What the...?

In 2004 we named our first son Phineas; two months later Julia Roberts named her son Phinnaeus. In 2007 we named our second son Knox, and just this week Brangelina named their son Knox. What the fuck?

Here We Go

Okay. Some readers. Some comments. Roman wants to be spanked in public. With comments like that our options and destinations here in blogland are limitless. So tell your friends (and tell your enemies) about AGHOSTLIVS. Make it your homepage, make it your religion, make it your life. Name your children after it. Or you can just keep reading and commenting. And check out some of the GHOST's earlier posts--including Sedaris and Cigarettes and Bug Sex--I don't know why noone has commented on that yet.

It's Milk!

I agree with and enjoy most of the responses Miss Conduct offers in the Boston Sunday Globe Magazine. But her thoughts in "Where Breast Milk Shouldn't Go" piss me right off. A woman writes in complaining of a coworker who, after pumping some breast milk at work, keeps it (labeled) in the employee fridge. Miss Conduct says the milk-pumping mom's "behavior" is "seriously inappropriate." Attitudes like these (and H.M. in Quincy's), which shun and discourage breast-feeding moms, set up roadblocks (as though there weren't enough--financial, cultural, societal) for women trying to do the best for their babies. In what way is breast milk in a refrigerator "seriously inappropriate (behavior)"? Because it is "bodily fluid"? It's a BOTTLE OF MILK. That's it. What is cow milk? The bodily fluid of an animal--most likely an animal hopped up on growth hormones. What if it were a bottle of formula? Would the childless women be made uncomfortable then, too? Would she consider it "seriously inappropriate"? The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that babies breast-feed for at least one year. And breast-feeding mothers provide their offspring what they need most as they develop and grow. Attitudes need to change. Women should be allowed to breast-feed in public, and, by all means, allowed to store some milk in the company fridge. And what's up with this Facebook shit?

Family Circus Sucks

Someone should do this to Billy and all of the other useless twits in Family Circus. "It's always there, in the lower right hand corner, just waiting to suck" (the film Go).

Snakes and Rats and Recluses Oh My!

This past spring I taught a poetry (creative writing) course. Though intitially I had been a whole lot skeptical about high school students' poetry, I thoroughly enjoyed the class--and some of the students produced some solid works. We workshopped often, usually in a full class setting. Most of the early comments were expectedly weak and thoughtless: it's good, I like it, I can relate to it--without any further explanation or elaboration. Sometimes these comments were combined: "I like it...I can relate to it." In saying they related to a poem they typically meant "I too have felt/experienced that"; so they liked it because it was familiar, accessible, approachable. I quickly outlawed such responses. I wanted them to move beyond themselves, to get at how (and if) a poem worked. I wanted them to recognize alternative perspectives, styles--and in doing so come to relate (understand/appreciate). T. Coraghessan Boyle's short story "Thirteen Hundred Rats" (recently published in The New Yorker) allowed/forced me to relate--to feel sympathy first for a rat (I hate rats) and then a snake (I hate snakes) and then a recluse (I don't mind recluses).

At Our Best

For three summers (and now a fourth) I have become addicted to "So You Think You Can Dance"--with fault, I disregard the commercialism and consumerism. But then there are beautiful moments like this one that illustrate our potential as expressive, creative, passionate beings.

Back Baby

I had such high hopes for producing posts daily--and then a couple of days pass, and then weeks, and then a month passes and my mortality reappears to me, mighty and unmerciful. But I have excuses. It's the end of the school year: papers to grade, exams to create, an entire room to declutter. And in May I co-directed a production of Mary Zimmerman's masterful play, Metamorphoses; the overwhelming (but wonderful) experience sapped all of my time and most of my mind. And my second son had his one-year birthday party. And my oldest son is his amazing energetic tiring self every day.However, undaunted, I think soon I shall stoke this blog wild.