!" to them.

4) "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

 5) Life is taken, or I brought you into this world and I can take you out!: Turnips are beheaded. And at the prime of their garden domination at that. The devastation.

6) Broken dreams. And turnip parts. All over your cutting board.

7) Turnip purgatory: cast iron skillet, sauteed onions, (fake) bacon, olive oil, salt, pepper, chili flakes, a little sugar, and a little veggie (or chicken) stock.

8) Rebirth! As something delicious! Hallelujah!



You can make and destroy your own turnips too! It's easy! But heed these tips:

*Harvest greens a little earlier than you want. It's really fun to watch them morph into hedges, but by the time they're that large, they'll be more bitter.

*But, if they do happen to be bitter, there's stuff you can do: a) simmer longer--the longer you cook, the less bitter; b) add a little sugar; c) throw in a potato. (Potatoes are renowned in the culinary community for their ability to turn vegetable frowns upside down.)

How to breathe

Those who know me know that I work out pretty regularly. I actually like working out. I'm what you might call A Good Worker-Outter. But lately it seems I've hit a bit of the ole' plateau. Man that's frustrating.

Fortunately, my husband showed me this instructional video about breathing. I cannot wait to try this at the gym!



This workout video brings a whole new meaning to heavy breathing

They're out there! The donuts!

I thought possibly I'd just invented the idea of red velvet donuts. (I mean, have you ever heard of them?) But they're out there. It's true. 


This is the first place where I learned about them. "Blondie and Brownie: Two Girls' Adventures in Food" sounds like my kinda blog (plus they've actually correctly used an often challenging apostrophe). But, since the first sentence starts out, "I'm not a Krispy Kreme fan," I didn't have to read far--actually just to the end of that first phrase--to realize they had no idea what they were talking about. 


Next. 


The Nickel Diner in Los Angeles. Click here, people, and behold some beautiful donuts. I don't eat bacon, but I have a lot of respect for a maple bacon donut. But let's not forget why we're here. The red velvet donut. Here's what Gastronomy Blog says about Nickel Diner's: "The red velvet doughnut took me by surprise with its unique texture and tangy cream cheese icing. Whereas the other doughnuts were  texturally one dimensional, this one was coated in a crunchy crust of red velvet cake crumbs." That all sounds pretty good... but I want a donut, not a whoopie pie, and that's kind of what this looks like to me. 


I turned to Smitten Kitchen, thinking they could help me. Well, they sorta could. While they have a reliable recipe for red velvet cake, there's not really one for donuts. Here's an adaptation, but, seriously, you can't bake something in a mini muffin pan and then call it a donut hole. I mean, mini muffins are delicious! BUT they are NOT donuts. It's like if I tried to tell you Sixlets were M&Ms. Nobody should be selling that. 


So, my half-assed google-based research yields these trusty results: 


1) Apparently I am pickier about donuts than your average bear. 
2) I am hungry. 
3) Southern grandmas make the best red velvet cake there is. If you are fortunate enough to have a southern grandma, or access to one, I highly recommend you put "make me red velvet donuts" at the top of this year's Christmas list. 

Happy things: fuzzy yarn

So I think The Secret of Nimh has to be one of the best animated movies of all time. For one, I've always been able to get behind an animal revolt, even since I was like seven.

Plus, remember Jeremy? The hopeless romantic yarn-collector crow who gets all googly eyed whenever he sees pretty yarn or sparkly things and is perpetually in some state of being accidentally tied up in an array of his own strands...?

Well, on some levels I can identify with him. Here's what I mean:



The thing about this clip is that, in addition to just being awesome, it also gives you an idea of what the scene at my house looks like when I'm working on a knitting project.

Right now that knitting project is top secret, but I want to share the yarn with you. Bright flame-colored mohair. Exactly the kind of thing any crow would love to have wrapped around his beak.

It's fuzzy and feels like working with cotton candy, only it doesn't dissipate or make your fingers sticky, and even if your project turns out looking rather... abstract... well, you don't care because working with this yarn is even better than yoga in terms of zenning you out.

Really. Working with this yarn is like petting the softest baby bunny known to man while actually getting something productive done at the same time! Magical!

I also like the way the skeins look like red velvet donuts. Mmmm... red velvet donuts. Does that actually exist in the world? God I hope so.

Happy things: everybody has a dream

There's nothing quite like a good view. 

Happy things: outside

After recently moving out of a soul-sucking apartment complex, I am so happy to have a yard. Well, we're renting so I don't technically have a yard... I mean, I'm not that adult.

Turns out that yards and things in yards make me happy. There's nothing like looking out your window, and instead of every day seeing your neighbor's cigarette butts scattered all over the parking lot beside their truck nutz (we keep it classy here in Alabama)... you get to see this:

Now those are my kind of danglers.

And instead of having to walk outside to move the neighbor's pizza box off of your little balcony, you get to do this:

Highly recommended: The Cooks Illustrated Guide to Grilling portobello marinade.

Rather than hearing your downstairs neighbor slam the door every time she comes and goes, and rather than hearing her yell at her boyfriend (who may or may not have just gotten out of prison), you get to hear the sweet gentle buzzing of friendly bumblers.

The living things... well, ok, the living things minus the squirrels who steal the birdseed and the roaches the size of your car... are really one of the best things about a yard.

This little guy's called a Clouded Sulphur. What a great name.
Fortunately, he does not smell like sulphur or we would not be friends. 

This visitor was spotted about a month ago. I'm still waiting for the good luck to kick in. In the meantime, just thinking about her so patiently posing for my camera, plus devouring those bastard mosquitoes, is simply delightful.

And these guys make me happiest of all:

Hanging out in the watering can one morning.

Look at me. Now at your pile of papers to grade. Now back to me. Now back at your desk. Now back to me. I am so awesome. I am in a watering can. On a unicorn. With cake. And rainbows.  

Well, hello there.

You will now have a very good day. And I don't even need rainbows.

Help me understand: detached winter collar thingies

Apparently these things are really hot right now:

This is from J.Crew.
(Please don't sue me for using your picture, J. Crew. I like your khakis.) 

What is it?! A wreath? A sling? A reusable hand towel ream?

It's a separate collar that's supposed to keep you warm. A cowl. Or a snood. (I do not like saying the word snood. Also, isn't a snood a character from Harry Potter?)

But more importantly, does it look silly? I think maybe it does but I can't decide. (If I could understand it I might be able to form an opinion.)  As a big time scarf fan, I'm wondering what this thing can do for me that a scarf can't...

Right now there's a lot I'm perplexed by, and I don't need to add "hip accessories" to that list. But here it is. On my list. Perplexing me.

Any ideas?  

Thoughts on the collar thingie:
	It's cute! It's new! DO IT!
	You're already top heavy; wearing this will make you appear on the verge of toppling over.
	Scarves are better. You can play with the edges in awkward situations.
	Men have beards to catch cookie crumbs with; now, with this thingie it's OUR TURN FOR FLAVOR SAVORS!
	Danger: This is bound to get snagged in rapidly spinning machinery or some guy's bicycle handle.
	Ours "is not to reason why." (Sheesh lady, don't you know your Tennyson?)
pollcode.com free polls

American voters and pumpple cake

Pumpple Lover Voter: So, you know, I've been eating this dessert every day for eight years. The whole thing. One whole delicious, mouthwatering, sugar-coma inducing thing a day. For eight years.

You know, it's the pumpple cake. Lemme tell you it's amaaaaaazing! I mean, all the corporations and my country club member friends said it was good for me, so I tried it and it sure tasted good for me so I got hooked! I mean, how could it not be good for me?! It's a pumpkin pie beneath an apple pie baked in a cake!!! It takes me and all my cares away like Calgon never could! 

Organic Apple Lover Voter: That sounds pretty delicious.... but, umm, you know there's like 2,000 calories a slice in that cake, right? I saw it on This Is Why You're Fat.

PLV: Well, I did put on a couple lbs. (By a couple, PLV means "one gillion.")

OALV: Holy crap! That sounds really dangerous and bad for you. That can't be good for anybody! Bad news, dude.

PLV: Yeah, but there's good news--I went on a diet and started working out! It's working!

But I've only lost 20 lbs so far, and my goal was to lose all one gillion lbs. and reverse all bodily damage within two years.

OALV: Well, you're doing the right thing... but, um... you know, it's gonna take, like, some time to take off all gillion lbs. I mean, it's always way easier to do damage than it is to undo it. I know it sucks, but it's true.

Ever notice how quickly and easily your cat, Doug, can destroy your favorite wool sweater? And then how time-consuming and not especially fun it is when you have to sew up all the claw and bite marks...?  It's kinda like that.

(PLV Makes sad, perplexed, swirly-eyeballed face.)

But, hey, you're doing the right thing! Really! I'm proud of you! And I know your wife and kids are excited about your progress! You'll totally get there dude!

Oh, and have you tried turbokick? They play that "Halle Berry" song and you fake-kick stuff. It's a really good workout.

PLV: (dejected, exasperated) You mean I probably won't lose all one gillion lbs in two years?!

Sigh...

Then I guess the only thing that makes sense is to go back to eating an entire pumpple cake every day...

Not a poetry blog: Poets & Artists, with a variety of boobs

I didn't give out one piece of Halloween candy tonight, so consider this my treat to you...

The new issue of one of the sleekest, most professional-looking literary journals, Poets and Artists, is fresh off the press/ on the intertubes... with one of my poems in it!

If you want to read my piece, "Skepticism of everything," go here. As I've mentioned before, this is not a poetry blog and I don't want to post every single publication, but I think you'll especially like this issue. In addition to all the gorgeous work, there's these interviews and mini-interviews with each artist.

Each piece deals in some way with the body, so in between reading poems, you'll get to see lots of naked people. What's not to love?

I especially enjoy Franciene Krieg's naked old lady nudes, which I'm surprised to find so refreshing and comforting. Ken Scaglia's paintings of car engines will make you feel like you're peeking at something you really shouldn't be. Plus there's Deborah Poynton's "Nude Dude With Artsy Junk + A Whole Lotta Other Naked Folks Hanging Out." (Ok, ok, so the official title is "To Be Alone," but that doesn't really paint a picture for you the way I wanted.)  To see all those things and more, go here.

Transcript: actual conversation from the K & G house

OR: why you should never, ever try to tell me something important by opening with "Guess what."




Husband: Guess what?

Answer: Chicken butt. 

Husband: Guess why? 

Answer: Chicken pie. 

Husband: Guess how? 

Answer: CHICKEN COW. 

Old school grits

The older I get, the more interested I am in "boring" stuff like bird watching and ancient agricultural equipment. (Dear god please let me not turn into a stamp collector!)

This past weekend we were here, in the Great Smoky National Park, which, if you're breathing, you will agree is utterly not-boring:

True story. 

And in the GSNP there's this old restored grain mill called the Mingus* Mill. Not only is it gorgeous, but at 124 years old, it's grinding like a hot young 20 something.

I expect our souvenirs will yield such delicious cornbread and cookies
as to produce mouth watering in the style of this flume.  

Ok, I accept that y'all might not find the existence of this old mill as thrilling as I do, for whatever weird reason...

Nevertheless, when you think about the factory farms that produce your food and the abundance of dangers and health risks associated with them... well, don't you just wish everything you ate was made in such a non-corporate, simple, and honest way? 

Yes you do. 

*Of course the mill-visiting soundtrack was my sometimes on key rendition of "Haitian Fight Song" and "Mood Indigo."

Fun with the intertubes

Do you have 8,000 papers to grade and/or TPS reports to fill out? I thought so.

That's why you should go here and learn Japanese play around with vintage-ifying your pictures.

Thoroughly Modern Kittie

Handsome retro heartbreaker