NOTHING LIVENS UP A POETRY READING LIKE A NICE PAIR OF TITS

I actually squaked and then almost dropped the paper when I saw that this was the Backwards R's subhead for my story. Does the new male publisher want more male readers? (the old publisher, under whom I worked for eight productive years, was a woman). An informal poll taken at The Empty Shala (now there's a name for a yoga studio -- and an apt one, too) showed that zero percent of the women present used or liked that word. It's not even fit for animals, really. Appetizers in India*, yes. Humans, no. If only I'd clued the editors in on the giblets thing. "Nothing Livens Up a Poetry Reading Like a Shriveled Set of Giblets." Now *that's* a good read. Page 14. Go out and get it.....

.....What am I thinking? On Thurs I was on the phone with the divorced Jewish physician-who-may-have-a-beard (not to mention two daughters...hmmm.....) when the well-read guy-who-may-have-been-in-Iraq called. So today it's pastries with the former (just look for the beard), although I can't remember the appointed time, and Tues it's The Bean (ie "Cloudgate" at Millennium Park) with the latter . The giant silver sculpture closes Jan 4 for five months of seam-smoothing -- and I've not yet seen it due to my recent String of Crises. Poor Jack-from-Iraq**. He was, like, What do you want to do. I'm, like, Well, there's something I've been dying to do for a really long time (pause). It's probably inappropriate (pause). (At this point he is probably thinking "an@l!" or something along those lines). Nonetheless when I sprung my innocent idea on him he went along with it. (They always do at the beginning).

I actually have a crush on a real-life person but don't have a clue as to what to do about it. I suppose the famine will come *after* the holiday, when they stop putting out cookies and having parties, and take down all the lights and everything turns back to grey....One wishes this holiday cheer would last at least until they turn the clocks forward.

Yesterday I fit an intermediate practice (came up from Kapotasana twice! Touched my feet not once!) between two teaching gigs, followed by a lazy lunch with Munkin at a very noisy and infant-infested WB, during which one of the handsome lads at the adjacent table came over and said, "You forgot to bring your babies."

And I said, "No we didn't. They're in the car."


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*"Tit bits"

**Maybe, since we haven't shot the Tom from Nam scene yet, Jack from Iraq could sit in. Nah. But just imagine if I could find a guy who was in KOREA... and his name rhymed with it. Now that'd be coup.