Anybody ever hear about this service?

Guru.com - The world's largest online marketplace for freelance talent.

I went through the trouble of registering for a free account to check it out, and while it seems like a boatload of good opportunities, the "basic membership" essentially isn't enough to actually bid on any of them. So I gotta pony up the $200 yearly (maybe more) for the privilege of being rejected for a whole new batch of jobs. The thing seems legit and would easily pay for itself quickly if it's as good as it seems, but what ever is? Nothing. My theory has always been that if you have to pay money to a service to get a job, it's a scam ... I'd be perfectly willing to fork over 10-20 percent of what I make to a website that points me in the right direction, but money up front sounds like a ripoff.

On a more positive note, I want to publicly thank fellow genius Rob Lightner for hooking me up with the newly revived Amazing Stories magazine ... it was a long, bumpy road filled with rewrites, near-misses and long silences, but I got a contract in the mail on Friday so I can only assume they're actually going to use my review of ALIEN VS PREDATOR . Thanks again, Rob.

Lori and I went to a poetry reading last Thursday. Cranky is a literary journal run by a friend of Lori's and we wanted to "support the scene," if I may reuse a trite phrase. I think all clear-headed people can agree that most poetry is garbage ... or more accurately, ALL poetry is garbage, but occasionally some verse strikes a personal chord within a particular reader. You can throw everything you learned about poetry in college out the window (actually, that's true on any topic). There are no rules. Poetry is in the eye of the beholder, and most of what I behold is irritating at best. Even my own stuff ... I never begrudge anyone who mails my submissions back, which so far is everyone. Far as I'm concerned, nothing I write is poetry until someone pays for it.

There was a handful of good writing on display Thursday night, some nonpretentious stuff and some that was extremely pretentious but striking enough to overcome the fact. The big star was this deaf Russian guy, and even though he sounded like a retarded Dracula, the words were inspired. Still, I counted three wool scarves on guys INSIDE the building, so yeah, that's the kind of crowd it was. One thing I noticed is that the prettier the poet, the worse the writing. One girl just got her PhD in poetry (look for her at a coffeeshop near you soon), and while her stuff was uppity and pointless, her breasts were impossible to ignore. Even Lori noticed. Luckily, they had a makeshift bar and we both got lit, but that just made it harder for us to stifle our guffaws.

So if I no longer feel comfortable at rocknroll shows, can't stand the literaries and think most fans of my favorite movies are geeks or perverts, where is the cultural universe I fit with? At home, I guess, amongst my library of rejected thrift store LPs, remaindered books and Al Adamson videotapes. I look forward to growing old ...