Greatest Hits Vol. #1

holy mother of blurbs! i was skimming through my blog archives and i found some posts that made me cringe. i've said some crazy things, dear reader. don't believe me? here's a sample:

Someone keeps arriving at my blog by Googling "Ted Mathys." Is it you, Ted? I know we all Google ourselves but this is getting ridiculous. Stop it, Ted. You know what happens when you self-Google too much. Though I wouldn't say no to your hairy palms...


This year at AWP I will:

point at poets
refuse to make eye contact with people manning the tables of obscure journals
lick Tony Tost's belt buckle
pout in a bar
walk up to Bob Hicok and ask, "Aren't you SpongeBob?"
shout out brown-nosing is evil!
ask Nick Carbo for a hug
reveal that I'm carrying Christian Wiman's baby
not buy books out of pity for the author
ignore Sabrina Orah Mark
laugh
proclaim the death of poetry
pass myself off as Virgil Suárez
slip rejection slips into the pockets of editors
growl at Cole Swenson
kiss a fool
praise Reb Livingston's unibrow
walk up to Ben Lerner and ask, "Are you gay?"
pass myself off as "Latino"


I'm having a baby! Anthony Robinson got me pregnant. Or was it Jordan Davis? Adam Clay? Josh Corey? Liam Rector? James Galvin? Robert Bly? Oh boy. This calls for a DNA test.


Yesterday, I went to a reading celebrating the latest issue of Ninth Letter. Wine and stinky cheese were up for grabs afterwards. The graduate students freaking tore up the wine and cheese! I had to stand back from the cheese table because I feared one of them would bite off my fingers.


I don't like it when people say my poems are beautiful. Beautiful is easy. Any fool can write a beautiful poem


It's so easy to make young children laugh. I had my nephews and niece rolling on the floor each time I said, "I pooed a little pony!"


I'm currently reading the spring/ summer 2008 issue of Hayden's Ferry Review. And it doesn't suck. In fact, I like the art and the poems in the issue. Color me surprised.


I made a snow angel this morning. I threw myself onto the snow and did that wing-like motion a few times and presto: a chunky snow angel was born!


I'm seriously in love with James Allen Hall. Funny as fuck, sweet as fuck. I want to give birth to his baby. But he's also a bottom. Too bad, James. Maybe artificial insemination? And oh yeah, his book sold out at AWP. I bought two copies.


don't you love it when some bloggers claim they don't do colonies because they have no need for them? ha. we all know the real reason they have no need for them: they know they can't get in.