TUESDAY PRESENTS the various uses of puppies

(Because I am as always here, darling ones, for your edification.)

As social commentary.

As football alternative.

As software.

As panacea.

As trophy-stand.

WTF, Rae Armantrout.

Hello Dear Readers! If you are pausing here in the middle of a snowbound Internet porn bender, cheeks flushed and bosoms heaving, perhaps craving some cogent thoughtful analysis of the literary world in these futuristic times, uh, sorry. I had to read this this morning, and now so do you.

Much has been made of Armantrout's "poetics of WTF" but, well, a source close to HiFlo had a PRETTY POETIC EXPERIENCE recently and this was too good to pass up:

Now in a way I did have a “money shot” in mind, but not the porn money shot—the more general meaning of money shot. The money shot of porn, as we all know, is when it becomes obvious that the man has ejaculated. In more general terms, the money shot is where something is revealed. If I could answer the question “Why don’t you just say what you mean?”, that, presumably, would be the money shot. And that actually was from a dream, so I woke up with those words in my mind, and my first thought was, “Well why don’t I?” That would be the money shot. But it doesn’t arrive.

I couldn't agree more. Wasn't it Emily Dickinson who said, "When I feel physically as though the author has come on my face, I know that is poetry"? Yes I am literally twelve. It's a pretty good interview. As you were, Internet!

Life, ah, finds a way.

It's been more than a year since I wrote in this blog. A lot of people thought it was dead. But you know something, Dear Readers? Jeff Goldblum's alive and so is HiFlo. Welcome to 2010, the year where GOOD THINGS HAPPEN.

Submission #1!!!!!

And it only took a day! The first entry in Hifalutin's mind-bendingly exciting Postmodern Poll comes to us from the distinguished author of Sex On Christmas, who has not updated since he blogged a visit to Taco Bell and whose only comments were: "Radopticon? No. Signature Event Righteous."

GAY FLORIDA: your Governor's gettin' hitched!

On December 12th, in St. Pete! That's awfully uppity of him, considering he doesn't think you deserve the right to do the same. Would you like to show up and bring an off-registry gift, or make an off-color toast, or maybe just protest the shit out of the whole event? The valiant editors of impossibly-named Gay Fort Myers have got the information you require. Did I mention I love my hometown? The property values are plummeting, nobody has a job anymore, and falling down is apparently twice as deadly to the elderly as in any other part of the state, but you can always count on the gays of Lee County to keep it together. 239!

William Logan is the new Chuck Norris.

Ahahahaha. Obviously I have some facts to contribute.

14. William Logan made fun of my GRE scores.
15. Poets have attempted to burn him in effigy, but always fail, because images of William Logan don't burn.
16. William Logan never listened to your mixtape.
17. If you strike down William Logan, he will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.
18. William Logan knows what happens to a dream deferred.
19. Every poet who makes fun of William Logan secretly prays to one day make it big enough to be panned in a William Logan review. Except me. Fuck that shit! Right, guys? Guys?

"There is no uncontested short definition."

Over dinner at Virgil's last week I was complaining about some douchebag's characterization of Heraclitus' fragments as "strikingly postmodern," because how unnecessary is that honestly, when Adam sweetly brought it to my attention that I don't know what postmodern means either. And as I consoled myself with pulled pork and peanut butter pie, I also consoled myself with the knowledge that very few people I've ever encountered seem confident they can define the term. But as literature scholars we are legally obligated to use it at every possible opportunity, and since the definition is so amorphous the word "postmodern" has lost all meaning. It's elusive, seductive, a chimera. It is different things to each of us. So listen, monkeys, I know that all of you have said this word at least once without being entirely sure that it actually applied - that's why I need you to take part in my fancy Postmodern Poll! Read on:

Comment or email with your definition of postmodernism.
THE RULES:
1) Your submission may not exceed 300 words.
2) Your submission may not bore me.
3) Your submission may not come out of a textbook.
The winner will have their submission posted in Highfalutin and Lowdown as the blog's OFFICIAL DEFINITION and will also receive the privilege of writing a guest entry. Try not to pee your pants too much, I know. The deadline is January 8, 2009. Anyway, so far I'm pretty sure I'm winning, but if you can top this, BRING IT ON: