 Erin Belieu: 02.13.06-02.17.0602.17.06 This is a glorious red-letter day because JUDE DRANK OUT OF A JUICE BOX USING A STRAW!!!! The context for this is that he has a major speech difficulty due to a birth injury—it left him unable to move his mouth and tongue properly. Forming words and chewing and swallowing have been his major battle for years. Especially rounding his lips (just try talking sometime without being able to pucker up—it ain’t easy). But he works with a wonderful speech therapist several times a week and today, after practicing so hard at it for such a long time, he was able to finally do it—drink through a straw! Wow! I burst into tears I was so happy and we all cheered and jumped about. Jude is deeply pleased with himself and has been doing a Mick Jagger strut all over the kitchen, like, “That’s right. I’m bad, ladies. Check me out!” He’s definitely a Rock-God in training. Life is sweet. Speaking of rock gods, Josh Bell just sent me a really funny poem spoken in the voice of Motley Crue’s Vince Neil. It’s funny, but it’s also really smart and strange. How does he do that? The last several times I’ve taught the grad workshop, I’ve brought in Josh’s “Epithalamion Ex Post-Facto” (from his book No Planets Strike) on the first day to show the student’s what they have to reach for, as far as the best of the younger poets goes. I find it sets the bar nice and high. His poem reminded me of this poem I’ve had clunking around in the back of my head for a while—ever since seeing Aerosmith in concert two years back. I can’t help it—I love those guys—the homoerotic pimp drag, the guitar-as-phallus shtick. At the end of the concert four huge canons rose up from the corners of the stadium and shot white streamers and confetti all over the crowd—such a brilliant lack of metaphorical subtlety—it was awesome!—the first album I ever owned was Aerosmith's Rocks. My Grandpa Wes took me into a music store when I was maybe 7 and asked them for the loudest album they had. That’s what they gave us. So we took it home and put it on my little record player—the kind where the turntable starts spinning when you open the top—and cranked it up! Then my mother came in and threatened to pitch it out a window so we went out and danced in the garage— I miss all that late 70s sex and excess in rock-n-roll (well, miss it in the way someone does if they were a kid when all the adults were having all that thoughtless pre-AIDS pre-family therapy fun)—I dig Wilco and Morcheeba and OutKast etc., but I grow nostalgic for the big, nasty stadium concerts of ye olden days. And doesn’t everything you write have a secret soundtrack behind it?—my forthcoming book was channeled through Aimee Mann’s “Bachelor #2” and the re-mastered reissue of AC/DC’s “Back In Black.” I was trying to write a book that would make you weep and bang your head simultaneously— So I’ve ended up enjoying this more than I thought I would—maybe keeping a journal isn’t so bad if you imagine talking to a good friend—and those of you who’ve sent me emails responding to things, that’s been awfully nice of you—I love to get email other than work stuff and sketchy stock tips—but I encourage you to post your comments here—maybe we could all get a real conversation going. I hope so— I’ve been checking out other blogs this week—trying to get a handle on the genre—it’s come to my attention that poet’s and poetry lovers are a pretty irritated bunch—I’m not saying people don’t have a right to be—but I’ve decided not to read them anymore before I’ve had a cup of coffee and a chance to shore up my attitude for the day— I’ve also been amazed at the large number of poetry “crush lists” floating around out there—long, vehemently argued threads on poets and their relative “hotness” (turns out that Olena K. Davis and Cate Marvin rule the top of most charts—at least the poetry ether world has good taste it seems). Strangely, though, every one of these lists is dedicated to women only—okay, maybe that’s not so strange, given the culture at large—but I want to encourage somebody out there to put together one for male poets—that seems fair, yes? If this is a burning topic for the poetry world, then what’s good for the goose, etc —I’ll add that while my evidence is anecdotal, I think Nick Flynn has a lock on the men’s title (and I’m looking forward to seeing Nick in the tiara…) I’ve spent the morning trying to finish up a poem—I can’t say it’s going very well. For me, writing a poem is like being in a sci-fi movie where I’m the disposable ensign trying to get into the secret chamber and I have to figure out the alien runes carved into the wall to get the thing open before the green gas asphyxiates me. If I can just figure out where the door is, then I have a chance. I’ve been pumping myself up by reading Tsvetayava’s Collected and Allison Jenks’ work (wonderful poet—you should google her—the poems from Palace Of Bone and the The Lord Is Easy To Please are so weird and intense and spare)— It’s been hard to concentrate knowing that (as usual) I have x number of minutes before I have to go get Jude. I’ve been thinking maybe I should apply to one of those colonies where you get to disappear for a couple of weeks. I’ve never wanted to do that before—the idea of enforced isolation wigs me out—and friends tell me that they have a lot of rules at those places—can’t make noise between this and that hour—can’t go into certain “spaces” at certain times of the day—as a person who spent a LOT of time in the principal’s office as a kid, this also wigs me out. I assume I’m going to get in trouble. To this day, when someone says, “I need to talk to you” my first impulse is to shout, “I didn’t do it!” and run as fast as I can. I’m not a woman who knew she wanted to have children (Jude was a surprise), but I wouldn’t trade the experience of being his mom for anything. I almost wrote “of course,” but I get the sad feeling that this isn’t true for everyone. That must be a terrible discovery after the fact. But Jude’s the most joyful, funny person I’ve ever known and I would easily step in front of a bus for him. Having said that, I think I know why Emily Dickinson pretended to be ill and stayed upstairs in her jammies all day. Being a full-time mother-professor-writer (whose job is at some level tied to “producing” poems)—it can be a little discouraging. But, as one of my old boyfriends mom’s used to say (and she was a tough lady from the Missouri Ozarks) “it’s a good life if you don’t give in.” That’s got to be my mantra. Still, it’d be great if they started a colony where you could just space off all day for a week without the anxiety of having to produce something—I’d definitely apply for that— CommentsErin, I’ve spent the past twenty years being a mom and teaching and writing one thing or another, and I have to say that all this time I haven’t found any real solutions to the problem of doing all of this at once except to get annoyed by the way the world out there categorizes poets in terms of their hot-ness. I don’t mean that women don’t do this also—I was telling my class today that we all used to have crushes on Galway Kinnell—but to me it is a form of sexism to talk about women poets in this manner, for here again they become the muse, which isn’t the same thing as being the poet. I’ve heard very well-respected men poets talk about female poets in terms of the way their jeans hang on them, but they would never speak of another man this way. Instead they would praise his diction or his metaphors. They would say, now X, X can write! So, to be considered hot is to be dismissed. It's a form of being ignored--of being viewed rather than heard. And that's fucked-up. That's so true about the poet crushlists being all centered around women. It does seem to say something about the culture at large--and not just, as my friend said, proof that men are the more dedicated stalkers--and poetry at large too: where women are lauded dismissively for their looks, as if their looks are some sort of stylistic kicker for the poems themselves. Since when is a poet's appearance or 'hotness' relevant to their work? If i wanted to occupy myself with superficiality, i'd start brushing my hair for three hours a day and buying gossip magazines that talk about who's wearing what, and who's 'hot or not'. This is poetry, writing, not teen culture and mentality. Fuckin' hell, it gets everywhere. It turns out that the distributors actually liked the vintage porn cover I was fussing about. Go figure. I guess art and democracy are safe for one more day (I’m resisting the urge to make a Dick Cheney joke here)— But now I’m wondering if I really want that to be the image for the book. I’ve started imagining my parents in their gated Florida retirement community leaving it on the coffee table or sending it to my cousins out in the Nebraska panhandle— (The “community” my parents live in looks exactly like the movie set for Edward Scissorhands)— I’m being stupid—my family hasn’t considered disowning me that I know of—and yet, after all this time, it’s funny that it bothers me. I’ve talked to a lot of students about this—they worry that they shouldn’t write or publish something because of what their family will think. My editor at AGNI, Askold Melnyczuk, told me when I was fretting about such things—back when my first book was about to be published—that he thought that most parents were so invested in keeping their bragging rights that they’d overlook almost anything not to lose them—that you could call your book My Father’s A Psychopathic Pedophile and they’d still go to great lengths to find a way to make it okay for themselves. I think that’s probably true for most people—but I have seen a few, sad cases where families were brutal to writers once their books came out. That breaks my heart. But I think more often people with families like that already know what’s coming and end up censoring themselves accordingly. That bothers me more. It must feel awful and exhausting to have those handcuffs on every time you sit down to write. Isn’t half of writing any poem about giving yourself the permission to do so, no matter where it takes you? Dedications are complicated, too. I usually get in trouble when I dedicate a poem to someone—my brother Dennis was cranky about the poem addressed to him in my last book. But when I offered to have it taken out if it went into a second print run, his response was “Oh no! Don’t do that!”— So there you go. I suppose most people would rather be mentioned than not, but then feel understandably exposed or caught off guard by the poems they inspire? I know I’ve never written anything purposefully mean or embarrassing about anyone—but sometimes it’s easy to confuse what feels true with what’s mean, isn’t it? Doesn’t Tony Hoagland have an essay about this—something about the power of necessary “meanness”? I have a good cautionary tale about the perils of dedication—I wrote something for my friend Don Lee—I told him that I’d written him a poem and he was very pleased—but when he saw the poem, he was amused but also slightly offended (it’s a poem called “The Possible Husband” and it’s about a man who is literally haunted by his ex-girlfriends)—I really did intend it to be a loving poem for a good friend— Then a year or so later his collection of short stories, Yellow, comes out from Norton. There’s a story in it called—that’s right—“The Possible Husband”—which is a great story—actually the whole book is terrific—and in it, the main character has a girlfriend named “Ariel Belieu” who is the most annoying, absurd, self-deceived, therapeutically-correct, Plath wannabe version of myself I can imagine! The caricature is dead on and, man, did he rip a strip off of me. But the story and the character are wonderful. And if you can’t laugh easily at yourself—well, that’s a good sign that you’re a hopeless jerk—Don’s was a perfect and very witty response— He ended up getting extra mileage out of his “vengeance” when “The Possible Husband” was chosen that year for the O’Henry Prize anthology—he got the chance to make fun of me AGAIN in the author’s notes where they ask the writers what “inspired” their pieces. I still get emails every 6 months or so from students who are studying his work and want to know if I personally will mail them a copy of the poem for the paper they’re writing—ah, yes, be careful when you dedicate a poem, especially to a fiction writer … Off to pre-school to pick up Jude—I have to get there in time to see what the classroom teachers called his “presentation” on his family pet. I’m envisioning our junkyard lab Rosalita up on a Power Point screen … CommentsLaurie, Thanks for the compliment--I guess I think more public conversation about this--more men commenting on their experience of having been raised with certain biases and how they try to deal with that--might result in more people really considering the idea of difference and how it shapes their notion of what makes a poem good or not good... Forgive me if this is quick and dirty—I’m speed typing since I have to teach soon and I haven’t even gotten into the shower yet— So I was kind of surprised that this month’s issue of Poetry had no letters regarding the previous month’s essay on women in poetry—not one that I saw— It was an interesting essay—an email exchange between three different women writers/editors talking about a variety of different subjects concerning the present feminist state of the poetic union, as it were—a very smart, elegant discussion— I know Jill Rosser and Eleanor Wilner and admire both their poetry and them quite a bit (actually, Eleanor’s who I’ve always wanted to be when I grow up)—you couldn’t ask for two more eloquent women to join such a conversation—still I had a few problems with the essay—first, why is it that men are rarely if ever included in such discussions? This always seems curious to me, as we wouldn’t need a feminist movement if we weren’t responding to something and someone, right? What’s the point of women always sitting around just discussing this with each other? I do applaud Christian Wiman for soliciting such an essay, but it would’ve been a lot better to get a number of male poets and editors on record about the issues being discussed. I mean it’s not like feminism exists because women are going around discriminating against other women (which we do sometimes, but that’s not the primary issue—and yes, if we lived on some planet only populated by women there’d be different forms of discrimination, ala Dr. Suess’s Sneetches scenario—no doubt the ones with stars and the ones with “no stars upon thars” would get into a rumble quickly enough—human beings have the wonderful capacity to act badly in so many situations—we’re a very adaptable animal)— My other problem was with Jill’s point that the only response to the inequities in women’s publication rates and much lesser likelihood to receive significant forms of recognition during their careers is for women poets to write “undeniably good” poems (I think I’m quoting, but I might be slightly paraphrasing here because I gave my copy of that issue to a colleague who teaches feminist theory to discuss with her classes). My question is when has being “good” ever gotten any group being discriminated against those things they have a right to? The Civil Rights movement? The Gay/Lesbian movement? I don’t think so. It’s a noble approach, but haven’t people within those communities always been under the grinding and impossible pressure to be “gooder” than their white/straight counterparts? Isn’t that expectation just another expression of discrimination? And haven’t we (writers who are women) already been good for a good long time now? This isn’t me whining because I’m trying to smuggle more cookies for myself out of the cookie jar—my number of cookies suits me fine—I’m lucky enough to have a meaningful job and a supportive press that believes in my work—I make enough money to take care of my kid, which is a huge blessing compared to what a lot of others have—I don’t have any personal complaints about my lot—I’ll be fine if I never win another prize again—and I’m not saying they’re not nice to have—it’s felt great when I’ve gotten the extra bump to pay for Jude’s speech pathology appointments or buy a new dress once in awhile—but it’s not why I do this—really, if you want money and/or fame, why on earth would you devote your life to poetry?—there are a thousand better ways to get the goodies than by writing poems— It’s that if I don’t say what I believe is true and right and important, how do I teach Jude to do so? There’s nothing like having a kid to reflect back at you the quality of your life and actions … talk about oppressive— As Audre Lord said, “Your silence will not protect you …” There ends the outburst from your friendly neighborhood Libra. We always think the world is going to be “fair” someday… CommentsHello Erin Belieu. I wanted to say I like your work a lot and I agree with you about women writers having been good a long time now, and I like how you said we need to get male poets and editors on record about feminism, and I wondered how you saw that helping? I agree totally but I wanted to hear your thoughts. My friend (and reputed expert) Jeremy Countryman says, "It would lend the issue legitimacy and make it part of the discourse." I think I agree, but I would like to add that to imply that men "lend [issues] legitimacy" is not accurate. It is important for men to be part of the discourse, but it is more important that the people who are in charge (THOSE people, be they men, women, or Martians) agree that the discourse is necessary and important. I'm not entirely sure that there's an easy way to impress the importance of this issue upon them. What do you think? Every time I hear the word “blog,” that song from Ren and Stimpy goes through my head— It’s blah-og, blah-og, it’s big, it’s heavy, it’s wood! it’s blah-og, blah-og—it’s better than bad, it’s GOOD! I’ve never kept a journal or diary—just lines written on scraps—but not anything like a “Dear Reader, Dear Self” hard copy with a little gold lock-- Oh. Actually, I did have one like that once—a present for my 11th (?) birthday from Sheryl Hanson who lived next door—she was the girl who made her mom embroider pink pointe shoes on everything she owned— It seems I made an effort to write in it--the diary—for a while. Found it in a box a couple of years ago and nearly vomited at the contents (I remember the first couple of pages were an analysis of trying to impress a boy on a 6th grade field trip. My lack of game was astonishing)— not to say that I’m against the idea of journals or those who keep them. I just spend so much time trying not to be a self-conscious, self-absorbed ass in my daily life and this works against those efforts. Which is again not to say that most EVERYONE who keeps a journal is an ass. But some of us have tendencies that need policing. This feels a little like giving a truck load of psuedophedrine to a budding meth head— I’ve noticed that some people here use initials when talking about others—definitely the classier move—but then, don’t you wonder if you can figure out who the initials are and end up focusing on that?—like it’s a secret code you feel compelled to crack on the acknowledgements page? I’m going to name names because 1) it feels less artificial to do so, at least for me, and 2) who doesn’t like a shout out when they’re Googling themselves? And 3) if a poet’s name drops in the forest, does it even make a sound? I have a new book coming and have spent the last few weeks (when not making peanut butter sandwiches for my 5 year old Jude or teaching my classes) working with my press on the cover—they’re great about allowing the author input—so now I’m trying to find an image. My friend Adam who does graphic design was kind enough to put together some mock-ups for the press to look at. The book’s called Black Box—as in airplanes, but feel free to fill in your own smutty joke here—and Adam came up with this great image he got from some archival erotica site—it’s a picture of a woman circa turn of the 19th century—she’s naked except for the black veil over her face, sitting on a chair facing the camera with her legs spread. The thing that makes the image arresting is what you can see of her face. She’s not a pretty woman—very ordinary, a little lumpy—but her expression is a fierce mixture of grief and contempt—a mind at war with the object of the body— We knew we couldn’t get away with using the image straight up, so Adam worked on blurring the naughty bits—now her body is more of a suggestion than a fact. We showed it to the press and they liked it—they got why it would be a good image for this book and will go for it if I want to—but even in its blurred state, they weren’t exactly sure what the distributors and booksellers might make of it— a conundrum—I mean it wouldn’t be the worst thing if it wasn’t buried alive in the stacks—but still, I can’t believe the climate we’re living in anymore. Increasingly, I realize what a hothouse I’ve built for myself (and even here, in an area that constitutes the last book in the South’s Bible-Belt, I live in a blue county). So political realities compete with what feels right for the book—is this a case where I need to muster some courage for my convictions? Conversely, should I really be sweating a cover this hard? Isn’t it the poems that matter most? Okay, Jude is demanding dinner. See you tomorrow ... CommentsHey, you mentioned above that you liked the possible cover image of your new book because the woman's expression reveals "a mind at war with the object of the body," and I like that idea--which is of course why I picked it out here--and I tend to think that that's what a lot of poetry is about, very generally of course, you know, transcending the quintessence of dust and all that, pure voice by necessity grounded in a failing little contraption, etc. Would you say the new book goes up against that split, either in the voice or the themes or whichever? I'd like to say that I remember where I was sitting (noisy Borders Cafe, complete with grinding cappucino maker)when I first read a handful of Belieu's Black Box poems. New to Florida, I'd ended up, to my surprise, in the same program at FSU where Belieu teaches, and now at this cafe I found myself swapping poems with her. I was a fan from her first book, and had decided to hand over a batch that was pretty safe, but not Belieu. Her poems were dark, twisted, disturbed and disturbing -- like being hit by a stun-gun again and again. I'd never seen anything like these poems. I was pretty sure that this was the work of a frightening genius. I'm bracing for this collection. I can't wait for the book to be out so that I can read it in full and talk to others about what happens on those pages. Damn -- what happens on those pages! Here's the deal, I'm not sure who writes the biographies on this thing (surely not the writers themselves), but I think that to say Erin Belieu writes "personal, domestic histories" is wildly demeaning. Is there a single male poet to whom the Poetry Foundation would apply the term "domestic?" Would they term a black poet's work "urban?" Or a homosexual poet's work "flamboyant?" All of these terms unfairly simplify and categorize poetry. The Poetry Foundation should be ashamed to call Belieu's work "domestic." Also, I think Josh Bell's comment concerning the goal of poetry to be "pure voice... in a failing little contraption" is an interesting topic. Especially how it related to the cover of Belieu's book. I would love to hear more. Hey you guys, Nice of you to post in. Yeah, Josh, I hadn't really thought about it that way, but the poems in the new book, especially from the "In The Red Dress I Wear To Your Funeral" sequence play with the notion of a disembodied speaker who keeps changing roles--she's a sibyl in one part, a ghost in others; the poems are spoken by a character I always imagined was dead though, her body doesn't know it--wow! This must be your influence! I never realized until this second that the Black Box speaker is a ZOMBIE! Maybe we should start The Zombie School Of Poetics? Tom: Like it or not, the cult of the domestic American woman will color the way we read ... everything for a long time to come. It has its roots in the 19th century “Angel in the House” doctrine, or the 1950s images of the sacred mother. And everything that came before, too. We read women writers through the lens of our own culture, and this is the culture they made for us. I think it's pretty interesting actually, that poems like Erin's are read as domestic- it reveals much about the disintegrating American “family”- to extend Josh's idea above, the soul (intact) is at war with (or for?) the body (which is crumbling). Can it be a political choice to read Black Box as a domestic history? Okay Allison, I totally understand the tradition from which the epithet 'domestic' comes. But I think that my interpretation tends to be less fatalistic than yours. I think that the decision to classify Belieu's work as 'domestic' was more out of laziness than any attempt to fairly characterize her work. And I think that they could just as easily come up with something more substantial or important to say about her work if they put a tiny bit more thought into it. How about 'violent' or 'intense' or 'powerful.' Anything that doesn't place it into the confining tradition of 'women's poetry.' I also think that the statement that the ocean is 'something that all poets are supposed to love' is apropos of absolutely nothing and is downright (I'll say it) stupid. Tom |
 Erin Belieu is the author of three poetry collections, all from Copper Canyon Press—Infanta, which was chosen by Hayden Carruth for the National Poetry Series in 1995, One Above & One Below (2001), and coming in fall, 2006, Black Box. Her work has appeared in many anthologies and magazines, including The Best American Poetry, the New York Times, the Atlantic Monthly and poems from the new book have appeared recently in Virginia Quarterly Review and Tin House. Belieu is also the co-editor of The Extraordinary Tide: New Poetry By American Women (Columbia University press, 2001). Born and raised in the great state of Nebraska, Belieu now lives in Tallahassee, Florida where she raises her son, Jude, and teaches in the Graduate Writing Program at Florida State University. |
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Comments
Hey Erin thanks for the nice words about the poems. Rock and roll forever. But I also wanted to ask about the soundtrack thing in your last post, because I so definitely believe in the soundtrack thing, and when I first ran across One Above and One Below (I was living in Virginia I think at the time) I remember being really jealous of the Courtney Love reference (or I thought it was a Courtney Love reference, which it did turn out to be) in the title, because I wanted to do it too, and because I was listening a lot to that album and it was really helping me to get in the mindset I needed to get into, as your poems also did, subsequently. But songs are a tricky influence for a lot of writers, a bad influence on a lot of writers I think, and in workshops the question always comes up: "do you think song lyrics qualify as poetry," and I absolutely don't think they do. And I think my students are always disappointed to hear that, but I also tend to think that most poems would make really inefficient song lyrics, and i guess I wondered what you or anyone had to say about any of that, etc, and plus you know I don't do the dishes: I just throw them in the crib.
Posted by: Josh Bell | February 17, 2006 03:24 PM
josh--I've had too much wine to capitalize efficiently--yes, I think lyrics is lyrics and poems is poems and I think having actual music to sell the language makes all the difference--what is AC/DC without Angus cranking out his filhy little beats? Lyrics aren't less, they're just part of a larger whole, while the poem IS the whole. Poems have to sell it without the bells and whistles--literally. I call this The Great Lesson of Jeff Tweedy--and, God, his book taught us the hard way. I'm thrilled to have scooped you on the Hole thang as it will no doubt be the only time that ever happens. xox
Posted by: erin belieu | February 17, 2006 08:07 PM
If lyrics aren't the same as poems, what's a lyric poet then? I only ask because people have been telling me I write like one, and if that's something to which I should be taking offense, I really feel I ought to know.
Posted by: Andrew Brogdon | February 17, 2006 10:59 PM
Andrew, no sorry about that. I think we're just making a tiny distinction, and if you're writing like a lyric poet it's a rare thing and not a bad thing at all. Though we're saying there's a huge difference, it's true that lyrics are more like poetry than either are like journalism, for example. Now but if you take journalism, and you write it like poetry, then it sounds much more like carnival music than religious pamphlets do. And that's where you get into trouble.
Posted by: Josh Bell | February 18, 2006 12:53 PM
Hail super kids, captain Armageddon checking in, Kudos on the blog!
As far as song lyrics and poetry go, me thinks they are about as compatible as Courtney Love and Hugh Grant- an interesting possibility but would most likely end up in some drug induced coma after the component dwarf unicyclists, bullets with your name on it and champagne supernovas... in the sky no less.
That being said, what music can help students do is make interesting juxtapositions in their writing they may not normally venture to make. A favorite assignment I give to my undergrads is to make a mix tape (by referring to CD's as tapes I give something of my age away) and having them write a poem that utilizes several lyrics from various genres of music. Of course this is exercise, but in revision they might have a chance to make something for their own. Certainly something more signifigant then- why did you leave me blah blah blah.
As far as AC/DC goes well, world true story- The first night I met Erin we were in a classy little joint called Leon Pub. She had an AC/DC shirt that showed just the tiniest hint of midriff and pinstripe pants. I was newly arrived and figured I'd introduce myself to the ladies and asked her, "So are you a graduate student, too?"
"No, I'll be your professor though."
I've never been more embarrassed or pleased with myself. Rock and roll!
Posted by: Eric Lee | February 19, 2006 11:29 AM
'...as compatible as Courtney Love and Hugh Grant'
Do i smell Hollywood . . .?
Posted by: Kevin Doran | March 17, 2006 08:01 PM
I'm doing a report on you, and it is due Monday
I've only just started, and it is Sunday
How will I ever venture to complete
An approval on an eight-page sheet
Posted by: Jason Vonmolt | April 16, 2006 04:11 PM