New York is like, so full of poetry, they are puking poetry, and no one cleans the streets, so there is a ton of poetry in the gutters.

It's a dark photo, but I love it, and I have no time to retouch it. It's ugly Jack Morgan and the lovely Connie Coady while she was still healthy. Jack Morgan is never healthy.

Last night, I went to the KGB Bar at which Dorothea Lasky and Bill Rasmovicz read. When Lasky was in Berkeley, I missed her because I was in Macbeth, and I was devastated because I saw her kitchen reading at youtube, and it was awesome in a way that I thought must be super cool in person. And you know what? I was right! I love it when I am right. After the reading, someone asked Dorothea why she reads the way she does, and she said something along the lines that she wants the reading to be devoid of affectation, and she thinks that volume does that. I think I buy that, but nonetheless I love the way she reads regardless of the intended effect.

I wanted to buy a book from Mobile Libris because I think they are extremely wonderful, but I already have Lasky's book.

I had to go to the reading alone because Connie Coady is very sick. We had one good day together and then she got pukey. But, luckily, I have new poetry friends in New York, and Justin Taylor was there. So we went for dinner and drinks afterward at a pub. He bugged out early, and I went to a bar called Dempseys, where I was greeted by an Irish bartender and encountered by a group of young German men, who asked me about roadtripping in America. I liked Dempsey's very much.

Most bartenders in New York like buying me drinks. The bartenders in New York seem to take their profession a bit more seriously. It's a trade, after all, so they should. New York bartenders are much better at their jobs than most Californian bartenders.