With one of those rare clear days on my calendar, my priorities in decent shape, and only a few things that were pressing on my to-do list, I shut down e-mail for much of the day and did some writing and editing. But instead of concentrating on poems, as I was sorely tempted to do, I wrote most of a two-part series on social networking for Instructify.

And, as with a day or working on poems, I’m bushed now. To reward myself for my hard work, I hopped over to iTunes and bought Pearl Jam’s cover of The Who’s “Love, Reign O’er Me.” Say what you want about Pearl Jam– Eddie Vedder has some pipes. Fuhrillz.

I’m about to head home from work and write the last poem in my two-month grind. I took last night off– I was allowed four days off in November, and ended up taking only one.

Harry Connick Jr. Trio’s “Lonely Side” just came up on iTunes– for the first time in over two years. It’s funny how the random shuffle will keep tracks from playing for a long time, but it’s always pleasant when you hear a song that you haven’t heard in a long time.

Lofty’s Roach Souffle , which was the one album that Harry Connick Jr. released with his trio, was the soundtrack to Soap, Scents & Seduction, a live, improvised soap opera that I worked on in 1990. Sharon Elder was the guiding force behind the show, which was a ridiculous send-up of the usual tacky soap opera crap, set in a soap factory. I think, for the life of me, I will never forget Helen Hagan saying the line, “Exfoliating scrub? Mr. Johnson, what kind of girl do you think I am?”

Sharon was one of the first people other than Larry Long who believed that I really had a place doing improv. I was a goofy-looking, 15-year-old kid at the time, which I think is all anyone else saw, but Sharon and Larry really bent over backwards to make me feel like I wasn’t wasting my time. She also set me up with a couple of jobs for different things, like taking photos of people in costume at Harnett County’s Project Graduation in 1991.

I’ve tried a number of times over the years to find a jazz trio that sounded anything like that one Connick album. There aren’t a ton of piano-bass-drums albums that I can find, particularly with my unrefined palate for jazz. Pandora didn’t help me much, but that may be due to the fact that I can’t use any of the Lofty’s Roach Souffle songs as a starting point– they’re not listed anywhere, even though a bunch of Connick’s vocal stuff is (not interested).

Is there much of anything in this life that Bjork can’t make better? I was driving home today and “Hyper-Ballad” came on, a song which always moves me… but some days more than others. Today is one of those days.

We live on a mountain
Right at the top
Theres a beautiful view
From the top of the mountain
Every morning I walk towards the edge
And throw little things off
Like car-parts, bottles and cutlery
Or whatever I find lying around

Its become a habit
A way
To start the day

I go through all this
Before you wake up
So I can feel happier
To be safe up here with you

It’s early morning
No-one is awake
I’m back at my cliff
Still throwing things off
I listen to the sounds they make
On their way down
I follow him with my eyes till they crash
Imagine what my body would sound like
Slamming against those rocks

When it lands
Will my eyes
Be closed or open?

I go through all this
Before you wake up
So I can feel happier
To be safe up here with you

Substitutable for “Bjork” in the first sentence of this post: William Shatner

zomg new Radiohead this morning. The link to download was in my inbox this morning.

Someone, please, come into my skull and take John Mellencamp’s “Cherry Bomb” out. I cannot get it gone!

omg, Blondie’s “Call Me” is such a good song. I’m not realizing that for the first time; it’s just the first time I have been moved to share.

I am both buoyed and disappointed when I find out that my heroes are actually real people with real problems. Thankfully, there is still Petra Haden. Listen to this. Then, listen to this. Petra Haden is on fire right now.

Someone broke into Ladybug’s car last night. Well, not broke in so much as went in, since she left it unlocked. They opened the glove box and tossed some stuff around, and then opened the trunk. But they didn’t take anything, since there wasn’t much of value. It’s hard to whine when nothing’s missing and nothing’s damaged, but it’s just never fun to wake up to a reminder that your world just isn’t as safe as you would like to believe.

Oddly enough, I had terrible trouble going to sleep last night; I kept hearing the cats rumble about and thinking that someone was in the house. I would wake up every couple minutes before I drifted off for good, convinced that when I opened my eyes, I was going to see a human form in the doorway. I am not sure what a panic attack feels like, but I’m guessing that’s pretty close. (My pulse has been well above normal for about two weeks straight, I think due to stress.) I had nightmares most of the night that were based on that initial paranoia…

After Ladybug roused me in the morning and I drifted back to sleep, I continued to have nightmares, but these were actually based on the lowest form of po-gossip. It was still sort of terrifying… people were physically threatening me about keeping their secrets and giving up others. And it was all the juvenile who-kissed-who kind of stuff that makes for interesting conversation but isn’t useful or important in any way. I woke up fairly convinced that I don’t want to know anything about anyone ever again.

Still, it’s nice to go from night terrors to po-terrors, the latter of which is the lesser. I did feel like my mental load was lighter for much of the day. Whatever was bothering me, I think (I hope) it worked itself out of my system.

DHL tried to deliver a package today. I’m guessing it was a packet. So, I’ve signed. Maybe it will be waiting when I come home tomorrow.

Tonight, I have treated myself to luxurious sloth, downloading some songs from music blogs (to give you an idea of the quality, the best was Kix’s “Don’t Close Your Eyes”… for serious) and shredding months worth of bills and bank statements and stuff.I had the shredder on for a good half-hour solid.

One Story arrived today and I still hadn’t read the last one. I’ll remedy that before the end of the night.

I know, you often think to yourself: “what is in Ross White’s mailbox today?” Well, I can answer that question for you.

First up, the new record by They Might Be Giants, entitled The Else. I ordered it off of their web site a few days ago, because they sent a note saying that there was a limited-edition EP included with the album. kept buying things from their web site is a Catch-22; the prices are affordable, but the shipping is extreme. Did I really need for this album to arrive from UPS? Not really. I would’ve been just as happy had it arrived in five to nine business days.

Next, two books from Amazon. One is entitled Poetic Closure: a Study of How Poems End by Barbara Herrnstein Smith. in particular looking for to the chapter on repetition. The other book is full of what looks like micro fiction — Julio Cortazar, Cronopios y Famas. All I really want to you about that book is that saying it into my voice recognition software has made me decide that I will never want to speak Spanish words to this program again.

Horse Less Press was good enough to send me Abraham Lincoln’s Death Scene, a chapbook by Zachary Schomburg. Granted, I sent them five dollars to do so, but still, it was good of them to send it. I finished reading about half of this book, and the verdict is still out. kept or is the phrase, “the jury is still out”? I can never remember. Something is still out there. It is an opinion.

I’m in a hotel tonight. I don’t tend to write well in hotels, but I’ll be plugging away at “Psalm and Lament” after dinner. If you see me on instant messenger, interrupt. I’ll be OK with it.

Preliminary findings: the repetition is useful. It’s usually the variation where the motion happens… but it can’t be propelled forward as forcefully without the repetitive stimulus.

I’m thinking that, if it’s allowable, I might look at Pinker’s The Langauge Instinct to speak to why repetition is so powerful. It’s fundamental to how we acquire language and I think that repetition in poetry speaks to that. Information repeated has a primal and incantatory power even when the repetition is subdued.

I’m burning the new Queens of the Stone Age for the trip out. Other motorists, if you see me in your rear view mirror, I’m not talking to myself. I’m rocking your face off.