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