Films, poets, dog

Golly, I've been busy! Two poetry classes at the same time is a lot of reading and writing, with a sick dog and a hunger for leisure. Forgetting to exercise.

Yesterday I saw two films in a row, pissed off because I had planned to hear Sherman Alexie, a funny native american poet, but tickets sold out! Can you imagine, a poet sold out? I had no clue he was that well known. Anyhow, I was pissed and took myself off to Harkins theatre to see a poet movie (Bright Star) and Capitalism: A Love Story. Good pairing. The romantic love epic complete with TB and blood was a bit much, but the poetry was actually beautiful, made me want to read more. Michael Moore was the perfect antidote and not a bit too much. I wish I knew how to contribute to the overthrow of Wall St. Right at the beginning of the film, a woman fell on me. I was sitting on the aisle, and she tripped on the dark steps. That wasn't so bad, but when she left I noticed I didn't any longer have my glasses on! I was down on my knees feeling all around the dirty dark floor under my seat -- yuk and panic. She came back, having found my glasses hooked onto her purse. We had a good laugh, and I didn't miss much of the film.

Lady is well now and pesky. Whenever Grumpy and I are both gone, she drags our smelly stuff into the living room (underpants, bra, sweaty shorts, shoes, slippers). She doesn't chew them up like she did a pencil and a dried out dead bird. I've seen her rest her chin on my shoe. I think she just likes having our smells close to her. Awwwwwww.

She is a good leash walker until she sees another dog, which is when Grumpy learned she is also an expert collar-slipper-out-of. This may be how she got to the pound. Now she has a harness, and we'll have to work on that. I swear I was striding with confidence and authority last night, a la Cesar, but clearly she didn't notice. I was not even on her radar, used brute force to get her attention. Gotta work on that.

Time to clean up the trash and gummy floors for company. Gotta finish reading Komunyakaa, start reading Boisseaux, write a paper on Sharon Olds, read a chapter -- pant, pant. Naw, I love it. Ed Pavlic came to class Thursday night, and now I'm determined to see Black Poet Ventures do a show based on his book of poems about the life and music of Donny Hathaway this weekend. (Yeah, I'd never heard of him either.) The floors may not get done after all.