Brandon and Phil's Pines Volume 2: Ridgefield, Connecticut is now available. I haven't received my copy yet, but Volume 1 was out of sight. I suggest you pick yourself up a copy of this limited edition letterpressed gem for a ridiculous $3, or the both of them for $5. Adam is going to review the set I'm told for Octopus #7 (by the way: get your hopes up ladies and germs, #6 is coming to your computers this weekend, barring castrophe). Brandon is also a reader for Cutbank, and that should be coming out soon as well (with little ditties from Adam and I). Brandon and Co. have really turned Cutbank around, be warned. This is not your father's Cutbank.

My First Earthquake

I've just experienced my first earthquake! And I was dispatching in the 911 center no less. It happened at about 10 pm Mountain Time (Brandon did you feel it?). Things were pretty quiet in the center and I began to feel like I was on a boat. I always imagined it be more like in the movies, a jerky and jolting sensation with quick sudden movements, but it was smooth. The building (our center is located in the basement of a 3 story building) felt like it was a raft waves, or sliding back and forth. I've never experienced anything like it and immediately thought I had lost my equilibrium. I became queezy and confused--I would have never suspected it was the earth that was moving like that, I figured it was me. I was about to tell my two co-dispatchers about my sudden illness when I noticed our strongtly secured TV monitors and lights swinging back and forth. The quake lasted about 10 to 15 seconds it seemed then all 6 of our 911 lines and all 9 of our non-emergency lines lit up (the 911 lines roll over to non-emergency if all lines are tied up). Shit the bed! Shit the bed! Every ranch hand and river bum in the entire county called in to report an earthquake, as if they were the only ones, though a few called in to say someone was rocking their trailer from the outside trying to get in, and one guy called in the middle of it to say his neighbor's dog was barking. We fielded about 500 calls in 15 minutes, and they are still fielding calls now that I have left. We had to ask everyone if there were any injuries, structural damage, or gas line breaks. Nothing major, as far as injuries seems to have happend. It is nice to live in the middle of nowhere I suppose during an earthquake--no buildings to fall on anyone. It was 5.6 in magnitude and centered about 40 to 45 miles west of Bozeman. (Blogger takes a deep and long sigh). Glad to get a chance at this sort of thing before moving back to boring old Lincoln. Tornadoes just don't do it for me.

New issues of storySouth, Coconut, Onedit, Red China, and New Hampshire Review.

When I can't get to sleep, I often times play these fantastic scenarios in my head. They're like dreams, though I'm conscious and controlling the scenario, but I'm not quite fully awake either. Last night, like many other nights, it was winning a book contest. Except this time, Verse Press and Fence Books both wanted my book and I had to decided between the two. To make it somehow more believable, realistic (relatively, of couse) and more believable and realistic is more fun in this case I think, Fence did not choose me as a winner, but wanted to publish my book outside the prize, so unfortunately, I would not be receiving the $1000 from them. So, the obvious choice, everthing else being perhaps pretty equal, I had to go with Verse, this being my own common sense, deep attraction for Verse Press, and the advice of A, who, despite being very proud, would rather not say no to an offer of $1000 which could help us take a step out of the small debt that my pursuit of these contests has caused--oh the irony of this pre-sleep scenario! And I can't imagine how difficult it would be to say "no" to Fence--I suppose as fun as it would be to say "yes" to Verse.

Anyway, I think all this obsession over getting this thing published lately means it is due time to get this thing published. I hope something out there pans out soon. It is just so difficult to move on with the next project when one is still lingering, not officially complete until publication perhaps, and thus still begging for attention and revision. I've tried writing other poems, but they are not their own. They want to be in The Man Suit. I need closure. I need to be doing other things right now instead of blogging.

Detroit has a Skyline Too

After about 8 years in the heavy listening rotation, my Superchunk's Here's Where the Strings Come In cassette has finally warped. Gotta spring for a new one. And it's gotta be cassette--God, they sound so much better on cassette.

Last Year
Last Night
I'm Tired
Let's fight

Like a coward, I put my thoughtful and thorough letter of resignation on dispatcher boss's desk tonight and ran. I don't want him to react to the news in front of me. I avoid awkward moments at all costs. Can't wait for our conversation tomorrow.

Salinger, the toilet I primarily utilize, and evidence of transition.

More E.O.T, and my favorite coozie. I once published an essay about coozies at obsessiveconsumption.com. You should google me sometime.

This was the only picture I managed to snap. The launch site. B and I had a good 2.5 hour stretch of float. Great weather. Floating beer cooler. I managed to burn only the following three locales on my pastey white self: the top of my left foot, my left thigh, and my hairline.

The last two nights I've had to work a 12 at the dispatch center. That is a lot of the party next door is too loud, there is barefooted drunk lady in the street talking to herself. A lot of my brother stabbed me in the leg, and there is a cow in the entrance ramp to the highway. I got home at 3am last night and watched two episodes of Kids in the Hall on Comedy Central. I miss those guys. I really do. My favorite is Bruce. Yours?

Today, I've been working on the Man Suit. It is a little tighter now I think. I'm ready to invest in some more first book contests. And I continue my search for a solid part-time job in Lincoln.

Tomorrow, I go floating down the Madison River all day in an inflatable tube. This is one of the three rivers that form the Mighty Missouri. I may float all the way to the Missouri, which begins only about 10 miles from where we live. I may bring some beers.

Been getting some good books in the box lately. Some signed Phylum Press books to the left: Even Song for the Lost Pollinators by Daniel Bouchard, United States by Dan Featherston, Tulips by Charles North (I want to color this book in with crayons), The Blue Book by Anna Moschovakis. Too Kind Lori Shine sent me Reverse Rapture by Dara Wier from Verse Press. A signed copy of Like Wind Loves a Window by Andrea Baker from Slope (it beat out the Man Suit last year for this, and deservedly so, wow). And penultimate package from my Ugly Duckling subscription (my God, does this 60 bucks go way further than it should!): Small Poems by Yuko Otomo, Bird and Forest by Brent Cunningham, and Soft Hands by Stan Apps.  

The new Canary finally flew in. I've only tinkered with bits and pieces adding up to half the issue. Thats usually how I read a journal, differently from a book of poems. I bounce around like a little electron. Sometimes I'll read the first half of one poem and the last of another. Anyway, I've been taken aback most so far by Peter Shippy and GC Waldrep and Susan M Schultz and Elizabeth Willis and the Danielle Pafunda. There isn't a weak spot here. Not a bloody one. Not even my poem.  

Black Cloud

Despite the fact that we're moving to Lincoln in a month, I have yet to tell my dispatcher friends and co-workers, and most importantly, my dispatcher boss, that I will be quitting. This is looming and hanging. Quitting is a difficult thing for me to do, it is like breaking up, and I'm deathly afraid of it. I'm afraid of the reaction on the faces, the awkwardness, the major disappointment in me. In fact, dispatcher boss just called me in to his office a few days ago and told me how wonderful a job I was doing, how proud he is to have me on the team, and how excited he was to be able to continue working with me in the future. I could have told him then, but I would have rather stabbed myself in the face. Anyway, it must be done within the week, I think. Should I do it with a letter? Otherwise, I'll just stumble over all the sensible points and look like a jackass. Oh, the horror! Oh, the awkward last two weeks afterward!

I hope they don't google me and read my blog. If so, I guess it'll make quitting that much easier.

Reb and Molly thought two of my poems were hott enough for their bedside guide anthology over at the No Tell. Hot dog! I hope my comp copies come in discreet packaging.

Back from NE. Had a good time with the in-laws and the biologicals. Saw a killer fireworks display in Norfolk, NE, home of Johnny Carson and my grand in-laws. A and I somehow purchased a residence in Lincoln. I'm still not sure exactly how that happened. A tornado of paperwork and figures blew through and we're homeowners. We picked out a strangely nice spanish inspired little number with corrugated tile and stucco. A flat roof. Tight landscaping. A backyard ripe for a brick patio. Wood floors. Fireplace. Sunroom. And get this: an honest to goodness booth in the kitchen with a modest little black iron chandelier hanging above it. And it comes with a friendly little neighbor couple name LeAnne and Phil and newborn daughter Sara. Can't wait to get my hands on this house and put some touches on it.We'll be moving back mid-August it looks like. Here's the only pic we have of it now:

Cute huh? But this is an outdated pic. Picture it with a tidy little flower garden in those little sections up front, and the window flower boxes full of red perennials. Also, not pictured is a black rod iron gate in the front. That whats up now.