One of my closest friends, Katie, recently stopped working where I work, and began working elsewhere. For a time, I felt as though my heart had been removed from my chest, and fed to panthers. No more “Good morning!” e-mail in the old Outlook inbox; no one with whom I could exchange an eloquent glance in the copyroom, when things were getting live [those durned fool misfeeds!]; no one to call up and say, “Hey, there’s a pile of doughnuts in the kitchen over here the size of Zeus!” Most importantly, no one to take long walks with, at any other points in time when one or both of our hearts felt as though they had been removed from our chests and fed to panthers.
Slowly, however, I’ve started to feel better. This is largely because another terrific person I work with, Laura, now works mere feet away from my desk. Her sparkling presence has essentially meant the difference, for me, between “life” and “death.” We have developed a series of pictures, she and I, which we silently send to each other as our need requires, with no further comment.
This is our most commonly used picture:
This is our second most commonly used picture:
[Laura has a real antipathy for squids and whales, so she uses this picture far more frequently than I.]
“Come look at this piece of hilariousness from my personal life!” we also say, sometimes, and then we do. Last week I was summoned to her desk to view the following e-mail, verbatim:
“I know! We’ll get into more, but he called from a random number–said he moved back to Cleveland, but he was at a neighbor’s house because he doesn’t have POWER!!! And I heard what sounded like a pinball machine in the background.”
I had intended to discuss the experience I had yesterday, hair modeling, but I know now that I’m too close to what happened, and I need to engage in a little more mental parsing before I can do it justice. For now, I’ll just say that the haircut I was given makes me both happy and terrified. This haircut has to be lived up to. People with this haircut rappel down Mt. Everest while playing the electric guitar. Do I have to learn how to play the electric guitar? Perhaps.
So next week. Plus, by then, there’ll be pictures of me posing in a parking lot!
I’ll take this time, instead, to mention my addition of what they call a “blogroll” and what I call “I don’t want to call it a blogroll” and would rather call “Things I Like And Want to Call Attention To”. Doubtless I shall add to this as time marches on; for now, herewith:
1. Poetry Foundation: I lay in you like a canoe on a great big sea.
2. Cortland Review: so, so much good.
3. Poetry Center of Chicago: the Poetry Center of Chicago.
4. Peter McCready: the Large Hadron Collider. Pictures. Sound.
5. 52 Teeth: my friend Abraham. He makes music. He writes about it. It’s so great it makes my head fall off.
6. 10 Ways: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
So there you have it!
This week’s blog has been real disjointed, I know. I’m sorry.
I just haven’t been waking up on the thematic side of the bed.
At the alder-darkened brink
Where the stream slows to a lucid jet
I lean to the water, dinting its top with sweat,
And see, before I can drink,
A startled inchling trout
Of spotted near-transparency,
Trawling a shadow soldier than he.
He swerves now, darting out
To where, in a flicked slew
Of sparks and glittering silt, he weaves
Through stream-bed rocks, disturbing foundered leaves,
And butts then out of view
Beneath a sliding glass
Crazed by the skimming of a brace
Of burnished dragon-flies across its face,
In which deep cloudlets pass
And a white precipice
Of mirrored birch-trees plunges down
Towards where the azures of the zenith drown.
How shall I drink all this?
Joy’s trick is to supply
Dry lips with what can cool and slake,
Leaving them dumbstruck also with an ache
Nothing can satisfy.