C-town

Waiting to cross the street today, two cars beside me:

• one, the tricked out, pimped out, spoilerized, spinnerized bass thumping spleen obliterating roadster
  
• the other, windows down, oblivious, jamming to The Gourds' "Gin 'n' Juice."

Blue

Good news: The Missouri Review took my long poem "My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge" for a feature in their Winter '08 issue. Very excited about that, having wanted to appear there for years. The poem is insane and I'm a little surprised they took it, but I ain't complaining.

Catfish

I should explain my mysterious terrible day post.

Last night I was backing away from my desk. I haven't really internalized the layout of my new place yet. I bump into stuff. Last night, backing up, I grazed a chair in the kitchen. I meant to pull my hand off the controller but my pinky finger hung on, caught. This is a problem as the weight of my hand, and to a degree my arm, is hanging on the controller, this time sending me backwards into the little table and chairs. The ensuing ruckus pins me between the table/chairs and the stainless steel counter top beside the oven. And by me, I mean my face, the right side, pinned against the steel, my body's weight resting there. I got the god damned pinky off the controller (if I have some sort of wreck or swerve the pinky is usually the cause -- I don't flex the wrist and fingers right and I lift my hand high to move the rest of my hand except it) but otherwise I was stuck. I tried calling for help but these brick walls insulate pretty well. After a while, I gave up and began figuring my way through waiting it out. Relaxing, ignoring it, which is a silly thought. But you think it.

To be short: I was that way for two hours. My cousin dropped by, who has keys. Luckily, we'd made nebulous plans earlier in the day.

When he helped me up, I was sore as hell, stiff, my face throbbing. A bit rattled from two hours or so of incessant pain but also a kind of exhilaration -- that it was over, the pain already fading, from my side at least. My face, my cheek, is sore.

Otherwise, back to normal.

***

The day began well enough: Sunday brunch at Pearl's Cafe. A seat by the corner window. Catfish, green beans, potatoes. Tea. Not bad at all.

I'd been finished a while, still watching the cars traffic through the square, when a couple in their sixties, I'd guess, walked in. Both were good looking but he led her and she seemed to dodder, to be unsure. Early onset of dementia. He was talking to the hostess, let go of her hand. When she looked towards me something in her mind sparked. She walked to me, put her hand on my shoulder. She said, clear as day:

"You must be the joy of the muse."

Then her husband had her hand once more and her language fell apart in her mouth. He led her away, dimmed.

There are good days and there are bad days.

And then there are really terrible days. Like yesterday.

Fangled

My comp. classes are going impossibly well. We spent a long digression on southern gothic, whether Poe was a southern writer, and a brief synopsis of As I Lay Dying, all this in regard to the novel we're reading, The World Made Straight by Ron Rash. For the most part, they're really engaged, though I did have to bust two of them for Facebook-ing in class. That will be readdressed on Monday. First thing.

***

And I had thought I wouldn't care or have a use for computers in a creative writing class, but discussion of one poem led to an explanation of ekphrastic poetry, then onward to Auden's "Musee des Beaux Arts," projected instantly right on the wall/screen. Later, we brought up pictures of Giacometti sculptures. All this in an intro course. The students were exposed to so much more because it was readily available, keystrokes away.

***

Tonight pizza with poets at Parelli's.

You're invisible now

I really am not a malcontent. But here I go, stirring the pot again. The sidewalks in Carrollton are often dreadful and even on campus badly made or crumbling curb cuts dot what is generally an otherwise decently accessible campus. I generally try to avoid them, staying in the road. Which is something I'd rather avoid. But yesterday, for one reason in particular, I thought, maybe I'm being too picky, I'll try the sidewalks.

I'd been nattering in the hallway outside my office door with the men installing the absurdly high tech door opener system for my door. This is another story altogether.

So I'm leaving campus for the day. Some of the curb cuts don't meet the road flushly. They end and a few inches later the road begins, creating a little ditch. You have to hit these at a snail's pace, else you jar yourself wildly. I hit one that had some strange angle to it and was nearly thrown over the side of my chair. I hung there, my face a few inches above the tire, the asphalt.

This couldn't keep up for long. Gravity would win. It'd eventually pull me all the way over for a nice face-plant.

Meanwhile dozens of cars zoomed past me, none stopping. It began, almost, to be amusing, that kind of slo-mo extremity, where I could see, feel the last bit of my body's balance slipping over the edge. Cars going by.

Finally a woman stopped and gave me a little push on on the shoulder. It was all I needed. I was able to raise back up, right myself, start off again.

I'm not frail but this wheelchair isn't an Abrams tank. If it hits a bump, the bump hits me.

***

I said I decided to try the sidewalks for one reason in particular. Yesterday morning I left for campus early. Across the street from my apartment a Department of Corrections van had pulled up. Prisoners were out clearing the sidewalks, cutting brush, digging. A sinking feeling inside me began. Their guard called to me.

"Are you the man in the wheelchair that called about not being able to use the sidewalks," he asked.

"I haven't called anybody. I've complained a lot, I guess."

"Well, somebody called the mayor worried about a man in a wheelchair who has to stay in the road because of the sidewalks. And he called med."

I looked over at these men, digging weeds from crevices, cleaning, clearing, in this absurd heat. I felt awful.

On the way to school, I passed a dump of a house with an overgrown yard. A white man stood imperiously over a Mexican man and his wife as they cleared brush with a thicket, their faces fixed in resignation and embarrassment. That sinking feeling started sinking.

So I decided yesterday afternoon, I'll try these sidewalks again.

And was nearly dumped for all our troubles. Hanging there, a little flame of anger was kicking up. I was thinking of this panel we have here next week on campus safety, focusing on Virginia Tech style gaudy, gory aberrations. And not the fact the campus itself is in some place unsafe. The irony intensified with every passing car.

So I came home and fired out a tense response to the posting for the campus safety panel. A bit big for my britches, we might say down here, but somebody has to say a thing for it to get said. Say hello to somebody.

***

I should point out the campus is actually quite accessible. There are just many spots which require attention. It's my intent to see that they do.

***

Viva la ramp?

Greens

Behind me, a train. In front of me, the Welcome Hill Baptist Church.

Saturday!

Resurfacing.....

Donald

Today is Nothing Goes Right Day:

• The wrong rug is delivered
• Your phone breaks
• The cable company thinks they've hooked you up, though the guy never showed
• Part of your chair breaks

***

It began yesterday. Classes start tomorrow. The university has yet to install a door opener on my office door. Apparently some scam contractor quoted them a price of 50,000 to 100,000 dollars. I can only imagine the budgetary heart attack. I had to burst out laughing: I just bought a door opener for my apartment. For 1000 dollars. The maintenance man, who stepped out of Deliverance blended with Sling Blade, installed it in about an hour. Without reading the instructions.

50,000 to 100,000 dollars work it was not.

Saturday in the

sweltering heat. I'm a southern guy, born, raised, all that, so hot summers aren't exactly news. But, oh my God, is it hot. Not good when your new employer loves holding orientation meetings in a very nice but very distant campus building. 103 degrees begins to fully reveal itself.

Still, very happy here. Everyone here is absurdly nice, helpful, genuine. My office is very spacious but floor to wall a very BIG jade green. Which I sort of like. It just needs adornment.

***

Here's the main living area of my apartment. Getting there.

Will be back soon

Cell

Here and unpacked, though lots of fine tuning to do. Living room and kitchen in best shape. Walked over to campus to orient myself. Watching golf. Why?

1. Wish me luck tomorrow, moving, in transit.
2. The Bourne Ultimatum = kick ass.
3. Apparently my new book is available on Amazon.
4. That is all.