Everywhere I turn in the last few weeks I run across someone talking about poetry publishing–the whos, the whats, the wheres, and the whys.

Publishing has been sort of a closed idea for me for some years. I’ve never felt much desire, and I had a whole list of reasons why (though the biggest one was undoubtedly laziness).

But I was briefly inspired by someone, sometime since Thanksgiving. Yes, that narrows it down considerably. I was going to seek publication! I was going to review my poems and seek publication! I was going to review and rewrite my poems and seek publication! I was going to review and rewrite my poems and ask friends and passersby for input and seek publication! I was going to review and rewrite my poems and ask friends and passersby for input and take a little nap for six months and seek publication!

It is laziness. I can’t deny that. And there’s fear of rejection in there, too. I gots the fear thing in spades.

But I suddenly realized something else, something much worse. Something, in fact, that sucks.

It doesn’t matter if I publish because the people I long to reach aren’t going to read it.

Because I am insane or stupid. You get to choose. And I want to write poetry to the people who don’t read it. People like my husband–who thinks I’m a talentless hack. Imagine a little kid not being picked for the team, wiping a grimy arm across her snot-covered face. “Oh yeah? I’ll show you! You’ll be sorry you didn’t pick meeeee!”

I don’t know why I think there’s any validation in the world that would convince the man I can write a little. Honestly, there might not be any validation in the world that would convince me I can.

I love poets. Most of my closest friends are poets. But dammit, poets, you don’t make me say “Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Watch this!” while I hang from some artistic monkeybars by my toes.

A few years ago, we had cable taken out. Okay, so it was less us deciding to do without cable and more me getting into a giant row with Time Warner in which many unpleasant names were said.

September 11 happened, and we felt cut off from the world. The FM radio station that had carried my baseball team decided to switch to NASCAR (bastards!), so we were left trying to get nighttime power AM stations in our tiny hamlet. (Can you have a big hamlet? No Orson Welles jokes, I beg.)

So, we got cable back. And there was much rejoicing. And then came TiVo. And then, well, came another TiVo because, to quote the faux-Italian co-respondent in “The Gay Divorcee,” “Too much ees never enough!”

Now it is January, and shows will start returning from their long holiday vacations. They will loom on my TiVo. I am a slave to technology.

Since “Threshold,” starring my TV girlfriend Carla Gugino, is already canceled, there are only two I really care about: Veronica Mars and Project Runway. VM is a great show languishing on an under-watched network. PR is utter camp with lederhosen lingerie.

I’m so lowbrow I have a beard.

In spelunking around in the blogcaves, I noticed that a number of people were talking about the AFI’s list of the top 100 movies of the past 100 years.

The Complete List

I, it should be noted, am a philistine.

How many have I seen? Embarrassingly few. Including, count ’em, zero of the top 5 and three of the top 10. I’d say that I need to get out more, but I think this means I need to stay in more, or Netflix more, or just develop better taste in movies.

In any case, here’s my listie:

6. THE WIZARD OF OZ (1939)

7. THE GRADUATE (1967)

10. SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN (1952)

11. IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946)

14. SOME LIKE IT HOT (1959)

15. STAR WARS (1977)

18. PSYCHO (1960)

22. 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968)

23. THE MALTESE FALCON (1941)

25. E.T. THE EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL (1982)

26. DR. STRANGELOVE (1964)

29. MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON (1939)

31. ANNIE HALL (1977)

33. HIGH NOON (1952)

34. TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD (1962)

35. IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT (1934)

39. DOCTOR ZHIVAGO (1965)

40. NORTH BY NORTHWEST (1959)

41. WEST SIDE STORY (1961)

42. REAR WINDOW (1954)

49. SNOW WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARFS (1937)

51. THE PHILADELPHIA STORY (1940)

55. THE SOUND OF MUSIC (1965)

56. M*A*S*H (1970)

57. THE THIRD MAN (1949)

58. FANTASIA (1940)

60. RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (1981)

62. TOOTSIE (1982)

64. CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND (1977)

66. NETWORK (1976)

67. THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962)

69. SHANE (1953)

70. THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971)

71. FORREST GUMP (1994)

74. THE GOLD RUSH (1925)

76. CITY LIGHTS (1931)

77. AMERICAN GRAFFITI (1973)

78. ROCKY (1976)

81. MODERN TIMES (1936)

85. DUCK SOUP (1933)

91. MY FAIR LADY (1964)

93. THE APARTMENT (1960)

97. BRINGING UP BABY (1938)

99. GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER (1967)

My favorite on the list? 51 (followed closely by 34 and 26) because Katharine Hepburn is only rivaled by Audrey Hepburn for sheer presence. And I’m not thumbing my nose at Grant and Stewart either.

My least favorite? 22, followed closely by 39. Though when I want to annoy my sister I can start humming “Lara’s Theme” until she punches me. That’s always a plus.

Okay, so I was wrong in thinking the Poetry Wiki was gone. Now, go play with it before it really is gone. Shoo!

(I’ve already mangled “Invisibility” beyond all recognition, but you can do more! Make it a haiku!)

Edited to add: Alert!

Harry, who is a god among men, has restarted the Wiki here.

Please come play. There may be a nickel in it for you.

Nothing like waking in the middle of the night to a stabbing pain in your nose, stumbling to the bathroom mirror, and discovering that you look like you should be starring in “Carrie.”

‘Tis but a scratch, but curse the cat feet that caused it! Oh well. Drawing attention to my nose draws attention away from the vacuity of my expression. This is a Good Thing.

Okay, so it’s not real, and obviously the algorithm is crazed, but still.

Unfortunately, WEE? Is worth nothing. So I can’t sell ’em both and retire to Toledo. It’s all Gabriel’s fault.

No! Don’t try to defend him!

He excited me, then took the object of my excitement away.

Yes, I understand that his project wasn’t attracting very many users. It is my destiny to love unpopular things that are soon abandoned.

But he is cruel, cruel.

The idea of collaborative poetry is one that interests me. I’m fascinated by ideas of voice and identity, of rewriting and reimagining, of renovation and restoration. Gabriel and I have played around with some collaborative poems, mostly when we’re both bored at work. Because the stakes are low in a team effort, that priggish voice in the back of my noggin never wakes up and bites anyone. Wait. Never wakes up and harangues anyone.

So, Harry pointed to a new toy and took it away. I am a puppy without my squeaky toy. A cat without toes to pounce on. A

But without the wheel.

Right now, WEE is something of a mirror to this blog, which makes a reference to it go well with the photo above. Gabriel and I haven’t really figured out what WEE is going to be. Right now, it’s a spot for less personal or more philosophical ramblings, especially ones where he and I disagree and can muster a debate. In other words, controversy! Woo.

I say formal poetry is inherently easier to write than free verse, and I go into my reasons for saying so here. You are hereby invited to come throw rocks.

In reading this post on wch’s blog, the possibility of fire: fear, I realized something unpleasant about myself.

I write poetry out of fear.

I fear being forgotten. I fear being left behind. I fear losing what skill I’ve got, what friends I’ve got, what reputation I’ve got.

What a lowering way to begin the new year. Happy 2006.

No matter what shade of blue I achieved in my breath-holding, it did no good.

Texas took Kevin Millwood away! Bastards.

Five years. $60 million. Opening day starter.

And cerulean looked so good on me, too.