Skirmish

I haven't had much to say here lately. I found out you can play Scrabble on Facebook and now my online time is kind of shot...

BUT HERE IS ONE IMPORTANT THING:

If you are itching for a new book of poems, Skirmish by Dobby Gibson is what you're after.

Prop 8 - The Musical

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Happy Day.

What Would Jesus Buy? is the post-Thanksgiving feast movie to watch!



If you are a Netflix type, you can even do the "view instantly" deal.

Can One Scan Too Much?

I just figured out how to use my scanner, and I've been organizing photos all weekend. Got a kick out of the ticket stubs that I keep finding between everything (these aren't nearly all of them).

In Poor Taste? Yet Perfect, Too? Yes.

Baby Trumps Twine Ball

A couple weekends ago, my pals K and A and I headed out to Darwin, MN, to see the largest ball of twine wound by one man. It's big. I don't feel I would have been any more impressed by the somewhat larger balls of twine that exist in a couple other cities around the midwest that were created as group efforts.
You do sort of think, however, that there'll be more to do around a ball of twine.


The following weekend, and politely during a visit by my brother and his friend, this new guy in our family showed up so we could all meet him.


And here is my favorite kid on the planet leaving the voting booths with his little red sticker in hand. Yes!!!!!!!!

Also, please check Imaginary Press Series updates

I'm pulling my bookmarks out of Tomas Transtromer's The Half-Finished Heaven so I can return it to the library on time, which I don't really want to do. Here are some of my favorite bits:

Every person is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.

and:

Two truths approach each other. One comes from inside, the
other from outside,
and where they meet we have a chance to catch sight of ourselves.

The man who sees what's about to take place cries out wildly:
"Stop!"

and here's half of the poem Solitude:

Right here I was nearly killed one night in February.
My car slewed on the ice, sideways,
into the other lane. The oncoming cars--
their headlights--came nearer.

My name, my daughters, my job
slipped free and fell behind silently,
farther and farther back. I was anonymous,
like a schoolboy in a lot surrounded by enemies.

The approaching traffic had powerful lights.
They shone on me while I turned and turned
the wheel in a transparent fear that moved like eggwhite.
The seconds lengthened out--making more room--
they grew long as hospital buildings.

It felt as if you could just take it easy
and loaf a bit
before the smash came.

Then firm land appeared: a helping sandgrain
or a marvelous gust of wind. The car took hold
and fishtailed back across the road.
A signpost shot up, snapped off--a ringing sound--
tossed into the dark.

Came all quiet. I sat there in my seatbelt
and watched someone tramp through the blowing snow
to see what had become of me.

Sigh.