Comma Dot Comma

Dissertation Submitted to committee: check

Dissertation Successfully defended: check

All edits and final changes made: check

Advisor signed off: check

Paperwork submitted and inexplicable $115 paid to submit it:

FROM: Editor, UMI Dissertations

TO: G

SUBJECT: “Causal Inference with Group-Based Trajectories and Propensity Score Matching: Is High School Dropout a Turning Point?” has been accepted

Dear G,

Congratulations. Your submission has cleared all of the
necessary checks and will soon be delivered to UMI. If you
have questions in the future about the status of any orders
for printed copies or the publication status of your
manuscript, please contact …
University of Maryland,
College Park, MD

CHECKMATE.

Rejection Lore runs strong and deep in the poetry writing crowd. Everything about a rejection slip has carefully shaded meaning, from the size of the paper to the editor’s handwritten note (or lack thereof) at the bottom. Writers band together on the web to share their most memorable rejections. One I got this week, though, is the best ever. It is clear to me that the poet and Publisher/Editor of Tupelo Press, Jeff Levine –back when he was sending out thick envelopes of poems and receiving in reply ragged Triscuit-sized slips of colored paper bearing one sentence (We are unable to use your work at this time. –The Editors)– vowed that if and when he was on the receiving end of fat envelopes of poems, he’d do things differently.

Now, this particular submission was to an anonymous contest, so I know his words are not meant to encourage me specifically. But you got to appreciate a full single-spaced page of this type of encouragement:

“I know it’s hard to be philosophical about not winning, but I fervently hope you wil take consolation in knowing that you participate in something significant. … Recognition is a wonderful thing, of course, but ephemeral rewards pale in comparison to the importance — and joy — of creating poems… You must, of course, continue to believe fervently in your own work, and I hope that you will shrug off every disappointment knowing that the eventual rewards will be so much sweeter for the patient waiting.”

Thank you, Jeff Levine! There are some editors in the nation who will groan if they read your letter, because it means they will be bombarded with even more fat envelopes filled with mediocre poetry by poets emboldened by your words. But I think it’s sweet of you to say so.

Three shadowy figures crested the hill on the trail far ahead of us. It was getting dark and most of the forest had blended into a uniform green-brown, with the exception of the dogwoods, which were bright floating white in the gloom. Deer crashed willy-nilly through the brush at our approach. The figures coming towards us on the trail were fellow people, though all we could see were silhouettes.

“Three teenage boys,” I guessed. “No, two boys and a girl.” They got a little closer. “The guy in front is stockier, I’m guessing a dad and two kids.” In a moment we heard a low, droning voice. “Definitely a dad, hear the lecturing?” He had a staff with which he seemed to be slamming on the ground for emphasis. We were almost upon them before the situation became clear.

There were three men of varying ages. The man in front with the low voice was speaking rhythmically in tongues and keeping time with his staff: Tchucka tum tum alla lala be. The man in back was singing in a high, passionate tenor: Jehovah Jireh, My Provider! The man in the middle was muttering a string of praises: Amen. Alleluia. Praise God! They waved their bibles at us and grinned, veering off into the woods, still singing.

“You were way off on that one,” said the Mister. Yep, I sure was.

In other news, I updated my spam blocker and turned comments back on.

The spammers have figured out a way around my WordPress comment spam blocker. Therefore, I’ve turned on the feature that requires me to approve a comment before it appears on the site if the author hasn’t had a previously approved comment. I get instantaneous notification of new comments so there shouldn’t be too much delay.

I love Tara’s post on student desperation.

And, Brickdude, if you’re reading this, I would love to be the proud owner of a Japanese Green Tea KitKat, but though I am a faithful reader I refuse to make a Blogger account on principle, and therefore cannot leave a comment to that effect on your blog.

And does anyone have anything cool they would give me to secure a trade for one year of free rent in downtown Phoenix? It would have to be better than four months free rent in Hollywood + use of a new Porsche, which is the top offer at the moment. I would give you my part time editing and ghost writing services for one year.

UPDATE:  We decided we don’t want the apartment. It’s only got one bedroom and no pool access.  Right out!  But bartering is cool, don’t you think?

Today, clever song lyrics charm me. I have a happy springtime crush on clever song lyrics. I want to make a mix of only clever songs. What should be on it? Here’s three I have so far:
Cake: Short Skirt, Long Jacket

She is fast, thorough, and sharp as a tack
She’s touring the facility and picking up slack
I want a girl with a short skirt,
And a loooooooooooooonnnnnnngggggg, long jacket

Hank Williams: Howling At the Moon

I rode my horse to town to day and a gas pump we did pass
I pulled ’im up and I hollered whoa!, said fill ’im up with gas
The man picked up a monkey wrench and wham!, he changed my tune
You got me chasin’ rabbits, spittin’ out teeth and howlin’ at the moon.

Fiona Apple: Oh Sailor:

Everything good I deem too good to be true
Everything else is just a bore
Everything I have to look forward to
Has a pretty painful and very imposing before

Now this just seems like the wrong way to make use of a cow:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/4373440.stm

I first read about the cow-fueled train in Discover Magazine, which stated that it takes about 30 putrefied cows to power the train for 75 miles.

I can’t say why it bugs me, apart from being just gross. Can I object on the basis of efficiency? I guess it just seems better to putrefy grasses than to let the cows eat the grasses and then putrefy them instead. If we’re going to grind up a bunch of cows, why not make hamburger? But then again, why is it better to grind cows into hamburger for people food rather than for bacteria food? Are people more deserving of hamburger than bacteria are? E. Coli might beg to differ. A question for the ages. (Maybe I should make a link on my sidebar, “Questions for the Ages,” and add these rhetorical gems whenever I include them in posts. That would make for an interesting list eventually.)

People are always telling me to look on the bright side. So, what is one of the dominant qualities of cows? Stinkiness. And what is the byproduct of putrefying a cow? Methane, which is extremely stinky. These people have figured out how to transfrom every cow trait into one: STINK! They say nothing makes a train go better than STINK! So you could say that the grind-up-and-putrefy-cows crowd are helping the cows find their truest, most cowy state in all of cowdom. At the same time, they are helping trains do what trains are supposed to do best: go, go go. It’s a win-win!
I’m still not seduced by my own optimism. There are lots of already dead things that would be more excited than live cows about achieving their True Stink Potential. How about raw sewage? Sewage must certainly aspire to becoming ever more stinky; it would rush to the putrefaction tanks of its own accord! A few live rats might accidentally get sucked into the Heart of Stinkiness now and then, but they will have to learn to accept that as one of the risks of their lifestyle choices.

How about farts, which are not that far from pure methane as it is? Maybe I’ll make my first million by inventing and marketing a contraption that gathers your natural emissions as you sleep. You take them to the store neatly pressurized in a tank and get coupons for free pizzas in return. You could probably store a year’s worth in one tank. I could then expand the product line for household pets and farm animals (Fart Snatcher: Barn Edition). So far I can’t think of any model that doesn’t involve suction cups… back to the drawing board.

There’s simply got to be something better than perfectly good live cows to power that train.

I’m back from Alaska, and my toes are finally starting to warm up! William Carlos Williams invented the word “greeny” but it suits my feelings about Maryland quite well.  The branches were bare but budding when I left; now, like magic, everything is at full greeny and the dogwoods are in bloom.  It’s gentle on the eyes, for sure.

Maybe I will write more about the nice trip later, when everybody gets their pictures up on flickr (we forgot our own camera).  It was a great opportunity to remember why I like those old friends so much (genial flexibility, sense of adventure). For now, I will just tell you about our

 food mascot for the ten days: chocolate

My friends are a bakerly bunch, and we ate our way through two or three dozen homemade cookies a day.  Cookie flavors:

• chocolate ginger snaps
• chocolate oatmeal bon bons
• chocolate walnut chunk
• and several batches of good old chocolate chip

Plus, one day Nate made chocolate almond creme brulee, another day a friend brought over a chocolate mint cake.  Store-bought chocolate included:

• chocolate ice cream
• chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream
• Clif bars
• Cadbury fruit and nut bars
• Hershey bars for smores
• cadbury milk chocolate eggs
• egg-shaped chocolate malt balls
• chocolate peanut butter egg-shaped m and ms
• chocolate chips in trail mix

If chocolate were rationed out in ounces to every person in the world, I’m sure we would have left at least a few dozen poor souls completely bereft of chocolate.  Now that’s what I call “Vacation Eating.”

I have three things to discuss today: My teeth, my uninformed opinions, and my vacation.

Thing 1.

Went to the dentist yesterday, for the first time in a few years. As usual, the dentist found no cavities. Also as usual, she congratulated me on my good work in this regard. It’s always a weird experience to get these “good work” compliments; my good teeth are genetic, and my dental habits are only average. I think my three siblings and I have three fillings among us. It’s as if someone came up to me and said, my, what pretty eyes you have! Good job! Keep up the good work!

Thing 2.

I have a round-up review in this month’s Salt, if you’re interested.

Thing 3.

This blog will be going into hibernation until April 18th. It is tired of working so hard, and the Mister and I are going to Alaska to visit good college friend Nate. Also going will be Sarah, as well as the other member of our crew, Aaron. Also included: spouses and children. Back in the day the three guys lived together in an apartment dubbed The Bat Cave. Sarah and I used to go over and build forts and try to get them to clean things.
Vivid college memory of Nate: On a ski lift, I on skis, he on snowboard. Nate says, “whoa, look at that powder!” and jumps off the moving lift halfway up the mountain.

Vivid college memory of Sarah: I’m sitting in her room. She has a glue gun and is affixing miniature dried rosebuds to a wreath she has fashioned from moss and grasses. I’m thinking: “Whoa! This girl has serious craft skills!”

Vivid college memory of Aaron: Group middle-of-the-night hike at Silver Creek Falls. Aaron announces that he will be the one to hold the only flashlight, because we need to ration the battery power. He makes good use of the flashlight when we get totally lost in the snow and trees.

Vivid college memory of the Mister: He calls me up and says he wants to show me something. I have Sarah in tow, because it is best to have a girlfriend there as witness to any interactions between you and your hoped-for object of affection, so that you can analyze it to death later. The Mister has set up a fan in his 3rd-story window and uses it to blow flurries of soap bubbles down to us in the courtyard.

I hereby announce that the Mister has handed his dissertation over to the committee for review. TAH DAH! He will now perform the interesting feat of sleeping for two days straight.

Who needs cohesion when you have multimedia?

The last poem in the February issue of Poetry is a lovely one-sentence gem: “Song of the Egg” by Deborah Warren. I won’t reprint it in full but here are the first three lines as a teaser:

“If, when he looked, a prophet saw

within the egg’s imperfect O

a bantam little shadow– death

I miss our old car, which is probably the size of a television set by now. I miss its 11-gallon gas tank, impeccable turning radius, fold-down seats that extend the trunk space, and manual transmission.

Bye bye again, lovable hunka junk.

And, here is a video of a kitten that I sort of know. It plays fetch. This clip is what her owner, Marie, refers to as “Extreme Fetch.”