Soul Meets Blog

I feel awkward when friends or potential romantic partners ask to make an overnight Saturday or Sunday date, and I continually say no. “Why?” they invariably ask.

Because I go to church. There, I said it. Out loud and in print.

I go to church pretty much every Sunday, and afterward I hang out with people from my church pretty much all afternoon and evening. In an effort to maintain my façade of hip, too-coolness, I rush to follow-up with “but it’s Unitarian Universalist, so it’s not like I thump the Bible, or want to convert you, it’s actually pretty cool. Special, you know?”

But most people don’t know who UUs are or what we’re about. (First, it’s such a mouthful just say the name of our religion, many of our churches, and our various social groups and committees that we LOVE acronyms.)

Today's song is by Scottish singer KT Tunstall. She's half-Chinese/half-Scottish. So, when you see her, you see this dimunitive Asian-looking woman who opens her mouth and sounds straight out of Trainspotting, but not all whacked out on heroin.

This one's dedicated to my sister, Joyful.

Happy July 4. I plan to swim, clean, and shoot off fireworks. And yourselves?

First I'll share this wonderful quote from my stepfather, who sends a weekly reflection with cool quotes:
"Don't be afraid to fail. Don't waste energy trying to cover up failure. Learn from your failures and go on to the next challenge. It's, OK. If you're not failing, you're not growing." --- H. Stanley Judd

This billboard sparked controversy, of course. But it reminds me of an interesting discussion held with the straight brother of a straight friend of mine the other night. He said, "I respect you gay people, but why do you have to be married? Aren't civil unions enough for you?"

News flash. Blindingly bright.

So, last night, I was randomly Googling myself (it's not as dirty as it sounds) to do some search engine optimization on my site. And I discovered that three of the poems in my first book, Follow the Wolf Moon, have been published on the The New York Review.

It's like I'm for real. Like really. Or maybe just really.

Today's song is "Who Knows Where the Time Goes," written by British folksinger Sandy Denny and covered by many artists. It was a hit for Judy Collins in the early 70s.

I have some standard excuses for when I don’t update my blog regularly.

1. I’ve been superbusy. This is an obvious euphemism. I mean, Duh, the gap in entry dates says it all. The question—which I won’t answer here—is: have I been busy doing the right things?
2. I’ve been depressed. This usually means I’ve been eating, sleeping, and watching four hours of Charmed, two hours of Judging Amy, and four to six hours of various editions of Law & Order per day. During commercial breaks, or that dreadful gap in the day when all that’s on is The View or ER, I expend calorie fractions in thumb repetitions and other clicker exercises between VH1 (Best Week Ever!, I Love the 70s, 80s, or 90s), E! (True Hollywood Story and Talk Soup), HGTV (Whatever designer clone is on), and Bravo. I’ve become obsessed with Kathy Griffin. I adore Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List. I love hearing Kathy talk about her run-ins with celebrities, watching her do crazy things like Alka-Seltzer benefits and auctioning herself off on eBay for charity. I love watching her put on her war paint for a stand-up show or red carpet event… and I have to say, she and I look about the same bumming around the house, i.e., NOT pretty, but we both doll up real fine. Here's why I really like that show: Kathy is shameless. She'll do anything to keep her career moving forward. She's not too proud to hustle and abase herself. I'm a "D-List" Poet right now, so I can relate.
3. I’m cyclical in nature. Everything I do seems to come in fits and starts, peaks and valleys, but then aren't all great artists manic depressive? I can only think of one thing that I do every day, no matter what. Three guesses what that is.

Today's song is from Snow Patrol's previous album, Final Straw.

My life has been dominated by fire. Given my red-hairedness and that I'm a Leo with Sagittarius rising, this is no surprise. The photos that I used to create the animations below were taken last weekend around my firepit during our annual friends/family reunion. Thanks to p-oz for taking these photos and also for helping to build the pit.

If you continue reading this entry, there's a cooler animation on the next page. However, be forewarned that it's over 1 megabyte.

Here are some of my realistic pieces, done in various media. Click the thumbnails for a larger version of each piece. My artistic endeavours have since moved in a more conceptual/expressionistic direction, which I will post soon.

I hope you enjoy the pieces.

Hey everybody-

Two of my new poems, "Rest Stop on Rte 128" and "Justice, Served Daily" have just been published in the Summer issue of Pemmican, an online political literary magazine.

Check 'em out at http://www.pemmicanpress.com/

I just got back from a road-trip to Chicago. Due to some lousy signage on the Eastbound side of Interstates 80/90 in Ohio (Hint: when approaching Cleveland from the west, follow the Exit for Erie, PA) we crossed New York via the breathtaking Southern Tier Expressway, which is lined on both sides with mountains as well as fields of Coreopsis, Queen Anne's Lace, Loostrife, Black-eyed Susan's, Blue Chicory, Phlox, and Vetch. Multi-mile length sections are being rebuilt from the ground up, however. Although you get to avoid toll and enjoy stunning scenery, it's a long and bumpy ride.

Not another car to be seen all this morning along the western portion of the Interstate—just us, an eagle, red-tailed hawks, and ravens.

Imagine my dismay to find in such a rural, relatively unspoiled, and otherwise lovely locale the EXACT SAME MALL that's just been built in my no-longer-rural, increasingly spoiled, but still pretty lovely South Shore town. The same chains, the same layout, the same architecture. ::Sigh::

When I get frustrated by issues beyond my control.. sometimes I get lucky and some art comes out. Here's one such, hot off the press—or at least my rumpled, stained and scribbled-on napkin.