In a Purple Room lies a Nurple Boom

I have been the worst blogger ever. When things are well (or at least busy), I get so caught up in the happenings of the universe, that I forget to write.  It’s like I go through stages of intense thinking and living, and feel like I have to absorb it all for a long time, and then POW! the urge to write comes upon me. Hello, world. I want to talk to you again. Except I don’t have a tumor this time, I just kinda missed you.

I’ve been more in love with the world since Tuesday. Blue has become a happy word. Before Tuesday, Blue was simply a state, a hue, something I didn’t know I lacked. Today, blue is a seed germinating in my belly, and not the baby-kind, but the hope kind. I, a perpetual pessimist (I tell people I want to be Winston Churchill when I grow up, not because he’s old and fat and white and whatever, but because he was a curmudgeon, and I respect curmudgeonry. Can I tell you how awesome the definition of “curmudgeon” is on “a crusty irascible cantankerous old person full of stubborn ideas,” a wonderful phrase.), actually beleive that hope and all its flitterings are possible. Hello, flitters. Let’s hang out. You’re kinda pretty and I like the way you smell. We’d have purty babies.

Enough with the past, and onto the present. Been writing and re-writing this book of mine. I turned in the newest version of the first-half to my committee chair. I’m going to try to get more done this weekend. Although, I am taking the GRE Lit Subject test on Saturday. I haven’t started studying yet. But I took the practice test and got 60% right. So I feel okay about it. But I should probably panic tomorrow. Yes, I will panic tomorrow.

See how boring my life is? And here some of you were upset that I hadn’t posted. I’m a graduate student who watches way too much television on the internet (I’m addicted to the Daily Show and can’t afford cable!). I teach a class. I’m taking three classes. I’m writing a book. I’m co-creating a show for radio (a This American Life-esque thingamajig that I’ll link to once Paul and I finish it). I’m the Minister of Technology for the English Department, the Nonfiction Editor of a bitchin Literary Journal, and I have a life. I’m also in like three clubs. And I have homework.  Jesus, I didn’t mean for that to come out so defensive. Sorry, world. I’m sensitive these days, people keep being all like “you don’t do anything!” and I’m like “whaaaaa?!” and then we dance fight and things get better, but still. I’m a little tweaked.

In other news, I have two questions on the deck I haven’t answered and something from the Inter-tubes I thought I would share.

I’ve been dying to see a slam. Know of any slammers or slam events that happen in El Paso?—Javi

Javi, I have to tell you, I called a couple people I knew and no one knew of a slam in El Paso. Your closest bet is in New Mexico, I think.

What the hell is an intercourse machine?—The Dude

This is an interesting question. I happen to have an old professor, we’ll call him Jack Martin, who wrote for a sexy magazine about such a machine. Or at least I vaguely remember him saying such a thing once. So, I decided to send him an email.


Hello! I expect this email finds you well. I heard that your mitzvah was beautiful. I hope that all is unfolding as you wished. I had a  quick question for you. In class on Monday, Professor Frame mentioned that you’d once done an article for a sex pop/culture magazine on an “intercourse machine.” And I do remember you said something like that in our last workshop.

Is  this so?! If yes, then I was hoping to get some details. You see, I’m doing a quick project on teledildonics (the way that technology intersects with sex and desire) and this seems right up my alley. Of course, I could quote you anonymously, but I would really love to hear from you.
Let me know!
Your former student and current fan,

Of course, he’s replied.

I did, indeed, do such an article.  Two, actually. But…I could either send you copies or talk on phone.
Anonymous, of course….or, use the pen name.  I think it was [this is where he suggest I use] Jack Martin.  Not sure.  I’ll find it, and send copies, if you want.
By the way, if you ever want to talk, just give me your number and a good time…or call me…email…my phone: [Redacted].
Helped to put [my wife] through grad school, since we had the two girls, and she was in the MFA poetry program.
First article, “The Gizmo of Desire,” was just….personal…us.
Second piece, I took it to a Swinger’s Club and let people try it out.  But the guys all declined.  (yayyyy!)
Lots of fun.  Give me your address, too, if you want copies. I have ’em.
Hope all’s going well for you.  I’m still trying to get used to one, warm (or hot) sunny day after another.  In [my former location], I once cut out that lower right front page quick weather note on the P-G.  It said
Another Dreary
Rainy Day
As you well know…it ain’t like that down in the south. Like the [other city], they make a comment every day.
Wonderful day!
80 degree warmth!
Sunny and very warm
Beautiful weather!
Another great weekend!
Anyhow….lemme know what you need on this.  Talk or Copies or both…okay?
Good to hear from you!

I’ve replied asking him for the “hard” copies, so we’ll see what we get. He also didn’t respond to my “up my alley” joke, which seems harsh to me. Hello, alleyways.

Other than that, I’d like to leave you with a description of Texas from Nathaniel Missildine’s “An Electoral-College Breakdown for My French In-Laws That Meets All Their Preconceptions,”

Texas is the biggest and is also No. 1. Because the Texas Electoral College vote is worth more than those of all the other states put together, the person Texans pick for president is automatically escorted directly to the White House, told where the pretzels are, and not bothered again for another eight years. It’s just how it goes. The biggest issue for most voters in the state of Texas is justice. The state offers citizens an assortment of death-penalty options—televised electrocution and being tied to the railroad tracks are two of the most popular. Texans will shout hello to you and, without fail, invite you to their ranches, where more shouting across vast expanses will be enjoyed. This explains why Texans seem so loud when you encounter them in, for instance, an airline cabin.

Mississippi is pretty funny too. You should check it out.