When I was at my parents' house recently, we were hanging out in the backyard when we saw this cute squirrel on the wall close by. We began throwing crackers and nuts up on the wall, the shed roof, and the tree branches. (The "we" in this case included Abby, Ash, Charlotte, Lucy and myself.)

At one point, the squirrel turned around. And holy mother of god, he had the most impressive "danglage" I have ever seen on a rodent. (Not that I have conducted an extensive study or anything, but hot damn.)

This, of course, got us laughing. And when it was obvious the squirrel was planning to hang out for awhile, Lucy went and got her camera to take some pictures.

I told her that I wanted to see them when she got them developed. Then, a few days ago, an envelope came in the mail with the words "Furry Fetish" written on the front in big letters.

I opened it up, and inside were the pictures that you see here, complete with captions chronicling the squirrel and his danglage. I was just about peeing myself laughing.

So today's entry features some guest danglage, courtesy of Lucy and one hell of a well endowed squirrel. What else is there to say?

I sent out some more poetry in the wee hours of the morning. I got all organized, and printed out a list of every poem I've written this year. (I'm up to 106. No, wait. 109.) This is an ongoing list, but I updated it.

Then I went through my "submission tracking" folder and highlighted every poem that I have out there, awaiting a response. I then put a mark next to those poems that are not "out there" and also do not suck.

I decided to do something I never do: simultaneous submission. This is when you submit the same poem to more than one magazine. I never, never do this, historically speaking. But Laurie went to a seminar where they told her simultaneous submission is the way to go. I am dubious, but I am giving it a little bit of a shot.

I also stuck to publications that accept email submissions, just for the sake of expediency. I usually don't electronically submit things either, but I was on a roll.

So I ended up sending out stuff to five more magazines. Each magazine got at least two poems that were not submitted anywhere else, and at least two poems that were being simultaneously submitted. (I gave a full disclosure, of course.)

This brings my total of "magazines I am awaiting a response from" to seventeen. This is by far the most poetry I have ever had floating out there at one time. I am keeping my fingers crossed that, in keeping with my odds this year, I will get at least two or three acceptances.

Also in poetry news, I have two readings coming up. One is that Los Angeles poets thing, which apparently has something to do with a recent City Lights anthology. I don't know exactly what's going on. I do know there will be a poster. I am hoping it will be educational.

The second reading is going to be a contributor's reading for the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, my most recent print venue. I am looking forward to attending and reading something that isn't two years old (the poem they published was an old one) but I am concerned that everybody will want to read political poetry. Spare me, please.

Speaking of politics, I hardly know what to say. I think dropping food is a great move, and it makes me feel better about the decision to bomb. However I hope they send in ground troops soon, and quit the air strikes, which make me nervous. And also, I wish Tony Blair was our president. And mostly, I am terrified of what they will do next.

I was driving into the city today and thinking of my grandmother, really wishing she was alive so I could talk to her about all this. (My other grandmother, who lived through the war as a widow with two small children, doesn't really talk about her experiences. I have heard a vague story of her seeing the Nazis execute people on the street in front of her. But we've never talked about it.)

I remember Grandma saying that during World War II, she used to see bombings happen all the time. She spoke of one particular instance where the bridge down the street from her got blown up while she was not far away.

The amazing part is, she says she wasn't scared. (And I believe that she wasn't. The word "brave" when applied to Grandma is an understatement.) She said that during the war, she was hardly ever frightened. She only became fearful once she had a child. She was scared for her daughter so much more than she had ever been afraid for herself.

I guess I was thinking of this because I understand her mindset right now. Although I am nervous, I am afraid for others more than myself. Particularly for my family and friends who work in high-profile places.

There is so much that I have taken for granted, including the "fact" that I live in a far more secure world than my grandmother did. It seems like such hubris now. The fact that she lived through adversity and drew strength from it gives me hope. The fact that she's not here to lean on makes me sad.

Man, how can I go from squirrel nuts to such seriousness in the course of one entry? I guess rather easily. Oh! I do feel the need to report that on Friday, I got my car back. This makes me tremendously happy. (Even though it got locked in the school parking lot because I'm a fool, and I almost had to leave it there and take the train home.)

I have more things to write about--mostly about sex and relationships and so forth--but I think I will store that away, like a squirrel stores its nuts, and leave you with this:

"Maybe I shouldn't care if Abby says she's a lesbian now and then changes her mind. Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to say, 'Yes, I need this label of "bisexual" to define me now.' Maybe it's not the act of courage I thought it might be. Maybe life is just one big ongoing process of self discovery and experimentation and change and evolution and growth."