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Dec. 19th, 2008


Whoah!Totally #4 is up!

Today's Whoa!Totally... is Star Wars Yoga! Come see what all the fuss is about.

Dec. 18th, 2008


Whoah!Totally #3 is up!

Today's Whoa!Totally is Hacker Pschorr Weisse! Come see what all the fuss is about.

Dec. 17th, 2008


New Website + Whoa!Totally #2 is up!

I have a brand spanking new website! Same address (www.karynamcglynn.com), but totally revamped site with lots of cool new stuff on it. There are still some tweaks to be made, but let me know what you think!

Also, there's a new Whoa!Totally up. Today's Whoa!Totally is Calvin Harris' "Acceptable in the 80's" and is not to be missed. I promise not to redirect to my new blog indefinitely...just until people get the gist and begin to comment or subscribe.

(aside to Chris: how do I include a link to the rss feed like you did in my comments?)

Dec. 16th, 2008

"Whoa! Totally..."

Please check out/subscribe to my new blogging project, "Whoa! Totally...," in which I try to overcome my chronic negativity by blogging about ONE TOTALLY AWESOME THING EVERY DAY, be it mundane or profound, personal or universal. Today's Whoa!Totally is Captain Benny's, an oyster boat restaurant parked on the I-35 access road. I invite fellow contrarians to come join me in doing the unthinkable: celebrating all things rad!

Dec. 1st, 2008


(no subject)

Christian Peet, the editor of Tarpaulin Sky Press, does a video review of Alabama Steve while chopping wood in Vermont!

Sep. 19th, 2008

I forgot latte could be this good. **updated**

I forgot that anyone even cares enough (or can make good enough crema) nowadays to bother decorating lattes with lattice/lace/fern patterns. I forgot that flying into Seattle always feels like coming home no matter where I actually live.I forgot that when the plane finally breaks through the endless black mist Seattle appears like a mirage of green and yellow light below me winking 'hello! hello! we've missed you!' and looks like a magical city floating in the mountains/clouds/sea that only exists when you arrive...and you can can never quite find the right comparison to describe it: some sort of Oz, Hobbiton,  emerald isle fluttering with les fees vertes in hardboiled noir get-ups...? It's the closest you can get to being in Europe and still be in the United States.

I can't help but wish I'd been able to move back here instead of to Austin. I wish I didn't feel this way but I walked out the door this morning in a turtleneck and wool pants (!) the trees thrilling outwardly, the fine cool mist on my face, the earthy green salt smell, the brownstones along the hills, the ferns and vines and roasting coffee smells. 

I haven't written or edited a poem in over a month (the whole time I've been back in Austin) which is severely stagnant for me, but I'd only been back in Seattle five minutes when I was flooded with the desire to write. Also, inexplicably, I feel like a kinder person; my face is relaxed, my headache is gone and I feel like I can breathe. I don't really understand. I'm trying to convince myself that it's all mental because I love Austin. I really do. And that's the psychic place where most of my poetry comes from. Maybe I just needed a vacation?

Lots of good e-mail this morning. jeremyrichards (who's, hilariously enough, in Disneyland with Christabell right now) just sent me the link to an interview he did with me and Ragan Fox (ragan ) which is up on the Poetry Foundation website. It's been forthcoming for sooooo long I'd almost completely forgotten about it, and when I got Jeremy's e-mail my tummy plunged; I was really afraid to look at it. But, actually, it's pretty good! Apart from a couple of questionable word choices on my part and an always-already out of date bio (and a punny title, which people are utterly incapable of foregoing when it comes to slam), I think it's really pretty good and I enjoyed reading it. Joy!

Much more to tell but I have to leave this Vampire Weekend-infused coffee paradise to meet glaucon for wedding-gift-buying and chrisanthos  for wedding-pants-buying...


**UPDATE 30 minutes later in which I try to attach significance and universal design to my face's chance encounter with a poorly designed door**

So, after typing the word "Seattle!" and hitting "post entry," I shoved my laptop in my bag, grabbed my purse, put my dishes in the dish-tub, and opened the door to leave...the door which proceeded to punch me in the face with all its solid oaken force. I actually don't know what happened--whether I walked into the door, or it swung at my nose--but, either way, I don't think I've ever been hit so hard in the face in all my life. I lost vision. I lost all thought. I don't know how long I was standing in the doorway reeling alone in some white-hot nowhere, but when vision and pain poured back into me like gunpowder, all I knew was that everyone was staring at me and that it felt like an anvil had been dropped on my face and that I was about to cry and needed to get away. I didn't even know where I was or what had happened. As I walked back to Chris and Sharon's with my hand cupped over my face, all the details began to drop into place like metal fillings and I became convinced that the universe had essentially punched me in the face but I wasn't sure why. Because I was deliriously happy for a moment? Because I keep attributing Austin to my poetic laziness? Because I'm deluding myself about Seattle's transformative powers and the universe wants me to know it and not ever move back?

In any case, I don't know whether the experience woke up my senses or I'm just having olfactory hallucinations but everything smells like something else that sets off a chain of associations and keeps confusing me. For example, a moment ago I thought I was in my grandparents house because of the way it smelled. I thought my gradmother--who's dead now--was standing right behind me.

Sep. 14th, 2008


OMG! Dead Foster Wallace!

Ok, wait...what? David Foster Wallace hanged himself?! That's utterly appalling and not at all the water-logged disaster I expected to find newsworthy today. I don't usually get too bent out of shape over celebrity deaths, but this one kind of punched me in the gut. I've always felt a strong connection to DFW and he he's one of my favorite writers to teach. In fact, I just, just taught his essay "Shipping Out" from A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again do a bunch of UT journalism majors as a way to discuss observational writing for podcasts, and he's responsible for liberating dozens of my students from the tortuous shackles of the ubiquitous five-paragraph essay--for demonstrating how writing can be simultaneously true and fanciful, outwardly-focused yet entirely self-involved. David Foster Wallace taught me how to use footnotes, parenthetical thought, and dramatic enjambment in diction to great comic effect.

I even have a stuffed Wallaby named Wallace who lives in Seattle.

Here are two of my favorite Wallace-related artifacts: his extraordinary commencement speech at Kenyon College and the Onion article entitled Girlfriend Stops Reading David Foster Wallace Breakup Letter at Page 20.

And THIS is my favorite DFW anecdote. Back in 2002 or 2003 I was up late one night on one of those free phone chat lines that Seattle seems to abound with. This was something Chris and I got briefly addicted to because you could end up talking to some really fascinatingly bizarre people, but more often than not it was just a barrage of offensive messages from bored kids, or the dregs of humanity looking for quick sex and drug hook-ups.  On the night in question I was experiencing purely the latter. There was one guy who kept sending me message after message asking me questions I had no intention of answering: "Do you shave your pussy?" "Do you dye your pussy hair?" "Do you have puffy nipples?" "Are your nipples pink or brown?" "Do you have real big tits?" etc. I finally got so tired of him that I messaged him back and said "Do you have any questions that DON'T involve my secondary sexual characteristics?" thinking that would encourage him to direct his questions elsewhere, but, to my surprise, I immediately got another message from him saying "Yes, why are David Foster Wallace's books so goddamn long?"

Needless to say, the abrupt shift in subject and tone tickled and intrigued me immensely and I sent him a chat invitation. He declined it! So I sent him a message asking why he declined my chat  and he sent me back message saying "look, I'm an MFA student in creative writing at UW, okay? And I'm sure we'd hit it off famously in real life, but I'm on here looking for phone-sex, ok? Not a prosody debate."

I was pissed. I totally wanted a prosody debate. I went to bed frustrated.

RIP, DFW...the man who sent me into an hour long tirade about my right to adjectivize Infinite Jest by describing something as Infinite Jestitudinal (see the introduction to Alabama Steve).

Aug. 30th, 2008


From the desk of the world's worst promoter...


A) you live in Austin
B) you are checking lj on a Saturday evening
C) you have nothing else to do

please come to the back patio of Headhunter's on Red River tonight where Adam will be performing a set around 9-ish.

Whoever you are, I'm sure we'd be delighted to see you!

Aug. 8th, 2008


In case you're wondering...

If you're curious what I've been doing for the past 2 weeks, Adam has written the tome of all LJ entries on our various misadventures of late that I've nicknamed "Chapter 12: I Am Born."

Want to know about our car covered in bees? Want to see photos of unconscious Adam getting vacuumed? Want to hear "DAAAAALE!"? Want to see pornographic pix of a Cincinnati HoJo? Want to hear our controversial thoughts on the Dark Knight? See our new favorite bar in Austin? How about seeing Sviddy asleep in a cornucopia of stuffed animals? Then run (don't walk) over to Adam's journal NOW NOW NOW!

Aug. 2nd, 2008


(no subject)

We're a little tired and displaced out here in suburbia with my parents, but If anybody in Austin would like to hang out with Adam and I tonight or tomorrow (something low-key: pints & darts? Movie?) let me know! 

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