Poetry With The Stars

While the country holds its collective breath for the outcome of Dancing With The Stars, I offer these shots from Friday night. Jim and Mark are pictured in their reading glory. Both of these writers were fantastic! Of course, I'm pictured with the gorgeous Jodi and Robin, hanging out before the event.

On the verge of Thanksgiving holiday, I find myself grateful for many things, the predictable ones (I'm alive, despite that ruptured appendix/septic shock debacle), friends, love, and ones that are more specific -- I just read Patti Smith's memoir, Just Kids, which is all kinds of genius. That book is amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anyone who has ever wanted to write or create any kind of art would be advised to read it. I'm using the break for the rigors of teaching to organize, to write, and to post some new stuff and create some new cocktails. What are you guys doing? Tell all!

Friday Night Fever

Hey guys -- sorry for the longish break! This is the first of many pictures from the reading at the fabulous Lawrence Street Gallery this Friday night. I'm pictured with Jim and Mark (JR's Thumbprints and The Walking Man) after our fun night of poetry and prose. I'm going to do a write up tomorrow with more pictures (only those with Palace Approval! -- my dear Jodi's term for good pictures, not the notoriously shitty ones that always seemed to be tagged on facebook, you know the ones, where your friend with the account looks like she's sending a portfolio for the Ford Modeling Agency and you just happened to get caught eating a Coney dog). Thanks to all that came and made it so very special. It is always an honor and privilege to read for an audience, whether it be one or one thousand. Happy Sunday!

I'm Still Here

I saw the documentary/admitted hoax I'm Still Here starring Joaquin Phoenix. I've always been a huge Joaquin fan; he broods, mumbles, acts oddly, and does other things I enjoy in an actor. I like his mysterious background and thought he was especially great as Johnny Cash. So how is he now? Ill-groomed. Enough so that David Letterman asked him how he enjoyed his time with the Una bomber. Irritating. A bad bad rapper. Fear not, my Eminem, you are in no danger, Mr. White Shadow. (for those not old enough to get the reference, it's an old television show, the premise being that a surly white coach brings ghetto kids up to speed playing basketball -- incredibly racist in its assumptions, it's also a great display of 70s camp) Why does Joaquin drop out of the acting game? Because he's sick of himself. Happens to the best of us. But the best of us do not start mumbling/rapping lyrics about being a show pony for the film industry. But we're all in someone's dog and pony should at some point in our lives and it sucks. When things get bad, my mind wanders to Sammy Davis Jr. singing Mr. Bojangles. As the only black member of the Rat Pack, he spoke to me. He seemed to endure the burdens of show business with a sort of stoic grace. I got that.

Joaquin will no doubt star in more movies. No doubt he and his brother-in-law thought up this pseudo-documentary as a giant fuck you to the powers that be. I get that impulse. It's not an easy movie to watch. It goes on for a long time. There are not a lot of chuckles. It's more of a cringe-worthy delight. Do you ever feel like you've been playing yourself for so long that it feels like the 200th performance of Cats, the only Broadway show my dad ever saw besides A Chorus Line? He liked both of them, God rest his soul. See I'm Still Here on dvd, preferably with cocktails. Many cocktails. You will enjoy it in the fun house mirror sort of way, the way when we're distorted, we can sometimes recognize ourselves.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about." W. H. Auden

Cocktail Hour
Wine suggestion: Writer's Block

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love

Another snippet of the new/old story. Back tomorrow with a review of the bizarre documentary, I'm Still Here.

So The Count invited himself to lunch with us because he could and there I was, picking up papers from my office, my students’ second essay of the semester, the memoir, where they inevitably tell tales of deep woe, and believe me, I had have heard some hard luck doozies. Cal and I had offices next door to each other so we could keep track of the comings and goings and potential stalkers. If a male student came around a lot, Cal would refer to him as “my old man.” I seemed to get the sweet misunderstood fresh out of jail types and Cal got the Arabic male students and a few subtle skinheads with their red-laced Doc Martens. And before we went to teach, Cal and I would launch into the Bob Fosse routine at the beginning of All That Jazz, popping open one bloodshot eye and saying, It’s showtime! before scurrying off to our respective holes to our increasingly surly audiences.

These routines kept us going and we both dreaded The Count making what Cal referred to as “a visitation” because we knew he would talk too loud, too long, and about something so abstract we wouldn’t have a clue because The Count loved to speak in story problems, bullshit like -- If person A is a sheep and Person B is a dog and some new factor enters the equation, a profound factor, what will happen? Needless to say, I lost patience with this shit quick when I was looking down the barrel of forty reading quizzes on “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.”

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are." Bertold Brecht

Cocktail Hour
Pandora Radio -- http://www.pandora.com/ -- this is a great radio station that plays exactly what you want. Check it out!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!

Bicentennial Days

Happy Saturday! Here's a picture of me and Beth in 1976 on our old deck. My mother took this shot; she died nine years ago today.. I've written about her a lot on this blog; she's been a huge inspiration and constant source of material. I hope she's looking down and enjoying it all. I'll be back tomorrow with more of the story . . . Thanks as always for reading!

All Wounds Are Visible

Happy Veterans Day! I usually don't promote a lot of causes in this forum, but I would like to give a shout-out to the Wounded Warrior Project. They do a lot of good for veterans, particularly those who suffer with post-traumatic stress disorder, a cause very near and dear to my heart. If you can, please donate at http://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/

Benedictions and Maledictions
A very special congratulations to my dear Shawn who finished his novel! So so so proud! Lower Than Heaven, Just Higher Than Hell is going to be a huge deal. Remember you heard it here first!

Begin Anywhere

Here's the start of the short story I'm rewriting. Will be posting it periodically throughout the next couple of weeks. Thanks for reading!

Let’s start with the website. I gave it to King Tim because he worked for the Fat Twins, a couple who never met a buffet they didn’t like, creating websites for small businesses. Perfect match, right? King Tim emailed me a link before his visit, and I clicked on it to be greeted by a picture of myself smiling in a little black dress surrounded by the flames of Hell. He had added a lone champagne glass framed by my contact information. When my boyfriend Stephen saw it, he said Jesus H. Christ in a sidecar which was quite a reaction from him given that he rarely reacted to anything except to intone All anxiety is godlessness, a leftover from his Christian Science upbringing.

Stephen had moved back in with me after a brief separation to my new place, a one bedroom apartment that I referred to as The Misery. I picked it because my best friend at work, Cal, lived in the complex which was across the street from the run-down community college where we both taught English to the recently graduated, laid-off factory workers, drug addicts (both recovering and active) and a garden-variety of the damned trying to improve their lot in this vale of tears. I was no different. You know how people always say that things looked all right from the outside after someone cracks up? In my case, things were looking shaky from any and all vantage points.

“So where will he sleep?” Stephen asked.

“In our bed,” I said.

We had two small matching couches I had purchased at the Salvation Army when I moved out of our old place.

“King Tim,” he said upon realizing his fate for four nights, and I began to think of Tim with a tiny tiara on his balding head.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If you want to be happy, be." Leo Tolstoy

Cocktail Hour
Am going to be posting some champagne recipes soon. Any favorites brands as far as champagne goes?

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

JR Tomlinson's Adopted Behaviors

Hey guys -- still suffering under a wicked cold, but hope to be better soon! This week I'm reviewing my good buddy Jim's book (buy it, buy it!) and going to post a short story in pieces. I wrote the story about a year and a half ago and thought it was done (oh no, not even close!) and now am reconsidering a large aspect of it and will see what you guys think. Happy Monday to all!

You've Come A Long Way Baby

I came across my first collaborative writing effort that I completed in the fifth grade on my dad's super-groovy Tandy, a wish-fulfillment fantasy of yearbook camp that I completed with my friend K (not his real initial -- okay, maybe his real initial). We sat in the garage office in my parents' house surrounded by pictures of New Zealand warriors with bones through their noses and a bookcase filled with tomes about diet, changing your life, and serial killers. My mother had truly eclectic tastes -- my dad stuck to aviation magazines which he secretly ordered when my mother wasn't watching. For some men, their secret life is pornography; for daddy, it was Aviation Today. K and I managed to produce almost fifteen pages of our dream world (junior high would be so much better than middle school -- wrong!) and like all writers, managed to vilify those people we didn't like. We also gave girlfriends to all the gay boys (the clue -- most of the romantic scenes included such lines as "I just finished The Razor's Edge and was dreaming of you . . . also there were a lot of OMD and Wham references). We included copious footnotes such as what a BA meeting was (Bitch's Anonymous) and any obscure Bible references (we loved those -- our one restaurant scene was set at a place called Job's). Heady stuff for eleven year olds, to be sure, but we weren't daunted. We even managed a Joan Rivers reference (one of the characters does impersonations of her).

I've never written anything with anyone since that fateful week locked in a small room. K and I fought over the details and plot points (must we have the reference to the Star Trek convention again? Does it add to character development?) and also my tendency to confuse the save and delete buttons. It wasn't pretty, but at the end, we had our product, printed our a dot-matrix printer in courier. We wanted a better font, our own font like Woody Allen has, but we never made it to that point. We were lucky to have graduated from the scratch and sniff sticker books that had dominated our third and fourth grade lives. I wince a the purple prose from those long ago days (Nothing could soothe the pain, nothing!) and marvel at the amount of sexual jargon and curse words we used freely. My favorite detail -- a character so dull that she collects algebraic expressions from around the world. We ended with a nod to the future, hope that it would all turn out like we wrote it. It didn't, of course. Nothing does. Even so, there's evidence of a collective wish, the most shopworn one there is -- that everything will be wonderful fun, even if we never did see the fire escape of which we dreamed.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare." Mark Twain

Cocktail Hour
Any good movie recommendations? I'm still reeling from Secretariat. Spoiler alert --the pony wins!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!

Satee

Once a student lugged two boxes of her medical records to my office. I can't use them, she said. Maybe you can write about me. She'd been in and out of various mental hospitals over the years with all sorts of diagnosis. When she sat in my class, she clasped a large black rosary over her small white hands and appeared to be praying. I was glad someone was; I needed all the help I could get in those days. Teaching had lost its luster in the same way her rosary beads had -- they got the job done, but the shine had long left. A lot of people found her strange, but no stranger than my student who used the class break to burn his arms with cigarettes and then ate Smarties by the handful for the second part of class. I didn't have words. My own life, while it looked okay from the outside, wasn't much better.

I thought about my student with the rosary who both had the aura of a very young child and a very old woman. She was like one of those pictures where you either saw a skull or a rose depending on how you looked at it. I liked her and over time, came to understand her enmeshed family situation that had driven her, well, mad. I came to view her as an odd sort of saint, someone like Simone Weil who had suffered in ways most of us couldn't understand. Years later, she asked me for the boxes. I had ditched them in one of my office moves because they so depressed me. How anyone had been through what those papers indicated I didn't understand -- institutions, four point restraints, shock treatments. She looked sad for a minute as she told me she'd wanted to burn them, but cheered up when she came to the conclusion that God had taken care of her old self for her. I remembered the first time I saw someone burn themselves alive on television, a Buddhist monk in protest of the Vietnam War. I didn't know what it would be like to start anew. I, too, wished I could have seen the papers burned. To watch your old self light up in that way, to rise from the ashes of what had happened and walk away.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The only difference between saints and sinners is that every saint has a past while every sinner has a future." Oscar Wilde

Cocktail Hour
Movie suggestion: You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

Coamerica Park

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

I Write The Book

There's a lot of lore around first impressions, that they are accurate, that a terrible first impression leads to love (like in all the romantic comedies -- they hate each other at first -- can you believe it?), that they cannot be trusted. I usually like almost everyone which is a fault according to some, a virtue to others. This does not mean that almost everyone likes me. I tend to be what people generously refer to as an acquired taste. I'm shocked when people find me intimidating. I'm not shocked when they find me obnoxious, out to lunch, shy, or disturbed.

As for my first impressions of others, I have been wrong, but the error quickly rights itself. My first contact with many is not great and sometimes those people have become my very closest friends. So I try and hold off on judgment. The older I get, the less I'm prone to make judgments. So many factors! Experience teaches that you can't judge a book by its cover (the most you can do with the cover is say, Someone isn't very good at marketing) and that you can't determine what someone will be like under pressure or in happiness or sorrow. Anyone have some good first impression stories? Would love to hear them . . .

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Actions are visible, though motives are secret." Samuel Johnson

Cocktail Hour
Starting a Christmas card/present list -- if you want to be on it, email me your address at michellespells@gmail.com. Yes, I still send letters. I know it's weird. But consider me an old-fashioned girl . . .

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Day of the Dead!

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween everyone! The day has arrived, candy to steal from children, joys to be had in many ways. I have many different costumes, but my camera is acting out (love that expression for some reason) so you guys will get the fashion show in the coming weeks. Weirdly enough, I think my favorite part of Halloween is when I'm in a store and some bowl or ghoul toy starts to move or speak. It kind of shakes me out of my usual torpor and reminds me to pay attention. Everything in life depends on this quality. Too often, I go along in my day without noticing anything extraordinary or wonderful, consumed with my internal dialogue of bullshit that passes for an having an intellectual life. This radio station, more obnoxious than a Rush Limbaugh monologue, keeps me mired in what I have to do, where I need to be, what should be happening. And what I try to remember when I see a spooky skeleton head glowing at me is that every single day is filled with enchantments, excitements, thrills, and hope. Don't be afraid of it; don't turn away.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Hold on, man. We don't go anywhere with "scary," "spooky," "haunted," or "forbidden" in the title." ~From Scooby-Doo

Cocktail Hour
The Halloween Shot:
one part lemon vodka
one part grapefruit joice
color with orange food coloring

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!

Happy Devil's Night!

Happy Devil's Night to all of you! For those who don't know, Devil's Night is a Detroit holiday where people feel compelled to start fires -- forty today and counting. In the eighties, upwards of 800 fires burned on this day. I'm a little under the weather right now so I send all apologies for not commenting a lot this week. All of October caught up with me in a big way, and I find myself unable to do much of anything on this fine Saturday. In a side note, do you not just love the absinthe lip balm? I tried absinthe once -- worst hangover in the world, the world, people. So evil. I now have a bottle from the Walking Man which I'm saving for some brave day. According to that death/bar stool website, I can have five shots of absinthe before I risk imminent death. Good to know. I'll be back at you tomorrow with holiday cheer for the big day. And happy birthday wishes to my friend Sharon!

Beauty Before Comfort

Just read that Lisa Blount died today at the age of 53 which makes me very sad as I loved her as an actress, especially in the fantastic movie, Chrystal. She got her start as Debra Winger's friend in An Officer and A Gentleman and as the years progressed, she became more and more beautiful (a rarity in Hollywood despite or maybe because of the influx of botox, fillers, and so). Chrystal, a movie she helped write and produce, showcased her unique talents. Most of the reviews called it southern gothic which meant it would seem very familiar to me. Rest in peace, dear lovely Lisa!

My other topic du jour is the whole fat hatred which seems to have infected the internet in response to a fairly innocuous television show called Mike and Molly. I've never seen the show, but from what I can tell, it's a fairly standard love story starring people who are battling being overweight. A few blogs have talked about how disgusting it is to see fat people kiss and make overtures toward having sex. Because, I suppose, everyone else looks so very good during those activities. Get this -- the great part is how these fatophobes are making the case that fat is being glorified as an example. Seriously?! That it's irresponsible to show overweight people (because God knows they don't exist in the United States) because we're sending the wrong message. To whom? Should we pretend everyone is a size 2 and be done with it? To act as if the plus-sized models (who are usually a size 8 or 10) resemble the average shopper at Lane Bryant? I can't tell you how many otherwise rational students I've had over the years who claim to loathe fat people.

Once a relative at Christmas said he had a prejudice against the blacks. I asked my mother what it meant in front of him, and she said a prejudice was an opinion. I didn't buy it, and I replied that I still thought he was an ignorant asshole. At ten, I got threatened with a spanking, but my mother didn't bother. She knew who needed one.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Life can't ever really defeat a writer who is in love with writing, for life itself is a writer's lover until death - fascinating, cruel, lavish, warm, cold, treacherous, constant." Edna Ferber

Cocktail Hour
If you guys are rocking any fun costumes, please email me some pictures to post if you so dare!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

Ghouls And Goblins

Three more days till Halloween, Halloween, Halloween .. . Can you hear the annoying soundtrack yet? I'm posting costume pictures this weekend for the big day. I'll be back tomorrow, but until then, I'll be singing that evil little song and getting the Halloween treats in order for the ghouls and goblins. Thanks for all the well wishes from this wicked cold -- it's leaving the system and all should be well to enjoy the weekend.

You're My Friend

My old buddy Hank used to read his poem, "You're Not A Man, You're My Friend" each month at Joe's Diner during open mike night. It was a hit among disaffected men tired of hearing the old female saw, I just don't think of you in that way. Can we be friends? Hank, a brilliant performer, managed to hit a high note at the crescendo ending about not needing any additional friends, a note that gave bitterness its due. As lifelong friends, Hank and I often discussed the troubles of love. I adored his first real girlfriend, a worldly woman (she was older and much more experienced than us) who had two kids and flaming red dreadlocks. I did not, however, like his next one, a scarily tall Grace Kelly-type who I referred to, rather unkindly, as "that square-faced bitch." Alas, he had worse monikers for my loves who were routinely dismissed as a group of dimwits and assclowns. I didn't know how right Hank was -- one of my exes claims to love Glenn Beck. Dear reader, I'd be less appalled if he'd admitted he had bodies in his crawl space. Glenn Beck? The follies of my youth haunt me . . .

Hank and I also talked about the window men have for not becoming just a friend, a fate he claimed worse than an STD. We both agreed -- women put men in the friend box pretty quickly. The confidante. The one they talk to about other men who are treating them poorly. What fun for these lucky souls! Also, we agreed that listening, that rare quality even in those foggy pre-internet days, was a precious talent that women didn't appreciate. Remember that old deodorant ad -- Never let them see you sweat? Well, there should be an addition -- Never listen to them whine. Of course, I've been in the opposite role, the girl who gets to hear about what a bitch so and so is and yet, how compelling so and so is, and why can't she act right? Well, if she acted right, you probably would dump her ass. I didn't say this, of course. I lied. That's what we friends do, male and female. We tell pretty versions of love. Of course, Hank became a blues man. He never had a talent for that kind of bullshit so he went for the one career where truth-telling is prized, a kind of continual Love Is contest with guitar. Of course, like lots of blues guys, he died young. But truth, the kind that makes you shake your head in recognition, lives beyond all the graves.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Ain't no blues except between a man and a woman that's in love." Son House

Cocktail Hour
Been watching The Big C. Will do a post as soon as the season is over.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!

Illness As Metaphor

Hey everyone -- home sick with an evil flu/cold combination. Hate it! I haven't been sick in a good while. I credit vitamins and umm, relatively clean-living. Better Made chips, Dr. Pepper, and fifteen vitamins a day -- America runs on Dunkin', that sort of thing. But seriously, I should be fine for the Halloween holiday and am working on a couple of costumes. I'm thinking Edie Sedgwick after her split with Andy Warhol, right before her death and the Statue of Liberty. Also, some kind of Morticia/Elvira thing. Hope you're having a good Monday. I haven't gotten a case of the Mondays like in Office Space, merely a Monday gone wrong, via exhaustion and sore throat.

So my question -- when do you get sick? Is it predictable times a year, never, when you're tired, depressed, etc? Answer, and I'll be back soon with more goodness and light . . .

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than those of the body." Cicero

Cocktail Hour
Television suggestion: Detroit 187

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!

Living Dolls

Greetings from pre-Halloween weekend! Working on a Halloween costume this weekend . . alas, stay tuned for the results next week. Happy Saturday!

Hell House

Hey guys -- I'm working on a review of Hell House, which I saw last night. Tis the season for the creepy-ass you're going to burn in hell haunted house so I thought it about time. For those who haven't heard, these haunted houses have been around for a good while, a spin on the traditional ghosts and goblins. You have raves, gay men dying of AIDS, girls getting raped at raves, and other assorted scenarios designed to win souls for the Lord, in the parlance of the evangelicals. While I believe in God, I certainly don't go in for the whole fire and brimstone thing even though it was omnipresent in the culture in which I was raised. Best line of the documentary -- hell is different for every person. To which I can give a hearty amen. Most interesting moment -- a girl playing someone who is suicidal because she thinks she's "ruined" from having premarital sex talks about when she saw the guy who raped her two years prior touring Hell House during her performance and realized that she hadn't gotten over the experience. Lots to think about!

Changing gears, I'm also wishing my dear friend Steph the best of luck in her surgery and recovery today. If you've been keeping up with her blog, you know she's scheduled for a double masectomy today. Last update -- surgery went well! Will keep you posted.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If I were asked for a one line answer to the question 'What makes a woman good in bed?' I would say, 'A man who is good in bed.'"Bob Guccione

Cocktail Hour
Memoir suggestion: What Becomes Of The Broken-Hearted E. Lynn Harris -- fantastic read!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

The Hereafter

A new poem for the day -- Halloween potions soon, but for now a Zombie picture of sorts . . .

The Hereafter

The priest prayed as I sat on a bedpan
covered with a sheet. Nothing phased me
anymore. My appendix ruptured, and all
anyone could say was Couldn't you feel it?
I'd gotten good at the not feeling thing,
and killing myself, it turned out to be
an inside job, an infection I couldn't quite
shake. Surrounded by people, I was alone.
I considered my life and wept until boredom
pushed me outside myself. Nobody knew why
I lived. Like Lazarus, I walked the halls
hunched over, staples in my stomach. They held
me together when nothing else did or would again.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience by which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.” Eleanor Roosevelt

Cocktail Hour
Review on the documentary Hell House coming soon . . .

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

Halloween Delight

Hi everyone! Here's a picture for today. I'll be back tomorrow with more Halloween delights!

Hot Springs

Hi everyone! Here's an older poem of mine, on the eve of my mother's birthday.

Before My Mother Died

At the baths in Hot Springs, a skinny woman
in a sheet tells me she passed out her mother’s face
on flyers, begging people to pray. I made a thousand
copies and stood on the corner until they were gone.
We lay in on top of tables like corpses, waiting
for the hot towels, placed wherever we hurt. The attendant
gives us hot water to drink, and we stomach what we
can, hoping to make our insides match the heat outside.
Before long, we gather our things. The skinny woman
asks me to hand her a huge black purse. I was tired
of not having enough room for all my garbage, she says
with the saddest smile. It’s lighter than I would have
imagined, a deflated thing she slings over her shoulder
out of habit before she starts off for whatever might be next.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I have known relative happiness -- and by happiness, I mean a sense of peace, not just waiting for the other shoe to drop." Robert Downey Jr.

Cocktail Hour
The Robert Downey Jr. interview in Playboy!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!

Happy Sweetest Day!

Sweetest Day, a made-up Midwestern holiday, is today! I'd like to wish all you guys a happy Saturday as I consider you my sweetest of all. Big love to my co-conspirators in Motor City Burning Press, Mark and Jim. We're all doing a reading in November -- details to follow! Happy Saturday . . . to the sweetest of them all, my readers and friends.

Bewitched Again

Hey guys -- sorry for the break! Taking care of business (in Elvis language). My chapbook should be out next month, the poetry collection by Christmas should you need that special stocking stuffer to put a smile on any girl or boy's face. I suspect it will be like the new Tickle Me Elmo this year. See you tomorrow!

For Better Or Worse

The above shot was taken one Thanksgiving at my dad's parents' house. Grandmother Brooks was not an affectionate sort so the hand on the shoulder is all for the camera as is the feigned interest in her elephant collection. Of course, she's the family member I look like in her younger days (when my Uncle Mac was dying, he saw a picture of me and thought it was Helen -- morphine is an evil, evil drug). This picture is a better piece of fiction than I can write!

Well, Brett. Yes, Brett Favre. You didn't think I'd write about him. Or maybe you did. I've always liked Brett, despite his erratic retirement choices and those ghastly Wranglers commercials. I don't know why. Now I've seen a lot of Brett. Yes, I watched the video. Yes, I believe it's him. Men, here's a note -- do not send pictures of your penis in an attempt to woo the ladies. Women just aren't that visual in that way. I don't mean to be sexist; it's just a fact. Women can sext pictures of their boobs and whatever else to great effect, not so with the other way around. I wasn't shocked -- ooh, a married man attempting to have sex with a woman not his wife is not exactly surprising. I feel a great deal of sympathy for his wife. This cannot be her idea of a good time.

Brett never struck me as the brightest bulb. In his defense, though, he, like me, didn't grow up in a digital age. Everyone wonders why he couldn't imagine that he wouldn't be exposed. (Why does everything about Brett now sound obscene, even the most innocuous announcements at the game tonight?) But I don't wonder. The age of exposure is a bell that can't be unrung. Sometimes it has wonderful consequences, sometimes awful. It's here, for better or worse, to stay. You do something stupid and you're famous? It's inevitable the results will be severe. I'd hate to be judged on my dumbshit behaviour. But it's probably good to make sure the cameras aren't rolling for the worst of it, especially if it's your own.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Every bus ride is like this one." Denis Johnson

Cocktail Hour
Check out beautiful Jodi's great new blog at the J Spot. And wish Heff a happy third blog anniversary.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!

Inside Deep Throat

I've always loved Philip Roth, most famously known for the truly dirty Portnoy's Complaint. I read Portnoy in high school and learned of the practice made infamous by the American Pie movies, only years earlier with a liver. It made me glad not to have brothers and it also made me a lifetime fan of Mr. Roth. A lot of women don't like his portrayal of us -- as sexualized hysterics, as evil mommy figures, as problems that will never be solved. The equation is simple -- woman = devil. And I like this. At least he gives us our due. And never shies away from the dark complications of sex.

I watched Inside Deep Throat, a documentary about the making of the first mainstream porn movie, Deep Throat. It made me even more confused about the issue. I don't take the hard line against it, purported by some evangelicals/feminists (unlikely bedfellows), nor do I approve of the whole Girls Gone Wild culture. But I do approve of the frank discussion. There's no defanging sex, despite how much we try to demystify it. Sex is love, it's inherently scary and violent, it's casual, it's serious -- the ultimate paradox. Linda Lovelace herself never understood her role despite a book, Ordeal, an account of her marriage to Chuck Trainor, the man who took full advantage of her unique ability to suppress her gag reflex. But she never could suppress the reflex in life -- she kept choking on meaning and sadness, just as we do.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"That some serious foreshattering." my sister Beth, making the word foreshadowing even better

Cocktail Hour
going to check out Catfish -- will report back!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Sunday!

Friday Night, Saturday Morning

We're Here

Years ago when I was teaching in Texas, a young man read his paper about coming out as a gay man to the class. This was well before Gay/Straight Alliance clubs, before Glee, before celebrities came out in the tabloids. The class was filled with openly homophobic types. My student could have read any paper, but he chose this one. I thought it an incredibly gutsy move and when asked about my happiest moments teaching, this one would rank as a top ten. I don't know where he got his courage, but he had it and the stupid gay jokes I overheard before class ceased after this moment. Now that the suicide of Tyler Clementi, a college student who was publicly outed on the internet in the cruelest way (having his sex life recorded and live streamed), I grow deeply sad. I've had many friends who have come out to me, never an easy process even with an audience who loves you and doesn't have a stake in you being heterosexual. I can't imagine the agony Tyler felt as he contemplated what to do as he saw his privacy crash down around him.

We live in a society where it is very easy to surround ourselves with people who are just like we are and never challenge our world view. While we have made great strides in many areas, I find that the sad truth is that our existence is both more public and more isolated than ever. How alone and devastated Tyler must have felt as he contemplated jumping off the George Washington Bridge. I'd like to think we've made huge progress since kids played Smear the Queer on the playgrounds of my youth. But alas, Tyler's story tells me that those days aren't so long ago and for all the rainbow stickers I see, we still haven't reached the end of it yet.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen." Winston Churchill
Cocktail Hour
Anyone watching Detroit 187? So good!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

We Have Always Lived In The Castle

To start the wonderfully wicked month of October, I'll list some of my favorite horror movies. Anyone truly interested in horror should visit Scott's fantastic Blog of the Beast for the obscure must-see movies. My list is fairly pedestrian, but here's a start --

Carrie -- a shower scene and Tuesday Weld all in the same movie -- genius!

The Exorcist -- I do love a soul-searching priest . . .

Play Misty For Me -- alas, so many relationships are just like this -- Clint got it right before anyone else.

Blair Witch Project -- This spooked me. Camping is truly truly awful.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre -- seeing this in a trailer when I was 14 really put me over the edge.

More to follow . . .

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Everyone is a moon and has a dark side, which he never shows to anybody." Mark Twain

Cocktail Hour
Cocktail du jour -- I'm going to make a zombie this weekend, a potent concoction that I will video and share on the blog. There's a reason a lot of menus limit their customers to two of these bad boys.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!

Let Me Look At Cake Like It's Evil

Hi everyone! Thanks for the Halloween ideas! It's my favorite month of the year, and I'm working on some new Halloween ideas for the blog. I finally finished How To Own and Operate A Haunted House just in time for the season. Wanted to give a shout-out to the end of the Cathy comic strip. I always liked this one, an early portrayal of a single girl wrestling with mother issues, swimsuits, and donuts. Some columnists have suggested it has lost its relevance in the age of Sex and the City, third wave feminism (or is it the fourth -- Girls Gone Wild has set us back a bit, I'm thinking), and the supposed end of workplace discrimination, but I never felt that way. It strikes me as innocent, but true in fundamental ways, the hallmark of any good comic strip, an art form that requires a dedication to production (every single day) and is undervalued.

See you later with more posts about the news (Eddie Long, gay bullying on the docket) and some Halloween ideas that may not be Martha Stewart approved, but I think you guys will like them. Happy Monday!

Woodstock and Altamont

Alas, it's the start of October and Halloween month! Any nominations for costumes you'd like to see on the blog? I saw a cute Statue of Liberty outfit -- Give me your poor, your tired . . . I could see it. Also considering a mermaid. Input?

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If human beings had genuine courage, they'd wear their costumes every day of the year, not just on Halloween." Doug Coupland

Cocktail Hour
Anyone seeing The Social Network?

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!

'Que Sera Sera' -Sly & the Family Stone

Hi everyone! Here's a song for the day that seems to fit, Doris Day by way of Sly Stone. One of my favorites . . . Happy Wednesday!

You Can't Be Any Poorer Than Dead

Just watched the excellent movie The Joneses starring Demi Moore and David Duchoveny as a "couple" whose job it is to sell products to their friends and neighbors through "lifestyle" marketing. This movie, ironically enough, did not do well in theaters which means it's made for me. The premise -- everyone wants to be them. They seem to Have It All: great marriage, beautiful bodies, beautiful children, and loads and loads of stuff. So what part can you get of this fantasy? The loads and loads of stuff. Does this stuff make you happy? Who the hell knows? The point is that as a culture, we still use this strategy in large part because it's easy. Getting money isn't that easy, but in a credit culture, why think about it? So this fake couple with their fake kids set out in each new community their "unit" is placed, to make friends and influence people. They do it very well. Being a movie, hijinks and tragedy ensue. I will not spoil the outcome should you choose to view it. Which you should (insert heavy didactic schoolmarm tone here).

Which got me thinking about things, the power they have. If I have that bread maker, I will be the kind of person who makes bread! Maybe I will start wearing peasant blouses and popping out a brood of kids who will be well-groomed and charming, the kind of kid who wears fussy dresses and serves snacks at parties. Oh wait, that was me! Never mind, I enjoyed drinking out of the cocktail glasses when no one was looking. No, my kid would never do that because I have a bread maker. Maybe if I got the right dress, the right bag, the right shoes, I would have another life, the kind of life where I never felt bedraggled, miserable, emotionally fatigued. I would be "put-together," that staple of fashion magazines everywhere. I wouldn't look like I'd raided the Salvation Army "free" bag. I wouldn't be stuck returning my cans to a beeping Kroger machine in hopes of getting money to take the edge of the grocery bill. I'd be the kind of person who shops at Whole Foods with my very own "green" bag that shows people I care about the environment while matching my outfit. I'd drink champagne on special occasions (no hangover in the fantasy) on special occasions of which there would be many. I wouldn't be keeping up with the Joneses; I'd be the Joneses. Or maybe I will keep buying breakfast from vending machines because I was too tired from work to shop the night before, the night where I would lay out my clothes for the next day, clean my already immaculate house, and relax with my new Iphone. On second thought, the vending machine is pretty good. Judgement-free, it usually contains what I want behind glass. Which, if you think about it, where what you think you need always is.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I have often wanted to drown my troubles, but I can't get my wife to go swimming." Jimmy Carter

Cocktail Hour
Movie suggestion: The Joneses

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!

Eye Candy

Baby Grouchie has never been referred to as eye candy, but today he's reading it! He's not much for books without a lot of pictures (if you need examples of what Baby Grouchie likes to "read", refer to Heff's blog, the wonderful bar and grill), but he's set down the shot glass in order to peruse the stunning photographs contained in Eye Candy Photography: Scenes From The American South by Lana Gramlich. You guys may know Lana from her Dreaming Tree blog, www.lucidflora.blogspot.com. Baby Grouchie urges everyone to buy this lovely book of photographs. He especially likes the purple passionflower picture, seen above. He's afraid of the snake pictures, but has his shot glass if things get too scary. Happy Sunday everyone!

Detroit Lunch Break.

This is priceless! Love the background music. I wish Charles Bukowski were still alive -- Factotum city. Hope everyone is having a great weekend!

Office Politics

Hey guys --wrote a poem for the first time in a bit. Thanks for reading and the great comments on the dialogue post!

Office Politics

This is my real life --
After it is over, the deep breath
before walking home, the streets
eaten by stores, each food smell
offering comfort, each clothing store
a new life. I am not fooled as I pass
them. Anxiety, my old companion, with me
as I draw my attention to signs.
One store sells fifty dollar yoga
pants and quotes the Dali Lama --
I am only a visitor in this world. Outside
abandoned coffee cups swirl, and I remind
myself fall will be here soon. I will
miss all of it, even this.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Writers are people who are comfortable with intense contradictions." Heather Sellers

Cocktail Hour
Will be back with special fall beverages! Tis the season . . .

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!

Overheard

Charles Gramlich of Razored Zen wrote a post on dialogue addressing the difficulties of it and the balance in a good story. I thought I would add to this by writing a few pieces of great dialogue I have heard recently. Feel free to add your own or pick a favorite. The hurt piggy is still crying wee wee wee, but less so today. Thanks for all the well wishes!

My friend Darci describing her job monitoring EKGs at the hospital: "I watch the hearts at night."

"He won't even let him touch her boobies. That's not dating if you as me." In reference to an 89 year old man who had hooked up with a 40 year old.

"A grown man tiptoeing through the tulips? That ain't right." In reference to Tiny Tim's famous song.

"You don't deserve to watch Dancing With the Stars!" my question -- Who does?

"She had three children, looks like she ate two of them." in reference to a former sweetheart.

"It's just a matter of time before a young dude sticks his thingy into another hole." in reference to Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher, Speed-dialing Gloria Steinem!

"I showed my boobs, but my mom didn't mind because she'd seen them before." No idea of context, check-out line at Target, source of much of my great material.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time." Marcel Proust

Cocktail Hour
Detroit 187 was really fun -- lots of old-school, 70s grit!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

Detox Mansion

Hi everyone -- here's the picture of the day. Thanks so much for the piggy sympathy and the thoughtful comments on yesterday's post. I'm working hard to think of something new for tomorrow. Until then, happy Tuesday!

Both Dead Wrong

Cosmic joke -- On Friday I wrote about self-injury. By Friday night, I had a broken toe, the second piggy on my right foot. It's now in a big walking cast thingy which comes on and off. In a couple of weeks, I will graduate to a more fashionable little shoe. Joy. So please send my piggy good thoughts because he is definitely crying wee wee wee all the way home.

One of my favorite lines in Mary Karr's Lit is a simple summing up of the problems of marriage: "Women get married thinking men are going to change. Men assume their wives won't: both dead wrong." I feel the same in many ways that I did in high school and yet I know that I have changed with my experiences. Once I was a shy, fearful, deeply neurotic girl; remnants of her remain in my personality, but I also have become outspoken, grateful, and more relaxed. My hurt piggy taps into the powerlessness I used to feel all the time -- let's here it for a grim, self-pitying party with myself as the guest of honor! But back to the point, we are paradoxically always the same, always changing. This provides a cauldron for both growth and pain.

I always think first dates are premonitions for relationships. One of my first dates with a long-term beloved started with a closed restaurant. He, being deeply disapointed by this failure of planning, decided we would go to another Chinese restaurant, probably not as good, but okay. The kicker? I'd been there for lunch and had to pretend I hadn't because he didn't want to go to any place I had ever been. I had to pretend that the waiters weren't super-friendly for any other reason than they were trained to be. I spent a lot of that relationship downplaying various bits of knowledge, pretending. It was okay, but as far as themes go, not the best one. What about you guys? Agree with Mary Karr? Any relationship stories of your own?

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them." George Bernard Shaw

Cocktail Hour
Detroit 187 tomorrow -- can't wait to see it.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday! And special thanks to Shea on the comment board -- you are the best! Thanks so much for the kind words. Happy anniversary to my dear Angela and Nick!

Californication: Just a Bad Boy

Okay, it's not until January, but Hank Moody returns! Happy Saturday!

Self-Inflicted

Bethanny Storro, the woman who claimed to be the victim of an acid attack, has a far stranger story to tell. The case played out as follows -- Bethanny claimed an African-American woman in her twenties approached her with a glass and said, Hey pretty girl, do you want a drink? After she declined, a cup of acid was thrown in her face. Wearing sunglasses just purchased with money from a new job, Bethanny claimed her eyesight had been saved by God. Now we know that she rubbed the acid on herself, inflicting horrible burns. After the supposed attack, Bethanny was praised for her bravery and compassion. She said she had only one question for her attacker -- Why? When the attacker is yourself, this question still pertains, but the answer is the stuff of psychiatric studies. Who would do this to herself? And why the old tried and true gambit of a black person did this to me?

Her scheduled appearance on Oprah has been cancelled because of her "fragile state." Damn, I'll say! A lot of people hurt themselves. Baby Grouchie, as beautiful Jodi pointed out, has been overserved on many occasions (not many bartenders will cut him off because he tends to throw tantrums) and has the subsequent predictable "I'm going to stay in my trashcan all morning" regrets. My mother was so clumsy that instead of How was your day? my dad used to ask her, How did you hurt yourself today? Of course, lots of people starve and cut themselves. But rubbing acid on your face seems beyond the pale. When I heard Bethanny's first report, I sent out lots of prayers for healing for her. Of course, I'm still going to do that. It seems she might need them even worse than I thought.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Other people can do these things, so can we!" Angela Bills

Cocktail Hour
My dear Steph is back with another blog post on her condition. Please check it out and send lots of love her way!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!

You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger

Thanks for all the great comments on the Hung post! Tomorrow, regular internet access resumes so I'm working on a longer post for then and get back to my regular blog visits!

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"There is only one plot: things are not what they seem." Jim Thompson

Cocktail Hour
Looking forward to You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger -- the new Woody Allen!

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Wednesday!

The Only People In Michigan: A Review of Hung

Full disclosure -- Hung is my favorite show on television. While I enjoy the brooding, enigmatic Don Draper of Mad Men and the wacky exploits of Entourage (let's hear it for the Detroit-style brawling of Eminem last night!), I love Ray Drecker in HBO's second season of Hung. Ray, a high school history teacher who has experienced a series of unfortunate events, is a contemporary everyman who seeks to return to his own version of the Garden of Eden. His Eden consists of a marriage he misses and a life with possibility instead of endless complication. Hung, one of the few shows that addresses the issue of money without the predictable scrims of social politeness or the rescue of various deux ex machinas lies at the heart of this series, the urgent unending need for money. While love, friendship, and nostalgia comprise the heart of this show, the Faustian bargains we make to get money provide the snake in the grass. The premise of the show deals with this subject directly -- Ray sets to supplement his income as a male prostitute that services women. (Ain't no money in that, says Charlie, an old-school pimp that befriends Ray's poet/pimp Tanya.) But money he makes and disaster ensues. Finite resources, both in terms of customers and dollars, concern all involved.

We're not good people, cries Tanya in the middle of the abandoned Tiger's Stadium, a symbol of Detroit's happier times, sadly replaced by Coamerica Park and its attendant corporate horrors. But Ray's son Damon dismisses this notion when he asks her to be his poetry mentor. "So you hit one lady with a belt. You've done a lot of good," a Detroit sentiment if there ever was one. This call and response underlies all the interactions in the show. The raunchy humor and graphic sex combined with a deeply pragmatic worldview give the show the needed gravitas to temper the main conceit. Will people pay for sex? Most certainly. But what about the subtle undercurrents in the wake of such relationships? This question plagues the characters, either directly or indirectly. Ray's ex-wife Jessica has married an irritating dermatologist, Ronnie, for an upgrade in her ease of life, the women Ray sees don't entirely trust him because of what they become my merit of hiring him. Even couples presented as conventional such as Ronnie's crush Mindy are revealed to be shams -- He invited himself, Mindy says while attempting to give Ronnie a hand job while her husband is in a gas station buying a Twix bar. My marriage, she concludes, is dead.

But as the poet laureate of New Jersey (Bruce Springsteen) once wrote, Everything that dies comes back. Can Detroit, the main character of this series, regain a modicum of its glory days? Can Ray regain his splintered family? At the end of the finale, Ray wistfully recalls his parents buying the house he now owns (the shell of it at least, it having burned in the pilot) on the lake, a spot so beautiful that it could serve as a Pure Michigan ad. I felt like the luckiest boy in Detroit, he says, a grown-up Wonder Years situated in urban blight hell. Can he get his luck back? He hopes, but his tone is laced with the knowledge that things do fall apart and people, imperfect as they are, will provide the glue to make all that is broken work again. Like the Velveteen Bunny, he's a bit worse for the wear, but love and forgiveness have to be enough in the wake of the various humiliations and despair he has suffered. Like the city, he may have seen better days, but he's not out, not by a long shot.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!

The Writers' Well

Doing a reading soon with my two buddies, Mark Durfee and Jim Tomlinson. Love both of these guys and their wonderful writing! Durfee made me turn in a bio note and threatened me with writing it for me if I didn't produce. So here it is. Happy Saturday everyone!

Michelle Brooks was born in Mineral Wells, Texas, home of many a rattle, coral, and diamondback snake and like Durfee, is old enough to remember The Gong Show but has always longed to be on Queen for the Day. At 27, the age Janis Joplin died, she moved out of the desert into the promised land of Detroit and has remained here forever despite the strange Twilight Zone fact that she has not aged a day. Her work can be found in many a pretentious literary journal (the ones with excellent taste) and her first full-length poetry collection, Make Yourself Small, is scheduled to be published by Backwaters Press.

Benedictions and Maledictions
Much love to all those grieving today for losses from nine years ago.

Rattlesnake In The Drawer

Hey guys -- having some internet difficulties, so please don't think I've gone off the grid. Should be cleared up by next week!

My friend Mark (not the famous Walking Man) opened a drawer and found a rattlesnake. I turned this event -- in which he shot at the snake (the operative word in this sentence is at), thereby leaving a huge hole in his floor, snake unharmed -- into an essay. I guess I think of this as the perfect metaphor for writers. We're always looking for things and finding the unexpected. Any thoughts of strange experiences with writing or drawers? I'm in the last edit stage of a big project and am pleased to report that it is slightly more pleasant than a root canal. Hope everyone is having a great week!

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"My life has superb cast but I can't figure out the plot." Ashley Brilliant

Cocktail Hour
Pop suggestion: Faygo

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Thursday!

The New Age

The first time I ever got a massage, I was awfully young and had received a gift certificate for Christmas. Nervous about relaxing, I went in and the woman lit a pink candle, told me I had a lot of negative energy, and informed me that I should avoid chocolate and caffeine, probably the most benign substances in my diet at that time. A person raised to believe that KFC was health food, I didn't fit into this world of soft instrumental music and crystals. I didn't like being touched by a stranger, having had that experience more than I cared to admit. I didn't like my negative energy being addressed in such an abrupt way. It had, after all, been with me for a long time.

Over the years, my attitudes have changed. My sister Beth became a massage therapist because I suggested that she might be good at it. I got lots more massages and have since been told I have a lively aura. In a photograph I had done at a psychic fair with my buddy Cal, I have a gold aura with patches of black at the edges which seems to make sense. I have had my chakras cleansed (probably very dirty I suspect) and have undergone reiki from a Vietnam Vet who told me that besides a few cobwebs, I look pretty good, energy-wise. I enjoy crystals and the whole nine yards of the metaphysical world. That music, though! I still don't like it. Would it kill a therapist to put on a little Miles Davis?


Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone." George Eliot

Cocktail Hour
Memoir suggestion: Let's Take The Long Way Home Gail Caldwell

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!

Happy Labor Day

Happy Labor Day! Hope everyone is doing something uber fun for today. Check out my dearest Jodi's fascinating list on the jspot: http://thejspotjodi.blogspot.com/

Back at you tomorrow!

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Nothing happens until something moves." Albert Einstein

Cocktail Hour
Hoarders

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!