Chris called me this morning in a fit of righteous glee to tell me he'd just heard derek, fiddy and I on the radio. Derek's interview apparently came off sounding very snazzy and professional, and our readings sounded great. I haven't heard it yet. I promised the Hub that I wouldn't listen until we could tune in together -- even though I *know* it's because he wnats to see me quirm and spazz out when I hear my own voice, shrieking from beneath a pillow "Gawd, do I really sound like *that*?" Marge Simpson with a head cold -- that's me, baby. Preeow.
There has been a sudden, last minute surge in the number of contributions to the Blow Out! chapbook I'm putting together in approximately two hours. I was hoping for more variety, and poetry fairy heard my prayers, inspiring some previously recalcitrant readers to send me yummy words. Bon Mots a L'Orange.
Lydia, the black cat, has turned the ugly grass mat the we inherited with our apartment into a little kitty tent. George, the sweeter, dumber orange cat, can't find her when she goes inside the tent, and cries piteously by the hot water tanks for her to come down (thinking she is on top, or inside?). He then consoled himself my chewing a copy of Ed's resume into confetti and puking in the living room. I briefly considered trying to read the rather interesting pattern of digested words before the desire to stab myself in the eye nearly overcame me and I got out the Prosolve. The fascinating life I lead.
I have pretty well settled on what I am reading for the Blow Out! reading. I think fS #33 needs soem shameless promotion, so I am reading my set from in there, as well as a couple from the location series in 'tonguing thumbscrews.' Reason I Don't Camp #372: trying to catch a private moment, unseen and unheard in a leaky canoe and some smartass unties the rope securing it to the dock. Way, way too much material generated.
Also, when did that huge bug die in the coffee pot?