Earth to Asinine, Earth to Asinine

Here's a cliche: Wow, we haven't really been very good in keeping up our bloggery. How many bloggers write about not keep their blog content fresh? Scientifically speaking, I'd say 87 percent. But that's just from asking two people on the subway (one of whom was dressed as an Irish setter), so there's a margin of error of plus or minus three percent. But enough about me. How about the new contest? Haikus! We at the asinine offices are hoping that the perceived simplicity of this poetic form will drive up the amount of entries. Of course, at the same time we fear it will drive up the amount of bad entries. And haikus can be very very bad. And not funny. If you're looking for any guidance, just please make it funny, and make that last line really a kicker, an ironic or twisty 5 or 7 syllables (the 5-7-5 structure of the haiku may be shuffled around all you like--e.g., 7-5-5, 5-5-7) that sings, takes off, goes someplace perfectly fitting but perfectly unexpected. Either that or go for a fart joke.

Hallowe'ening

So, our contest is done and now we're back on a schnide of new poems. Usually it's a small vacation for us at the office when the contest results are running, but this time it didn't feel like it, at least not for me. These last three weeks have flown by and sure we've stocked up one some poems (so, watch out, when we have surplus we get real picky; and it's been happening more and more; in the early days, we all gathered around the computer waiting for something anything to come into our inboxes; we clicked everything open; which is why it took three years to clear all the viruses off our computers; now if I could just do something about these mouth sores; I hear there's an all-natural cure for herpes; anyone out there know it?) Now we're into the main holiday stretch of the year, and Halloween, the first of these, is my favorite. We've had some excellent 'alloween poems over the years (check out the four classics on the bottom of the home page). We're waiting to get some new ones now. We have one or two that are pretty good. I better write one. You got any?

RIP, Nipsey

Comedian, actor, POET Nipsey Russell died this Sunday at Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan. He was 80 and lived in Manhattan (damn, if we knew he was nearby we would have invited him to our readings! damn!). Russell is one of several celebs from the '60s-'70s era of TV who passed away recently (I suspect government conspiracy, or a new reality show by Mark Burnett), and his passing in particular marks another loss in terms of class and classic and smart humor. Russell brought poetry to the masses. No doubt he will never get props from the likes of highbrows such as John Ashbery or Rita Dove or Sharon Olds, but his poetry reached more people and entertained more people than all of them put together.

When we started our site, we linked to Nipsey Russell's Funky Palace, and we've always lamented the fact that the site (which may be his official site--who knows?? there is no nipseyrussell.com) featured very few Russell poems. But fortunately some of his obits have included some of the master's chestnuts:

"Before we lose our autonomy
And our economy crumbles into dust
We should attack Japan, lose the war
And let Japan take care of us."

Another:
"The opposite of pro is con
That fact is clearly seen
If progress means move forward
Then what does Congress mean"

In 1993 Russell told the Los Angeles Times that writing poems ''is very simple to do.... I start with the joke line and write backward.''

On that note, I've tried a meager eulogy:
Nipsey Russell is dead and gone
he's rhymed for the last time
but we will always give you props
you are a god of asinine

Achey Breaky Shakespeare

So, the sonnet contest entries are in and the votes tallied. What do you think so far? Right now, we have the first five runners up on the site, next week the next five runners up will appear. In two weeks, the winners will be up there. It was a hell of a lot of fun putting together, and there really are some funny and very asinine entries. More than a few about body parts and functions, but the contests always seems to bring that out in people.

Author, Author!

So, three of the asinine boys read this week at Junno's with the fine folks at the Needle Exchange Hour, a newly inaugurated reading series run by those rapscallions Tim Hall and Ken Wohlrob, who read their prose along with Brian Cogan. The asinine boys R. Narvaez (eerily on time), ern modern (an hour late, but only missing 10 minutes of performance), and Bob McNamara (two hours late, on account of bad directions, but on stage within minutes!). R Narvaez sputtered along, hawking his '"Childhood's Smell" chapbook. Since no other asininer had arrived he figured he would have to do again, but in walked ern, who when he went to the podium gave the audience a 10-minute preparatory speech about pets before reading three great animal poems (the last he read twice, the second time in Latin; I am NOT kidding). Then Narvaez figured he'd bat clean up, but in walked McNamara, who, with two minutes to prepare, gets up there and kills, adding a piquant history of professional wrestling in the '70s before he read ''Bo Bo Brazil." It was a fun time, especially with the beer and wine. The next reading is next month. You should come by. Really.

Would You Believe He's Dead?

So, Don Adams is dead. A moment in the cone of silence, please. That's two '60s TV personalities within a month. Not, perhaps, more tragic than two furiously deadly hurricanes in the same amount of time, but devastating in their own way. Phillip Lee sent this into the site--and since we're about to put up the contest entries, we can't use it right now--with a e-mail header that read: "Never Smart":

Don Adams is Dead

He's dead
Don Adams is dead
He was Inspector Gadget
He was Maxwell Smart
He did Love Boat
He had a failed sitcom
But you'll never take, ever take
Tennessee Tuxedo away from me

Podcastaways

So, we're at the office last night, polishing off a bottle of Cointreau, having finished chopping through a blizzard of contest entries, when Frimmit called out from the half-opened bathroom door, "You think anyone really cares about the podcasts we're doing? I mean, it's a pain in the ass to get everyone together and semisober to record these things. Is it worth it?" This began a debate. I proferred that if we had fun doing it, then what the hell. Catty thought that if we thought about it too much it would make us look like the insecure bunch of sonsabitches we really are. Frimmit flushed and, not washing her hands, said that all those points were fine, but the mandate from the boss on high was that the podcasts are meant to translate into book sales, and while we're getting a nice amount of podhits, the books are still collecting dust. Ever-chipper Narvaez, from under his desk, offered that maybe we were looking at it too closely and should open up the discussion.

Site Specific

So, a lot of stuff is happening at the asinine offices, what with the contest entries in and a case of Dewar's accidentally delivered to our premises. I've been wondering about what to write in this space, and I suppose that's something that happens with anyone doing a blog--What the hell do you fill it with? I mentioned this to other staffers and poets at our recent podcast recording/dinner party last Saturday. P-Woody thinks we should do a comments/bulletin board page on the site. ern modern thinks there's not enough of an asinine community. Well, you can't really tell from this site--yet!--since only a handful of people know about it. So, I figure I'll opne this up to some fans and see where it goes. Other than that, I really don't like the shirt I'm wearing today.

On the Sonnet (Contest)

So, our sonnet contest deadline is next week, and we've been poring through the batches of submissions, and there are some really good ones. One thing we've heard from our contributors is this fear of sonnets, of iambicizing, ABAB, CDCD, or whatever combo, Petrarchan, Shakespearean, Mississippi-style. You know, many entrants aren't giving a damn about form--well, maybe just sticking to 14 lines. We at asinine are not ones to harp on rules (except for Piker, but he's too busy working on our next book to care), but yeah, we don't care about being to strict. We want our contests to be fun, we want our contestants to have fun, and hell we editors want to have fun. If you're still wrangling over your sonnet, relax; just put it in the sonnet ballpark. We like to think of our contests as a costume party. Sure, it's nice if you spent 17 hours on your Pacman costume, but the gal who arrives in French stocking and holds a plate of French fries will be in no way snubbed. Sonnets! Our next time is to assemble a gaggle of nonsite judges, guest stars; we like to pick new judges (no, it's not just us sitting around a table, drinking and smoking and picking winners; not just), people who we hope will bring a new perspective to asininity, or at least will buy us a drink or a T-shirt for themselves.

So Long, Little Buddy

Well, just when I was beginning to lose faith (not that I ever had any to speak of), bemoaning the lack of timely poems on the site, whoops comes along three poems about the untimely death of Bob Denver. Three! All within 48 hours after his death and before we met to finalize our poem list for this week. One of the poems, by this new guy Charles Bukkake, was even semi-semi-political, getting Rehnquist in there. I love this kind of what is it serendipity, zeitgeist, harmony of the universe? I was trying to write a Rehnquist poem but it was coming out too bilious--after going back and forth with Marybeth and Wade, of the Midwest Asinine Office, I feel I shouldn't always try to be preachy. But maybe I'll changed my mind if I can find a good word to rhyme with Rehnquist. Funny what inspires people to write about something in the news--not a hurricane, not a new planet, not torture in Gitmo, but Gilligan! Gilligan! I guess he's close to our collective hearts--and not our collective pancreas.

Look Closer

So, one of the big arguments at the office is whether to do more timely poems, to feature poems that have more current political and social content. Now, if you read my stuff, you see I do a lot of it, sometimes well, sometimes forced, but I prefer to write poems that try to say something. I guess that makes me an agitpropist! A few of my fellow asinine poets prefer just to be funny in a general way, make eternally lasting commentary about life. I think that sometimes tends to diary-entry writing, which can be really bo-rrring, or endless lines about body parts and body functions. I try to solicit political poems via the Asinine Pulse (which I edit, as if you didn't guess), but so far, zilch. What do you think? Should we just stick to poems about the ins and outies of our days?

Last August Poems

Hey, I liked Figgie Creamcheese's poem and want to see more from her. I have an ass handicap myself and tend to slide off plastic furniture. (BTW, Catty thought Figgie's name was too close to Finny Deerfield; I say if so, let them fight it out over coffee.) As far as P-Woody's ''Conversations with My Wife," I'm surprised he submitted that poem. Everyone knows his wife, right? G-Ro? (Gina Rodriguez, the singer; from the boogie-down Bronx; Gina from around the block) She's a handful. Well, more than a handful, much more. If she reads that poem I wouldn't be surprised if she pulls a gun on P while they're out at a club or driving his SUV. Woody's lucky she has no appreciation for poetry. Marybeth Niederkorn's poem I think we talked about last time. Existential fishing. Does a river run through that poem? And G. Nash--don't you love that name?

Technical Glitches

So, you may think everything works perfectly at the site every week--hah! but you'd be wrong. Oh, the poems went up fine, thanks to the adequate work of our Web lackey R. Narvaez. But the podcast that is up there right at this minute is the wrong podcast. It's the first run of episode 5, but that was redone with a new intro and other poems, plus a plug for Graham Everett's gig at Cafe 87 tonight. Not that we like to point fingers around here, but actually we do. And it's P-Woody's fault. Woody, as many of you may know, has been trying to lauch his new line of fragrance products; recently, he hurt his back while trying to lift a three-gallon jug of cologne. So, he's been kind of laid up, but he sure does smell good. He wrote ''Ah shoot. I've been too preoccupied with pain. I didn't send episode 5 for this week. will do today and get it to ern [our engineering officer].'' So, we hope to have the right episode up later today and to rework the one that's up there now (for better sound quality, etc.). But anyway whatcha think of this week's poems?

Monkey Business

The poetry readings run by Robert McNamara are unique, as far as I'm concerned. These are the Mind Gorrilla readings he hosts at the Aubergine Cafe in Woodside, Queens; the readings celebrate and plug his literary zine Mind Gorrilla (although there is a heavy asinine poet presence in it ever since Bob joined the asinine zoo). And the unique element--well, besides Bob and the wonderful local poets who come by and perform, and besides the large simian doll named Aldo that site at the front of the room during every performance--are the noisemakers. Bob decided years ago that poetry readings were too polite and the smattering applause was not only dull but not very participatory. He decided to make the reading more interactive. So he got a bunch of New Year's Eve noisemakers--the rattling things, the little horns, some balloon whistle things (I apologize; I'm sure the folks who manufacture these things have very specific names for them)--and places several on every table in the room. And he encourages you, rather than applaud, you should rattle or whistle, or blow that metal horn that is usually heard only once a year. It sounds chaotic but it's quite a bit of fun. It gets the audience excited and gives the performer quite a bit of love and energy. (Though I'd hate to be the person who came by just for camomile tea and got caught in the middle of a reading.) Anyways, last Saturday was the latest reading--were you there?--and Bob hosted and read, R. Narvaez (introduced as the asininepoetry.com Web lackey) read, as did April Clinton (somewhat reluctantly, as she'd forgotten to bring printouts of her work and had only a couple from the book to read). The editors of asinine are thinking of adopting Bob's noisy idea, and maybe adding M-80s and cherry bombs. Catty Marlboro says she would add a police siren. That crazy Cat.

Just this Friday

Seriously, any thoughts on this week's poems? I don't ask because I have one up there. I mean, I don't just ask because I have one up there--"The Road I've Taken," a shameless ripoff of Robert Frost, who is actually one of my poetic heroes. There's also a haiku by famous poet Hal Sirowitz. He sent us a bunch in and we'll be parcelling them out like sweet, rare chocolates. New poet Staci Class is in there. She came to the site after a suggestion by Dustin Michael (pictured). Maybe she's from Cape Girardeau too?? The late Jim Tyack is up there again. He's a really fine poet. And we put Bob McNamara up there to give him a plug for his Mind Gorrilla reading. Anyway, any feedback? Any thoughts? Don't worry about laying into my poem. At best I'll learn something about writing. At worst, I'll end my life with a blunderbuss.

The Cafe Is Open for Business

So the editors of asininepoetry.com and I figure we need a place for us, and for asinine poets and fans, too, to come hang out, drop notes, say hi, comment critically or hysterically or nonsensically on the week's poems or podcasts, fight, duel, tango, bitch about the T-shirts, whatever, you know, interact, a place off the site, because for us, while asininepoetry.com is a place of fun and art and worship, we wanted something more on the downlow, more casual, more back alley. See what I'm saying? Anyway, we're hoping to all stop by and make comments, and we hope that poets and fans of the site come by often as well. And we're hoping new people trip across this blog and become asinine fans and poets.

As one of the main editors of the site, I've been assigned to maintain this blog, and I wanted to call it Rick's Cafe Asinine, but maybe I'll save that for when I open up a poetry reading store that happens to serve coffee in the back. People will have to sign up for lattes.