Melting

Got up this morning and ploughed through a stack of poems for NER. After that, I drove to Japantown and made it to the Japanese Hot Springs just in time. Now, after steaming, soaking, hot plunging and cold plunging, I feel as if I am going to melt at any moment. There was a 25 min shiatsu cancellation, so I took it. Not sure how to explain it, but shiatsu hurts like hell when you are getting it, but God do you feel good later. One funny moment was while sitting in the steam room this guy started staring at me with this odd look on his face. I thought: "Oh God! Is this dude trying to pick me up in the steam room at the Japanese Hot Springs?" Then he got up, came and sat next to me and whispered in my ear: "You are Doctor Young, right?" I said yes, and he said I had treated his Mom at UCSF a few years ago. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then he offered to scrub my back. I nicely said: "No, that's okay. I'm fine."

This morning, while reading poems, I listened again to Brahms' German Requiem. God, do I love that piece of music. It is just so amazing. I cannot find the right words to describe it.

Tonight, my good friend, Geri Doran, is reading at Bernal Yoga. Jacob and I are both excited. Jacob has never heard Geri read. And her stuff is so freakin' good!

And thanks to L. Ho for the alternate email address for Sarah Gambito. Hopefully, she will get this email. My iTunes is finally working again, so what am I listening to as I type this? Yup, you guessed it, a bad remix of "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

Round 'em up!

Hey, if anyone knows how to get in touch with Sarah Gambito or the people at Kundiman, let me know. I have a nice, hefty check for them to use to help provide scholarships to their retreat. I emailed Gambito, but not sure it is the right email address. And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

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Well, it has been some time since I did the Friday afternoon blog roundup. So... Here are some pointers to the various things I have spied in the blogosphere.

1. Deb has gone insane and is listing the things that made her (as an Editor) insane!

2. ODLP details how he purifies himself. Jesus, with a list that long, ODLP must be filthy, simply filthy. ;)

3. Aimee is busy eating fried mac n cheese. Yup, you read correctly.

4. Anne is listening to whales. Look folks, I don't make this stuff up. The roundup simply reports what is out there.

5. And since April is coming to a close, what better cartoon than this one on Amy Unsworth's site.

In exactly one year from today, I will be saying "I do" right about now. And in one week, we are off to Vegas, Baby! There is Baccarat to be played! There are new slots to discover! Wine and song will be enjoyed by all! Uh-oh. I feel an Imperial mood coming on. Where did I put that profile photo of Tiberius?

Pyracantha

I am in San Mateo today covering one of my partners. It is weird. I used to work here most of the time, but switched sites in August due to one of the docs retiring. The nice thing today was seeing a couple of patients this morning who, by all accounts, should have passed away ages ago. One, a gentleman who fought with me day in day out about his treatment for his cancer of the esophagus, told me today how glad he was I didn't capitulate to him 2 years ago. He is doing so well. It is remarkable, really.

Four of the 6 doctors in my group are born in April. Today, after work, the staff at the hospital I normally work at is having a get together after work to celebrate all of them. Just some burgers and beer, but a very nice gesture. Unfortunately, I start my week of call today at 5 pm. And I will be on call until next Friday morning at 8 am. So... I will not be getting tipsy tonight.

One of the strangest things about SLATE is the fact people can comment on your poems there. I did not know this when I submitted. And, to be honest, I don't like it much. Many of the comments there are utterly inane but presented as if those presenting couldn't imagine they weren't brilliant. The thing that irks me the most though is the fact people there started posting my other poems and commenting on them there as well. Maybe I am just sensitive lately. Well, I probably am sensitive lately!

Okay, time to go see some more follow-ups. All morning I have had the poem "Amaryllis" by Mark Wunderlich floating around in my head. I keep reciting the lines in my head the way some hum songs incessantly. I love the sound of the word "pyracantha."

Martini now!

The case this morning went well. It has been a busy day. My Group Meeting was cancelled, which is a welcome thing. I spent the last hour dictating and catching up. Also finalized my Practice's June schedule. Being the Secretary of the Corporation is kind of a sucky job, but it is a necessary one.

Over at Paul's place, people are discussing their guilty pleasures. Yes, I added mine there as well, even though it is kind of embarrassing. Not that it really is, just that many would never imagine it is something I do. What can I say? I am far more complicated and difficult than most would imagine. Just ask Jacob. He'll learn ya.

Okay, time to head home to San Francisco. Tonight, the first DVD from the fourth season of OZ. Some have told me the 4th season is the best one, so I am all psyched. I am still recovering from the fact Scott and Anthony were "safe" last night. Martini now!

Dissection Plans

A great big thank you to all of you who sent me poems by email or posted them here on this blog. It really did cheer me up to hear so many of you say why you loved the poems you sent. Your comments about the poems seemed so genuine. Thank you for reminding me why Poetry is so amazing.

Between a million and one patient things yesterday, I sent in my course description and materials for my lecture at Warren Wilson this summer. I decided to give a lecture titled "Anatomy of the Elegy," in which I hope to look at the more recent evolution of the Elegy. I will then "dissect" four elegies written during the last 100 years to see if we can discern some structural similarities that help to produce a compelling elegy. I already know which four elegies I plan on using, but will finalize this soon. I am also busy reading criticism and histories of poetic form so I can better inform the material I will present. I think it could be great fun. I have great respect for the Elegy. It is one of Poetry's oldest modes of inquiry.

Okay, need to cut this short. I have a case in the OR coming up and need to head in to the hospital. Sadly, I have Group Meeting tonight after work. I am praying my partners and associates aren't feeling long-winded today.

Anyone, anyone?

Someone, anyone, suggest a poem to cheer me up. Came back to a patient just diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor. His entire family came with him. One sobbed. Another screamed at me over and over. A youngish girl looked frozen. I need a vacation. I think I need a vacation from everything: Medicine, Poetry, Editing, everything. I know I am tired from flying yesterday, and I know I am tired of poetry-world pettiness. I sometimes wish every single person out there who wrote poems were forced to edit poetry for a magazine for even 1 year. I guarantee it would change all of you. I am tired of people sniping at me because I rejected their precious poems. We get 36,000 poems and we publish 65-80. There are a lot of magazines out there, folks. Do what I do. Send your rejected poems to another magazine and move on. And I am tired of people thinking they have the RIGHT to insult me, to slander me, to send me lovely little anonymous messages.

So, suggest to me a great poem. Someone tell me about a poem you love and why you love it. Because that is what Poetry is about. Not this bullshit posturing and childish behavior.

Not so clean slate...

Well, Paul was right. One of my poems is up over at Slate. It was accepted so long ago. And I recorded it back in August of 2004. I had begun to think it was just never going to appear.

As for the recording of it, that has to be the strangest part of the whole Slate experience. First of all, you do it over the phone. The recording people are not that flexible. So, I had to record my poem between two patient encounters. They give you no trial run but tell you they will cut and paste it together if you mess up. Sitting in my office at the hospital and reading this poem into a phone was bizarre. I refuse to even listen to it on the web because it cannot be anything but bad sounding. Recording it made me feel pressured to get it done. I never feel like that when reading for a room of people.

One of the strangest things about my poem at Slate is the wacky history in the poem. Rick Barot wrote a poem responding to one by Cate Marvin. His poem is titled "Many Are Called." I then wrote a response to Rick's poem. And recently, a friend wrote me to say she had written a response to my poem. My poem is one in a chain of poems, which is kind of weird.

Anyway, back from NYC. Jacob and I were beyond happy to be back last night. The flight seemed extra long this time, and "Ocean's Twelve" was awful.

Interesting, Very Interesting...

I am always amazed at how little people know about the internet. Amazed really. People don't seem to realize that when you visit a blog, that your visit is logged in various trackers. Depending on how you subscribe to these trackers, you get differing amounts of information. So, if you leave a comment at a certain time of day, it gets logged. My log not only shows when the comments were left but what time zone you are in (like, say, Central Time) and how long it took you to make your comments, how many pages you viewed in order to get there and, most interestingly, your IP address, the address that marks your computer. Well, those IP addresses also show up in the full headers when you send email. Interesting, isn't it? Most of you who comment here have emailed me in the past or recently.

We head back to San Francisco today. I need to get my course description in to the folks at Warren Wilson. And I am sure I have more poems to read for NER by now. And soon, very soon, Jacob and I need to start meeting with caterers. We have a wedding in a year, you know.

Post KGB

The KGB reading went well. Denise Duhamel read some wonderful stuff. It was a great space and a great audience. I felt really honored to be there. I had been to the KGB Bar years ago, but I had never been to a reading there. The sad thing is I cannot for the life of me remember who or why I went there before. But I distinctly remember being there and having a couple of drinks.

After the reading, Jacob and I hung around and chit-chatted with a few people. We didn't mean to stay that long, but we didn't leave until close to midnight. Now we are stuck ordering overpriced room service, but we are both starving. The last thing we ate was at 3 pm.

Flight back to SF tomorrow afternoon. It will be good to get back. I have a bunch of things I need to do for my patients. Even today, walking through Washington Square Park, I got a cell phone call regarding a patient. I am never really on vacation. And to top it off, I miss San Francisco. So weird to say that seeing when I first moved there I hated it. Now, it has become my home. I love it more than any other place on Earth.

Visiting NYC with Jacob was wonderful. It was great to see the city through his eyes. But it is time to go home. And I will be happy, tomorrow night, to open my living room window and listen to the Pacific Ocean breaking against the shoreline. What has this trip taught me? It has taught me that I am a doctor and that I am happy in that role and that life. Everything else is icing. Sweet, rich, icing on the cake. But it is still icing and not the cake. Good night all.

Monday Morning

I meant to log in yesterday and post, but time got away from me. On Saturday afternoon, after Jacob finally woke up, we walked up Fifth Ave to the Guggenheim Museum. Some good stuff there, but neither one of us was overwhelmed. They had a totally uninspired installation in the spiral rotunda. After walking back to the hotel through the Park, we had dinner at a very good French restaurant and then took up our post at the end of the hotel's club. Our own Woody came to meet us, and we sat there for hours drinking champagne and laughing. Woody can now attest to some of you disbelievers that Jacob does in fact exist!

On Sunday, we slept in and then walked down Fifth the other direction. Jacob wanted to see St. Patrick's Cathedral and Rockefeller Center. After that, we went to see the new MoMA. Well, the new MoMA is spectacular. The collection they have, which is incredible, now actually has an appropriate home. The new MoMA was designed to encourage flow of people through the museum. So, there are no more dead end galleries. It is wonderful. I got to stand in the Jackson Pollock room there and simply marvel at his fantastic giant paintings. And of course, the MoMA has more freakin Picasso's than any museum I can think of off the top of my head. As usual, there was a mob in front of one and only one painting. Yes, you guessed it, VanGough's "Starry Night." People just stopped mesmerized at seeing it in real life. Amazing because there are so many great pieces of Art in that Museum, but this is the painting people stop and stare at with wild surprise.

Our friend, Mark Bibbins, had a small cocktail party for us last night. Mark is a sweet guy. And his place in Chelsea is fabulous. Afterward, we went with Woody to eat Venezuelan food. I had never had Venezuelan food. Well, it was really good. Woody is simply a fount of knowledge!

Tonight is my reading at the KGB. And wouldn't you know I left my reading copy of my first book and left my second book ms. So, I will need to print up some poems at some point today. Sometimes, I really do have to wonder about myself. Anyway, Jacob might head down to the Metropolitan Museum of Art today. I may or may not go. I have some work I need to do. Anyhoo, hope all of you are well out in the blogosphere.

Looking out over Central Park

Hello from NYC! We did the god forsaken red eye last night. As usual, I only got about 2 hours sleep max. Even with the noise-canceling headphones, I just couldn't sleep. Jacob got maybe 4 hours. But he is still exhausted. Unlike me, he needs a good 7 to 8 hours of sleep. I can survive on 2-3, if necessary. Ah, my sad inheritance from Medicine.

We got to the hotel at 7:50AM and, much to our surprise, they had our room ready. When I expressed surprise, the gentleman at the front desk said, "Well, we were told by your people that you would be flying overnight, and we figured you would want to take a shower and a nap, if you needed it." Well, I may not be Dale Young from Arista Records, but clearly I AM C. Dale Young. Ha ha!

Jacob is upstairs napping. I am getting some work done long-distance. I am mostly dealing with boring scheduling issues for my medical practice and answering a few emails from patients. I am never really on vacation, am I? That is it, time to plan Vegas Baby XII! I need to sit at the Baccarat table and gamble while chit-chatting with folks. In Vegas, I am Bill. One should never give out their name, dahling. People might look you up on the internet!

Weather here is pretty grey and awful. When we landed this morning, the fog was incredible. I had to laugh because this isn't fog season in SF, and the last thing I was expecting was fog here. Once we got to the hotel, we walked through the fog to 5th Avenue so I could show Jacob my folks' old apartment building at the corner of 5th Avenue and 65th. We wandered back to the hotel through the Park, and then he went to bed. That Jacob. You just have to love him. I may be a pushy guy, but it doesn't work with him. Maybe that is why I am still with him? Hahaha.

Off to NYC

Okay folks. Jacob and I are off to the airport in a few. I pray to God I can sleep on the flight. Maybe if I drink 5 Gins and tonic in rapid succession I will just pass out and wake up in NYC. If any of you are in NYC on Monday night and are up for a poetry reading, come out and hear me and Denise Duhamel read at the KGB. It should be a fun reading. At this point, all we are planning to do while there is hit the major museums and check out the city. Jacob has never been so it should be fun to experience the city with him. And before I forget, I need to thank Ron Palmer for the fabulous soaps and bath products from L'Occitane he gave me for my brithday. I am so lucky to have friends who spoil me.

Bitchiness Will Resume After This Short Break

When I left UCSF years ago, a few of my patients followed me. This morning, one of them came in for follow up. It has been 5 years today since she finished her radiation treatments for breast cancer. It is strange, but she is now almost like a distant family member because I have seen her every 6 months for the past five years. Today, when I told her I would only now be seeing her annually from now on, she started crying. I quickly realized she was crying out of joy, not anguish. She realized she had crossed a new threshold in her diagnosis. She ran up to me and hugged me and thanked me for saving her life. I told her, of course, that I didn't save her life, but she reminded me that had it not been for me, the surgeon would never have gone back in and removed some disease that he had originally left behind. I had forgotten that part of her story. It was then she looked at my ring and said she knew I must make someone a happy woman. I looked puzzled, and then she said, "Oh! I am so sorry. I just assumed." When I said "Huh?" she corrected herself and said "I guess you must make someone a happy man!" I started laughing and she started laughing, too. All I said was, "I hope so..."

I know there are times when my job is depressing, but it is times like these that make me so incredibly joyous inside. I know that sounds cheesy. There really is no job in the world that gives so much back to you. None! In what other job do you get to tell someone she is now likely cured of her cancer. When she left, I realized the real reason I love Medicine. It reminds me I am human, a living, breathing human being. We all have faults. We are all neurotic and crazy at times, but the basic instinct to help preserve your own species is very much a part of being human. It is no wonder Medicine has existed as long as we have existed. I have been very down about poetry-related things lately, very down. But this one interaction reminded me about how there is so much we can do in the world, and it reminded me how good it feels to make a difference in the life of even one person. Okay, bitchiness will resume shortly.

Sick and Tired...

There is a great dance song they play on Energy, a radio station in SF that only plays dance music. In it, the singer belts out "Sick and tired of always being sick and tired... I am so sick and tired." This is my new theme song, especially tonight after Mexican food and too much cerveza. I am so sick and tired. I cannot go into it here, but the last few weeks have really depressed me. I just want an end to it. And no, I am not being suicidal. I am just sick and tired of a certain situation I am in.

On a different note, I am starting to realize that tomorrow night Jacob and I really are getting on a plane and will wake up in New York City. Ah, the marvels of the modern world. Amazing it used to take weeks to go from San Francisco to New York. And THAT was considered quick. The age of Gobalization. Last night, on PBS, there was an entire special on the ecosystem of San Francisco Bay and how 90% of the life in the Bay is from elsewhere. The culprit? The bilgewater from tankers and ships that transport things from all over the world into the harbor in Oakland. In 36 hours, the two macroorganisms that are me and Jacob will be in Central Park. We will be walking in the other great urban park of the US. But Central Park is no Golden Gate Park. This I already know.

Yellow Sub, what the Hell?

On days like today, I understand why sometimes people just publish their own books. I say no more.

Met Jacob for lunch today. It is amazing how things go up in price. First of all, I paid $2.959/gallon for gas. Then, two subs, a thing of fries and two sodas was $18.00. What the hell? $18 for lunch at the Yellow Sub? Something weird is going on.

My friend, Pimone Triplett, has a new book out: The Price of Light. Check it out if you have a chance. Pimone is an amazing poet. This book won Four Way Books' Levis Prize.

And lastly, Scott better be saying good bye on tonight's results show!

Surprises, Mistakes, Woody, & American Idol

I meant to post this yesterday, but I just never had the time to do it. Jacob's surprise birthday gift for me was a Soundscape generator from the Sharper Image. It is simply the best surprise gift I have ever gotten from anyone. It was right up there with the red t-shirt with CCCP on it and the big sickle representing the old Soviet Union. I love that shirt. So cool. Anyway, I had an old sound spa that was dying. Sometimes it would kind of gurgle and sound demonic. Certainly not what you want when you are trying to fall asleep. This new one I got has fifty, yes 50, different sound landscapes. My favorite so far is Rainy Night which has rain in the background and rain dripping from a gutter in the foreground with the occasional sound of thunder evolving in the distance. Very Cool! I also like Pacific Coast with its waves and breakers and the occasional sound of the foghorns. Very authentic. The one I hate? The heartbeat that makes me think of Poe.

And, as some of you may have noticed, yesterday's publishing secret was really number 6 and not number 5. Ha, guess I should learn to proofread, too! Ha ha heh ha!

Hard to believe we are leaving for NYC in a couple of days. We are flying the red eye on Friday night so we have all of Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday morning in the city. Jacob has never been, so it should be fun. We are staying on Central Park South, so I am hoping the Park is as beautiful as ever. We are hoping to meet up with that trouble maker, Woody, on Saturday night for drinks. Oh Woody, trouble really is your middle name! I should mention that Woody signs his emails "w". That is so reminiscent of our President I just can't stand it! In Atlanta, cars had bumper stickers that just said W in one big letter and underneath was small print that said "The President." It looked so obviously designed by a gay man! That only made it worse!

Okay, what was I saying? Who knows?! I still don't have a copy of the new Yale book, Crush, but I am totally interested in reading it now after hearing so much about it from others in the blogosphere. I do have a copy of Ron Slate's Incentive of the Maggot, which has a buzz building around it. I have read a few of his poems already and liked as well as admired them. I am definitely curious to read the entire book.

Lastly, what is up with Paula Abdul? The woman always looks drunk on American Idol lately. Last night was no exception. And I am so not loving any of the finalists left in the show. Scott is arrogant and pretty bad. Constantine makes me ill. Carrie is okay. Vonzell is okay. Bo is okay. Anwar has a great smile but just isn't exciting me. And Anthony Federov seems to actually be getting worse as the competition goes on. I wonder if this might be the last season of Idol. Has it run its course?

O Algae! O Funny Day!

Born Today:

Conan O'Brien

James Woods

Clarence Darrow

Melissa Hart

Hayley Mills

Lucrezia Borgia

Kathy Acker

C. Dale Young

Yup, today is my birthday. I usually try not to work on my birthday, but we didn't have enough coverage across my practice. So, I'll be working my butt off today. But tonight, Jacob made reservations for us at La Folie. And that will be worth it.

Okay, time to jump in the shower and use the marine algae soap given to me in Vancouver by the fabulous Aimee Nez.

La Familia, Episode 3

Previously on "La Familia" (Episode 1, Epsiode 2):

Close up of Charles looking shocked in a doorway.

Flash to Peter in the living room whispering something in Sam Witt's ear.

Flash to the map on Eduardo's nightstand.

Shift of scene to the vault with the papers flying everywhere.

Cue up the music once again. Yes, the Coldplay is playing, and there are images of St. Louis (yes, St. Louis) flashing in and out of focus. We get head shots of each of our poets: Peter, Charles, C. Dale, Eduardo, and Sam Witt. It is time, once again, for another episode of "La Familia."

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In the Blue Room, Charles admits he found a note in his room telling him to go to an underground "jazz bar." Charles then looks horrified again and reports to us that what he saw was a former teacher from his MFA program doing a pole dance!

In the living room, Sam Witt tells C. Dale that no one has seen Eduardo since last night. C. Dale says: "Gag! That bitch has probably already found the vault!"

Peter is nervously making breakfast when the doorbell rings. A new courier appears to deliver another letter. The letter reads: "Today, one of you will be leaving. Be here in the living room at 5pm."

Charles comes racing out of the Blue Room to hear the other poets discussing the cryptic letter from the Producers. Charles says: "Where is Eduardo? Has anyone seen him since last night?"

Sam Witt says: "Well, since we are on the subject of disappearances, where did you disappear to last night?"

Charles: "I ran out to get a drink."

Sam Witt: "A drink? Of what? Bottled water?"

Charles: "I don't have time for this."

Charles grabs his coat and leaves. As he opens the front door, Eduardo walks in with a cop. Everyone looks concerned but the two quickly retreat to Eduardo's room.

Outside the building, Charles speaks to the camera: "God damn it! They are on to me. They know I have not been downing the vodka like a street whore!" He runs down a side street.

Back in the apartment, C. Dale enters the Blue Room: "Something is going on here! I know these fools are keeping things from me. I mean, what is up with that whole exchange between Sam Witt and Charles?"

Flash to Peter in his room. He looks around cautiously, locks the door, and pulls a laptop out from under his desk. "Well, we have no phone line, but no one said anything about not using a wireless connection!"

Meanwhile, Charles is standing in front of a Townhouse on a tree-lined street taking pictures of it. He turns to the camera. "This is Carl Phillips' house. A friend gave me the address last night in that god awful bar." He makes a squeamish face. "The question is whether or not the studio is there."

Charles looks at his watch. It is 4:30pm. He starts running.

Back at the apartment, Peter and Sam Witt are already in the living room awaiting the elimination. Sam Witt is chattering about the fact they haven't mentioned yet how one gets eliminated. C. Dale walks in and says: "Gag!" The cop finally leaves Eduardo's room and then Eduardo comes out and flings himself on the couch. He says: "All this work to find this studio is exhausting."

It is now 4:55pm and the front door whips open as Charles charges in. All are present. There is a knock at the door. We go to a commercial.

What follows is a montage of commercials for "Road Rules" and the MTV Fashion Awards. Again, we wonder, why does MTV almost exclusively advertise itself?"

The show resumes. Peter answers the door. In walks the same courier that delivered the note earlier that day. He announces: "Each of you will enter the Blue Room and announce which poet you think should be eliminated. After that, the elimination will take place depending on the votes." One by one the poets enter the Blue Room.

Peter: "I think Charles is close and should be eliminated. He is a schemer, that Charles." Charles should go.

Sam Witt: "I already have an idea of how to get the address of Carl Phillips' place. The one I am most worried about right now is Charles. I vote Charles.

Charles: "Eduardo has to go. He has slept with half of St. Louis by now and probably already has the means to get the ms. I vote Eduardo."

C. Dale: "Something is up with Charles. Others seem to know something about what he is up to. Charles. Charles should go."

Eduardo: "Peter is the one we rarely watch, and that makes him dangerous. I vote Peter."

Once all of the poets are in the room, the courier announces the results. "Charles, you received the most votes for elimination, and so, you will not be leaving. We didn't say the one with the most votes would leave. In fact, the one with the most votes selects the one to leave. Charles, here are plates with the faces of your fellow four poets. Select the plate of the poet you want to send home and throw it into the fireplace."

Charles picks up the plates and looks at each one. He then takes one and hurls it into the fireplace. The plate breaks into many pieces. The courier takes the remaining plates. "Sam Witt, you are safe. C. Dale, you are safe."

Eduardo and Peter look nervous. There is a flash of the vault with the papers flying. There is a shot of the $500,000 check. And then the courier announces: "Eduardo, you are safe! I am sorry Peter, but your journey ends here."

Everyone looks shocked. The camera fades to black as the Coldplay begins to play.

This would only happen to me...

I barely survived the transcontinental flight from Atlanta to SF. Hard to believe I will be doing it again on Friday night (to NYC instead, though). I learned a hard lesson on this flight. Normally, whenever the person next to me starts to get chatty and profession comes up, I have always used the following: "Oh, I am a medieval historian..." This usually stuns my fellow passenger into silence. Well, you can guess where this is going, can't you? The guy next to me started getting chatty. I pulled the old medievalist BS but much to my horror he then said: "Oh, I am a Church historian!" He then proceeded to pull out an illuminated bible in miniature. In the back of my mind I could hear my mother saying something about how one shouldn't lie! I quickly ordered a gin and tonic while he droned on about something or another. We discussed Boethius for a bit. And then, after lunch, thankfully, he fell asleep. Thank God Jacob is going with me to NYC.

Teaser

I slept like the dead last night. You know, where you don't even wake up once. It was incredible. So far, today, I have done nothing but laze around, which I should point out is a true luxury for me. I did think about reading some submissions, but I think I will just plow through them on the flight back to San Francisco. I only have about 125 poems to read, and that won't take too long.

I am heading out to Emory again today. This time, I plan to raid their library. Yes, I am a total geek like that. I really do love university libraries. Their stacks are divine. When I was in high school, I used to go to college libraries and study just so on study breaks I could roam the stacks finding all kinds of great books. Amazing I had no idea I would end up a writer. I had all the tell tale neuroses, even then.

Coming soon: Revision Tip Number Three and the long awaited third episode of La Familia. One of the characters gets booted from the show! I cannot say who because that would ruin the surprise. Let us just say it will be survivor style but with lots of broken china.

Not one!

So the readings both went really well. I was actually pleased with them. I am not always pleased with how readings go. Sometimes, the audience can be odd and you can tell you aren't making a connection. Tonight, however, I felt connected at both readings. I even sold copies of the first book at Emory. Usually, I sell less books at universities without grad programs. Why? Undergrads don't buy a lot of books for the most part. That said, I sold a number of books at Emory. The students were too sweet. But then, at OutWrite Books, a gay bookstore, I gave a good reading and all these folks came up afterward and talked to me, complimented me, etc. etc. but none of them bought a single book! This is a first for me. I have never done a reading and sold not a single book!!!! What the hell is up with the gay men of Atlanta? Not a single freakin' book. My first book came out in April 2001 and I have done many readings from it. But this has never happened to me. Anyway, I am sure I will get over it, but you can just imagine how it is fueling my neurotic self.

Commotion

I went out last night to a Brew Pub with poets Natasha Trethewey (and her husband Brett), Jon Fink, and a few other folks. Lots of beer was had and pub food was consumed. At around ten, everyone except the three poets went home. Ah, poets, we do like to sit around drinking and chit-chatting. Anyway, the three of us went to a small bar and hung out on a sofa drinking wine (Jon drank Bourbon because he is, after all, a manly man). After an hour, enough alcohol had been consumed that the discussion turned to (yes, you guessed it) John Ashbery. It was all truly bizarre as the three of us passionately discussed (well, argued really) about Ashbery's work. Jon and I made a terrible bet about how long Ashbery's work will survive. I plan on collecting in this bet, even if I am in hell!

This morning, I went downstairs to get some coffee. As I got down there, a large black Lexus SUV with tinted windows was driving off. People were scurrying back from the SUV to whatever they had been doing before it arrived. When I asked the porter what that was about, he laughed and said: "That was your namesake." Alas, I didn't lay eyes on the other Dale Young. More sad is the fact the two of us have made for a great inside joke here among the staff!

Today, I am reading at Emory University and then at OutWrite Books. Double Whammy! The last time I read at a university, a certain poem of mine elicited gasps in the audience. We'll see what kind of commotion I will stir up today.

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Thanks to Charles, I took the "Book Quiz" and the result is:

You're Night!

by Elie Wiesel

You've had some truly horrific experiences, especially recently, and
you can barely stand to discuss them. While many people are afraid of getting close to
you because of this, it has also built a fascination and admiration of you that is hard
to rival. You know that things are about to get better soon, but that the trauma will be
impossible to forget. You are short, but powerful.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Queen for a Day

Well the reading in Santa Cruz went okay last night. Geri did a phenomenal job. I can't wait until her book is out.

Got up at the crack of dawn this morning and rushed to the airport. The flight to Atlanta went off without a hitch. I am sitting here waiting to be picked up by the beautiful Natasha Trethewey. I read tomorrow at Emory and OutWrite Books (a fabulous gay bookstore). The funniest moment of the trip? Arriving at my hotel and having ten people swarm me and rush me to my room. Why, you ask? Well, apparently there is another Dale Young staying here and arriving today. They thought I was him. He is apparently a music mogul at Arista Records. I had to laugh. When I got to my room, there were baskets of fruit and gifts. I quickly called the concierge and asked what this was about. I have stayed at this brand of hotel before and I have never received this kind of attention. It was all very funny! Anyway, short end of the story is that they let me stay where I am and allowed me to keep the fruit basket. When I went downstairs just now, I was again swarmed. I quickly said, "I am C. Dale Young, the poet, not the music man." They were too gracious. The response? "Ah, but you are Dale Young." Well, I am! So there you have it. None of these people have ever read my poems but I am being treated like a King. Okay, I know, a Queen.

Oh No, I couldn't....

Some of you will be happy to know I did in fact get some sleep last night. And I do, in fact feel better today. Busy as ever today and need to bolt out of here and drive south to Santa Cruz to do a reading tonight. Then back to San Francisco to sleep and then get up to fly to Atlanta. All so whirlwind and crazy.

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WARNING WARNING RANT TO FOLLOW

So, I got an email from a friend of mine who is a fiction writer. I had recommended she read Brigit Pegeen Kelly's The Orchard. I know, what a shock that I would recommend this. Well, this friend (who is probably reading this and should be completely ashamed of herself!) emailed me to say "Well, I just don't read poetry. I mean, it is so dense and odd." Well, what the hell does that mean? Isn't she a writer? Whatever happened to reading across genres simply to be surprised by the language. What the hell?! What the freakin' hell!! I feel like I should start telling people: "Oh, I am sorry but I just don't read fiction. Just too many words, too much story." Or maybe I should say things like "Plays? Who reads plays? Aren't they better appreciated performed on the stage?" Or maybe: "Non-fiction. Oh no, I couldn't. Too droll, darling, too utterly droll. I ONLY read poems, darling, poems!" This would be ridiculous for me to say something like this, but I hope it drives home the point I am making. If Harry Crews can read poetry and read it well enough to expound on it, then what the hell is wrong with young fictioners and their anti-poetry stance.

Fictioners. What the hell.

The Psycho

I am strangely sitting in a classroom at my old elementary school. In the room is a tall man with stringy, dirty, greasy dirty-blonde hair. He is ranting and raving and I am not sure why I am in the room. Also in the room is a fairly clean cut guy in a suit. The guy in the suit finally pulls out a gun and tells the psychotic guy to put his arms out at his side and turn around. As the guy in the suit (an undercover cop?) walks up to the tall crazy guy, the crazy guy flips a long scythe looking blade out from under his sleeve and slices off the guys hand, the one holding the gun. The guy in the suit screams but before anything else can happen, the guy with the blade spins around and slices off the guy's other entire arm! Then, without even a single ounce of mercy, he decapitates the suited man and the body falls on its knees. I am so horrified I cannot even scream. It is then it becomes apparent to me that I have been in this room for a while and that this suited guy was sent to somehow rescue me. I start to panic.

When the psycho guy turns toward me, he is holding the bloody scythe. I start pleading with him to just let me go. He says that I cannot leave. He tells me I am supposed to be there, that God wanted it so. I start crying and begging him to not kill me. It is then he says, I have no intention of killing you. I am even more confused. After what seems like an eternity, someone knocks at the door. Psycho opens the door and slashes off the head of the woman knocking. Then he runs out. I sit there for hours afraid to leave until finally these policemen come in. They tell me I can leave but that the killer is still out there. In the parking lot of my old school, I cannot find my car. Kids are playing dodgeball in the parking lot. The sun is high in the sky.

What the f--k kind of dream is this? It took me forever to fall asleep last night and then I have this messed up dream that then woke me up in the early morning. Then I couldn't fall back asleep. I actually woke up in a cold sweat! In all, I think I barely got 3 hours of sleep last night.

Today, after work, I have to do laundry and pack. Tuesday, after work, I have to drive down to Santa Cruz to do a reading. After the reading, I will drive back to SF, get some sleep, and then get up to fly to Atlanta. I feel stretched. I feel gravely unhappy.

Gin and Starlight

Rick threw an incredible party for Gaby and her new book last night. It simply was one of the best parties of this sort I have ever attended. It was all very subdued, warm, inviting, and wonderful. Rick put a new twist on sangria: he added Gin! An odd but enticing twist.

I was equally struck last night by something Gaby said to everyone as she thanked Rick for the party. She said she felt blessed to have so many talented writers as friends. I have to say I agree. In that room were Ilya Kaminsky, Brian Teare, Ronald Palmer, Rebecca Black, Lyslie Tenorio, Geri Doran, Robin and Keith Ekiss, David Roderick, ZZ Packer, Bruce Snider, and on and on. Despite such good writers in the room, there was no grandstanding, no schmoozing, no bitchy backstabbing. It was simply a wonderful cocktail party and a warm celebration for Gaby. Gaby is right. I also feel blessed to be in such company, and I feel blessed to call so many of these people my friends.

And despite the wretched wait at the toll plaza to get on the Bay Bridge last night, it seemed worth it as San Francisco came in to view, the lights of the buildings downtown, the millions of lights, like a shawl, covering the hills. The city looked gorgeous. In that moment, I realized just how much I love this place. It really is my home.

Why Poets Lie

I had a wonderfully engaging conversation on the phone this morning with an old friend. Once we got past the initial gossip swap (mostly me avoiding the latest gossip about me and my book) we got to the real conversation: blasphemy. Yes, you read right, blasphemy. We had the great discussion about Donne, Herbert, Hopkins and then about how all blasphemy is essentially devotion as well. You know, to say "Jesus Christ!" as a swear implies you have the words Jesus and Christ in your vocabulary. The utterance alone is a kind of devotion. This friend of mine is incredibly smart, a critic, who went to graduate school with me. I love it when he gets excited about things like this because most people could care less. His talk of filthy language and the divine was, to quote Paris Hilton, Hot!

It got me thinking about poetry and the role of the poem. Is the language in poetry the same as vocal utterance? Are our words related to the subconscious need to find and communicate with the divine, or to make people less uncomfortable, the sublime? Why is it a poem by Donne sparks a response from people who never read poetry when most contemporary poems put them to sleep? What is the modern correlative of the divine? So many questions.

A friend of mine, who is a lawyer, once told me he liked poetry because it was the one place people were encouraged to lie. When I looked at him strangely he said: "Poets lie because it the only way they can tell the Truth." I am beginning to think he is right! When we tell the truth, we talk about who we had sex with, what we ate for breakfast, what we found in the park, etc. Who cares? We end up writing the poetic equivalent of the boring old aunt who we easily ignore. The real challenge must be writing the truth askance, lying! But how do we lie to reach a broader Truth? I don't know. I know I am rambling, so I will stop.

Tonight, my friend Rick is throwing a party to celebrate the release of our friend Gaby's book. It should be a fun gathering. I haven't seen some of the people who will be there in quite some time. And Gaby is always a total hoot! Check out her new book. It is gorgeous.

Thank You!

Well, I checked my site meter just now and nearly passed out. I just hit the 20,000 visitor mark. I am not quite sure what to say except Thank You! I still am not sure what I am doing as a blogger, but I am glad there are so many of you checking in to see what I am up to or, more likely, what I am NOT up to. Okay, back to Avoiding the Muse.

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I took the God/Goddess test after reading Peter's results. Now I wish I hadn't! Jeez Louise. Am I really this scary? Don't answer that! I think I liked the sleeping test better.


Nemesis


?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

Anxiety-ridden Badger

My best friend, Geri, just saw the final copy for her book in the LSU Catalog. It looks fantastic! I can't wait to hold her book in my hands. I just can't wait. I think she is one of the best poets of my generation. She is just so freakin' good.

I am praying today isn't too busy of a day again. I don't want to fall asleep at the Symphony tonight. We are hearing Brahms' Symphony No. 2, conducted by Kurt Masur. Where is MTT? Anyway, after work, I will have to race back to San Francisco, pick of Jacob from UCSF, grab some dinner, and get us to Symphony Hall. I have done this many times, so I am not sure why I am being a little anxiety-ridden badger.

Books, new books, everywhere. Sometime this weekend I will have to make some recommendations. Why? I don't know. Seems kind of like what you are supposed to do during National Poetry Month.

Crush? What kind of crush?

What is up with this cover image?! Does this strike anyone else as being a little, um, weird? This is the cover of the new Yale Younger Poets book. I haven't read any of the poems yet, but I have to say I was somewhat surprised by this cover!

Today was a rough day. Patients having a lot of problems. I ran around like a chicken with my head chopped off pretty much all day. I am exhausted. I can't wait for Jacob to get home from lab so I can have a cocktail and some dinner.

Weirdness

I am still disgusted with the results on last night's AI results show. I am quite certain the worst performances last Tuesday were from Scott Savol and Anthony Federov. Strangely enough, only Scott made it into the bottom three. And to add a surprise, he wasn't sent home! Nikko Smith left the show. What is up, America? I don't think Nikko is fantastic or anything, but he was certainly better than Scott.

Okay need to head off to the hospital. I have a lot on my plate today. A lot!

No, no, no, I refuse to write a poem about Marvin Gaye

Today was a glorious day. I had lunch (Chinese food) with one of my best friends, Rick. Afterward, we wandered through City Lights Bookstore for a while. Then we had coffee and sweets at a cafe in North Beach followed by a sojourn to the park. For the entire time, we dished like nobody's business. Favorite quote? "Poetry is like Poker. Sometimes you show your hand. Sometimes you keep the cards close. Sometimes you let others glimpse your hand just so you can surprise them all the more with what you do with it!" Of course, that is from none other than Donald Justice. I am not sure what I am going to do with myself when Rick moves away late summer. I selfishly want him to stay in the Bay Area forever. Thank God for cell phones and free long distance. Regardless of where he is, he better be at my wedding or I will never speak to him again as long as I live!! He is one of my ushers/attendants, for God's sake.

I am becoming obsessed with Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing." I have heard the song three times in the past 24 hours. I heard the original twice and a remixed version today. "I think I'm capsizing!" God, I love parts of that song. What is wrong with me? I am nostalgic for a song I don't really even remember when it originally played on the radio. Already my evil poetic brain is spinning lines from that song in every direction of the world latching on to anything it can find. I am afraid a poem is brewing. I think it is even absorbing some of the lines I had for the poem I thought I was to write at AWP. There is the Bay at sunset. There is the chilled wind from the West. There is a kiss, a long kiss on the deck of a bed and breakfast. There is wine, wine and more wine. There is laughter from the yard and the scent of night-blooming jasmine creeping. Oh, I am approaching dangerous territory. Oh, Marvin Gaye! What have you done?!

WARNING-Gayest Post Ever so Stop, Drop and Roll

Apparently, a blogger named Joseph Massey occasionally has daydream-memories. Recently he had one of me in a "Dunk -a-Poet" tank at AWP where all I was wearing was an electric blue Speedo. Joseph Massey, I never wear electric blue. The daydream-memory goes on to have Josh Corey dunk me in the tank only to then go to the bar to order hot buttered rum. While ordering, Joseph notices (as Josh bends toward the bar) Josh is wearing a canary-yellow thong! Now I know I don't know Josh that well, but something tells me he is a boxers kind of man. You know... Anyhoo, Mr. Massey, when I do wear a speedo, it is always black!

Well the first giveaway went well yesterday. Louise Matthias won Dean Young's Elegy on Toy Piano. But then she emailed me to say she would like it to go to Charles Jensen because yesterday was his birthday. How sweet. Well, Louise, we will have to toughen you up. You let Charlie Jensen guilt you out of a fabulous book! Charlie Jensen, the man who stalked Mark Doty and Brenda Shaughnessy at AWP. Okay, Charles send me your address and the book will be on its way.

Last night, American Idol did GAY NIGHT. Well, it might as well have been called that seeing the theme, for the first time in Idol history, was showtunes. Yup, you heard right, showtunes! Lord help me. And I don't care what Tony Robinson says, Scott Savol is terrible and getting worse each week. The worst performances last night were Scott and Anthony Federov. Bad, bad bad! And Constantine was pretty bad, too.

And speaking of gay, the rumor now is that Mario Vasquez dropped out of AI because he had done gay porn in the past and was afraid it might come out. I know, unfortunate phrase for sure. Why do these people enter this contest when they know they have a past and that the AI people are bound to find out eventually.

I just got interviewed for a newspaper in Atlanta. The first thing they asked me was how does sexuality and being gay stimulate my work. STIMULATE? Stimulate?! I am still trying to figure out how to answer such a question because that verb conjures up things I can't imagine they really want to know! Anyway, just goes to show that journalists don't always use the right words.

Birthdays and Giveaways!

Born Today:

Booker T. Washington

Bette Davis

Gregory Peck

Spencer Tracy

Charles Jensen!

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In the Mail today, I received the following books for free:

Denise Duhamel Two and Two

Dean Young Elegy on Toy Piano

Ron Slate Incentive of the Maggot

Glyn Maxwell The Sugar Mile

Alan Shapiro Tantalus in Love

Since I already own the Dean Young book, I am making the following incredible offer here. The first person to post a comment saying s/he want it will get it. Just post and then email me. You can find my email via my homepage. But the first post below saying "I want it" gets it. Aren't you glad you checked my blog today?

In the Family of Things

Three times in the past few days, Mary Oliver has come up in conversation. I am not sure why, but it has prompted me to revisit her work. She is an interesting figure in Contemporary American Poetry: worshipped by some and reviled by others. Why is that? I am not entirely sure. Oliver's work has always, for the most part, been grounded in the natural world. Some see this as reactionary, as a throwback to a kind of Emersonian ideal. Others see her work as profoundly individual and resistant to the current thread of the biographical/confessional. I can say that when I was a college student, the work of hers I loved was different than what I admire of hers today. I loved her book, American Primitive, with all its open-eyed wonder at nature. As time has passed, I find this work nourishes me less and less. Now I find poems from House of Light and Dream Work more interesting. As for the very recent poems of the past few years, the prose poems and the weird lyric essays, I have no interest in them at all!

But then there are poems of hers I love and return to:

Dogfish

The Kookaburras

Wild Geese (one of Jacob's favorites and one of mine)

Mary Oliver is a bit of a recluse or at least seems so (heavily guarded as she is by her lifetime partner and agent). I suppose this only adds to the mystery of this poet. And who knows, maybe the fact she bucks the trend helps make her more appealing overall. She has been accused of wanting too much to be E. Bishop. I find that somewhat absurd! Oliver is not nearly and neatly restrained as Bishop, nor does she possess Bishop's wit and oddity. But Oliver's work is as close to "praise" as anything in Contemporary Poetry, and maybe this is why she is so appealing to so many people, even non-poets. Something in her work calls out to the masses in a way an intellectually-challenging poem does not. This isn't to say Oliver's work isn't intellectually challenging just that is isn't difficult. Not sure what I am trying to say now.

Pulitzer-Schmulitzer

Pulitzer Prize 2005


POETRY

For a distinguished volume of original verse by an American author, Ten thousand dollars ($10,000).

Awarded to “Delights & Shadows” by Ted Kooser (Copper Canyon Press).

Also nominated as finalists in this category were: “The Orchard” by Brigit Pegeen Kelly (BOA Editions, Ltd.), and “Search Party: Collected Poems” by the late William Matthews (Houghton Mifflin).

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Brigit didn't win! I am so mad. I wanted that book to win. First it didn't win the NBCC. Now the Pulitzer. Well, I guess it is a nice thing to be a finalist for these things. Hey, did she win the LA Times Book Award? I think she was a finalist for that too. Anyway, I will cross my fingers that she wins the NBA.

Where is the Sun?

Thanks to the amazing ground crews in Canada, we left Vancouver only a few minutes late despite the delays with the incoming flight. I was happy to get back to San Francisco, even though when we got here it was raining! I need some sunlight in a bad way.

I definitely think the highlight of the conference was meeting up with old friends and meeting new ones, especially the bloggers. And now the bloggers know that Jacob is real and not, as some have suggested, a figment of my imagination.

Driving to Mountain View this morning to work, I had to laugh because I still have that goddamned "Come on Ride the Train" song in my head. Someone please help me. Please! It is driving me crazy.

Also, Charles has some great pictures from AWP. That mannequin is out of control. But then again, notice Charles is a little out of control next to it!

The Jim Side

Before I forget, here is a link to all of the current entries in Jim Behrle's now famous series, "What the Hell Is Up With Your Author Photo?" These have to be among some of the funniest things ever. My favorite is still the one for W.S. Merwin. Stop by and have a laugh. Too much, I tell you. Too much!

Wrapping it Up

We spent much of last night hanging out with our friend Patrick. Far too much beer was had and we even went to the Dance (aka the Dance of Agony and Despair). Despite the fact a lot of people were already gone, there were still quite a lot of folks dancing. The DJ was mostly awful, but it was fun anyway. By the time all was said and done, it was 3:00am (the time change had stolen an hour). Thank God for late checkout! We got up at 10:30am, scarfed down some breakfast and now we are just hanging out in the room before packing up and heading to the airport. At least this year, I am not hung over and exhausted. I learn with each AWP to be better at sleeping.

The best part of AWP is getting to see friends like Jen Grotz, Patrick Phillips, Natasha Trethewey, Mark Bibbins, etc. It is the main reason I go. And you also get to meet friends of friends. This year it was nice to meet the bloggers. That said, I never met Anthony Robinson or Shanna Compton.

We fly back this afternoon. The weather today is the worst it has been since we got here: oppressively dark and rainy. I cannot remember where AWP is next year, but I pray it is in a sunny place.

Slept In

Last night, Jacob and I went to dinner at CinCin with our friends Jen and Patrick. It was one of the best meals I have had in a long time. Everything seemed just perfect. The food was amazing. The service was amazing. It was to die for! Afterward, we hung out in the Hyatt hotel bar. It was a little less hectic because a lot of people are leaving today and didn't stay up late. Surprisingly, we got back to our hotel and realized it was 2:00am.

We slept in this morning and plan on avoiding the conference altogether for most of the day. The weather is still a little sucky, but hopefully that won't stop us. Vancouver is such a beautiful city.

I still haven't met Anthony Robinson. I saw someone last night that might have been him, but I didn't want to make a fool of myself just walking up and assuming it was him. I have to say, meeting some of the bloggers has been one of the best parts of this AWP. I am, oddly enough, not as friendly and outgoing at these kinds of things. I don't even wear my nametag.

Happy April Fool's Day!

Did the Remembering Donald Justice panel this morning. It was a wonderful and touching panel. I was the youngest person on the panel by far, which was kind of fun. It was amazing to hear how much this man meant to people.

Jacob and I walked down to the waterfront afterward and had lunch. We can only stay in the thick of AWP for so long. We survive by frequent breaks. The day is, as Jacob put it, "indecisive." Hard to tell if it is going to get sunny again or rain like hell.

It has been an interesting time here for me. The poetry world is small and icky sometimes. So many people have come up to me with their ideas of what happened to my second book. Well, guess what, it isn't out today. Nice April Fool's joke don't you think. Ah, so bittersweet. I will find a new home for my second book eventually. I know this will all work out for the better.

The Academy of American Poets is having a reading in a little bit. Not sure if I will go. I do want to hear Mark Doty read, but I am a little worn out already and may need to just hang out on the sofa and read for a bit. That is all for now. Did I mention that Charles Jensen is tall?