Rest in peace Peaches Marie
2005-2010
Peaches had a stroke on Thursday and passed on Friday in the early morning. She missed her sister/life partner Angie very much– ever since Angie passed in May.
They are together now in that great pigloo in the sky, sharing some watermelon or perhaps a baby carrot.
We will miss our girls.
In case any of you were wondering about the process of guinea pig grief, let it be known: a piggie will not be so easily fooled into thinking that a $7 stuffed animal is her companion of half a decade.
Nonetheless, after a rocky few weeks, Peaches appears to be emerging triumphant on the other side of Elizabeth Kubler Ross’s five stages and is once again titillated by timothy hay, a ripe plum, a bag of organic spring mix.
We are stronger than we know.
Rest in Peace Angie.
2005-2010
I swore I wouldn’t be the kind of writer who uses her children for material, but today I am rejecting my own value-system to announce the marriage of my two daughters: Peaches and Angie. Yes, they’re sisters but they’re also…lovers. Want to make something of it?
A little more about the bride and groom:
Name: Peaches
Confirmation name: Peaches Marie
Nicknames: Peepee, Peepalah
Likes: Running in circles, headbanging, cultivating green chlorophyll bib
Dislikes: Any type of human contact, including–but not limited to: petting, touching, squeezing, kissing, or footsteps within ten foot radius
Strengths: Massive ego
Weaknesses: Massive ego
Trademarks: Athletic prowess, pink ear, “the smart one”
Name: Angie
Nicknames: Angelina Ratlie, Fatticus Ratticus
Strengths: Asserts dominance once a month when she’s “on her cycle” (or some cycle) and takes Peaches by storm
Weaknesses: Respiratory infections, Bumblefoot, possibly blind
Likes: Hiding in the pigloo, leafy greens, hay
Dislikes: Costumes, vaccuum cleaner
Trademark: Her voluptuous curves
Bride and groom are both wearing Cuddly Cavies couture. Bride’s jewels by Harry Winston.
Wedding photographer: Brandon Finney. Holiday photographer: Rick Robertson.
I don’t know.
I feel like I’m supposed to be tweeting the Twit now that the book is 15 days from publication. But I just don’t see myself going peacefully into the dull night of the “Really, Massachusetts? Really?” or “OMFG hahahahaha LMAO BRB LOL!!!!!!!” or “Seriously, dry cleaners? Seriously?” crowd anytime soon.
So for now, I’m running a semi-structured alphabetic poetics experiment from aboard my ‘tweet deck.’ [UPDATE: This didn't last. Though I did make it all the way backwards to the letter "A." Once.] Yeah. I figure banal posts about other people people’s poetry (O.P.P.?) can at least be classified as benevolent.
Sounds enticing, eh?
I must admit, though, that it’s tempting to twit the Twat every time I, say, have a thought. Here are some of the tweets I’ve restrained in the past two days, since ‘going public’ on Twitter:
Meditated this morning next to an open toilet.
Apparently my guinea pigs are now too upmarket for baby carrots.
Nicorette in yoga class makes for spicy Savasana.
Yoga Journal hates you.
I hate water.
Guinea pigs now too upmarket for baby carrots AND apple.
Don’t be afraid to brush curls and transform into Stevie Nicks.
Lady on A Train has bottle of Purell carabinered to her purse.
I still love you junkies.
Guinea pigs resemble Puffy and Biggie. The nasty one will surely outlive the sweet one.
Why shouldn’t she be nasty? Consider the collective unconscious of the guinea pig.
Book proof just arrived UPS!!!
Does book resemble a pamphlet?
Crying to publisher (via text)
Spin teacher really believes we are on the open road.
Publisher going to upgrade paper stock!
Why is that Misshape always at Souen?
Why am I always at Souen?
Mother and Mother-in-law are running viral grandchild marketing campaign.
Blackberry has now officially merged with hand. Hanberry. Bland?
"The whole book pumps, and I swear some of what’s coming in and out are flashes of light that you can read it by."
–Mark Bibbins
"…a book of poems that is at once apocalyptic, full of sorrow, and packed with images crystalline in their beauty and truth… This book is full of magic."
–Dorothea Lasky
"To read Meat Heart is to consume, perish, murder, glitter, and prophesize. To say that Broder is fearless is not saying enough."
–Natalie Lyalin
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“This debut from Broder is as funny and hip as it is disturbing… a bright and unusual debut.”
–Publishers Weekly
"…obsessive, energetic and pop-culture-infused poetry…"
–Time Out New York
"Broder’s insight and honesty will make your brain light up and your hair stand on end.”
–The San Francisco Examiner
"Broder’s verse is acrobatic and whip-smart… its own creature."
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