One of my three blog-watchers complains there's too much posey, not enough narcissism, so I dedicate today's post to my fellow half-hearted Patriots fan (or anyone who's offended Philly less than NY).
As for NY--greetings! I hope you're enjoying your perfect little prompt passes. I can't decide whether to register this very second or never again. I am still pouting.
I big-apple soon enough and with the prettiest cargo in tow. Free lodging, upper east side and two of my boys for a slumber party. (Not as fun or twice as fun as it sounds, depending on who you ask.)
Steve Fellner and I finally celebrate that long overdue set of victories. Steve writes funny, brilliant, weird and utterly captivating poems. His images are the bright side of bizarre and make my brain sparkle (much like the dialogue of a certain Dr. Bird--which is, believe it or not, a real species.)
I must be strategic with the limited city-time, and yet, one longs for some Barnes and Noble overlooking the park time. One longs for some Saturday morning farmer's market, some wicked theatre and wickeder food.
This week brings work and more work, fiction sent out and fiction formatted. (A bit more novel.) I just recently heard from one of my favorite fictionistas: Alicia and her work is so gorgeous and true that it shames me. With luck, she'll motivate me to finish this book.
Saturday stretches out lazily and there's too much to do before we Superbowl and Sunday. Go New England or whatever. (You're no NBA.)
We live for the dance, after all, isn't that right, Bird?
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