ben says that they used to think it was a dragon eating the moon and so they shot cannonballs at the sky to scare it away.
i will hopefully be up to watch this "meal" myself in a few hours, dodging for cannonballs of course. calling france...dun dun dunnn...to try to get housing....dun dunn DUNNNNNN.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
couch
“Champaign is like a couch. It’s really comfortable…but so hard to get out of,” she said.
I laughed, talking to the woman sitting next to me on the train. She was heading to an apartment she had never been to in Andersonville, was considering moving to Europe so her daughter could start going to schools in other countries and was about to leave for Costa Rica to get some dental work done.
“Do you do your own writing as well?” I asked. I knew she taught writing; she had also just finished a novel and had a published book of poetry. She knew Jane Kuntz (coolest French teacher ever) and Carol Spindel (coolest creative writing teacher ever).
“Oh yah, I’ve done a few poetry workshops at Allen.”
Suddenly it hit me. I knew this woman. I had absolutely once set up a poetry workshop with her while in INK. She had critiqued my poem about the time my mother told me the moon was “Earth” after I pointed to it once (though now she denies this ever happened).
A wave of regret came over me—should I have been talking to her during the entire trip up to Chicago? I could have asked her what she thought of Billy Collins…what her favorite word was.
We talked about going to France. Is it a good sign to be headed to a town whose name you can only amateurly pronounce?
Istres
My mother said: "E-strais"
For the English pronounciation, I instructed, "it's like the word 'Easter' except it's 'east-tra.'"
Then I rethought it. The Louvre is the "louv" not the "louv-vra."
Okay okay, so then, let's all try to say "east." That should simplify it. My mother, however, refused this pronounciation as well.
Now she says "I-stress."
A truly American interpretation.
I laughed, talking to the woman sitting next to me on the train. She was heading to an apartment she had never been to in Andersonville, was considering moving to Europe so her daughter could start going to schools in other countries and was about to leave for Costa Rica to get some dental work done.
“Do you do your own writing as well?” I asked. I knew she taught writing; she had also just finished a novel and had a published book of poetry. She knew Jane Kuntz (coolest French teacher ever) and Carol Spindel (coolest creative writing teacher ever).
“Oh yah, I’ve done a few poetry workshops at Allen.”
Suddenly it hit me. I knew this woman. I had absolutely once set up a poetry workshop with her while in INK. She had critiqued my poem about the time my mother told me the moon was “Earth” after I pointed to it once (though now she denies this ever happened).
A wave of regret came over me—should I have been talking to her during the entire trip up to Chicago? I could have asked her what she thought of Billy Collins…what her favorite word was.
We talked about going to France. Is it a good sign to be headed to a town whose name you can only amateurly pronounce?
Istres
My mother said: "E-strais"
For the English pronounciation, I instructed, "it's like the word 'Easter' except it's 'east-tra.'"
Then I rethought it. The Louvre is the "louv" not the "louv-vra."
Okay okay, so then, let's all try to say "east." That should simplify it. My mother, however, refused this pronounciation as well.
Now she says "I-stress."
A truly American interpretation.
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