OMG Harry in Afghanistan

OMG Harry in Afghanistan

Well, I was listening to BBC and they reported that Prince Harry has been fighting in the war in Afghanistan (video of interview with the cute little redhead) for the last 10 weeks.

(I was in the kitchen after the soccer game, missing the Daily Show broadcast because I was ravenous. My stomach is finally feeling better and so I was able to play soccer and eat a tiny pre-game dinner and then eat a giant post-game dinner.)

While looking through the fridge for something to make, there was Owen Bennett Jones of BBC Newshour, reporting that my fav royalty had reported for duty.

As I cleaned out the fridge (in order to find food edible to eat), I heard the full, very interesting, story. Mind you, there was five bowls and pans full of old food to dump down the garbage disposal so I had plenty of time to listen.

Apparently the bulk of the British media did know about Harry's service. BBC's royal family reporter thought that something was up starting Christmas time when Harry didn't show up for the family celebration. Then there was the plummet in hack paparazzi getting shots of Harry and his mates getting pissed in the clubs.

Prince Harry was hoping to serve in Iraq. (Upcoming repost of my blog about that soon!) This got the kibosh, though, because he was too high profile. His nickname, by the way, is "Bullet Magnet". So that's telling. BUt, the secret slip to Afghanistan, an idea that was apparently the brainchild of the Queen.

It was then confirmed to the suspicious reporter that Prince Harry, third in line to the throne, was serving as junior officer for the 37th in Afghanistan. The media-at-large knew but, for the sake of safety, kept that information private on the condition that after his service ended, they would have footage and photos of this time in his life. The Drudge Report - the same swell people who released the photo of Obama in traditional Somali garb and saying he was in Muslim garb - was the leaker. The leak not only puts Prince Harry at risk, as he is sure to become a target, but also endangers the lives of the people serving with him.

I'm all for freedom of the press. Just look at my ACLU card and my collection of Noami Wolfe, Noam Chomsky, and Howard Zinn books, but I definitely don't understand the point of leaking a story just to be the first to report it. No one needed to know that Harry was serving and where he was serving.

But in the age of "famous people's daily activities is news" [Britney drives around LA all night long...], nothing seems to be off limits.

Ah well.

No more into the breach, my dear Harry. Time to return to jolly old England.

Ergh I Hate When That Happens

Hi,

To see the actual latest entry please click on this link to my "Birthday Destinations" post. You see, I started this blog entry a while ago, didn't finish it and went back to it just now but since I started it a while ago, it was published for the day I tarted it and not the day I finished it.

http://bridge-inthepines.blogspot.com/2008/02/repost-my-28th-birthday-celebration.html

Oopsy.

Bridge

Payback Is Lovely

Payback Is Lovely

So, the other day I posted a blog about the hilarious Sarah Silverman video that she made with my husband, Matt Damon.

Sarah's boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel, took some sweet revenge...not against Sarah, but against Matt Damon. If Matt is going to take something from Jimmy, Jimmy is going to take something from Matt

Ben Affleck Is Lame but he was nice enough to support the troops and pose for this pic

Here is his retaliation. And it is

H I L A R I O U S

View the retaliation

HERE

Repost: My 28th Birthday Celebration

This is a funny repost because it isn't even close to being my birthday yet. And I'm not interested in this upcoming one, actually. But this weekend is Erin's birthday weekend, and she played a big role in the celebration that was my 28th bday, so here's a repost:

July 16, 2006

This is what I did to celebrate:

-CIBO restaurant in the North End with Rene and Erin and Matt. Always a precarious position, mixing the Maine friends with the Weymouth ones, but it was quite successful this birthday, as it was in birthdays past. And the food, as always, was delectable. Mmmmmm....

- The Bell in Hand. I’m done with the big bars with little kids wearing jeans and low-cut tanks and bad makeup. And the guys, also in jeans, with tight polos with popped collars and slightly spiky hair. Yawn. It’s like the old Roadrunner cartoons with looped background.

- The Green Dragon Tavern. Funner. A good live band playing interesting twists on covers like James’s “Pretty” and “Car Wash.” Matt went home to catch train to Brookline.

- Back to Southie, where Erin had parked her car so we could avoid the ridiculous Boston traffic, due to collapsing ceiling. I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but there’s some transportation issues in Boston’s Big Dig program. Also, I don’t know if you’ve heard this, either, but Massachusetts allows gay marriage. I figured I’d tell you because if you didn’t know about the tunnel collapse, you probably didn’t know about the marriage thing, either. Also we’re at war with Terror. Terror is not a country. It’s a feeling. So, that’s going well. Anyway…

-L Street Tavern. Big strike against this place for Friday. People were dickheads. Dick. Heads. Totally. No link for you, suckahs.

-Sweet talked our way into final bar, Murphy’s Law, after the bouncer began to say “no” because they were too full. Met boring guys who convinced us to go to

-South Street Diner, for late nite snacking. I had severe headache and anxiety about getting up for work the next morning. We ditched them after picking at a plate of fries and went to Rene’s apartment in Quincy to sleepover. Fun.

Repost: The Original Valentine's Day Sucks Poem

Repost: Journals from Tenth Grade (Oh my Lordy Lordy.)

Sometimes it's good to keep a journal, so you can go back to it 14 years later and laugh at yourself. It makes the current moment seem a little more "This too shall pass" and a little less "ugh."

Here is a repost of when I found my journals from 1994, including the poem I wrote on Valentine's Day, after Na te C orddry dumped me. (See the entire "I Hate Valentine's Day" series here.) Now, I was being sarcastic when I wrote this. It as a bad-on-purpose/making fun of my sadness poem. Pretty clever for a 15 year old.

So, here is my repost about discovering my journal from sophomore year of high school...

Journal Discovery: Getting Dumped on V-Day and more

July 18, 2006

actual pages from one of my 1994 journals

It’s funny how we perceive memories of the past and they’re totally wrong. I mean, I thought I was a lot more innocent when I was a sophomore in high school, but apparently, I wasn’t.

Also, every journal entry from sophomore year during the one act drama competition, I talk about how much I hate Mrs. Smith, whom I have come, since becoming a high school drama teacher, to admire and respect and find nice compared to, say, me.

Another thing that’s funny is the people I talk about in the journal entry from twelve years ago: Jesse, Danielle, Katie, Kara, Danielle T, Keri…all people I have spoken to at least once in the last three months, if not more. How weird. Part of that is thanks to the magic of myspace and facebook. Who would have thought?

Also, I wrote about wanting to be a writer, even back then. I said I didn’t know what I wanted; one thing I thought of being was an actor on SNL, but I also said maybe I’ll by a screenplay writer or a freelance writer. And I wondered what I’d be when I grew up. Twelve years later, I’m still wondering but I think I have a firmer grasp. [Note: it's now almost 14 years later, and I'm almost sure of what I want to be when I grow up, but double check in two more year and we'll see...]

I used big words appropriately and I wrote well back then, especially for a 15 year old. I wrote poems, too. And re-reading them I find I didn’t hate them, which is always nice. To not completely hate the poems you wrote during the thick of adolescence says something. Here’s a poem from 1994. It was done with a whole heap of humor, mind you, but also with honesty:

2/14/94

Rarely does one speak of the
Nose tear
Snot from the same sadness
As the tears of the eye

It dribbles, sneaking out
Along with the tears of the eye
Which are hot
and speed, elegantly, down the cheek

Yet the nose tear creeps and falls down
Slowly, along the path of the miserable frown

And how lonely this very tear is!
For, you see, it comes alone
With no similarly depressed other

Unlike the eye tears, which follow each other
In support down to the solemn chin

The cold nose tear’s
Worth no help to anyone

But to remind
Of how slow, cold, lonely and
Sneaky a person can actually be

Photo from Flickr

So, that’s the poem I wrote after being dumped on Valentine’s Day (not that I cared that much because I kept making out with the kid for weeks after this incident until I met Scott H. at the Freshman/ Sophomore track meet and then he became my cute surfer/skateboarder looking country boyfriend from Bridgewater -- I remember we’d talk on the phone and he’d see cows out his window and I’d see ambulances rushing by...whew, major high school digression there...) So, I hope you laughed as much as I did.

Ah high school drama.

Repost: 1 Degree of Separation

Click to enlarge the map, so you can see how few red dots there are on this population density map of Maine that I lifted from Wikimedia.

While I often extol the virtues of Maine, there are a few things that are...uh...uncomfortable...about living in such a small - population-wise - state. Here is a hypothetical tale of a reason why perhaps Maine can have an embarrassing smallness.

Socially Tiny, Geographically Large

July 20, 2006

Once upon a time, this girl I know named Mattie O'Bride, got a random phone call at 1 AM, early morning. Classic case of Wednesday Night Drunk Dialing. For her it was nice to be a receiver occasionally. It cancels out the embarrassing giving, somewhat. This DD was from the infamous Ray Eriksen. Mattie hadn't realized that Ray had her phone number. Who is Ray? Oh, well, here’s Mattie's story about that:

One thing I hate about my lovely beloved State of Maine is, despite its large spacial mass (relative to the rest of New England), it is the tiniest space, socially speaking. Much less than 6 degrees of separation.

Say for instance, you’re really enjoying your St Patrick’s Day. You’re wearing a green miniskirt, a green tank top and a pretty lace blouse over that, and green wedge heels. Anyway, you look really cute. Oh, and glow-in-the-dark Guinness buttons strategically placed on your shirt, as a joke, because it's St Patrick's Day. Anyway, so say you’re doing that, and you’re really Irish, so you’re celebrating the holiday with an Irish Car Bomb or four and a couple of or a couple dozen Guinness. Then, in your college town, at your college bar, 100 miles away from any place where someone would have learned about Romeo and Juliet from you during your brief stint as an English teacher, you sit down at a table which is filled with a bunch of cute guys who are about your age– mid-twenties. You and the guys are getting along swell. You’re really pretty. They’re really cute. Or at least that’s how you think because it’s St Patrick’s Day and you’re a good Irish lassssss who’s a wee bit tipsy-ish and therefore beer goggled and overly confident, sort of (or totally bombed…) Anyway, one conversation leads to another and soon enough, the mystery of degrees of separation are uncovered. To your horror, the one you’ve been flirting with quite a bit, who has bought several drinks for you, is in fact

1.) the older brother of someone you taught

2.) the son of one of someone you used to work with

3.) the old high school boyfriend of someone you currently work with

Oh well, you say, because you’re filter’s a smidge clogged with Bailey’s.

The night progresses further, continuing on with you and a bunch of other people back at his house, complete with cocktail hour(s), dance party, mini-concert by you, pukefest on bathroom floor and (God this is gross) make out session with guy who is not only 1-3 of the above but also 4.) someone else’s boyfriend. Throughout all of this, he has drunk dialed his brother, his mother and his old high school girlfriend and tried to make you say “hi” but, thank goodness, you won’t. Nonetheless, because he prefaces each post-midnight call to his friends and family (who know you in a manner that really doesn't gel with drunk dialing at 2 AM) by saying, “You’ll never guess who I’m hanging out with right now! I’m with [insert my name here]!!!”, they still know you’re guilty of being a complete lush on St Patty’s Day. (You don’t think they know about the making out part.

You are left to blush if you ever see them again and curse the teeny tiny closeness of the lovely State of Maine.

So, yeah, that was weird for her.

Repost: RMV- the epilogue

The Way the RMV Should Be

So, I wrapped up the Mass RMV story but I needed to repost the finale...

The Maine RMV: The Way RMVs Should Be

VI Chapter 5

What it’s like in Maine:

Bring title and old registration to town office.

Pay for registration transfer, excise tax, and sign up for transfer of inexpensive vanity plate (only $15, hence the five year reign of POETREE). Pay. Get new sticker and new registration.

The end.

This is what they mean when they say:

“Welcome to Maine. The way life should be.”

Ugh Ick Poo

Sick

I've been sick, that's why I haven't blogged.

Something is wrong here

I'm going to do some re-runs to make up for the missing days, though.

Here we go.

Repost: The Odyssey of the RMV

The Odyssey at the RMV, cont.

So, I registered my car and all that, but I still had a few more weird-assed things happened while at the registry. Here's the continuation of my Odyssey to the RMV of MA. At the time I wrote this, I was working at Old Slavery (Old Navy) for The Man (aka Gap Inc):

V. Chapter 5

Here’s the random story: I talk to customers at ON all the time. A few months ago a woman came in to exchange shirts she purchased for her daughter because they didn’t fit. ON didn’t have the right size, so the woman came back in my line and just returned the shirts.

She ended up telling me that her daughter works at the RMV and that it’s her first full-time job, so she wanted to get her some nice clothes. After her return was finished, she went shopping some more. She came back with new shirts. She told me she was sad that she wouldn’t be able to bring her daughter the new shirts until after the weekend because she was on her way to the Cape to go camping at her seasonal spot at a campground.

Perhaps it’s because I am a writer and have done journalism work, but people open up to me with ease.

As I appraoched the customer service desk at the RMV, I noticed the girl at the desk was wearing a shirt from ON, so I just knew it was the daughter of my customer. I didn’t say anything the two times I went through her line, but I saw her out in front of the office on my way to parking lot and figured, what the hell.

So I said, “I have the most random question for you.”

She was skeptical, because people leave the RMV pretty pissed, so she probably thought I was going to complain about something.

Instead I said, “Does your mom shop at (ON) a lot and does she go camping in the Cape all the time?”

“Yee-es…”

“And did you just get this job a little bit ago and she bought you shirts that she had to return because they weren’t the right size?”

“Yee-es…”

“I thought you were the daughter. I know this is totally random, but I work at (ON) and I remember when your mom came in and told me all about your new job and stuff. And I figured it was you because I recognized the shirt you’re wearing right now from work and you’re younger and she said you were nervous about your first job.”

She was laughing and sort of pleased at the quirky coincidence. She asked if I were working later today because she planned on going after work. I told her no, probably not until Monday. Then I asked her how she liked work because her mom said she was shy. She laughed, probably exasperated that her mom tells her life story to ON cashiers, and said she liked it. I told her she did a good job and said thanks.

Random.

The Lake

Picture's from My TV During the Rebroadcasting of BBC's Pride and Prejudice

I am such a dork i actually took pictures of the lake scene, so I could have it as a screen saver (though, of course, not the wallpaper - all wallpaper is Rosa and Rosa only).


=Sigh= He's so dreamy.


Where is my Mr Darcy? Oh, that's right. He doesn't exist. Jane Austen could never find the perfect man, so she had to write one up to satisfy her head.

Anyway. Enjoy.

OMG 3 degrees!!!!!

BBC's Pride and Prejudice Re-run on PBS



Oh. My. God. I am three degrees of separation from Colin Firth IN Pride and Prejudice. It's because of Lucy Davis. I'm watching the rebroadcasting on Channel 44 and little Maria Lucas, following everyone around at Rosings, looks so familiar...Hmmm...

She was in BBC's Office! And, more recently and relevant-ly, in last year's canceled NBC show Studio 60. She played one of the writers. Her character had a relationship with one of the cast member characters...You-Know-Who!

So, there you are. 3 degrees. Not that it means anything. There's all sorts of interesting little connexions that have occurred through that POS. All very interesting and whatnot. But since I'm so ridiculously IN LOVE with Colin Firth, Mr Darcy and BBC's Pride and Prejudice from 1995, I just had to share this one.

Triolet Poem for Sucky Valentine's Day

Triolet for Sucky Valentine's Day (a sucky poem for a sucky holiday)

(Triolet is a form of poetry that goes A1/B2/A/A1/A/B/A1/B2)

Mostly, Valentine's Day is just sucky
Hardly a soul disagrees
If you enjoy it, you're truly lucky
Because mostly Valentine's Day is just sucky
I'd sleep off this whole day with ease
My God, is Valentine's Day just sucky
Hardly a soul disagrees

Repost: RMV purgatory

Registry of Motor Vehicles in Massachusetts: Hell on Earth?

When we last left off, I had rushed to the bank, through the Quincy Center Street Fair, to get cash for the RMV. I made it back and then...

IV. Chapter 3

Hop to front of line, thanks to my “return pass.” This is a nice innovation.

My serve: All the previously processed paperwork.

New RMV worker’s serve (I guess we’re playing mixed doubles): The staggering $170 total.

My return: A blip overhand to end the match with the cash turned over.

I have my new plates and my new registration.

IV. Chapter 4

FINAL: 5-1, no more POETREE (my personalized license plate in Maine) but a MA license plate with generic numbers. Poo but at least it’s done. I survived.

They should give out stickers, like when you vote; I survived a trip to the RMV today.

Stay tuned for the final installment, the epilogue. I lovely little tale about the mere 3 degrees that separate folks in the South Shore of Massachusetts.

I Hate Valentine's Day

I Hate Valentines Day

Up until recently, I didn't hate this day. But I really should have, since historically, it's been a fairly awful time for me. This is why I have decided this year, definitively, that I hate this holiday. Here is a list of highlights (actually low lights):

• 10th grade - dumped by N ate Cor ddry, who is now acting in a Steven Spielberg/ Tom Hanks WWII miniseries (bastard)
• 12th grade- major snow storm so all plans had to be canceled. Sucked.
• Junior year college - stood up because guy was actually dating someone else
• First Senior year - Single, but also fractured my left wrist after falling on ice
• Second Senior year - crappy boyfriend made me cry and also would only get Subway for dinner
• 2002 - that was kinda funny actually. I was just starting to hang out with the person who would eventually be my boyfriend. I went to his sister's birthday party, had too much fun* and yacked in his father front lawn for the rest of the night. It was mortifying. I was just talking to him about that in September and he said, in front of his current girlfriend, "Yep. That's when I fell in love," which created a wonderfully awkward moment for all involved.
• 2003 - broke up with said boyfriend

All the other years have been either just fine or totally devoid of memorability - nothing ever special or significant. So eff this day, I say.

I'm excited for Feb 15, though. That's when all the V Day candy goes on clearance. Awesome.

(Image from Wikimedia. Photo attribution info: John Hritz from Ann Arbor, MI, USA)

*fun - jagermeister

John King Read My Email, I sway-yah

John King Busts Out the Accent Even Mo-wah

Boston Public Library

Last week, during Super Tuesday, I blogged about CNN's John King and his Boston accent. And guess what?

Ooo, it was crazy tonight during the - as the Weymouth-native, national newsman , Mark Shields, deemed it - "Crabcake Primary" (which Colbert and Stewart teased mercilessly).

John King even mentioned his accent during Potomac Primry coverage tonight. There he was, up at his fancy board, touching it and zooming on places and being all fancy and whatnot...and then it slipped out: "mah-jins". Instead of "margins". Then he said, "Sorry, my Boston accent coming out." Then it wouldn't go away. The moowah he talked, the thickah it goit.

It was awesome.

Repost: RMV = Hell

This is bull riding not a cowboy, but it's more visually interesting.

The Continuing Saga of My Attempt to Register My Car at the Mass RMV

When we last left off, I was about to be all set and register my car, but they didn't take credit or debit cards. Gott in Himmel knows why. The next chapter is about my diversion to the BOA:

III. Chapter 2

Commerical Break- I walk to BOA. There’s a big sidewalk sale going on in Quincy Center. Lots of junk being sold at stands. The street is closed off and decorated in squares with chalk. It’s pretty. A DJ is playing country music. As a result, I find myself singing “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” while standing in line to withdraw from the teller (because I can’t remember my new pin number). On my way back, I observe the lonely booth vendors who have no visitors. I feel bad and want to visit all of them, but I’ve a car to register. And I return.

I Miss You So Much

Missing Maine

(Photo: I 295 North) I don't talk about it that much, but I do miss my dear Maine. Do you know what I realized just now? Today was the first time I missed a major election vote in Maine. I mean, I know my Massachusetts vote in the primaries was just as significant as the Maine caucus goers' today, but for the first time, I wasn't there. I've never not been in Maine during a major election, since I've been of voting age.

Maybe that's why I'm unable to fall asleep tonight. I feel like I'm missing out on something, something I would have placed in high importance had I been there. I felt that way about living in Maine when the Boston sports teams won championship victories: I was sad that I didn't live closer to the city so I could celebrate with more people. But this time around is way different because this time means more. (Photo: Lewiston Mill from Gritty's deck in Auburn, Maine)

Alas, I must resolve to move on from these feelings of absence, as I know that I'm not ready to return to my beloved. Still need to sow my geographical wild oats some more. A lot more. But I think I'm going up next month and then in June and again in July. So, there's plenty of conjugal visits, so to speak.

Photo: Hayfield on Pleasant Hill Road, Brunswick/Freeport Maine

Herbie Hancock - psyche

Herbie Hancock Wins the Grammy



I'm glad that that Herbie Hancock/ Joni Mitchell album won - just cause I like when the unexpected happens at these conglomerated awards shows.

Plus, I love Joni Mitchell. I mean, hello, I'm a female and whose heart has been broken, of COURSE I love her. How many times did I listen to Blue after I got dumped back in 2002? One trillion.

I'm going to go listen to "River: The Joni Letters" and probably need to get it because it sounds fantastic.

Here's a funny interview with Herbie Hancock:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=17537328

And a plain old interview:

http://stream.publicbroadcasting.net/production/mp3/tavis/local-tavis-663356.mp3

Joni Mitchell

Joni Mitchell Date(s): 11 Jan 1969 , Place of publication: Fort Macleod, Alta Terms of use Credit: Frank Prazak / Library and Archives Canada / PA-211916 Restrictions on use: Nil Copyright: Copyright assigned to Library and Archives Canada by cop

Welcome to New England and our messed up weather

Welcome to New England!

There's an old expression that I like to say in my best Mainah/Bostonian fishahmin grampa voice:

Welcome to New England! Don't like the weather? Just wait a minute.

Because it does change and within minutes at that. Case in point:

At 4:26, the wrath of God rang down upon us:


4:33 things slowed down


4:39 it cleared up a lot


At 445 the sky began turning sky blue


And at 4:55 the sun came out, just in time to set in the sky and leave a pretty orange pink glow

Stuart Scott Is Cute

I was watching the Celtics half game show and couldn't help but notice that Stuart Scott has lost weight and seems to be working out. I know he has to wear those glasses because of serious cornea problems, but I love guys in glasses. Indeed, I'd let him (maybe) check me out (maybe be looking at the TV over my right shoulder) whenever he wanted. (I'm so evil.)

National Poetry Foundation Conference in June

FYI - I Just got this from my current school (USM) about a conference at my alma mater (UMaine)

National Poetry Foundation Summer Conference Announced: Poetry of the 1970s

I will probably be attending, since Bernadette Meyers is one of my favorites. I wrote about her before in this blog at some point... Also, it'd be nice to go back to my roots for a while. Even if Sylvester, my poetry teacher from college, won't be there. He passed away back in December, which I also wrote about here, I believe.

Anyway, here's the info. And if you are a friends from the Orono area reading this - thanks in advance for the use of your couch during these days... Ha ha. (For real though.)

Dear Friends on the NPF,

Though we at the National Poetry Foundation have had to weather a hard
season of loss in these past few months, we are nevertheless pressing
ahead with plans for our summer conference on The Poetry of the 1970s.

We are very pleased to announce that Bruce Andrews, Rae Armantrout,
Nicole Brossard, Clark Coolidge, Jayne Cortez, and Bernadette Mayer
have agreed to give plenary poetry readings. And we expect to have more
good news on that front in the coming days.

The Conference will take place June 11-15, 2008, here at the University
of Maine. It will be similar in shape and scope to previous "decade"
conferences, but will also feature some innovations. For instance,
we'll be collaborating for the first time with both the UMaine Museum
of Art and the Colby College Museum of Art to bring the visual arts
into the mix. And we'll have a videographer on hand not just to
document the plenary proceedings, but also to do studio sessions
intended for future webcasting with the many poets (and poet-scholars)
who will be in attendance. We'll be making a more concerted use of new
media and web resources than in the past. And we expect that a variety
of NPF print publications will grow out of the Conference as well.
Naturally, a celebration of the lives and accomplishments of Sylvester
Pollet and Burton Hatlen is being planned in conjunction with our
traditional lobster banquet.

We invite paper and panel proposals on all aspects of poetic practice
in the Seventies. We also seek scholars and writers who would be
willing to serve as panel Chairs. Special registration rates are
available for graduate students, independent, and international
scholars.

Proposal guidelines can be found here:

http://www.nationalpoetryfoundation.org/news/index.php/article/2007/10/
15/poetry_of_the_1970s

We will begin considering proposals on February 15th. The deadline for
proposals is March 31, 2008. Proposals, along with any queries about
the proposal process, should be sent electronically to

Steven dot Evans at Maine dot Edu (or by reply to this message)

More information about the Conference is available at our recently
revamped website:

http://www.nationalpoetryfoundation.org/

The site is set up to facilitate on-line registration for the
Conference. As an incentive for early registration, we will be offering
discounts on NPF journal subscriptions and books.

On-campus accommodations are available at a reasonable rate through the
NPF. We'd also be happy to advise conference participants as to other
nearby lodging options and to offer tips on traveling to and from the
Bangor area.

We appreciate your help in spreading the word about this Conference and
hope you'll seriously consider joining us this summer in Orono!

On behalf of the Conference Steering Committee consisting of Carla
Billitteri, Benjamin Friedlander, Jennifer Moxley, and myself, all best
wishes,

Steve Evans

* * * *
Associate Professor of English
Graduate Studies Coordinator
New Writing Series Coordinator
NPF Editorial Collective Member
www.thirdfactory.net

UTI - WTF?

Where Is Your Copy Editor?

There's a college that just advertised during The Soup on E! It's called

UTI

WTF? Who names a college (click here to see the ad and the home page) after a medical condition in which it hurts to pee? Do people not have Google? Can they not go to Wikipedia to look up urinary tract infection and see this little pretty picture?




Just like the bedding company that I heard about in Wait, Wait today. They named one of their bed's for girls the "Lolita" model. None of them knew about Nabakov. Huh?

Lolita (1955) is a novel by Vladimir Nabokov. The novel was first written in English and published in Paris. The novel is both internationally famous for its innovative style and infamous for its controversial subject: the book's narrator and protagonist Humbert Humbert becoming sexually obsessed with a twelve-year-old girl named Dolores Haze. (From Wikipedia)

Blenheim Ginger Ale

Seriously, this Blenheim ginger ale is more than just worth a blog post. It's apparently worthy of an entire fansite.

I'm drinking it tonight because my tum-tum hurty hurts. Ladies, you know how it is the first day Aunty Flow visits. I slept for four hours today and have been a raving lunatic. Rene wanted to go to my beloved Ikea tonight, but it's a no go for me. Too much effort.

The Blenheim at first sip made me sneeze three times. But, it gives quite a rush in the nostrils and that ginger does feel nice. This is that real kind of ginger ale - not too sweet but still somewhat sweet. Also a real, serious, biting ginger =snappy= sort of feel on the palate.

So, highly recommended for food poison victims, pregnant ladies in the first trimester, and ladies who are in the opposite of preggo land.

Good times.

PS Don't take a big sip. You'll cough.

Repost: Registry of Motor Vehicles, or Hell on Earth

Repost: Registry of Motor Vehicles, or Hell on Earth Secton II: Chapter 1 "The Match"

II. Chapter 1

When you get to the RMV window, it’s like a tennis game: I have all my paperwork, so I’m like a pimped out Williams sister with fashion forward skirt-dress thingy and titanium alloy racquet or whatever it is they use.

My serve: a State Tax Exemption (MSV-29) form since I paid excise in Maine, completed and signed.

His return: Car was purchased in MA. The form is no good. You have to go to the dealer to get proof of purchase on their letterhead. He’s about to dismiss me but

MY return: a fierce backhand with BAM! the bill of purchase

1-0

My serve: The Maine title. It’s good.

2-0

My serve: The registration, complete with proof of insurance, filled out in its entirety at the insurance company. Except I forgot to write in the mileage but remembered right before I went up to the window and wrote something feasible in. Ha ha.

3-0

My serve: The old Maine registration. It’s good, again.

He has the new potential plate out, he’s filling out numbers and other paperwork, I’m almost there.

4-0

My serve: I pull out the debit card.

His return: Cash or check only.

I look around to see if it’s 2006 or 1986. It’s definitively 2006, but the RMV hasn’t stepped up to the debit card plate (oh crap I just mixed my metaphors).

4-1

His serve: There’s a Bank of America down the street

My return: I’ll be right back

His return: I’ll give you a slip to slip to the front. (Foul out, serve to me.)

My Effin Shoulder Hurts

There's a crapload I want to do on the computer but after 10 minutes sitting here, my shoulder gets on fire. Hurts hurts hurts. Too much mousing around. What to do? I'm going to switch hands, I guess.

There. This is weird, though. I'm not fast with my left hand. (Dirty.)

This was a blog post just to post something.