And this is going to be all kinds of disjointed and rambley.
Yesterday morning I made blueberry pancakes. The blueberries were good, but the pancakes were too cake-like. I'm thinking buttermilk would help tremendously.
Yesterday afternoon I biked to the Holland State Park with the intention of registering people to vote. Given that this was the first time I'd ever been to HSP during peak beach hours we should have guessed that about 80% of the people there were actually from out of state. 10% were either not interested or already registered or didn't speak English (must.find.Spanish.speaker.to. work.this.campaign.) and 10% were emphatically against registering to vote. I thought I'd be more discouraged, but actually I found it rather motivating. If I can get 5 people registered this week I'll be thrilled. Wednesday night is my next chance when I canvass with Christina.
Did I mention my insanely sunburned toes?
I talked to a guy who says he's going to replace my door. This is extremely exciting as I was told last fall I was getting a new door. I don't actually know when said door will be installed, but actually talking to the man who's supposedly going to in theory be doing the work is progress. And a whole mess of trees are going to be taken down around the barn which might mean there may not be moss growing on the roof much longer. Or as many carpenter ants.
I made a killer bulgher wheat salad with roasted beets for supper last night. Tonight I'm thinking of creating a mango avocado salsa to go with something involving peppers. Fajitas maybe?
I've been reading some blogs written by some cool cats about independent publishing vs independent music and why hipsters are so into indie music but not into indie books. It's a bizarre comparison as the demand for music is a tad higher than, say, the demand for poetry. And people don't even want to pay for music so the chances of them shelling out cash for a beautifully published chapbook by someone they've never heard of is pretty unlikely. A hundred years ago people read poetry because they didn't have tvs and computers. The real renaissance won't happen until people are reminded why good writing- be it poetry or flash fiction or creative nonfiction (I'm still pretty unclear as to what creative nonfiction actually is. Isn't all fiction essentially creative nonfiction?)- is integral to their lives. I'm talking about guerrilla tactics here. Publish really really good shit and then give it away. Create the demand. You're competing with America's Got Talent and YouTube and Animal Collective and the Oprah Machine so it's gonna take some work.
My toes are so sunburned I actually am wearing socks because it hurts me to look at them when I wear my sandals.
I'm reading about Italy and it's making me want to go to Italy. I don't think I can die happy unless I eat pizza in Naples and go to Rome.
This week is already shaping up to be all kinds of busy. Carl is in town, I'm knocking on doors, I have a mess of pie crusts to make this weekend for the Obama brainwashing party next weekend, and Saturday night I play Loteria with some Mexicans. And some white people. I will be made fun of and I will drink mojitos and I will probably lose and I will have a good time.
Seriously sunburned toes are the worst.
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