Call Me Mr. Faux Pas, or, Some More Bits about AWP (for eduardo c. corral)

i asked one of my favorite gay poets if he was sending his book out. he said he was taking a break, it was expensive. i asked, "what's your salary?"
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a gay poet who just had his book released from marsh hawk press approached me in the bookfair. I was walking around talking crazily on a cell phone. "are you really talking on the phone, asshole?" and lo and behold, i wasn't. Of course, I wasn't.
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i wanted to introduce myself to every gay male poet here. that was my goal. it was a selfish one. i wanted to overcome my own homophobia. i have no gay friends, i always feel judged and the need to judge them back. (is that one of the reasons i started this blog?) in graduate school, an editor who is gay of a significant lit mag arrived my second year. all us grad students were at a retreat and i could feel myself wanting to hurt him. of course i didn't.
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so i did the next best thing: when we started talking about poetry, i made myself become a vicious parody of the gay aesthete. i felt compelled to show him that i could see the flaws in all the queer male authors. i was so mean. i could feel myself becoming more and more gay. Except the way it was happening was dumb and pointless and i couldn't control it. or i didn't want to.
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as this conference went on, i hid from gay men more and more. next year if i should come, i'll try to accomplish my goal again.
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i like awp. next year i will attend at least one panel or reading.
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i hate when a gay man says to another gay man in a platonic relationship that they want him or that they find him attractive. it always feels gratuitous even when they mean it.
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tonight i'm saying a prayer for my sick brockport friend. she isn't feeling well, and i love her. i wish i prayed kneeling down. it feels like the smartest way to pray. i always say my prayer lying on my side in bed. which sometimes i fear make them less effective.

last call, last call, last call (yet even more awp bits) (for eduardo c. corral)

once someone asked me during a game of truth or dare: "What quality would you want to be remembered for that you do NOT possess?" And this is what I said: to be able to dance. whenever i first meet someone, i always imagine what they dance like, and no matter what i think, it always makes me appreciate them in a way i hadn't expected. i wonder if people go to the final party/dance here.
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the benu press reception went well. i always get nervous about those things. i forgot to brush my teeth as i always do. but no one seemed to notice. all i know is a nice number of good people showed. thank you all for coming! and for making me realize people won't resist me as long as i can offer them a free drink ticket.
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this conference made me realize how much i miss people who are pretentious. i teach in upstate new york and my students are often first generation rural upstate new york kids. they're the furthest thing from haughty. this is a good thing and a problem. they reject poetry out of hand: it's not for the masses, it's elitist. they have a point, but i don't care. i want to help them become snobs. or at least more curious. can you teach curiosity? i think you can.
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i went to the university of utah reception. i saw my first graduate creative writing teacher: melanie rae thon. this was at syracuse. during my first semester of grad school, i went through a serious depression (i didn't know that's what it was at the time.). i couldn't write. all i did was sleep literally twenty out of twenty-four hours a day, and eat macaroni and cheese. one time i went to her office to talk about a story and i started to cry. she shut the door, turned off the lights, and held me. i think of her as an angel.
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are there any restaurants who serve great macaroni and cheese? it's my favorite food.
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when i finally went up to melanie in the middle of the utah reception, i started to cry. it wasn't subtle. one friend from grad school said, "i forgot how sentimental you are." this is what i love about melanie: i just wanted to hold her and have a moment of silence with her. i didn't want to talk to her, and she knew that, what is there to say?
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without words, i wanted to say i'm here in the world and i think of you. i would never have become a writer without you.
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my weight is really starting to get to me.
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i drank two nights in a row. the first night with my new favorite person and the second with a group of people and we went bar-hopping. i love hearing someone say, "last call." Last call! Last call. Do you hear it?
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i think i might stay in the hotel tonite alone. i've run out of friends to hang out with and i need to stop drinking. the movie "daybreakers" is on pay-per-view-- it's the vampire movie starring ethan hawke. i love ethan hawke. "before sunset" is one of my all-time favorite movies. i like to watch it alone. that movie has one of the best ending ever.
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my first undergraduate poetry teacher is here. laurence leiberman. how old is this man? he has a new article about hart crane in the latest american poetry review. i haven't read it yet. it's very long and dense looking. i can tell i'm going to want to read it with a pen in my hand and take notes. how does he still write these exhaustive pieces at his age? i said to him, "next time i see you, you better be walking with a cane."

on day two of awp (pre-benu press reception) (for eduardo c. corral)

i met with my publishers today and they are the nicest people. they have restored my faith in the world of publishing. i hope when i become mature im like them.
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the reception is from 7-8:15 pm in Mineral Hall E, Hyatt Regency Denver, 3rd Floor. feel free to come, take some food and drink and then dash away. no-strings. but plenty of fats and femmes.
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one of my old friends from syracuse has a new book from university of pittsburgh press. she was married when i knew her. weve talked several times over the years and she made references to a lesbian partner. i thought she was joking. today she stopped at the benu table and told me that she was with a woman and they have two kids. i didn't believe her, but then she showed me the pics. it freaked me out. i felt this need to say, i like you. why would you choose this lifestyle?
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i signed books alongside suzanne frischkorn today for the writer's center. i really like her. she smelled nice too which made me like her even more.
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i hope my suny brockport friend is less sick.
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one of my students sent me an email telling me she got a really nice handwritten rejection letter from passages north. i was so proud of her. she wrote the essay in my class. i like to take credit for other peoples' accomplishments

recap of day one of AWP

I don't think I've ever felt more like Sissy Spacek in Carrie.
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I was sent a text message that there was a slumber party at a famous gay poet's hotel room. When I replied, asking, "who is this?", no one answered or texted me back. I had another glass of wine. Curious, I called again, taking on the persona of a gay poet more attractive than me. I disguised my voice appropriately and left a message. Still nothing. I still believe that the homosexual who texted me is the Amy Irving type--he had a change of heart and saved me from imminent humiliation. If I had gone to the slumber party, a bucket of pig's blood would have crashed on my head and I'd be more of the laughing stock than I already am.
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Speaking of laughter, I went up to one gay male poet who I've reviewed on my blog and he immediately turned his back. Very high school. Later, he was talking to several gay men about how they should create an AWP panel about the crucial role of Log Cabin Republicans in the literary community.
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I had several drinks with a very charming gay male poet who said he hadn't drunk a single drop of alcohol in a year. Liar, I thought. Tragically, though, it was true. He gradually became nervous and maudlin (my favorite emotional states) and I felt the night was a total success. He's my new favorite person.
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My new favorite person said earlier in the day (twice), "Tomorrow I'm going to tell people that you're not a complete asshole." I guess he liked me, too.
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One of the woman writers I loved when I went to Breadloaf made me feel loved and comfortable (as she always does) I don't like my photos taken, but with her I didn't mind. Her spirit helped lessen my anxiety. It's weird how the simplest of acts can make an entire trip special. If only Carrie had friends like these, she might not have gone all telekinetic apocalyptic at the prom.
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Much as it will shock everyone, I'm not an innocent in bad behavior either. One of my Brockport colleagues saw me and I hid. Apologies. No ghosts of Christmas present during my trip.
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I miss one of my Brockport colleagues who I love and is sick and not here. I hope everything is going well.
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Sometimes I get sad when I meet someone who I've only known from online. I feel vulnerable and want to say, I'm sorry. This is all I am.
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I miss Phil.
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It creeps me out when a gay male puts a post up on his blog and then his partner posts a comment three minutes later. Talk about gay co-dependency. Phil deliberately stays away from posting here (he's posted maybe three times in the more than a year I've been running this blog) and I know he's had to bite his tongue not to on more than one occasion.
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I met a gay poet who has been published by the same poetry press as me, and he seems as unpretentious and ultimately goofy and kind as his poems. But then again, I talked to him for two minutes. He still could be an asshole.
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One of my best friends is having a book signing today and she has been invited to one of those fancy secret dinners that only the best of the best get invited to. You need a special invite that you MUST bring to the event place. There's a musclebound bouncer at the door if someone's a fraud. See, John Gallaher, now I have proof those parties indeed exist! ...And when I asked the same friend if she'd get a drink with me after her dinner, she said, "don't you have someone you hang out with?"
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I had dinner with the woman who published my first essay ever, and wrote an illness memoir I'm currently teaching. She said that based on my writing she expected me to be thin and have angular features (re: not fat). She looked exactly how I thought she would: she had a generous open face. I liked her a lot.
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I am now going to have spinach omlettes and mimosas with my hotel floormate, Seamus Heaney. Okay, maybe not Seamus Heaney.

as a service/tribute to eduardo c. corral, michael musto, and awp....

i will be blogging at awp.
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i hope they have wireless access at the bookfair. i'd rather keep my eyes on the computer screen than have to awkwardly smile at somebody who is trying to ignore me the second time they pass by my table. once is always enough.
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i'm going to have a series of blind items michael musto-style throughout the few days im there.
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i wonder how many gay men will be cuter than me and how many ill be cuter than. im going to secretly take a photo of each one i encounter and send them to my partner. he says it'll probably be fifty-fifty.
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i have no lunch/dinner plans with anyone. except the amazing s.l. wisenberg who wrote a book i taught called "cancerbitch." it's a non-fiction book entirely composed of blog posts. it's great. she also published my first prose piece ever. it was about thom gunn and was over ten pages long. no anthologist asked me to republish it.
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it seems that so many people have scheduled dinner plans months in advance for awp. it reminds me of what my mother once said about the bozo show. you had to wait sometimes a year to get your kids on it.
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i was supposed to be on a panel but someone kicked me off it before they submitted the proposal. they said the other panelists thought i was a trouble maker.
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its fun getting ready for awp. i love putting all my meds in my plastic blue container. it makes me feel like im a complicated person.
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whenever i received a facebook invitation to attend a reading/event on facebook i thought i was being singled out. i didn't find out this isn't the case until twenty minutes ago. you can send group invitations. i thought for awhile there i was the most popular writer in the nation.

ON AWP AND EATING AT BURGER KING, OR, BENU PRESS IS HOSTING AN AWP RECEPTION AND IF YOU READ THIS BLOG, PLEASE COME AND BRING A FUN FRIEND

Hi Everyone,

If you read this blog, please come to an AWP reception hosted by Benu Press.

It is Friday April 9^th from 7 pm. To 8: 15 p.m., Mineral Hall E, Hyatt Regency Denver, 3rd Floor. (You can check the AWP Conference schedule.)Thank you for considering to come.

This is an opportunity for you to meet new people and who knows? maybe someone will advance your career. Or mine.

In all seriousness: please, please come especially if you're awkward or shy or chubby or lonely or somewhat depressed--all of which I am. I'm a total geek. The last time I went to AWP, I hid in my hotel room, and called my boyfriend every hour, complaining that I felt so out of it and I didn't have any friends. Which I didn't. For most of meals, I ate alone at Burger King, figuring that someone who was cool and had friends wouldn't be dragging their ass into Burger King. And the one time I did see someone I knew (who did have a friend), I pretended that someone stood me up, even though no one had stood me up. I had no friends to eat with at Burger King.

So come hang out with me. I'm not cool. All that will be offered is a smile and conversation and drinks and some food. But sometimes that's more than enough.

We'll climb our way to the top (especially since there's never been a chance of me sleeping my way to the top.)

SAY YES TO POBIZ AND COME SEE ME!

Not an April Fool's Joke, or, On Getting Ready for AWP and Other Deadly Serious Matters

I am starving myself for beauty. Two pounds. Only one Weight Watchers Brownie for dessert. Not three. I will find my way into all the big bashes. Or crash them. I need to fit into my AWP night wear. My white jeans and Ultimate Merona Black Polo Shirt. (If my clothes don't work, I'm going to claim to be Neil de la Flor's date. Or Randall Mann's. Sometimes you've got to settle.)

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One of my closest friends told me that she wouldn't be able to hang out with me at AWP. (She's a star on a panel.) Too busy. I wish I could say this was an April Fool's Joke. She said that perhaps at night--in her room or mine, with the curtains drawn.

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I am very sad that my partner is not going to be there. I have no idea why, but sometimes he says that distance makes the heart grow fonder. "What does that have to do with me?" I ask. And then the volume to the TV goes up.

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We're going to buy him a cell phone (we got our first one three weeks ago) so when I'm walking around the book fair, he can call me and look important, pretending he's someone else. Then I'll stop at someone's table all frazzled and ask them if I could jot down a phone number, and they'll be nice and give me something to write with, and I'll say thank you, thank you, and buy one of their ugly ass books, and get extra points for being charitable. No way someone won't invite me to a party then.

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I always think that I'm going to be happy being away from my partner, but after one night, I get homesick and want to go home. Why did you make me love you, asshole!

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No help from me, the wonderful Rane Arroyo came to read at Brockport, and he danced. I like dancing. Or when other people do it. This was the question I was once asked during Truth or Date: "What quality would you be remembered for that you do NOT possess?"

I said, "To take up space well."

The next round I was dared to dance. There was only one catch. The gamer said: "Wait for all of us to close your eyes. Then do it."

I hope I get to see some happy male people dancing.

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I'm going to have someone take a photo of me and John Gallaher. So he can put it on his blog and I'll feel popular.

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Yesterday a famous poet/blogger responded to my status update. My update said that I'd pay $50 for someone to invite me to a party that you needed to an invitation for. He wrote: "Is this an April Fool's Joke?" And then he deleted it! A new low.

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I have a new tic when I teach. I stare at one student and then ask another to answer the question. It freaks them out a bit. I like it. If I meet a gay couple, I'm going to try it out in a social situation. And see if it makes me look sexy.

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I suffer from insomnia--real insomnia--not the kind where you get four hours of sleep and then don't look pretty. Once I've gone three days without sleeping--started to have delusions. Warts on peoples' heads. Shit like that. For the first time, I'm going to try melatonin which I heard is a lot like pot but legal.

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I'm going to buy every single book by a gay author that I can find and don't already have.

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I'm going to hang out with my publishers LeRoy and Lesly Chappell and tell them how much I love them.

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I'm going to any panel about gay issues I can and then race back to my room and write about it.

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I'm going to go up to at least six different complete strangers and tell them I love their work. Everyone has the right to feel like they have anonymous fans.