One of the librarians I work with told me this morning that he plays tennis with Brigit Pegeen Kelly's sister. That may be as close as I'm going to get to a "brush with fame" this week.
Last night I dreamed my chapbook ms. was one of four finalists in some contest or other. For some reason I picked up my mail in a room full of people, saw the envelope, and knew I had to be by myself when I opened it, so I went into another room. When I saw that I was a finalist I jumped up in the air and said "I knew that was a good manuscript!"
I'm now trying to explain to my dream-self that if I'm going to dream about success I really should make the effort to dream big. Get a book published by Norton and have gorgeous brilliant women -- hell, gorgeous brilliant anybody, it's a dream, I don't have to be picky -- lined up on my doorstep begging for my attention. Or get a nice big cash prize. At least freakin' WIN the chapbook contest! Even my dreams embrace mediocrity these days. Good grief.
Speaking of winning, congratulations to Beverly Burch and Luis Cernuda, winners of Lambda Literary Awards in the lesbian and gay men's poetry departments. (I'm now imagining an old-style department store with an elevator whose operator nasally announces, "Third floor, lesbian poetry and lingerie.") Other winners of note included Alison Smith for her terrific memoir Name All the Animals, which I read a month or two ago, and Alexis de Veaux for her biography of Audre Lorde. Doesn't look like the Foundation has updated its website with winners yet, so if you'd like me to forward you the complete list, backchannel me (ahaines at gmail dot com).
I'm watching tennis. I love watching tennis. The French Open finishes up this weekend, and ESPN2 is currently showing the semifinal match between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. Even I can appreciate the grace and, well, hotness of these two players. The match took place earlier today and I already know Nadal won, but it's lovely to watch them all the same. If I could write a line of poetry with the arc and power of Federer's forehand, I would be a happy woman.