In J. Maarten Trost's book, The Sex Lives of Cannibals, he tells a quaint story about how Dan Wilson, a twenty-something writer from Northampton, UK, became the poet laureate of Kiribati.
Feeling snarky (and quite possibly drunk), Wilson wrote a poem about the tiny South Pacific island and expressed an interest in spending his days in paradise, writing poems under a coconut tree overlooking a lagoon.
Although Wilson's limerick attempted to rhyme coconut "tree" to "Kiribati," the island is actually pronounced "Kir-ee-bas."
It was the thought that counted. He was graciously transported to the island where he spent many a day wasted on kava with the islanders and overusing the word "fookin'."
I tell this story because I am addicted to the Feedjit application on my blog.
As I mention in my "About Me" section, I stay at home and tend to the children's needs ahead of my own. So, deep-down I am quite sure that my addiction to Blogpatrol and Feedjit stems from a burning desire for attention.
If you would meet me (or if you already know me) you might disagree with this "need for attention" statement. I tend towards plain J-Crew style clothing and understated jewelery, mainly because I don't know how to accessorize and I fear that I may look ridonkulous and amateurish in my attempt to do so.
Anywho.
My addiction to my Feedjit application has caused me to notice the many hits on my website from the country of Malta.
If you are unsure about my previous post on Malta, read this.
Either I have a following in Malta, or Graziella was highly offended and decided to tell all of her friends about the idiotic American who offered unsolicited comments about her relationship (and who didn't even know where the island of Malta was located). It is most likely the latter.
However, I have done my research on Malta and it sounds like a lovely place.
"Why don't you ask them to be poet laureate," asked Chris a few days ago when I shared the information that I had received a lot of readers from Malta.
"Ooooo, like the English guy in The Sex Lives of Cannibals," I asked.
He nodded. He had just finished the book per my recommendation.
I admit, I had to Google poet laureate because I technically did not know what a "poet laureate" is, but it seems to be a gig that I think could totally rock. Although I have not written a poem since my angst-ridden teenage years, I would be the perfect person for the job for the following reasons:
- I have a lot of time on my hands. If I could find a babysitter to watch my astonishingly well behaved children, I would gladly travel to the Mediterranean explore the delightful country of Malta.
- I have no problem with being a follower, and am very amenable to being herded around by a guide to historical sites. In return, I would vow to write gushing commentaries on my experiences.
- I won't turn down any meal presented to me by anyone ~ read: I will eat just about anything with much gusto and would bestow many praises to the cook.
- I have a passport and am pretty sure I know where it is. It has only one lonely stamp on it from Aruba. I long ~LONG~ to have a weathered passport with hundreds of stamps from foreign countries. Malta could be my second country on my way to many.
- Although I have an affinity for boxed wine, I will not spend my days ingesting kava beneath a coconut tree, as previously noted in my story about Kiribati's poet laureate. And I promise I will never use the word "fookin'" in every day conversations.
I have now, however, found my muse. If the people of Malta would name me their poet laureate, or at the very least host me, I would use the opportunity to learn about the country's history, traditions and culture and write a fookin' (just kidding) good book about it.
