867-5309 is the other Jenny's number.

I'm completely addicted to podcasts.

The List:

1.) Ricky Gervais: It's pointless and perfect. http://www.rickygervais.com/

2.) Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me: It's like NPR for morons. With jokes. http://www.npr.org/programs/waitwait/

3.) The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer: This is what broadcast news is supposed to be. Almost none of the bullshit you see on the networks or CNN, etc., with lots of interesting commentary, debate, etc., If you can't stand to watch the whole hour, do the podcasts. Be informed. Brooks and Shields hold the most civilized and rational conservative vs. liberal debates on TV.
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rss/media/index.html

4.) NOW: This is so excellent it's nearly perfect.
http://www.pbs.org/now/

5.) Scientific American: I got a C in high school chemistry, and I still love this podcast. Just don't make me take a test. http://www.sciam.com/podcast/

The bottom line: Everyone knows FM radio is complete crap, with the exception of NPR/PRI and a few renegade stations not owned by Clear Channel. Anyone not checking out the podcasts is missing out. And you don't have to use an iPod to enjoy them.

Just read my friend Donna's http://madwoman71.blogspot.com/ recent post about Olympic figure skater Johnny Weir. I think his real problem was that he was too willing to reveal his very young, naive, homosexual self to the slimy NBC morons who put together the absurdly melodramatic mini-portrait of him strutting around in gigantic fake Gucci sunglasses and lipgloss. Good natured people just shrugged and thought, "That's cool," and watched him skate, hoping he had a good program and enjoyed himself. Everyone else (homophobes and closet homophobes) rolled their eyes and waited for him to screw up so they could pounce on him for his diva attitude, and call him an uppity fag. The combination of a young, ambitious gay skater with little media experience and a bunch of producers who saw the opportunity to make a one-dimensional character out of yet another athlete devolved into what the pseudo-media does best: Mean-spirited shit slinging and character assasination.

Also: Want to sleep with Bode Miller in major way.

So I had a post-reading party at my place last night. It was excellent. Loads of people, cat food (a gift from Mike), beer, wine, Wal-Mart Ginger Ale, quesadillas, various low quality snack cakes, and one hell of a story about a crack whore. Quite a night. Cheers.
P.S. Check out Colette Inez. She's a wonderful poet and writer; she teaches at Columbia.

http://www.poetrysociety.org/inez.html

It's all full of sugar, ash, and Chinese newspaper.

Nobody's gonna fuck with these two. 

The quesadillas would have been a better choice.

Mei Li and Naa. I wonder which one is sober? 

Matthew's ready for pussy. (Sorry. Couldn't be helped.) 

I'm thinking, "I wish I had a cat to feed this shit to." 

Our Jersey girl approves of Kozy Kitten, too. 

Naa must not have noticed the Oatmeal Creme Pies. 

"It's full of nutrients!"-Lizzie 

Mike bought me the Kozy Kitten. He's always thinking of his friends. 

They're Eleanor's favorite couple. I like them, too. 

Only a poet like Leia could take this job so seriously. 

Alexis questions the Kozy Kitten photo concept. Quite right, too. 

Michelle keeps Kozy Kitten in her cleavage. A natural spot for it, really. 

Kurt should have tried the quesadillas. 

Mei Li and Michelle: the twins. 

No doubt discussing Colette Inez's poetry. 

Lizzie contemplates life as a Rite Aid clerk. 

The MFA'ers share some intense thoughts on the floor couch. 

Kozy Kitten cat food brings Patrick and Larissa closer. 

Rachel and Alexis; soultwins 

It's Arden! 

I pulled a muscle during my second nude modeling venture. No shit. I did a pose where I was looking down at the floor. The first five minutes were OK, but after 15 I wanted to scream. Right after that I did a pose where I twisted my torso while sitting and holding a wooden pole. Not hot. And now I've been popping so many Advil I can't really feel anything happening in my muscles, which is a little disturbing.

During the latest modeling experience I got to wear a bra and also bike shorts, which are INCREDIBLY unflattering and maybe worse than being nekkid, but still. My [insert appropriate slang term here] was covered. And let's face it, keeping one's "equipment" safely wrapped in clothing is a major part of everyday life. Once it's out there all bets are off. You just don't know what's gonna happen.

One of my friends was in the class. It was like:

Larissa: Hi, how are you?
Me (naked) :I'm good, I'm good. Just standing here naked.
Larissa: Yeah.
Me: Um.
Larissa: Are you cold?

[minutes later]

Larissa: Still doing OK?
Me: Yep. Still naked.
Larissa: I keep trying to get Patrick to model. But clothed, not nude.
Me: Right, 'cause that would be awkward.
Larissa: Yeah.

New concern in life: Size, color and general shape of my own breasts, which now seem extremely odd and alien.

I done the nude modeling. I didn't like it much, but mostly because standing or sitting in one position for longer than about 25 seconds is a completely unnatural feat for the human body. And twenty or thirty minutes---forget about it. It's like torture. Oh yeah, and you're nekkid.

Here are some new pictures. (So much easier to load up a bunch of pictures than to write stuff.) One is from a party at my Hollins friend Mei Li's Chinese New Year party. The rest are from from New Year's Eve in Omaha, and Carrie and Laura's visit to Kansas City.

Just had tea for dinner. I actually made little sandwiches (with the crusts cut off) with cream cheese and baby greens on white bread, and I had an english muffin and two little ginger cookies. Tea = good. The best tea I've had was in Vancouver. There were those little fruit tartlets and loads of doilies and Devon cream, which is deadly but completely fabulous.

Download the Ricky Gervais podcast off iTunes if you haven't already. Half the fun is listening to Ricky laugh. I lurrv Karl's Manchester accent. It's the English version of the Bronx blue collar accent where you add a syllable and an "r" to the end of every word that ends in a vowel. Example: Angela is pronounced "Angeler" Love it.

Had dinner with friends from Hollins last night (including the lovely Donna featured in the beer bottle picture below). Eleanor brought her buddy Gene from New York along. I love the bizarre regional mixing that goes on with my Hollins friends. We represented: Houston, TX, Fairfax, VA, Olathe, KS/Omaha,NE, Albuquerque, NM/Northwestern Indiana, Manhattan, and Lakewood, NJ. We're like a weird focus group that causes a ruckus wherever we go. Our waiter told us he goes to church at a movie theatre. I wonder if they get to eat donuts and coffee during the service like at the theatre/church I saw commercials for in Omaha. Seriously, can we please stop eating for an hour? I like eating, too much in fact, but donuts in church?

Also: Went into Walmart today. Was much like "Apocalypse Now," but slightly less pleasant. Ended up ditching my stuff and leaving empty handed. Fuck Walmart.

Should start writing...now...but "Bleak House" is on in an hour! It's so good. Gillian Anderson from "X-Files" is in it, and she's fabulous. She's so beautiful. I want her bone structure. God bless PBS.

Hollins MFA friends Patrick and Donna pioneer an innovative new way to open beer bottles. The crotch method!

Rules to live by. 

Laura prepares for a New Year's binge. 

As usual, Carrie looks beautiful without any effort whatsoever. 

Latte Land. Now with 4 locations serving the Greater Kansas City Area. 

Shiny Happy Married People with Cheap Reddish Champagne. 

We looked so nice for about 10 minutes. 

It's Paul! 

Carrie was her usual demure self. 

Celebrating their second New Year's Eve together. Awwww. 

Laura's shrimp were brutally tortured before they were served to her. Mmmm. Abused Shrimp. 

Lynn, Carrie, and Laura prepare to enjoy our extra swanky New Year's Eve dinner in Omaha.