There will be no Corn Dogs in the Dark Room

I'm so glad I made the decision to teach and work at the Bar. I taught from 9:35-10:50, did work on campus until about noon, had a fabulous lunch at the Galileo with Mattie, walked to the Bar to pick up my due backs, deposited them, stoppped at Thomas Pink---the designer that's having their fashion show at Rouge in September just to check out the goodies. Learned that I'm a ladies 12 (that's British sizes) and found a place where I can actually wear a button down without any of my goodies peaking out. Too bad their shirts are $140. If anyone sees me in one anytime soon, yell at me, unless it's part of the deal for hosting the show. Finally, I wasn't shopping (see Mattie, I don't have a serious problem). Then, I came home, worked on some writing, Washington Writes a Story Day and the Reading Series. Without the input of my lovely co-host, I'm thinking about calling it The Dark Room reading series (that's the name of the room in the Rouge). Do you guys think Reb will go for it? Don't know Reb, click here to learn about who I'm shackin' up with at the Rouge: http://www.herecomeseverybody.blogspot.com/

And any of you want to come in the Dark Room with us, please email me some poems and tell me why you like it in the Dark: carly.sachs@gmail.com. We'll be there in January, last Monday of every month.

Tomorrow I'm heading home to spend some time with friends, family, and the Canfield Fair. Fried anything on a stick, though I prefer the french fries and lemon shakes. Call me old fashioned. Yes, I'm that kind of a girl. My cousin is the one who's all about the corn dogs.

Yogurt is such a great sounding word

I'm wondering how to work it into a poem in an original way. Jane Kenyon has a great poem called Man Eating (see above). The poem is so good, I decided to put it up twice...no, blogger has just been deciding to duplicate all pictures I upload. Ah well, when I was a teacher, they told me that I should always repeat the really important things.

Still sore from yesterday's Body Combat workout at the gym, but I went anyway this morning after breakfast. I've taken to making my own yogurt as the grocery's flavors are lacking. I but plain and add blueberries, chocolate chips, and granola. Enjoying my last day of not having any real agenda---classes start tomorrow at GW! Tonight is the big faculty potluck dinner and department meeting. I'll be sporting a new silk top that I bought at a thrift store in Takoma Park for a steal and my famous chocolate raspberry brownies.

This is how I know I have been watching too much sex and the city

Can we have our cake and eat it too? The old adage tells us we can't, but in a media, technology centered gimme society in which patience is shoved out the window and emails travel a mile a minute, how do we find the way to slow down and not always want the bigger, better piece? When do we decide to step off the fast track and not feel guilty for doing so? When will enough be enough?

In terms of relationships it seems that we always want our cake and to eat it to and then when we get to eat it, we don't want it anymore. The other day a few of us got into a heated discussion of why people cheat in relationships. This customer said it was natural that people cheat---they can't eat the same cake day in and day out---hence, your favorite becomes tiresome if you repeat it all the time. My mom once decided to eat only desserts in college until she got so sick of them she stopped eating them. There is a time when enough becomes too much.

I find myself questioning what it is that I want. It seems that I'm always drawn to the same flavor, though I do pride myself on having and eclectic pallet. Yesterday I had a scoop of bittersweet at this fabulous ice cream shop in Takoma Park and that's what seems appropriate now, the irony of bittersweetness. I always take my cake a la mode!

There is much good in the world

Last night at the bar I had some amazing conversations with various drinkers--see mom, the bar is not all about getting bendered :). I spent a long time talking to the most fascinating middle aged woman---she's lived all over the world, has been an executive chef, speaks a few languages, throws amazing parties, still shops at Banana Republic, knows all about wine...all in all, I think she's had about 17 different lives and is now going back to school for interior design. She reminded me a little bit of a woman I used to teach with in the Bronx and my step grandmother who took up painting in her 70's...

These are women who are living life to the fullest---like the lines from my favorite movie Dead Poet's Society (Carpe Diem and gather ye rosebuds while ye may). Today I gathered some orchids after pilates and submitted my Mango Salmon recipe to a contest and then it's off to the Rouge again. Hoping to work on some poems, but have been getting sucked in to watch my Sex and the City DVDs lately...

So, in terms of good, fashion, and making the world a better place, this event sounds like it's in the bag:

Funky Diva Purse Auction
Cleveland Rape Crisis Center
Hector Vega
Artefino Gallery
Tower Press Building
1900 Superior Avenue
216-619-6194

Local artist and gallery owner Hector Vega and the Cleveland Rape Crisis Center (CRCC) are launching a unique fund raiser called the Funky Diva Purse Auction to be held Saturday, November 12, 2005 at the Tower Press Building, 1900 Superior Avenue. Fifty select artists are creating a work of art out of a stylish template handbag that has been created especially for this event. These custom, wearable works of art will be stuffed with a variety of priceless goodies including jewelry, spa, restaurant, shopping and experience gift certificates for your favorite pampered diva. The funky, one-of-a-kind purses will be on view and then auctioned off on November 12. This will be a juried show judged by a panel local community leaders, artists, celebrities and fashionistas. Prizes will be awarded to artists who create the best bags in different categories including Girl Power, Most Cleveland, and Bling Bling. Proceeds from the auction will benefit the Cleveland Rape Crisis Center.

The World has Another Poet

http://www.comcast.net/tv/index.jsp?cat=TELEVISION&fn=/2005/08/25/207868.html

Strike...Beer Soup? and my new found Jedi powers!

No one ever made it to third base at the Rouge tonight...sigh. It was slow and walking out, lifting the velvet rope (those of you who have been can probably see me doing this), and holding my bag and Aqua Panna (the $4 water, can we say snoooooty!), I watered my own flowers in my head---and a bunch of cuties were watching. Reminds me of that time in college roller blading down the hill on Summit and grass staining my entire body in front of a bunch of frat guys---and they think I'm graceful at the bar the way I don't spill anyone else's drinks.

So, my cousin posted a recipe on her blog. I think it sounds like bloody mary meets gazpacho but cheers cuz'! Perhaps we'll try it at the Rouge--hey it's red isn't it?

Here's the how to:

Chilled Tomato-Beer Soup
Preparation time: 25 minutes
Chilling time: 4 hours
Servings: 8

Note: Green garlic is available at farmers markets. You may substitute blanched, chopped regular garlic.
Ingredients:4 cups peeled, seeded and diced very ripe tomatoes (about 10 medium)
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and chopped
2 green onions, trimmed and chopped
2 tsps. chopped green garlic
1 (12-ounce) bottle very cold Pilsener or lager
1 tsp. sea salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 Tbsps. chopped chives

1. Combine the tomatoes, cucumber, green onions and garlic in a blender and process until smooth.
2. Pour the mixture into a bowl. Cover and chill at least 4 hours.
3. Just before serving, stir in the beer. Season with salt and pepper. Garnish with chives and serve at once. (source from L.A. Times)

Have been working on my Jedi skills. I can now will people to do what I want. So, I was at Wrap Works and no one was in there and this family with way too many kids sits at the table next to me while I am reading and the kids are like all over the place and I'm thinking why the hell are they so close to me. So they get settled, drinks, wraps and all. Then they get up and move to a table outside. I willed them to disappear and they did. I also willed 20% and it happened on almost every check. I really don't know how it works, but Shannon and I were on tonight. It's kind of like wishing, like Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz saying there's no place like home, or like Samantha from Bewitched twitching her nose. The good old fashion mind over matter or if you will it, it is no dream. So next time you want something, just close your eyes, and say a little prayer or do a little dance and most importantly, just desire it to be so and you'll surprise yourself (hey, I'm blogging at midnight, give me some credit---it really works (said in my made for tv infomercial voice) and I'm getting away with too many parenthesis right now).

BJs at the Rouge Tonight

for under $10...and that's a classy drink folks! That's right, tonight's special drink is the BJ shot and props to anyone who can do 37...hint hint for tonight's movie selection. There will also be complimentary Slim Jim's at the bar as if you needed another hint hint. So much for this being discreet business.

Also on the radar, the reading series is a go and so I'll be co-curating with the fabulous Reb Livingston, DC's sexiest poetry reading in the winter. More on that to come.

No Borders Here

if you want to read some international writers:

http://www.wordswithoutborders.org/

As I'm getting ready for the semester, I'm trying to find all of the resources available and since I've added an independent study of a poet of a student's choosing, I'm trying to find as many places to point them in the direction of "discovering" the voice of another writer, someone who they will connect with. And I'm starting to reflect and remember all of those writers who built a bridge for me, who encouraged me to walk this far, to not look down, to remember where I had been and to lead me to new worlds.

In other places with no borders, last night I learned that to have a bender with someone was Aussie for getting drunk and this morning I woke up and went into my bathroom only to find that one of my ceiling spiders (that's where they normally like to stay when the come over b/c they know I'm scared to death of brooming them down and having them fall on my bed) decided to cross some borders and sit right on my dental floss...perhaps thinking he could be creative and add that to his web. I was slightly bent! and had no qualms about letting him know that he crossed the line.

And for my now deceased house guest spider, an elegy penned by Rock Star poet Rod Smith:

These are spiders. They are happy spiders. They fill the bugles of the nutbrained beaming throughscape most happy to collate.
Other spiders live in the soft languish of the original underpants.
Come, live with the spiders, come, join them, in the long hibernation dream of the original underpants, Mr. Jones.


Some of the spiders are not called anything because they are happy.
This is my new style. How do you like it?
It has caused me great personal anguish.

This is only a section from the spider poems. For the full frontal, click below:

http://www.dcpoetry.com/anth2001/rodsmith.htm

Movin' on Up!

After coming back from an intense work out at the gym this morning, I came back to find my appointment letter from GW--not only did my salary go up (a hair) but I have this swanky new title...I went from lecturer to Assistant Professorial Lecturer. And my apartment still has water. Yesterday I found out there wouldn't be any today because they are doing boiler work...so I showered at the gym for nothing. Ah well. Tonight I'll be making a guest appearance at the Topaz Bar (another one in the Kimpton family). So come see me for some insight on the rocks:
http://topazbar.com/dcbtpz/menu.html

These peaches were not slimy

For some reason my cousin and I used to say "slimy peaches" instead of "cheese" when taking pictures. I wonder how we came up with that. I don't think I've ever referred to peaches as being slimy. Last night's certainly weren't. It was one of those perfect writer dinner parties. I made the famous mango salmon and Mattie made an amazing salad with toasted walnuts and mandarin oranges and for dessert, we had broiled white peaches with a blackberry port sauce--a joint collaboration. The theme for the night was fruit, our version of Iron Chef. Mattie spilled the beans...we were going to have Reb and Chris guess. And of course the great poetry gossip, which will remain on the hush hush. But here are somethings to wet your whistles (depending on your whistle, take your pick...1. Reb brought me some fabulous French panties from her recent trip (KR, eat your heart out--no you won't find pictures of these) 2. looks like the reading series that Reb and I are co-curating is going to be a go at the Rouge. Spoke to the boss and she's on board and speaking of readings, 3. scored an invite (perhaps from my role as Dead Roses at the Lucipo reading about a month ago) to read at Red Emmas in Baltimore the first Saturday in November.

Today I spent the day working on my own writing (hence the absence from the blog) and took one of those sweet afternoon naps.

Breaking Bread with Karen Kovacik

When I tell people I write poetry, they always ask what kind...compare it to picking out a flavor of ice cream. I write mint chocolate chip poems. Ah, if only the answer were that simple. So after some thought, I think I have my answer. I write poems about humanity...poems that ask us to imagine our lives and the lives of others. Poetry is somewhat like a heartbeat, it allows us to hear our own lives. When I think about most of my poems, I realize they are heavily people centered. There is always a character (Ramona, the artists, Doris, the woman...)

I think poetry is something that we can use to speak to and understand one another. I'll give an example here. Karen Kovacik's new book Metropolis Burning has just been published by the Poetry Center at Cleveland State University. Below you will find one of her poems (I may have messed up some of the line breaks due to the copy/paste function). Break bread with her...

With electricity cut by NATO bombs, she waits in candlelight for her customers. —New York Times photo caption, May 24, 1999

Her shoulders ache.
In ten minutes they will wander in from the cellars,
wanting breakfast for the children,
a sandwich loaf, something crusty that would stand up to soup.
The line will curl through the dark shop.
They will point, choose, and their purchases she will tally by hand.
Later, there’ll be a rock concert, a rally.
By then, if she’s lucky, she’ll be asleep under feathers,
dreaming of the tiny horns named for cuckolds
and whether they will lose their curl in the ovens,
for the young ones, deprived of Ninja Turtles,
are hungry for these pointy buns.

Corporeal

This is my body, this is yours
The sour mother rising in the bowl
will bring forth fingers, horns, and plaits
O armpit of pumpernickel,
groin of corn give it to us black and blonde
Sink into the beds of our bellies and grow us new bones

Folkloric

Offer it with salt to welcome a weary traveller
Sign each braid with a cross before baking
He who steps on a crumb will make the souls in limbo weep
Drop a slice on the floor—kiss it before eating
Salute the bride with a loaf, and she will be happy in bed

Antiphonal

Blessed are the Slovenes, for they are the cake-makers
Blessed are the Croats, for they excel at fish
Blessed the Dalmatians, for their black wine gave birth to philosophy
Blessed the Montenegrins, for their honey pastries console bitter coffee
Blessed, too, the Bosnians for the subtlety of their tongues—
who else would season veal with lemon and hibiscus?
Blessed the Serbs, for their bean soup makes foreign clerics sweat
Blessed the Herzegovinians, for their silver wine strengthens friendships
Blessed the Macedonians, for their puddings of pumpkin sweeten a heavy feast
Blessed the Albanians for their love of cinnamon
And blessed are the olive trees and vineyards, goats and sheep,
for they serve both parable and table
Blessed are the mint and dill, for they are the peacemakers
And blessed the yeast and sponge, the sour-gray loaves, for they have inherited the earth


Karen Kovacik was born in East Chicago, Indiana, in 1959. She currently teaches creative writing and literature in the Department of English at Indiana University-Purdue University of Indianapolis. Her book, Beyond the Velvet Curtain, winner of the Stan and Tom Wick Poetry Prize, appeared from Kent State University Press in fall 1999. Her translations of contemporary Polish poetry have appeared in , and Graham House Review.

Singing the Bacon Blues

No, actually, I never quite made it as a folk singer, though it has always been one of my dreams. But speaking of bacon, check this out:

http://baconshow.blogspot.com/

No, Ramona will not be making any of these receipes in her kitchen (right now she's grilling portobellas and red peppers) but for my non-kosher friends, bring it!

Though I have a confession. Over the summer I went to a diner in PA and ordered blueberry pancakes and wanted something to go with them, so I broke down. I ordered the side of country bacon...we're not talking any of that grocery store nonsense---it was a serious hunk of pork, probably one of the best things I have ever eaten. I don't know why that meal tasted so good. Perhaps because it was something forbidden, perhaps because I was breaking away from what I normally would do. It felt good, rebellious, perhaps even a bit scandalous. Sometimes you just have to break the mold, step outside the comfort zone.

It's Thursday, another dynamite one at the Rouge. You know you want the free tots.

I Have Taken A Lover...

or rather two, one for each foot...looks like i have a new addiction...besides who actually can walk in Manolo's?

The Gents say: Flower Power Dude!

This is what happens after a few margaritas on a Monday night...Rock star poet Rod Smith decided to copy my 'do on the way home from the bar, and what a trend it is! Perhaps when he reads with a certain poet at Georgetown, he'll let me really be his stylist. He's pictured here with my colleague Nabil from the Rouge...perhaps you'll see him behind the front desk with fleurs as well :)

Yesterday I moved back into my place after being away for 3 months...how good it is to have a room of one's own (thanks Virginia!). I spent the morning relaxing with waffles, Rohr's coffee (my favorite pumpkin spice), and Sex and the City and after watching the episode about the marrieds vs. the singles, Moses at my front desk and I had a conversation about my subletter and when I said she had a husband and a house back in TN, he said, "soon for you."

Hmmm, for those of you who know me well, go ahead, let out that snicker! Soon for me, how many light years is that? While I definitely do want that handsome hubby one day, I'm quite content being that single gal who takes care of herself (except when I get sick and then I'm a huge baby). Though there is usually a man in my radar, it's nice to know that you have your own space that no one can take away from you. I remember having this kind of a conversation with a writer friend of mine who said, writing is your passion, a man comes second...hence the solution: date a writer---which is another debate in and of itself---how can two writers actually feed each other and keep the balance? I know two, Frank and Doris who are doing it quite well. But do writer couples work? Look at Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath, but then again there's Donald Hall and Jane Kenyon. Just goes to show you that there are many right and wrong ways. For Doris, it's diagonal.

Ekphrasis

is the word of the day...what it means is writing in response to art, which is what I have been working on for the new manuscript of poems, though I didn't even know there was a term for this. Turns out, there's more of it going on than I thought:

http://enculturation.gmu.edu/3_2/miltner/index.html

Someone heard I was Staying at The No Tell Motel

http://thepage.name/ ...so in case you missed my poems...you'll find me on the page!

The Grilled Cheese that I sometimes Serve...

was in today's Washington Post. In an article about restaraunts that make adult versions of kid classic meals...ours is the sexy grilled cheese b/c it's called the manage a trois or as some guests like to order: "I'll have the three way! and the Adultress (a pink martini-like drink). What a combo yes?

A Breath (a la Maj Ragain, Alice Cone, and Wallace Stevens)

Lately, I've been thinking about what I really want-no, not in an egotistical way, but in a what is the meaning of my life sort of way, and I keep coming back to the words of Maj Ragain, my poetry teacher at Kent. For my colleauges who say Maj who, now you know: http://verdant-systems.com/Damen&Ragain.htm He wrote this in a letter to me (I'm paraphrasing here). I found somewhere to plant my seeds and then I did the good work of the earth. I think this is the best and most difficult pieces of advice to follow. For the perfectionist in me, I'm always worried about the next step---ok, I achieved this, so now I move on to____. All that climbing makes someone successful, but tired, and definitely happy (though sometimes fleeting) and never fully content. Other people in my life have told me to SLOW down and BREATE---which I struggle with, even in yoga class, it's the breath I can't tame. It seems the life of a writer is challenging---how to make enough money so you can write and how do you find the time and place for writing. A colleauge of mine said that often the best writers weren't the best teachers because the teaching was the job that kept them writing. Then there are some writers in which it is the teaching that is most important, it is that exchange of passion and ideas, which is the core of writing. In Kent terms, the heart song and poem breath. When I think about who embodies poetry to me, it is Maj Ragain and Alice Cone, my poetry profs. at Kent who taught me to trust in my words and to have faith that it is the work, not the outcome that matters.

The old journey not destination mantra---and as people come and go in my life, I think about these small moments, the threads that connect one human being to another, I think about taking one breath at a time and in the words of Wallace Stevens (or perhaps my own version of his line), let be be the beginning of seem.

What was not open today: Larry's Ice Cream in Dupont, a major disappointment

Who was not serving breakfast at noon: Teaism in Dupont

What was on sale: shirts at Benneton, more black of course...

What did not fit: size 36 shoes (lime green with orange flowers) at Comfort One, curses to my tiny feet.

What I did not spend: all of last night's tips on non-existant ice cream, waffles, and shoes (thrifty by default)

What I did not post about: Last night's red napkin seduction (I'm all about discretion and mystery and sometimes tall tales)

Where there will be a new Mongolian BBQ: Mongolia!!!

Where can you find some Cleveland poems: http://www.thecitypoetry.com/

Portrait of an Artist as a Young Sexy Bartender, No Moola Please

Hey, I'm not that vain, just repeating what my friend who took the picture dubbed me :). Everything is on schedule for Dynamite Thursday so c'mon into the Rouge for some sweet hook-ups!

And here is another sweet literary/food free hook-up:

E A T I N G _ I N _ P U B L I C Produced by Nomoola.com by Gaye Chan and Nandita Sharma $0 Design by Gaye Chan
Eating In Public chronicles the work of Nomoola.com from Nov 2003 to Oct 2004 - from planting food without permission to the opening of their first free_store.

Nomoola is an anti-capitalism project in Hawai'i nudging a little space outside of the commodity system. Unlike Santa and the State, they give equally to the naughty and the nice. They do not exploit anyone's labor. And they do not offer tax-deductions. They are, in all the word's various definitions, free. Following the path of pirates and nomads, hunters and gathers, diggers and levelers, they gather at people's homes and plant food on public land. They currently have two ongoing free_stores and a website at www.nomoola.com.

For your free copy, email your address to Susan Schultz sschultz@hawaii.edu

Dynamite Thursdays and a Dynamite Line

Tomorrow begins Dyanamite Thursdays at Bar Rouge. We'll be showing the movie and having complimentary tots at the bar (provided management gives us the ok)! Shannon and I will be rockin' our Vote for Pedro t's (provided that management got them made for us). So it should be a dynamite time (provided that our patrons dig it). Tonight Shannon and I will be dreaming up the inagural drink---the Uncle Rico--conveniently left off of our Boys of Summer drink menu.

*

I want to share with you one of the best passages (rather a few lines) from The G-d of Small Things. I really haven't been able to put this book down. Arundhati Roy captures the wonder and mystery of the world around and inside of us. The world she weaves is tangible and mystical and the characters entralling:

"It is after all so easy to shatter a story. To break a chain of thought. To ruin a fragment of a dream being carried around carefully like a piece of porcelain. To let it be, to travel with it, as Velutha did, is much the harder thing to do."

Savor This

Alimentum.
The only literary review all about food.
Fiction. Poetry. Creative Non-fiction.
Food in its finest form; sating a loftier appetite:
juicy paragraphs, tasty stanzas, mouth-watering stories,
surprisingly succulent essays
Savor the word of food.

Alimentum ‘s writers, poets, stylists, and thinkers
capture food’s elusive character (it’s not just about what’s on your plate).
Stories that dish up life’s events – big and small – sweet and salty.
Well-seasoned essays and poems make feasts of our daily fare.

Premiere Issue Winter 2005-2006
**Mark Kurlansky, Clifford A. Wright, Cortney Davis, many more!**
Be a Charter Subscriber $18/ year Winter & Spring Issues
Single issue: $10
Make checks payable to:Alimentum P. O. Box 776 New York, NY 10163
www.alimentumjournal.com


Alimentum: original, playful, tasteful, aware –
so good you’ll want to eat it.
Premiere Issue Winter 2005-2006
**Mark Kurlansky, Clifford A. Wright, Cortney Davis, many more! Including yours truly, that saucy gal Ramona!!!**
Be a Charter Subscriber!
$18/ year Winter & Spring Issues Single issue: $10
Make checks payable to:
Alimentum
P. O. Box 776 New York, NY 10163
www.alimentumjournal.com

New York, New York and Galileo

On a rainy DC day, I miss you and your poetry events...

Amy King & Justin Marks
Friday, August 12th, 7:30 PM@ The Fall Café
307 Smith Street between Union & PresidentF/G to Carroll Street

Come celebrate the official release of the first Kitchen Press chapbook, Justin Marks’ You Being You byProxy. He will be reading with Amy King, who haspoems going up all week at No Tell Motel. Copies of You Being You By Proxy, as well as the tiny and other small-run magazines will be available for purchase.

AMY KING is the author of the poetry collections, Antidotes for an Alibi (Blazvox Books), a Lambda BookAward finalist, and the chapbook, The PeopleInstruments (Pavement Saw Press). Her poems haveappeared in such publications as The Brooklyn Rail,Milk Magazine, The Mississippi Review, Riding the Meridian, and Shampoo Poetry, and her work is included in the textbook, Accessing Literature (Wadsworth). She teaches full time at Nassau Community College and has taught at Brooklyn College. King holds an M.A.from the State University of New York at Buffalo and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Brooklyn College.

Justin Marks has poems in or forthcoming from Typo, Black Warrior Review, The New York Quarterly, Euphony,Redivider and Sidereality. A series of essays, "Three Rooms: The Poetry of Denis Johnson, AugustKleinzahler, and Franz Wright," will be in issue 61 ofThe New York Quarterly. He is editor of LIT magazine and lives in New York City.


Though I'm missing the big poetry events, I will be able to eat a very big sandwich...you have to go to the back room to get it and then you get to banter with the chef...especially when Ramona asks for Broccoli Rabe and Provolone instead of the featured meaty meat sandwiches. Here's the skinny on the top secret savory sandwiches and the best cannoli in town:


The grill will be open on WEDNESDAY & THURSDAY THIS WEEK from 11:45 a.m. until everything is gone. Please note: the grill will be on a brief hiatus for at least 2 weeks and will probably open again around August 31st. We will e-mail you the week of August 29th with an update. We hope to see you this week!


For pre-orders call 202-293-7191 - PREORDERS WILL BE TAKEN UNTIL 11:30 a.m.

PLEASE NOTE: PREORDER ITEMS WILL BE READY FOR PICK UP AT THE BAR IN THE FRONT OF THE RESTAURANT.

Seating will be available in the courtyard (weather permitting) and inside in our back private room.

MENU
Homemade Hot Dogs $3.50
Grilled Chicken Sandwich $5
Pork Shoulder Sandwich $5
Pork Sausage Sandwich $5
Pork Ribs $5
Pizza $5
Meatballs $6
Soup of the Day $3
Sodas $1
Sweet Ricotta Cannoli $2.50
Italian Country Bread $3

Add to your sandwich:
Provolone $1
Broccoli Rabe $2

Other Sandwich Toppings:
Green Peppers and Onions
Mustard
Green Sauce
BBQ Sauce
Lettuce
Homemade Ketchup
Sauerkraut


Galileo Restaurant
1110 Twenty-first Street NW
Washington, DC
20036202-293-7191
202-331-9364 (fax)

www.galileodc.com

Wouldn't Our Mothers' Be So Proud...

and aren't we doing them such naches (someone may want to check my Yiddish) by posting our whereabouts and whatnots online? Though I can see some potential danger here---I haven't seen a blog in the past hour, are you alright? or I read about the bugs...are you still alive? or were you wearing sunscreen at the parade--you look a little red from the photos!

Jules, I think we've opened a can of worms. Nonetheless, blog on ma cousine :)

http://thesoss.blogspot.com

Drop the Anchor

and sail away with some of my favorite poets!!!

http://www.mipoesias.com/Volume19Issue3Gudding/sea2006.html

The Journey continues (Movie always before Dinner)

In keeping with yesterday's theme of journey, I wanted to share a review of Broken Flowers, which I saw yesterday--what I really love about the movie is the ending. Which is normally what I hate about movies and books, that the ending is never satisfying (clearly, life is about the present moment, not the destination, no?). The best advice I received from writing fiction came from Joyce Hackett (author of Disturbance of the Inner Ear). She told me to begin the story somewhere in the middle---so conversely, I'm interpreting that one should do the same for the ending...to not completley close and tie everything up, no fairy tale ends. This is not to say that they don't exist, but I think it makes for a more honest read/or watch depending on...and now here's what someone else thought about the movie:

In full bloom, 7 August 2005Author: riderpridethemovie from Toronto

Films this restrained can only be made by an experienced filmmaker, a guy who knows what he wants to say and how to say it and doesn't have to worry about impressing everyone with witty banter or fancy camera tricks. Broken Flowers is so restrained, I'm sure it will elicit some of the same responses Bill Murray's last two films (The Life Aquatic, Lost in Translation) received, mainly — what's the big fuss about? The big fuss is that like Jim Jarmusch, Murray's an experienced craftsman, who understands that true talent lies in how much you give to your supporting actors, not in how much spotlight you take. Movie acting is all in the eyes and subtle body language, not in bombast. but mostly it's in being able to listen to your fellow actors. It's counterintuitive, that a visual medium relies so much on quiet, but it's what separates the great performances from the over-hyped. Let's hope that a subtle movie like this one avoids massive media attention, as that would be missing its point. And what, many may ask, is the point of Broken Flowers. At the screening I attended many were confused, others disappointed by the ending. Indeed, if there is one niggling detail that separates this film from perfection, it is the ending. Of course, Indian rugmakers intentionally weave mistakes into their wares, because they believe only God is perfect, my point being that the theme of this film is that in a quest for meaning, sometimes we learn there is no answer or that the answer is complex. In this case, Jarmusch seems to be saying that meaning is already present, but you might only glean it if you are prepared. Murray's character, Don Johnston (with a "T"), only went on the road trip at his neighbour's urging, and clearly felt the whole thing was nonsense. His attitude may have caused him to miss the mystery, but discover new truths. Similarly, the audience may become too fixated with solving the mystery of who the mother of his son is and miss the other truths, namely that Johnston already has a family with his next-door neighbours, and he already has a relationship as good as he would have had with any of his past flames. The pink typewritten letter, the long-lost son, they are not the point of his life. As Johnston himself says, "The past is gone, the future's not here yet. All there is is now."

Here are some things that I have discovered on yesterday's journey:

A dinner and movie date is better done movie, then dinner--go ahead, be wild and crazy!

It is good to try new things, but mint chocolate chip will never let you down.

If you can fall asleep with someone, it doesn't mean that you find them boring, it means that you feel safe around them.

There should be more escalators---it has to do with your prana spot.

DC is way too hot: cool down with some poems from the North:

http://www.icefloepress.org/about.shtml

The Tulip Sermon

Yesterday someone who is about to begin an amazing journey to pursue his dream sent me the following quote:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."--From Coach Carter, adapted from Marianne Williamson's Return to Love

For some, Sunday is a day of prayer--for me, a day of reflection and relaxing after my first Saturday at the Rouge. This morning I woke up and decided to walk to the Firehook for a pumpkin spice muffin. On my way home, I bought flowers (for my hair of course) from a man from Zambia, who sells flowers on the corner in Cleveland Park every weekend. No doubt, he came here with a dream of his own (I'm guessing it's not actually selling flowers) but nonetheless he is here, on his journey. Just as we are all here on our own journeys, trying to find the thing that will make us happy. Lately, I've been thinking about all the changes I've made--deciding to teach another section of Intro. to Creative Writing and giving up the security of a full time job, coming back to D.C. without a place to live (though rescued by my wonderful cousin)---that sometimes we take the next step without knowing where our feet will land, if the earth will be solid below or give way.

My good friend Katherine who is now a pastor at The South Bay Christian Church has a beautiful sermon about finding and trusting that thing inside you--perhaps faith, perhaps a belief in something higher and trusting that which is not always seen or felt and having the courage and strength to let that foot move from one step to the next. http://southbaychristianchurch.blogspot.com/

Walk and shine on, know that there will be blossoms, if not now, soon, that germination, the time in which we do not always see or feel the effects of sun and water are part of the process necessary to flower.

Don't Take My Word for It...

but I work at one of the "world's best bars"---

http://www.worldsbestbars.com/city/washington-dc/bar-rouge-washington-dc.htm

Terry Provost is just another reason that Cleveland Rocks

http://www.coolcleveland.com/index.php/Main/CoolClevelandPeopleTerryProvost

What is grosser than gross, though I don't need a man

So I came home from the bar tonight only to find two new roommates (luckily for me, unlike this guy, they were on the floor and not my face) ...something that has (well, past tense now) bendy legs, a long anennea, and can jump like the dickens and something else that had more legs than the rockettes. So I grabbed a purple shoe and did the deed, twice, myself, with no mans around (holla). Bringing home the bacon and killin' the bugs---mom would be proud!

Perhaps I should have a guiltier conscience, especially since I'm reading The G-d of Small Things (by Arundhati Roy), and I did kill two small things (though not that small). Hopefully I'll be able to sleep well.

Though I was at the bar all night, I unfortunately did not have time to ruminate about the wasteland--but here is a link to more poetry to tide you over and wet your whistles: http://www.kritya.org/03/en/index.html

Reading this made me realize that my former roomies will advance in their next lives and perhaps they will come into the bar and I can say, this one's on me guys--thanks for not touching my face in our past lives.

Drinkin' it up in The Waste Land

T.S Eliot's poem, The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock (for the poem, click here: http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html) is one of my fav's, but the following is something that is quite interesting as well:

Classics on Poets.org
"April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land," begins T. S. Eliot's groundbreaking and influential 1922 poem "The Waste Land." Now, for the first time, the poem is available in its entirety on Poets.org, along with Eliot's extensive notes, translations, and explanations.

Hmmm, lilacs and women coming and going...getting back to an earlier post, I will ruminate while working tonight and have a T.S Eliot drink recipe for tomorrow. In the meanwhile, drink up, the weekend has arrived. And if anyone wants to come and try my Eliot, come to the Bar Rouge on Saturday night---I'll mix it up nice and strong.

Real Men Drink Cosmos or Don't you wish you were this witty at 9 am?

So, let me propose a morning limmerick to go with your coffee or beginning of the work week. Though, let me say this first, I've never been one for end rhyme--to me it reeks of non-poetness (that is, unless you are and old dead white male poet who may or may not be British). For me, the problem with rhyme is doing it artfully, so that the rhyme does not carry the poem--so you as reader are almost oblivious to it. That being said, I am now a poet who works in the bar and thus, must adapt. Could you imagine me reading a language poem to a bunch of drunk businessmen? Rhymes are fun---there is a reason why we love nursery rhymes, that we can play with language and take such pleasure in the sheer sound of it, the musicality of the day to day. In addition, I have a grocery store diva character--Ramona, as some of you know...and so now of course, my new job demands that either Ramona expand to alcohol, or I create a new character...hmmm, Belinda the Bar Maid? At any rate, my first bar poem was born this morning. May I present, the Limmerick: Cosmopolitan

A cosmopolitan is a real man's drink--
they've been around long enough to know that pink
is acceptable to drink, especially in their prime--half-past thirty.
Blame it on the pretty color or their age when they get flirty,
but for safety's sake, just stand behind the bar and wink.

Shake it! And be sure to recycle...

So, I now know how to make a margarita, cosmo, dirty martini and a few other concoctions. And, we recycle at the Bar Rouge--elicit and environmentally sound :) Two essentials in a working environment yes? My co-workers are incredibly fun and talented people, which is why you should come visit us, and you'll get to see me in this (though from the pic, it looks like i'll be wearing a furry poodle...trust me, it's better in the flesh!)---actually, it's so hot, that it's making my computer not upload it, so you'll now have to come in and see it for yourself... So, stop sitting in front of your computer and have a drink with me and my little skirt, woof!

Gimme that Gimlet!

Looks like this whiskey drinker is going sour...I'm crazy about the limes. Last night was my first night at work at the bar--looks like my moonlighting as a cocktail waitress is going to be a nice adventure for my tastebuds. Not only did I not spill any drinks on anyone, but I got to taste a few of my own (thanks to the AAAS crew that popped in on my first night!). And how about all of our drinks are named after famous people...or more like famous men---yes, the drink menu is actually called the boys of summer, so ladies, drink up! Last night I had a taste of Ziggy Marley, but tonight, I'm all about Sean Penn. But I think my absolute favorite was the gimlet. Here's a recipe for a purple one. Housewives, make your something special this afternoon. Cheers to one and all.

Violet Gimlet
Ingredients:3 oz. gin or rum
1/2 oz. blue curacao
Splash of Rose’s® Lime Juice
1/4 oz. Rose’s® Grenadine
Lime wedge 1 ea. (garnish)

And after you make yourself that gimlet, think about if you could name a drink after a poet, what would be in it. For example, I'd love to go to the bar and say, I'll have a Whitman, straight up, or a Dickinson on the rocks...so poets and housewives/husbands, open up a book and mix yourself something smooth to chase down those poems and post your concoctions on the blog and I'll see if I can get them to do a back to school menu, especially for me!

Make Me A Pot of Tea, or some Bread Pudding?!

I'm a huge fan of bread pudding, especially when there is chocolate involved. My absolute favorite dessert is the hazlenut chocolate bread pudding at the Cornelia Street Cafe in NYC--wonder if this one could hold up a candle (mom, let's try this). And if anyone else does, post a comment and let me know. I always thought tea went nicely with the dessert, but in dessert...an interesting experiment with the mint :). Sounds like a bored housewife, ahem, house husband wanna-be scientist had himself a great afternoon.


Chocolate Mint Bread Pudding
from the kitchen of Greg F
The Woodlands, Texas

2 bags Celestial Seasonings Mint Magic Herb Tea
1 1/2 Cup milk
1 6oz package semi-sweet chocolate pieces
1/2 Cup sugar
1 egg beaten
1/4 tsp salt
2 1/2 Cups soft bread crumbs
1 Tbsp butter

Add 2 bags of Celestial Seasonings Mint Magic Herb Tea to milk. Bring to a simmer and simmer over medium heat for 5 minutes (do not boil). Remove tea bags. Add chocolate and continue over medium heat until chocolate melts. Remove from heat. Combine with sugar, egg and salt. Beat well. Stir in bread crumbs. Pour into a 1-quart baking dish coated lightly with butter. Place dish into a 13x9x2" baking pan and add hot water to pan to depth of 1". Bake 400 degrees 15-20 minutes or until knife inserted comes out clean. Serves 6.

Celebratory Poem: Dessert with Matthew Shindell

I don't know what is sweeter, Mattie (said adoringly, and because it fits the tone better than Matthew or Matt here) or the cherry pie. He came over with some wine to celebrate the poems on notellmotel.org and partake in the great cherry pie endeavor. After a few drinks, we had some more dessert---poetry style :)

Dessert (a collaborative poem)

What about the cherry pie?
that which is red I s'pose
it's true, and voices in the other room.
the crash and a'la mode
or maybe the tv?
like children in the basement.
She fluted the crust, said she heard nothing
which was a lie, obviously, sirens, for example
but she protested the hidden paper.
Four and twenty blackbirds, she had seen it coming.
Preheat to 400 degrees, oh yes,
and something should be said about the wine;
I know I'm having cherry pie, he said, it's all I know.
If she had said it was her first, would he
fall for her sweet sweet lie? Yes.

Cherry Pie (the infinite afternoon)

This is what took up most of my afternoon. These past few weeks I have been experimenting with what it would be like to be a homemaker. I remember laughing at a girl in my feminist lit. class in college when she talked about wanting to cook and do laundry and get married. All of us real feminists had thought she was a fool---but now that I'm here blogging away and have accomplished the cherry pie, some errands, going to the gym, and getting dinner started for my gracious cousins who have agreed to house me for this little experiment into the otherside (I call this, mock housewifery), I'm realizing, that it's actually pretty great. Maybe grandma wasn't that old fashioned when she said marry a nice doctor or lawyer (so you can make pie all day) So far, this is like my third pie in 2 weeks. What I've learned is how much I love cooking...I had always known this, but to really have the time for it (a whole afternoon for a pie=life of luxury)--it's no wonder the mathmatical sign for pi is infinite. So far, I've gone as far as blueberry and cherry, but I'm already thinking of great hybrids. However, my favorite part is definitely signing the crust. Kind of like those Persian poets who penned their names into their gazals.

Eat your heart out 9-5!!! Cherry-o for now!

A New Month, A New Beginning

because life is full of them. Last night I accomplished the most amazing feat---I ate a Chipotle burrito in its entirety (something I have not been able to do since I first met the veggie fajita burrito in the spring of 2001). I also attended my first drum circle in Meridian Hill park. There were all these steps and fountains and gathering of all people and you could not help but feel connected, that the outside was moving inward and the inward outward...where was this heart beat---that life is always moving, that you cannot hold on, but that you will always be holding on. It seems that this is what I have been writing about lately, the weaving together of things that seem separate, but are really more connected than we think. The latest poem is called synaesthesia.

These are things I have been looking for or into online: the peace corps, health insurance (mostly for my parents--who actually do support the decision to adjunct two classes and bartend instead of working the regular 9-5--but want to save me from the awful random things that could happen to someone out there.) The other day I had gone running and got stung by 7 bees---my first bee sting, they had been holding out on me.

And also, my first visit to No Tell Motel (no, I'm not that kind of gal). Actually, I'm not there, my poems are--they prefer the non-smoking suite and you better believe they will be ordering room service. Especially after those late nights at the Bar---yes, that job starts tomorrow. The beginning has now officially begun~