A thing both nifty and strange happened yesterday.

I got a copy of The Café Review in the mail, and was excited to find my own poetry in its pages. (Sometimes this happens-- you don't get an acceptance letter, they just cut to the chase and send you the magazine with your poem in it.) This was one of the publications I submitted to in March. I've gotten a few rejections from that batch, and this was the first acceptance.

They printed a couple of old poems, including a throwaway poem. (I always include one "throwaway" poem when I submit-- something that's perhaps older or quirkier than the rest-- a long shot-- on the principle that you never know what they're going to like. It worked out for me this time. I guess "throwaway" is sort of misleading; I'd never submit a poem I didn't like. It's more of a "throw it out there and see what happens" poem, but that has too many syllables.)

I went to the magazine's web site and found that lots of prestigious poets have appeared in The Café Review-- Ferlinghetti, Simic, Kizer, Ashbery, Creeley... some big names. It's exciting to be in such illustrious company.

But here's where the strange part comes in. I was scanning the bios in the back of the magazine, and happened across a girl who is a teacher at my mini-skewel, in the Humanities program. And I thought, wow, what a coincidence, to have two people from the same school in the same issue of this magazine. I mean, the magazine is based in Maine of all places, so it's not like it has any connection to San Francisco poets in the first place. And while I was thinking this, my eyes fell upon another name a little further down-- one of my professors has work in the same damn issue!

Cue the Twilight Zone music. Bizarre, huh?

Notwithstanding any bias the editors may have towards my school (yet another one of my professors was in an issue last year) it's an honor to have my work appear alongside my professor's work in such a reputable magazine. And on top of that, they printed "Oranges," an oft-rejected poem to which I am unreasonably attached. So I am thrilled. Woo!

I could go on and on about poetry. I touched on this a while back; I've been feeling restless with my current style and wanting to branch out into something new and different. It's funny how things like this so often happen organically.

Last semester, I was working on a sonnet sequence for my class, and it just wasn't coming. Then one day in class-- boom. Something clicked. An hour later, I had thirteen sonnets or something, most of which survived into the final eleven sonnet sequence that I turned in. But the reason I was able to write those is because I had spent so much time struggling against a brick wall. You keep struggling and then one day, it clicks.

I hesitate to say that my poetry has entered a new phase-- you just never know. But I've been struggling recently to write something more concerned with sound and language, and I've been frustrated. Until I was waiting to pick up Jen at the airport, of all places, and it just sort of clicked for me, and I wrote the kind of poem I had been trying for.

These poems are more difficult for me to work with-- I've been really struggling with revising this thing. It's not just the images conjured by the words this time; it's the line lengths, and how the words sound on the tongue. These things are always considerations, but this time it's a little different. I feel like I'm on a new level with this poem.

Anyway. I intended to segue by saying, "I could go on and on about poetry... but I'll spare you." And then look what I did. I didn't spare you at all, did I?

Well, where I was going with that was, since I don't have anything to write about today except poetry, I will instead report on the life and times of my Sims. I finally got a chance to play today, and there were some interesting developments...

John Scalzi finally got a proper grave. Poor guy has been sitting in an urn on the middle of the dance floor for far too long.

Jen Journaler mourns John Scalzi's untimely death. You'd think she'd have gotten over it by now.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Journaler family threw a party. They're over it, apparently. In this next photo, Buck Naked, the stripper, comforts a crying Brad Pitt. I have no idea what all this crying was about, but Brad kept crying, and Buck kept comforting him. Perhaps it was a ploy on Brad's part.

My poor precious baby. Want to climb back in the cake with me? There's room enough for two.

In the backyard, Black Corina gathered some friends around the campfire for a singalong.

That's Joey, Emily Dickinson and Spike.

Meanwhile, at the Pie-Winslet House of Ever-Increasing Sluttery, Mo Pie threw a costume party. Tim turned up in this extremely gay purple and green thing, and Mo donned an adorable poodle skirt ensemble.

Those saddle shoes give me scary Catholic school flashbacks.

Apparently, Tim's outfit was a huge turn on for Mo Pie-- she proposed!

I know you're in love with Russell Crowe... but will you marry me anyway?

Tim immediately accepted the proposal. Unfortunately, I didn't get a screen shot of him holding his hand out and admiring his engagement ring. I was laughing too hard. I did get a picture of the wedding, though.

That's an awfully chaste kiss. Beard alert!

You would think Kate Winslet would have issues with her woman marrying some other guy, but the Winslet-Pies are apparently a progressive couple. As soon as Kate came home, Mo Pie planted a wet one on her.

Tim may have been at the wedding, but it's just you and me on the honeymoon...

"It is certainly a crappy job, but the Crazy Dog Lady takes it so seriously, you’d think lives were at stake. "