Why are people allowed to have GMail accounts, but not Google chat? You should have them both if you have either. Looking at you, Matthew Olzmann.

Issue 4 of Inch features poetry from Jeffery Beam, Sebastian Matthews, and Mischa Willett, and fiction by Michael McFee and Cynthia Reeves.

As with all good memes: I see, I obey. Ivy tagged me to this one, wherein participants reveal 8 things about themselves. My strong tendency towards private confession makes this the best meme ever. How can I make you think I am telling you something while revealing nothing? Why is it so tempting to lie here?

1. When I was in seventh grade, I got into a fight with a guy named Chuck. Chuck was about a foot and a half taller than I was and he absolutely beat me down. It was the only fight I ever got into. I later found that whatever slight it caused the fight had been caused by somebody else and Chuck just thought it was me. So, undeserved beating.

2. This revelation is for Ivy Alvarez only: I was Ale from Steak and Ale. I enjoyed the libertine adventures of the character more than I enjoyed the poems. But I’ve come back to the poems. Haven’t come back to the character.

3. I’m a little obsessive about books. For many years, that obsession was paired with a strange fear of libraries, which I have only conquered in my thirties. In fact, I have swung entirely in the other direction, to the point where I am now a little obsessed with libraries.

4. Though I like small things, I am somewhat convinced that mankind’s end will in some way involve nanotechnology. I can trace some of my fears about man’s annihilation to The Beast– the interactive fiction/game/community that occurred in advance of the horrible Spielberg movie A.I. They have been intensified by the Bush administration. So yes, in my case, the terrorists have won.

5. I am a serial entrepreneur, but not a very good businessman.

6. Lots of people know I’m sort of a jerk. But I think few know that I really don’t know I’m being a jerk most of the time. I do truly believe that if you treat people right, good things will happen in your life. And I really do try to live by that credo, and be pleasant and fair. I recognize my failings in this, though usually only in retrospect.

7. After she delivered a sub to my place of employment and spent some time photographing our lighthouse, I asked a girl named Jenny out on a date. I found out that night that she had kissed Kim Deal, so I told her that I had to kiss her. We went to a show and met up with B-Mo. Jenny was seriously disappointed that I don’t smoke weed, and I never heard from her again. But I did kiss her that one time. Which means I basically kissed Kim Deal. And I love Kim Deal.

8. When I tell people that I have never used an illegal substance, they usually think I am joking. Failing that, they think I am lying to try to make some moral point. But that’s a true fact.

This meme requires that I help it self-replicate by tagging people. Emma Bolden, you must get a blog for the express purpose of answering the call of this meme. Jessie Carty, prepare to be tagged every time I get one of these. Then there are the people who aren’t likely to read this blog, but if you know them, tip them off that they’re named: Ken Rumble, Maureen Thorson, and Chris Tonelli. Daryl, you would be blogged if you had written about poetry in the last two months. But you haven’t– PENALTY BOX.

An acceptance over the weekend for a short story– my first paying fiction publication. That’s exciting. Now, here’s the odd thing– the story began as a poem, and worked its way into a story, which is also a first for me. I’ve had things go the other way any number of times.

Spent part of yesterday afternoon and part of this morning at Warren Wilson, sequestered in the library, reading theses. Mostly poetry, but I had to sneak in a story from Ed Porter’s manuscript. People, Ed Porter is seriously too good. I was also really happy to see the final versions of some of the poems in a friend’s thesis, poems that took shape during our first semester together.

Discovered in the archives that Joe Wenderoth went to Warren Wilson. Plan to spend more time in the archives the second Tuesday in July, if I am able to stay awake that day.

Ate lunch with Lucy Tobin, which was a rare and wonderful treat. Lucy is one of my favoritest people in the MFA program.

Today’s entry title from a poem that the aforementioned friend and I annotated at the same time, without knowing it until later. Talk about two different annotations. I’m finally looking at the annotation I’ll write this weekend not as a prerequisite but as a chance to have a little fun. I think I’m finally in the right mind-set.

Chitwood in the N&O.

I’m in Asheville today, staying in the same hotel that Ladybug and I like to stay in when she comes to visit me at Warren Wilson. The one with the whirlpool tub, yes. I’m planning to head to campus tomorrow or Wednesday to poke through the library, yes I am. I just sent a long e-mail in response to some questions from my new buddy, who, as near as I can tell from e-mail and our one live meeting, is cooler than your new buddy, blog readers.

This follows a busy weekend in which I spent more time traveling than not traveling, and did not actually get any reading done. I did, however, listen to John Hodgman’s audiobook The Areas of My Expertise. I had never listened to an audiobook before. I found the experience pleasant enough, but I do not wish to listen to further audiobooks, unless they are read by John Hodgman. I think To Kill a Mockingbird would sound very good in his voice. Or Love in the Time of Cholera. But not Dracula.

This installation came to UNC’s Ackland Art Museum in 2003 or 2004, and it moved me in the most severe way. I couldn’t tell you why, but it did. I think about it all the time.

Which makes this all the more tempting.

The Pedestal #40 is up.

Poetry: Work by Sara Backer, Jeanpaul Ferro, Alex Grant, Ona Gritz, klipschutz, Judy Kronenfeld, Dorianne Laux, Glenna Luschei, Linda Pastan, Elisha Porat, Eric Paul Shaffer, Susan Varnot, Ross White, and Gerald Yelle.

Fiction: Work by Mary Grabar and Grant Tracey.

I’ve had two job offers in the last week, one for writing and one for teaching. I left the door open on the first, since I would love to do it if the right story comes along, but had to graciously turn down the latter, which broke my heart a little bit since I would have loved doing it.

Microfic archived to offline environs!

Since I got home from work at 5:40, I have been steadily working on my technical manual, with short breaks for dinner and bathtub + short stories. About 15 minutes ago, the power blinked out, and I lost the last hour or so worth of my work. Word’s autorecover didn’t help… well, not much. I guess I did keep the stuff from before that last hour. I am so angry / disappointed right now.

Chapel Hill continues to dominate Brave Little Poem. Today, it’s Inch poetry editor Jeremy Griffin (who should be returning to Inch for issue #5). Stop by and give his poem a gander. That makes four of the last five BLP poets Chapel Hillians.

After a brief visit to the library today, I have ended up with several new books, and none are non-fiction. Ladybug and I are driving to DC for a wedding next weekend, so I’ll be reading a fair bit on the road. I’m almost wishing that I were done with the book I’m reading, so I could dive headfirst into the Ander Monson book I picked up. Ander Monson is one of the best authors you’re not reading, so get on the stick, people.

The Regulator will soon be the latest bookstore to carry Bull City Press books. They should have them in stock next week. Stop by and support your independent bookstore. If you don’t use them, you lose them.

I need suggestions on great dance songs that people aged 16-66 would comfortable getting down with. Please please please, leave them in the comments.

Another way it could pay off and I’d be happy: I could be a little more like Carl Phillips. I spent a wee bit of time thumbing through The Rest of Love tonight, and I’m consistently awed by that man.

We interrupt the tedious chore of writing a technical manual while listening to children in the lake to bring you these messages:

• Just had a poem accepted by The Pedestal, to appear in their June issue. (My crude deductive powers indicate that it’ll be up around June 22.)
• Poems up by former students Matt Poindexter and Zena Cardman at Brave Little Poem. (Cardman’s link will change after June 14, 2007. Which means, I think, that she’ll be out of the country the entire time she’s featured.)

This isn’t such a bad deal, if you’re into that sort of thing: iTunes Plus, which is the DRM-free, 256kbps version of iTunes, usually runs you a buck-twenty-nine a song. But if you hit the iTunes plus section of the site, then find one of the albums that’s also in the “Biggest iTunes Albums of All Time for $7.99″ promotion, you’ll end up with DRM-free albums for $7.99.

This assumes you actually want one of the most popular albums from iTunes. But I did… and picked up Lily Allen’s album. Hot cha.

Finished Blink, and was well-pleased of it. It makes a convincing case for further study of poetry and its elements (though poetry is never mentioned).

If you try to call me for the next couple days, you likely won’t get me. I’m in Sophia, NC at a Baptist mountain camp that DPI sometimes uses for teacher retreats. I don’t get good signal up here, and if today is any indication, I may not be online all that much either. The Internet was down for about three hours this afternoon.

It’s also raining so hard that I may float away. And there’s hail. So yeah, this is a storm.

Continuing with my somewhat obsessive non-poem readings of late, I began Malcom Gladwell’s Blink last night, and expect to finish it tonight before I go to sleep. I also brought with me a copy of Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable, which I do not plan to finish quite so quickly. One might think that all this non-fiction would have an effect on my thinking about fiction, but if it is, I’m not noticing.

Also, I’m writing a technical manual right now. Zzzz. But that has to be done before the 17th so I can’t drag it out.

Ah, dear blog, since I wrote in you last, I have devoted almost every waking minute to leisure. While making dinner last night, El Bandito dropped by and we drank beer and played Mexican Train Dominos. Then we went to Linda’s to meet up with CeCe, Team Goetschius, and Jennings. Then headed home, watched Sleeper Cell, and slept heavy. Woke up, ate a quick lunch, and headed to kickball at Carrboro Park. Following that, Team Goetschius joined us at the homestead and we walked up to the pool and swam for a couple hours.

Devoting so much time to leisure is bad for my body, though, as I already ache some and am certain to ache more later. This is the price I pay for indulging in no real literary work for 24 hours.

I just finally managed to untangle myself from Daniel Wallace’s The Watermelon King, which I was long overdue in reading. Long, long overdue. But I wanted to read it before I picked up Mr. Sebastian and the Negro Magician.

Bill Ferris, co-editor of Inch, is a father. Elliott Ferris was born earlier this evening at the healthy weight of 9 pounds.

(When you’re looking for poem lines about babies, look no further than Thomas Lux.)

Ladybug and I have returned from Dillard’s BBQ, which I am now ready to label the best barbq in Durham. We’ve lived about a mile and a quarter from Dillard’s for six years and only just figured out where it is. Is that ridiculous? Yes. I’m going to tell myself that during that time, they must have suffered some odd decline in quality and the fates just kept us away from there so that when they recovered, the winds would usher us that way. The carrot souffle was the best dessert I have ever tasted. There’s no hyperbole here; I am known for not liking desserts. But this one is amazing.

Of course, now I am at home, bulbous in front of the keyboard, aching with food, though not at all regretful. It’s just that a meal like that keeps you from doing much else for the rest of the night, and I’d hoped to accomplish something more than “not much else.”

I have found someone who is willing to swap an extra copy of Ivy Alvarez’s tinyside for some Bull City Press swag.

Come to me, my precious.

Just finished printing the new Inch, but man, it’s gonna take some time to get them folded, cut, and stapled. Bill’s expecting a baby any minute now, so I will probably be flying solo on getting the issue out.

Ladybug is in the other room poking through WWC worksheets. So far, we agree on some of the poems that rocked it out.