Figured out how to turn the heat on. None of my neighbors appear to have nerve endings, so I finally had to do something about the fact that penguins are starting to appear around the house, looking like prospective renters.
I'm reading in NYC tomorrow. Here are the details. I'm going to debut some of my spider poems. Plastic spider rings for everyone!
Every high-school chemistry student in the world is reaching this blog in a futile attempt to discover information about Mole Day. Oh, ten-to-the-twentythird power, you fragile creature of mathematics, when will you release your grip on our nation's educators? Not even your multifold zeros can turn chemical equations into an engaging topic. It matters not how many salts are created through the release of gas (say, in the mixture of magnesium and hydrochloric acid). The sheer insanity of the volume of molecules that make up even the smallest of reactions is dizzying and even ludicrous and cannot compare to the Homecoming Dance or what-the-hell-those-two-were-doing- in-the-woods. Our nation's teens have far more important business at hand, and though chemistry is bound up in the mix, nay, necessary to the continuation of teendom everywhere, calculation or tabulation of the number of moles involved is irrelevant to it all.
That said, kids, I have no bountiful harvest of Mole Day poems for you to use for extra credit tomorrow. You will have to pen your own sad haiku to mark the occasion -- except for the following. It's a freebie. But if you all show up with it, your teacher will totally fail you. Be ye warned!
Oh, autumnal leaves.
There are not so many of you
As would make a mole.
5-7-5 and a fucking reference to the season. And it's goddamned true. There you go. Enjoy!
After a weekend in CVille I feel much less like killing everyone in the world than, say, I did on Friday. Friday is a day for us all to be thankful that I don't have access to the nuclear football.
Mark and I racked his wine today. There have been four carboys of chardonnay juice sitting in his guest-room bathtub for the past month and a half, undergoing two rounds of fermentation with ye olde fancy wine yeast.
We took the wine off the sediment that had developed and poured it into clean carboys. One half will sit around with a bunch of French oak chips; the other half is going to be treated with some kind of malic-lactic acid converting chemicals. We tasted the unaged wine before it went in the clean carboys. Very sharp right now, but good. It will be very dry, but hopefully the oak and other treatments will mellow it a bit. I liked it sharp, though. It's a pretty color -- a nice transparent gold.
I get to design the wine labels, and perhaps guests at our wedding will get to drink the bathtub wine. Mmm...
I'm reading in NYC on Tuesday and have no idea what to read. Seriously, I've read twice in NYC in the past month, and I've kind of exhausted my material. I've been working on the spider army poems, but they're so new I hardly know whether they're good, bad, or indifferent. I have some weird one-off poems that have been floating around, but not enough to make up a full set. Requests, anyone?
Happily, I get a "free day" in NYC on Wednesday. I will wander about and probably put in some Xmas shopping. And eat Jamaican food. Huzzah.