sorry, did i say laryngitis? i meant plague. or perhaps some heretofore unknown variant of afro-asian todesflu.
now will someone shoot me?
to all of you out there who've been silently praying i would just shut the hell up, you've got your wish.
i have laryngitis.
and not one but two new people starting work tomorrow. this oughta be fun...
What a weekend. Left me so pulverized (in a good way!) that I was unable to do anything yesterday except sleep and lie around. To be clear, that would be 17 hours of the former and 6 of the latter between 6 a.m. Sunday (when I got to sleep) and 6 this morning (when I got up to go to work).
There was much costumed goofiness, most of which I'm pretty sure I remember accurately. The pictures will tell, though, once I get around to taking them in for processing.
And now it's back to (a whole mountain of) work for me.
First off, thanks to Phineas (I will never again bitch about typing that lengthy URL) (OK, I probably will, but not for a while) for the fantastically, horrifically, ridiculously pimptastic redesign. This is a bit of fun in my world that was very very much required.
Secondly, I have this evening realized yet again what a joyous thing it is to be loved by the extraordinary folk I am privileged to call my family and my friends. To all of you, a deep and heartfelt thanks. Life has felt absurdly difficult of late, and not just for me - still, I couldn't survive a day of it without you.
A few things:
1. Check out the new corpse.
2. I'm doing this. Anyone wanna join me?
So my friend Brady just came over for dinner and told me that he's leaving on Sunday. My spare set of keys is back in my hands, lying on my coffee table on a new/old tacky/cool keychain. I gave him one of my cameras and a Thai dinner. He gave me a wine rack, a bottle of wonderful Zin and his most excellent company. He might come back. He might not. Him leaving has made me realize, among other things, what a piss-poor job I've done keeping in touch with my friends - those who live here and those who don't. Made me think about the people I love and what they truly mean to me. So, Brady, this one's for you. I'll miss you.
you shall above all things be glad and young
For if you're young,whatever life you wear
it will become you;and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love
whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on;and his mind take off time
that you should ever think,may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave
called progress,and negation's dead undoom.
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
[e.e. cummings]
Sing, my friend. Sing.
This afternoon in the elevator, someone suggested I just be a pimp for halloween. Hey, why didn't *I* think of that?!?
And i think I will be the Queen of Hearts for Halloween this year.
(but many thanks to Azrael, who thought the Queen of Diamonds would be a better idea)
Tonight it is very cold outside and there is a bitter wind. This morning it was warm. This afternoon there was a hailstorm that, from my office window, looked like snow. Tonight, I am listening to Sade and thinking this:
a wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand. I think i too have known
autumn too long
(and what have you to say,
wind wind wind--did you love somebody
and have you the petal of somewhere in your heart
pinched from the dumb summer?
O crazy daddy
of death dance cruelly for us and start
the last leaf whirling in the final brain
of air!) Let us as we have seen see
doom's integration ..............a wind has blown the rain
away and the leaves and the sky and the
trees stand:
the trees stand. The trees,
suddenly wait against the moon's face.
[e.e. cummings]
This makes me very angry:
"Rumsfeld is saying the Taliban's (claim of civilian deaths) is 'ridiculous, ' but I see with my own eyes (on Al Jazeera) a poor man crying in his village. I see where more than 140 people have been killed," Shaker said.
Read the article here. Also, thanks to Phineas, I have finally found an articulation of that nameless lumpy thing that's been waking me in the middle of the night, by my new favourite columnist.
Despite all of this ickiness, it is a good day. I have slept, I have rested. I no longer feel sickly and weak and have sad sad German poetry in my head. And no, Andreas, the rabbit sex didn't help. So there.
This just in: my fine friend Phineas, of No Commercial Potential and an|exquisite|corpse fame, has agreed to redesign this orange-and-black travesty for me. Leopard print and velvet, here we come!
Woke up this morning to a rainy autumn day, bits of this poem lilting through my head. As Andreas (who graciously supplied the full text - many thanks) said, not the best way to start a day, but a great poem nonetheless...
Und als sie einander acht Jahre kannten
(und man darf sagen: sie kannten sich gut),
da kam ihre Liebe plötzlich abhanden.
so wie anderen Leuten ein Stock oder Hut.
Sie waren traurig, betrugen sich heiter,
versuchten Küsse, als ob nichts sei,
und sahen sich an und wußten nicht weiter.
Da weinte sie schließlich. Und er stand dabei.
Vom Fenster aus konnte man Schiffen winken.
Er sagte, es wäre schon Viertel nach Vier
und Zeit, irgendwo Kaffee zu trinken.
Nebenan übte ein Mensch Klavier.
Sie gingen ins kleinste Café am Ort
und rührten in ihren Tassen.
Am Abend saßen sie immer noch dort.
Sie saßen allein, und sie sprachen kein Wort
und konnten es einfach nicht fassen.
- Erich Kästner
[I'll translate later, if the mood strikes me. If you absolutely must know what it means, ask me nicely and maybe I'll do it now.]
Finally, living proof (in color, even) of last night's debauchery. Featuring Eric's best Fu-Manchu impersonation, Renee's sexy Siberian librarian look, Phin's naughty badger sex, and of course yours truly in truly appalling form (even Stephen agrees - look!).
Ah yes. Such is the stuff that Sundays are made of...
This just in, from a friend overseas:
Der, den ich liebe,
hat mir gesagt, daß er mich braucht.
Darum gebe ich auf mich acht,
sehe auf meinen Weg
und fürchte von jedem Regentropfen,
daß er mich erschlagen könnte.
(Berthold Brecht)
So now I'm just waiting for Phineas (sorry, didn't feel like typing the link tag this time) to send me a few pictures from last night's Family Dinner so that we can properly publicly humiliate ourselves. But in the meantime, a few little nuggets of joy: there was Phineas getting head from a badger (or looking like it, at least), numerous women sporting varying degrees of smoldering looks under a giant fur hat (with earflaps), and of course who can forget about Skullsplitter, the Filipino Viking? I think we might have a new winner for Best Costume on our hands this weekend...
So yesterday (and today, for that matter), the sky was that insane shade of blue that I walk around looking at some days in autumn, wondering why I was too dumb to bring a camera. Fortunately, Phineas made up for it. Perhaps the floral highlight of the day (although one is truly hard-pressed to pick a winner) was the plant whose sign named it "Freestyle Red". Stephen said it looked like the kleenex you put up your nose when you're having a nosebleed. Me, I'm inclined to prefer its given name.
So one of the many fun things about dinner last night was the little art class we had at the bar. Stephen explained to me that in art school they make you draw things really fast, in one continuous line and without looking at your paper. When I tried this technique I got a blob that at best might be called abstract. When actually allowed to look (albeit not for very long) at the page - but still without lifting pen from paper, I came up with something slightly better. But my favorite thing I came up with was this.
Stephen's always griping about wanting to make better use of negative space, so I made him draw me in 8 lines, even though what I really meant was 8 strokes. And finally, he drew one of the windows of my soul.
What's next? Who knows? Macrame, maybe. Or knitting. We could make Molly teach us to knit.
Speaking of Molly, she's sick. Tell her to get well.
Had dinner at the new Francesca's Bryn Mawr last night. Oh, the yumminess - but what can one expect? Even better (and somewhat unexpected) was the lovely curviness of the interior - the ceiling looked like rolls of metal mesh held together by a curve of mahogany. I highly recommend the place. And if you go, tell Dina (behind the bar) that I said hi.
In the immortal words of Lord Byron (a mad old bugger if ever there was one), and for my fabulous project team, I say the following:
"Nobody lives in a poetic fervor - how would you shave?"
comments worky now (thanks, Phineas)! post away!
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
-e. e. cummings
Ok, folks. I've been having trouble with GreyMatter's comments engine, so I've (hopefully) turned it off. If anyone knows about these things, please drop me a line. Argh.
So after a day fully packed with meetings, I finally get a chance to glance at my email. NY Times headlines: Anthrax in the Senate. Anthrax in Pataki's office. The airborne variety this time. Highly concentrated, weapons-grade. And I can't help but be afraid of what's coming. Much as I know it won't help me, I can't help it.
Is it just me, or does this whole thing over the past several weeks really just look like testing? Let's make sure we get the mix right, fellas, make sure it's as deadly as it possibly can be, and then we'll set it loose. The next phase of this project isn't another envelope - it's something much worse. A ventilation system, a food packaging factory, something horrific and huge. These people want us dead, all of us. That's the simple truth, and they'll do anything to make it a reality.
My mother, whose childhood spanned World War II, says this reminds her of those dark years. I asked her if that was as terrible as it sounded. She told me, "One thing you learn during wartime is that the human animal is only capable of being afraid for so long, and then it's over. You're not afraid anymore." I wonder when that moment will be.
In the meantime, how about this? It always makes me feel better...
Out with Stephen, Molly and Jeff again last night. That girl's going to be the death of me, but it'll be fun dying. Drinks at Brasserie Jo, Dinner at La Creperie, Jenny Toomey (who's amazing!) at Schuba's. Home just a hair shy of 1:00, none too sober but with a smile on my face.
And now I'm taking said face, loaded with Vitamin B and Advil, to work.
12 people at Family Dinner last night. I think it's a new record - at least, it is for my house. My table's only built to seat 10, and moreover I only have 10 appropriate chairs, so we dragged my Georgian armchair in from the living room and my rolling chair in from the office and all got to know one another really well.
Among the lot of us, we produced a few good napkins, too, although I can't seem to remember what they were. Brain fuzzy and all that. I guess that's to be expected, considering the quantities of wine we went through (might have been more than a case, even).
Speaking of not being very bright today, I left my lunch (yummy homemade thai dumpling soup with mushrooms and bok choi), neatly packed in tupperware and ziploc, on the floor in my front hallway. <sigh> Guess it's back to the pirates at Zoom Kitchen...</sigh>
One of the great things about Berlin, speaking of Germany, is that the history is everywhere, fused with the spirit of the place. I'll probably be foisting a lot more photos from my recent visit upon you, but this one's my favorite. This doorway is right around the corner from the Häckische Höfe, home to hip and upscale galleries, restaurants and apartments - right next door to a swank clothing boutique. You can see where the bullets carved away at the façade. You can see the hell his city went through. And yet, all around you, there is this buoyant, joyous life. Ich liebe Berlin.
Phineas would like to register a complaint. Phineas was not mentioned in yesterday's entry, even though he (Phineas) was actually present and drinking. I hereby humbly beg Phineas to accept my most sincere and abject apologies.
But while I'm here, let me take a moment to say how very cruel it is that today, this rainy perfect napping day, of all days, when I honestly can't think of anything I'd rather do than lie in bed and doze and read all curled up with a lovely boy, the telephone will not stop ringing. It began at 8:49 and has continued roughly every half hour since - alternating wrong numbers and telemarketers. I ask you, have these people no shame?
sigh.
Oh, and I'm blushing.
So I'd say it's about time. I've got my brand new blog up and running, so now I've got no excuse not to share things with the world. None except for the current one, which is that I'm going for drinks with (among others) Molly and Stephen. So off I go.