The weird thing is, the jelly kind of looks like Andrew and the pudding kind of looks like me. And you know, we totally would be snack detectives right now if we’d known it was an acceptable career path. We’d get all Dog and Beth on the trail of your missing Sno-Balls and Chocodiles.

Every once in a while I get so overwhelmed by what I think my blog should be like and how I think I am failing at making it that way that I end up not posting for weeks at a time. This is something that makes me profoundly unhappy—this site is in many ways responsible for most of the things that are good in my life, and I cherish the ability to share things with all of you, even those of you whom I don’t know and will probably never meet. It’s kind of funny but after my six years of blogging, the piece of writing that’s making it easier for me to fall in love with this site all over again is by, of all people, Dave Winer:

Then someday, when you’re in the shower or lying in bed in the morning and get an idea that you wish you could tell everyone, remember that you have a blog, and go to the computer, and write it up and publish it. That actually feels pretty good, even if you think no one will read it, because you got it off your chest.

Then in a few days Google will probably visit your site and index the post, and then when someone searches for that subject, your page will come up, and maybe you’ll pass that idea on to someone who can use it, or meet someone who agrees, or someone who disagrees. And that’s blogging, and that’s all it is.

[ via 0xDECAFBAD ]

lia: did you read momus’ post on the whitney biennial?
lia: you should come see it!
andrew: i want to
andrew: can you check to see if there’s more “why white guys like asian girls” postings on craigslist while he’s in nyc?

While reading through the March/April 2006 issue of I.D. this afternoon, I was pleasantly surprised to find this poem by Louise Glück, a reprint from Poetry‘s July/August 2005 issue. The ending slays me every time.

Humidifier
—After Robert Pinsky

Defier of closed space, such as the head, opener
Of the sealed passageways, so that
Sunlight entering the nose can once again

Exit the ear, vaporizer, mist machine, whose
Soft hiss sounds like another human being

But less erratic, more stable, or if not like a human being,
Carried by one, by my mother to the sick chamber
Of my childhood—as Freud said,

Why are you always sick, Louise? his cigar
Confusing mist with smoke, interfering
With healing—Embodied

Summoner of these ghosts, white plastic box with your elegant
Clear tub, the water sanitized by boiling,
Sterile, odorless,

In my mother’s absence
Run by me, the one machine

I understand: what
Would life be if we could not buy
Objects to care for us

And bear them home, away from the druggists’ pity,
If we could not carry in our own arms
Alms, alchemy, to the safety of our bedrooms,
If there were no more

Sounds in the night, continuous
Hush, hush of warm steam, not
Like human breath though regular, if there were nothing in the world

More hopeful than the self,
Soothing it, wishing it well.

I posted Glück’s Fable, one of my favorite poems, almost four years ago! Hard to believe sometimes I’m in my sixth year of blogging. Glück was US poet laureate from 2003-2004 and currently teaches at Yale. Her most recent book of poetry is 2001’s The Seven Ages; she won the Pulitzer in 1992 for The Wild Iris.

From Nerve’s recent interview with author James McManus.

As a writing teacher, I’m always getting questions from students like, “Can I write about this if it’s going to embarrass my stepbrother or my mother or whoever?” And I say, yeah, you have to go there. You’re sort of signing up for that embarrassment when you write.

This is what exactly what blogging is like. (Well, except for almost all the old school bloggers I know, who after years of scoffing at Livejournal now have accounts there set to friends-only.)
As for myself, I most recently embarassed my mom with this post. It’s my birthday today, so you guys are going to have to indulge me a little. Mom: a) sorry it embarrassed you, b) I know you mean well, but sometimes (frequently?) the pushiness is counter-productive, c) thank you for everything!
Anyway. James McManus is now best known for being the guy Harper’s assigned to cover the 2000 World Series of Poker, who instead took his advance, used it to enter the tournament and placed fifth, taking home $248,000. Unfortunately Harper’s doesn’t have the piece he ended up writing on their website, but lucky you, you can read the story he wrote for This American Life. Or hey, pick up the best-selling book he eventually published about his poker-playing experiences, Positively Fifth Street.
McManus writes a poker column for the New York Times (the column itself doesn’t have a steady url, but you can find the latest one in Sports), but his latest book is Physical: An American Check-Up, an exploration of the state of health care in the U.S.. It got started after Esquire hired him to write a piece about stem cell research, Please Stand By While The Age of Miracles Is Suspended; one of his main motivations for writing both the article and book is that his daughter is diabetic and ill, and stem cell research could help save her life. Newcity Chicago did a great interview with him about Physical a few weeks ago, if you’d like to read more.

My friend Manlio’s written up some excellent karaoke guidelines, which you should read and take to heart if there’s any chance you’ll be karaoke-ing in the future. Rule #4 is “If you go to karaoke more than once or twice a year, you should have at least 1 song that you know you can nail.” My grad school friends are all about karaoke and so I’ve done enough tour of duties in both Sing Sing and Village Karaoke that I’ve had to not only develop a repertoire but change it fairly frequently. These are my karaoke standards:
In Rotation

• Because the Night (10,000 Maniacs)
• Fever (Rosemary Clooney)
• Hey Jealousy (The Gin Blossoms)
• I Think We’re Alone Now (Tiffany)
• Lala (Ashlee Simpson)
• Mother, Mother (Tracy Bonham)
• No One Knows (Queens of the Stone Age)
• Sk8ter Boi (Avril Lavigne)
• Somebody Told Me (The Killers)
• Ugly Girl (Fleming & John)

New

• Hey Big Spender (Peggy Lee)
• You’re So Vain (Carly Simon)

Retired

• All Through The Night (Cyndi Lauper)
• Brass in Pocket (Pretenders)
• Love is a Battlefield (Pat Benatar)
• One Way or Another (Blondie)
• We Belong (Pat Benatar)

Not sure I can manage Kelly Clarkson’s Since U Been Gone but I’m dying to give it a shot, and I have yet to find a machine with Cyndi Lauper’s Hole in My Heart or Goonies R Good Enough but the day I do you bet I’m going to sing them! You’d think most of Cyndi’s songs would be fantastic for karaoke because we all know the words to them but they actually aren’t because the breadth of her range (5 octaves!) can make it hard to sing along; Madonna’s 80s repertoire should be everyone’s karaoke fallback for the converse reason. You also can’t go wrong if you choose from the ouevres of Bon Jovi or U2!
What songs do you kill at karaoke? What songs slay you? Tell me in the comments!
(The guy in the photo is Brett, a.k.a. ITP‘s prince of karaoke. He can do the Queens of the Stone Age song better than me which would be cause for hatred except he sings in two bands, one on each coast. Respect.)