Showing posts with label Method. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Method. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Vernon Frazer, "Forward Going"
Vernon Frazer
Forward Going
_____
Vernon Frazer has published eight books of poetry, including the long poem IMPROVISATIONS, and three books of fiction.
Forward Going
_____
Vernon Frazer has published eight books of poetry, including the long poem IMPROVISATIONS, and three books of fiction.
Derek Henderson, from "Thus, &"
Derek Henderson
—from Thus, &: An erasure of Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets
The following five poems are taken from an erasure of Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets. I used a procedure which erased each repeated word in the entire sequence in order to leave only those words that were graphically unique. By “graphically unique” I mean those words that do not share patterns of capitalization, italicization, or contraction with other words. Thus, in the second sonnet, the word “dear” is unique and is allowed to remain, despite the fact that the rest of The Sonnets repeats capital-D “Dear” eleven times, and all-caps “DEAR” four. The remaining words are in their original location in each individual poem, the text of which is based on the 2000 Penguin Books edition of The Sonnets, edited by Alice Notley. Thus, &: An erasure of Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets has as a companion piece, a sortable concordance of The Sonnets in Microsoft Excel.
—from Thus, &: An erasure of Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets
The following five poems are taken from an erasure of Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets. I used a procedure which erased each repeated word in the entire sequence in order to leave only those words that were graphically unique. By “graphically unique” I mean those words that do not share patterns of capitalization, italicization, or contraction with other words. Thus, in the second sonnet, the word “dear” is unique and is allowed to remain, despite the fact that the rest of The Sonnets repeats capital-D “Dear” eleven times, and all-caps “DEAR” four. The remaining words are in their original location in each individual poem, the text of which is based on the 2000 Penguin Books edition of The Sonnets, edited by Alice Notley. Thus, &: An erasure of Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets has as a companion piece, a sortable concordance of The Sonnets in Microsoft Excel.
* * *
_____
In this erased sonnet, the word “play” is conspicuous by its presence. In a sequence so intensely devoted to “play” as is Berrigan’s, that this word should only appear once—and only in the first sonnet—is striking, as though this one appearance were Berrigan’s quiet announcement of the activity of the whole. Cf. Alice Notley’s note on this sonnet “The author often said that the unnamed figure in this sonnet is Ezra Pound,” where the elder poet presides quietly, playfully, over the whole. Cf. also the suggestion of an ars poetica in the cluster of “architecture / Weave incidents / portentous.” While many of the lines in this first sonnet do not repeat, or do so only rarely, it does introduce the word “night,” which appears 32 times in the sequence, more than any other noun than “dream” (and not including pronouns). Also keep your eye on the missing words “music” and “day” (line 3 of the original).
In this erased sonnet, the word “play” is conspicuous by its presence. In a sequence so intensely devoted to “play” as is Berrigan’s, that this word should only appear once—and only in the first sonnet—is striking, as though this one appearance were Berrigan’s quiet announcement of the activity of the whole. Cf. Alice Notley’s note on this sonnet “The author often said that the unnamed figure in this sonnet is Ezra Pound,” where the elder poet presides quietly, playfully, over the whole. Cf. also the suggestion of an ars poetica in the cluster of “architecture / Weave incidents / portentous.” While many of the lines in this first sonnet do not repeat, or do so only rarely, it does introduce the word “night,” which appears 32 times in the sequence, more than any other noun than “dream” (and not including pronouns). Also keep your eye on the missing words “music” and “day” (line 3 of the original).
* * *
_____
As with the previous poem, the unique words in this sonnet hint at an underlying method to Berrigan’s project as a whole: epistolary generosity (“dear”), temporal awareness (“8 30 p m”), influence and appropriation (Ashbery’s poem title is still recognizable in the third line), pastiche and collage (“scotch tape notebook”) and amphetamine-fueled energy (“17 ½ milligrams”). The words that are missing also provide an amount of insight into the poem’s fascinations: “day,” which (dis)appears here twice, is another of the more frequent nouns in The Sonnets. The appearance in this poem of two “days,” after the “night” of the previous sonnet, announces the importance of morning, of dawning, to these poems. This insistence is more pronounced given the fact that, once we include graphical (“Day”) and lexical (“today”) variants of “day” and “night,” “day” becomes the more frequent noun (appearing 44 times). The word “green” also appears in this poem for the first of 29 times in The Sonnets, making it the most prominent adjective in the sequence. Scholars of the paragram may be interested to discover that the word “tree” (the most common concrete noun at 23 appearances) first appears in this poem inside “streel” and “streets,” only one line removed from the arrival of green.
As with the previous poem, the unique words in this sonnet hint at an underlying method to Berrigan’s project as a whole: epistolary generosity (“dear”), temporal awareness (“8 30 p m”), influence and appropriation (Ashbery’s poem title is still recognizable in the third line), pastiche and collage (“scotch tape notebook”) and amphetamine-fueled energy (“17 ½ milligrams”). The words that are missing also provide an amount of insight into the poem’s fascinations: “day,” which (dis)appears here twice, is another of the more frequent nouns in The Sonnets. The appearance in this poem of two “days,” after the “night” of the previous sonnet, announces the importance of morning, of dawning, to these poems. This insistence is more pronounced given the fact that, once we include graphical (“Day”) and lexical (“today”) variants of “day” and “night,” “day” becomes the more frequent noun (appearing 44 times). The word “green” also appears in this poem for the first of 29 times in The Sonnets, making it the most prominent adjective in the sequence. Scholars of the paragram may be interested to discover that the word “tree” (the most common concrete noun at 23 appearances) first appears in this poem inside “streel” and “streets,” only one line removed from the arrival of green.
* * *
_____
More ars poetica uncovered. Surprisingly, the words “wind” and “tree” remain unerased here in their possessive forms. As previously mentioned the word “tree” (with its variants) is the most common concrete noun in the sonnets; “wind” is also a heavyweight in the concordance, listing 23 occurrences, including variants. “tree” and “wind” occur in the original poem three times, and I find it fitting that the possessive forms of the two words remain in this erasure: they are isolated in the white space, which gives these words (and “wish” and “demand”) a visual prominence and allows this line to retain the force of the original (“The wind’s wish is the tree’s demand”). The erasure similarly allows the rest of the poem to open up into the white space, emphasizing latent insistences in the original. Here the middle cluster emphasizes the “aimlessness” of the wind’s “pulse” through the trees, and “Its patternless pattern” of “Letters birds [and] beggars” “awaits” the final words of the erasure, “Sensual” and “swaying.” The “patternless pattern” of words repeating throughout the sonnets is, like the pulsing interaction of wind and trees, that of an almost physical rhythm (a “Sensual swaying”). The procedure of erasure, as a sort of via negativa to Berrigan’s procedure of accretion, opens up the “patternless pattern” of the poems.
* * *
_____
Given that repetition is so conspicuously at work in The Sonnets, I was surprised to discover that only six of them (“Penn Station,” XV, XXI, LIX, LXIV and LXXXV) were completely erased; I was significantly more surprised that another six (XIX, XLVI, LXVIII, LXXI, LXXXII, and the one above) retained only one word. The reason for these single retentions is the slight modification, in each case, of the graphic mark—either a capitalization, a change to plural, or, as in the present case, a slight change in the word. The line in which “amongst” originally appears—“Where Snow White sleeps amongst the silent dwarfs”—is repeated in sonnets XIX and XLVI with “among” substituting for “amongst.” The isolation of this word “amongst” the otherwise white page draws the reader’s attention to its subtle difference from “among;” according to the OED, “amongst” differs from “among” in that the former “generally implie[s] dispersion, intermixture, or shifting position.” Thus, returning to the line as it stands unerased, we see that Snow White sleeping “amongst” the dwarves suggests a more sexualized and subversive idea of “sleeping”. Whereas when Snow White sleeps “among” the dwarves, we see her innocently surrounded by the careful protections of the dwarves; here, creepily, her sleeping is dispersed throughout them, her position shifting from one dwarf’s bed to the next. It is just this sort of repetition with subtle, supple changes to word order, word positioning, and word type that gives Berrigan’s project its pulse and power.
Given that repetition is so conspicuously at work in The Sonnets, I was surprised to discover that only six of them (“Penn Station,” XV, XXI, LIX, LXIV and LXXXV) were completely erased; I was significantly more surprised that another six (XIX, XLVI, LXVIII, LXXI, LXXXII, and the one above) retained only one word. The reason for these single retentions is the slight modification, in each case, of the graphic mark—either a capitalization, a change to plural, or, as in the present case, a slight change in the word. The line in which “amongst” originally appears—“Where Snow White sleeps amongst the silent dwarfs”—is repeated in sonnets XIX and XLVI with “among” substituting for “amongst.” The isolation of this word “amongst” the otherwise white page draws the reader’s attention to its subtle difference from “among;” according to the OED, “amongst” differs from “among” in that the former “generally implie[s] dispersion, intermixture, or shifting position.” Thus, returning to the line as it stands unerased, we see that Snow White sleeping “amongst” the dwarves suggests a more sexualized and subversive idea of “sleeping”. Whereas when Snow White sleeps “among” the dwarves, we see her innocently surrounded by the careful protections of the dwarves; here, creepily, her sleeping is dispersed throughout them, her position shifting from one dwarf’s bed to the next. It is just this sort of repetition with subtle, supple changes to word order, word positioning, and word type that gives Berrigan’s project its pulse and power.
* * *
_____
Of immediate and apparent significance is the fact that the words “Final,” “Sonnet,” “telling” and “end” are unique only to this Final Sonnet. While “Final” might not be so surprising a word to escape erasure, “end” certainly seems common enough a word that it ought to appear at least one other time in the almost 9,000 words of The Sonnets. Its unique occurrence here, at the end, suggests that the “patternless pattern” works to it’s own aimless ends.
Of immediate and apparent significance is the fact that the words “Final,” “Sonnet,” “telling” and “end” are unique only to this Final Sonnet. While “Final” might not be so surprising a word to escape erasure, “end” certainly seems common enough a word that it ought to appear at least one other time in the almost 9,000 words of The Sonnets. Its unique occurrence here, at the end, suggests that the “patternless pattern” works to it’s own aimless ends.
It is also curious that, given Berrigan’s reputation as a talker and the reputation of the sonnets as “talky” poems, one might expect “telling” to appear once or twice more in the course of the project. Instead, “telling” appears only this once, it’s variant “tell” four times, and its synonyms “say,” “speak,” and “talk” (and all their variants) a total of 17 times. By contrast, “write” and its variants “writes” and “writing” appear 15 times, while “read,” “reads” and “reading” appear 17 times. Writing and reading predominate over talking and speaking in these poems, suggesting that the material activity of the written word is a key component to the endurance of The Sonnets: their architecture is a weaving of words, all apt and likely to occur (cf. entry 1 for the adjectival “incident”, OED) amongst the “scotch tape” in a “notebook.” As the unerased original of this poem tells us, “Everything / Turns into writing” (ll. 2-3).
It is fitting then, that in this final erasure of the Final Sonnet we are still able to recognize Berrigan’s appropriation of Prospero’s renunciation speech in The Tempest. Shakespeare’s hand (his words, his signature) persists below the surface of Berrigan’s textual homage to and innovation of the canonical English sonneteer. It is equally apt that, while Prospero’s staff escapes erasure, his “book” does not. The absence of “book” in this poem returns us to its absence in the first poem (and in 17 other absent occurrences), again emphasizing the core of the graphic word. Still, this book is not without its “music” (although this erasure is—“music” is in the original after “heavenly”), another word appearing in the first poem.
_____
Derek Henderson is working on his PhD at the University of Utah. His work can be found in current or forthcoming issues of Dusie, elimae, Bateau, Interim, Free Verse and Versal. He finds comfort and concord in Ted Berrigan’s assertion that “there is no such thing as a breakdown.”
Mark Jacobs, "The Emperor’s Cat"
Mark Jacobs
The Emperor’s Cat
This morning I saw the cat again. I went out to the porch at seven to pick up the Gazette and there it pranced on the shoveled sidewalk, in all its calico glory. White predominates in the cat’s long fur, followed by a molasses shade of brown. Here and there a splash of black stands out like paint flung onto a canvas. The large tail is imperious, as one would expect the tail of an emperor’s cat to be. I stood there looking at the regal creature as it leapt from the sidewalk and began making its way across the snowy yard of the emperor’s house. A hard skin of ice has covered the snow, so the cat either skated or punched small holes with its paws, depending on the thickness of the ice in a given spot as it went.
This winter will never end. Or if it does, I won’t be here for the thaw. Shall I say that doesn’t bother me? It bothers the hell out of me.
I waited on the porch for a few minutes in the cold hoping I might catch a glimpse of the emperor. No luck. Sightings of him are rarer than the rarest of comets. When the cat made its way into the back yard, I went inside to work. But I was unsettled and knew it would come hard.
I am a historian. Not a professional -- I lack a sinecure, not to say an ideology -- but not an amateur, either. I’m writing the history of the world. Such a daunting challenge requires a steady vantage point, however arbitrary. For me there was never any doubt. I chose this place, Niagara Falls, the city of my birth as the anchor of my narrative. I might just as easily have chosen Montevideo, or Kiev, or the Thar Desert in India, but in me the heart rules. This is my home. Still, I try to stay on the right side of the line dividing sentiment from sentimentality. Living alone, I have to be careful not to blow things out of proportion. My disappointments are the same size as my triumphs. Both of them are invisible to the populace at large. The eyes of the populace at large are generally closed.
I sat at my desk in the study and read an article about Charles Dickens’ visit to Niagara Falls in 1842. I took some notes. I tried to put myself in a Dickensian frame of mind. The chapter I’m working on has to do with how succeeding generations have viewed the falls, beginning with the creation myth of the Seneca Indians. (My favorite period is the Romantic Sublime, when the thundering cataracts were seen as an example of God’s majestic personality.) As a non-specialist I’m free to include whatever I feel like throwing in, as long as it hangs together in the narrative. Some days it does, some it doesn’t. Today, in an hour’s straining effort I was not able to come up with a single convincing sentence. Dickens will have to wait until tomorrow.
To date I have amassed somewhere between 2,000 and 3,000 pages of manuscript. I quit counting years ago, when it became clear to me that nobody cared, and nobody was going to care. I live alone in the bottom half of a duplex on Fifth Street that my grandparents bought back in the Thirties. It used to be a nice neighborhood. Now it’s the perfect synecdoche for the blighted disaster that is my city. I rent the upstairs apartment to a single woman, a young African American named Clarice, who works nights at the hospital to put herself through community college. The rent money comes in handy, and proximity to a member of the opposite sex, no matter how tangential, is one of the handful of things that keep me sane.
I want to believe Clarice does not see me as the dirty old white guy who lives downstairs. I am her landlord, and a gentleman. I’m also handy with tools, so if anything in her apartment breaks down she knows she can call me and it will be fixed the same day. Once, she sat at my kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and asked me what I was writing. She seemed genuinely curious and asked six or eight smart questions. The beauty of her brown hand spooning white sugar left me weak, then made me strong. The boost to my spirits lasted a week, and I finished a chapter that had bedeviled me for months.
I wasn’t always a recluse. In fact I used to be married and lived a regular sort of life. We played pinochle with friends, and went out for pizza and beer at Michael’s on Pine Avenue, and worried about our sex life as the years went by just like everybody else did. My wife’s name was Mercy. After twelve years with me, she liked to say, there was none left in her. She changed her name to Diana and now lives in Phoenix, where she makes a comfortable living grooming other people’s pets. The obituary of our marriage should include the fact that it produced no children. Not, as they say, for lack of trying.
Mercy blamed our childlessness on my obsession with history. Although I knew that was a crock, scientifically speaking, I never contested the point with her. My history of Niagara Falls is expansive enough to include the science of emotion, according to which she was probably right. On more than one occasion I have seen mist rising from the falls in such a way as to suggest that time and space are lovers after all. There is a reason that our city was known for a time as the honeymoon capital of the world.
I have no wish to live unsatisfied and die alone.
To return to the cat: from the moment it first appeared on the sidewalk I have entertained rich mixed feelings about the animal. Once last summer I watched it stalk and slay a grackle, a bird I am particularly fond of because of its prosaic ordinariness. The grackle is a city bird, a neighborhood bird, the kind of bird that rose in clouds from the grass in the front yard when your grandmother started beating rugs on the front porch during her rite of spring cleaning. Last week the cat narrowly missed a cardinal. Against a sun-dazzled snowbank the bright red bird seemed to be a trick of the eye, and then it was gone. Afterward, wet clumps of snow clung to the fur on the cat’s chest, and it skulked away embarrassed.
As for the emperor himself, I have seen him twice. Once he was walking to the inconvenience store on the corner. The second time he stuck his head out the front door and whistled for the cat the way other people whistle for their dogs. Two times in all these years, and at a distance! He must have his reasons for keeping such a low profile. His mustache inclines me to think he may be of Asian descent. It’s not easy to see; it’s the kind of mustache you have to intuit. Naturally I would like a closer look.
To stay honest, I regularly ask myself the hard questions. The most important one is: am I nuts? Have I been warped out of shape by solitude and my desire to write the world’s history? I’m convinced the answer is no. The reduction of human experience to categories of the sick ward is a failure of the imagination.
I’m sixty, or will soon be. To keep body and soul together, I work thirty hours a week selling auto parts behind the counter of what used to be Hutchins’, across the street from what has always been Page’s Whistle Pig, near the intersection they used to call Six Corners. (That’s how a historian sees a place.) We stock a warehouse full of parts for all makes and models, including domestic and foreign although that’s a distinction without much of a difference, any more. The computer list of things we can special order is as vast as cyberspace.
I sleep in disappointment. I cover myself with obscurity. On my low days -- today is one; perhaps because I saw the cat, which always sets off a chain reaction of longing in me -- I am tempted to recite from memory the pages of a catalogue of replacement parts. The purpose of that act of self-abasement would be to demonstrate just how full of shit my self and soul and consciousness have become. But being your own buffoon is a cultural cliche, and I won’t give my enemies the satisfaction.
I don’t really have any enemies, unless you count an indifferent world. Years ago I used to send an outline of my history, with two sample chapters, to people in the publishing business: agents and editors, for the most part, although several times to professors of history who had written books I admired. My cover letter was straightforward, and not too long. The voice I employed was briskly professional. In the beginning I thought they were just not good at writing back. They were careless, or preoccupied, or their secretaries were. Then I learned they got together at a bar in Manhattan and burned every page I sent. They drank their expensive whiskey and laughed and watched all that paper and ink and me go up in flames. They were doing their job.
I was forty when Mercy left me. For the first year or so I used to call people up and tell them how lonely I was. I could write a book on loneliness, I would say. You want the definition of forsaken, you call me. No one knew how to respond, and I quit calling when I realized how uncomfortable I made them. Now, if I called anybody, I would tell them it’s hard to catch a glimpse of the emperor, but I often see his cat.
I have rehearsed ad nauseam a scene in which I invite Clarice down for dinner. She is ambitious and works too hard to waste her time dating. Besides, the pool of eligible men for a classy woman like her must be sadly small. She has a future, and the men in her world mainly cling to the past. A meal with me would be anything but threatening, but I can’t seem to bring myself to take the plunge. I won’t describe the way Clarice looks. That would be a betrayal of her privacy. But she is good looking in a one-of-a-kind way that I’m a sucker for.
My sexual fantasies got stale years ago. Most of the time I can ignore them.
I should also mention that I quit paying the phone bill six or eight months ago. Lately I’m economizing. What I make hawking auto parts doesn’t go far, not even when I add Clarice’s rent to the kitty. I could get more for the apartment but like letting her live there cheap because she is a student, and because she is Clarice.
Sometimes I wonder whether my desire to see the emperor up close is healthy. Even strong and successful people experience doubt. Only the fundamentalists appear not to, and they might be repressing theirs. But healthy or unhealthy, the longing to see the emperor is what makes me who I am.
Once when I stayed home from work, sick with a migraine, I happened to see a veterinarian come out of the emperor’s house, which is four doors down from my place and on the other side of the street. She looked at any rate like a vet and carried a medical black bag. I admit there is something psychologically fishy about the agonies I endured thinking the cat might be ill. And of course there is the question of whether vets make house calls.
Other times I have wanted to give the cat a name. But I won’t. I’m afraid naming it would diminish its luster.
When I was fifty I would have considered the most succinct jeremiad beneath me. Any more, who knows? Some mornings I wake up to face another blank page and find myself wanting to throw things, to rage and curse and break glass. Perhaps I could kill, if a suitable victim were at hand. The only good thing about my anger is it forces me to understand why Mercy divorced me. She saw this coming, all of it. Good for her that she got out.
Last Thursday, I think it was, I heard Clarice vacuuming upstairs. She had come home from class to fix something to eat before she went back out for the evening shift at Memorial. She must have had a few free moments, and it is like her to fill them with work. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to rush upstairs and pound on her door. Listening to the vacuum moving across the floor, and Clarice moving furniture as she cleaned, I worked myself up into a weird frenzy. I was convinced I needed her advice, that I could not go on living another day without asking her: has the time come? Shall I give up my history of the world? Is my dream finally dead? I long ago tired of asking myself those questions, but I was sure she had answers to them. Luckily my self-control stood me in good stead. I sat in my recliner until I heard her footsteps coming down the stairs, and then the sound of her engine turning over as she drove off. I will not make a fool of myself.
It’s a superstition to believe that the winter will never end. But my history of the world has room in it for superstition. In fact some day the snow may melt. I may live to see the thaw, although I don’t believe I will. If I live to seventy -- we die young in our family; I come from a long line of working-class fatalists, and we are Irish and blackly Catholic to boot -- I hope to provide a detailed description of the emperor.
At work I’ve been told I need to improve my communication skills, verbal and non-verbal both. The store belongs to a national chain. They recently hired a consulting firm to assess all their employees with an eye to boosting sales. They have put in place a system based on what they call the customer-satisfaction quotient. They want people to walk out the door happier than they were when they walked in. A tall order, in the world as I conceive it. The thing is, I can put on the facial tic at will. It stands to reason I could remove it just as easily.
I won’t inflict my dreams on you. Suffice it to say that in my one recurring dream the emperor appears obliquely. I’m always catching him from the corner of my eye.
I worry about the cat crossing the street. It seems oblivious to its surroundings in an uncatlike way. They are animals. One expects them to be instinctively alert. In case of an accident what would I do? The phone company cut my service months ago.
I have made up my mind. I could give up my history. I’m not saying that I will, just that I could. Or I think that I could. But I cannot and will not depart this life without having seen the emperor up close. I will feast my eyes. I will impress the features of his noble face on my memory, the way a blind lover reads the face of his beloved with fingers that trace and, tracing, see all. I will absorb everything there is to absorb. I will assess his mustache.
The vigil starts now. In the Florida room. It will last as long as it needs to last. When I see the emperor -- not if, but when -- I will need to approach him respectfully. No doubt he is besieged by courtiers, lackeys, office-seekers of all kinds. I’ll probably come across as the contemporary equivalent of a peasant with garlic on his breath. He will assume I have an ulterior motive for bothering him, so I need to know exactly what I’ll say when the time comes.
It will put him at ease if I bring up the cat. With a multitude of weighty matters oppressing him, he cannot be blamed for giving less than his full attention to the comings and going of a household pet. He may not even notice the blithe disregard with which his cat steps into our street, which draws a lot of traffic crossing between Walnut and Ferry. I’m willing to go so far as to rehearse my lines. If he’s half the emperor I believe him to be, he will recognize that I am telling the truth and keep the cat inside.
Fond as I am of observing the creature, it will put me at ease to know it’s safe, not out in the street where any idiot in a muscle car can kill it in an instant of thoughtless reflex.
With the cost of fuel oil being what it is, I don’t normally heat the Florida room, but I’ve turned on the thermostat and will run it at sixty five so I can watch in comfort. In a flannel shirt and sweater, I’m comfortable. I have vacation time to burn. I’ll take the week off. Now that I’ve made the decision, the idea of actually speaking with the emperor excites me.
I’ll heat a can of soup for lunch. Tomato. The crackers are stale so I’ll crumble them in the bowl. I don’t find much difference of taste between Campbell’s and the store brand, which is cheaper. Later I’ll go out and pick up some groceries. Steaks. Two of them. One for Clarice and one for me. Baked potatoes, fried onions, green beans with slivered almonds. A bottle of good red wine. If I invite her to have dinner with me this evening, if I tell her I need an honest friend, she will not let me down.
I like a New York strip steak. I hope she does, too. We could make it a habit. Dinner every other week, say. I’m betting she’ll enjoy the break in her routine, not to mention having somebody else doing the cooking once in a while. We’ll talk about the things that matter to her: her job, college, what she plans to do when she graduates. Where she would like to be in five years, in ten. Not until she has told me everything she feels like telling will I bring up the question of my history. And I’ll do it in a casual way, as if I don’t care much about it. That will make it easier for her to respond. Clarice has a lot of what they call emotional intelligence. She’ll get it. I’m hoping she’ll say keep going, don’t give up. I think that would be enough to get me through the winter.
There it is. The emperor’s cat. Three doors down from my place, chickadees have settled on a feeder. In the stalking animal’s absorption, its absolute concentration on the birds as it approaches the feeder with slow stealth, I recognize a difficult beauty. Still, it’s not the emperor, is it? It’s only his cat.
_____
Mark Jacobs has published over 70 stories in commercial and literary magazines including The Atlantic Monthly and The Iowa Review. His most recent book is A Handful of Kings, from Simon and Schuster. He plays lead guitar in The Double Crossed Band http://doublecrossedband.net/.
The Emperor’s Cat
This morning I saw the cat again. I went out to the porch at seven to pick up the Gazette and there it pranced on the shoveled sidewalk, in all its calico glory. White predominates in the cat’s long fur, followed by a molasses shade of brown. Here and there a splash of black stands out like paint flung onto a canvas. The large tail is imperious, as one would expect the tail of an emperor’s cat to be. I stood there looking at the regal creature as it leapt from the sidewalk and began making its way across the snowy yard of the emperor’s house. A hard skin of ice has covered the snow, so the cat either skated or punched small holes with its paws, depending on the thickness of the ice in a given spot as it went.
This winter will never end. Or if it does, I won’t be here for the thaw. Shall I say that doesn’t bother me? It bothers the hell out of me.
I waited on the porch for a few minutes in the cold hoping I might catch a glimpse of the emperor. No luck. Sightings of him are rarer than the rarest of comets. When the cat made its way into the back yard, I went inside to work. But I was unsettled and knew it would come hard.
I am a historian. Not a professional -- I lack a sinecure, not to say an ideology -- but not an amateur, either. I’m writing the history of the world. Such a daunting challenge requires a steady vantage point, however arbitrary. For me there was never any doubt. I chose this place, Niagara Falls, the city of my birth as the anchor of my narrative. I might just as easily have chosen Montevideo, or Kiev, or the Thar Desert in India, but in me the heart rules. This is my home. Still, I try to stay on the right side of the line dividing sentiment from sentimentality. Living alone, I have to be careful not to blow things out of proportion. My disappointments are the same size as my triumphs. Both of them are invisible to the populace at large. The eyes of the populace at large are generally closed.
I sat at my desk in the study and read an article about Charles Dickens’ visit to Niagara Falls in 1842. I took some notes. I tried to put myself in a Dickensian frame of mind. The chapter I’m working on has to do with how succeeding generations have viewed the falls, beginning with the creation myth of the Seneca Indians. (My favorite period is the Romantic Sublime, when the thundering cataracts were seen as an example of God’s majestic personality.) As a non-specialist I’m free to include whatever I feel like throwing in, as long as it hangs together in the narrative. Some days it does, some it doesn’t. Today, in an hour’s straining effort I was not able to come up with a single convincing sentence. Dickens will have to wait until tomorrow.
To date I have amassed somewhere between 2,000 and 3,000 pages of manuscript. I quit counting years ago, when it became clear to me that nobody cared, and nobody was going to care. I live alone in the bottom half of a duplex on Fifth Street that my grandparents bought back in the Thirties. It used to be a nice neighborhood. Now it’s the perfect synecdoche for the blighted disaster that is my city. I rent the upstairs apartment to a single woman, a young African American named Clarice, who works nights at the hospital to put herself through community college. The rent money comes in handy, and proximity to a member of the opposite sex, no matter how tangential, is one of the handful of things that keep me sane.
I want to believe Clarice does not see me as the dirty old white guy who lives downstairs. I am her landlord, and a gentleman. I’m also handy with tools, so if anything in her apartment breaks down she knows she can call me and it will be fixed the same day. Once, she sat at my kitchen table drinking a cup of tea and asked me what I was writing. She seemed genuinely curious and asked six or eight smart questions. The beauty of her brown hand spooning white sugar left me weak, then made me strong. The boost to my spirits lasted a week, and I finished a chapter that had bedeviled me for months.
I wasn’t always a recluse. In fact I used to be married and lived a regular sort of life. We played pinochle with friends, and went out for pizza and beer at Michael’s on Pine Avenue, and worried about our sex life as the years went by just like everybody else did. My wife’s name was Mercy. After twelve years with me, she liked to say, there was none left in her. She changed her name to Diana and now lives in Phoenix, where she makes a comfortable living grooming other people’s pets. The obituary of our marriage should include the fact that it produced no children. Not, as they say, for lack of trying.
Mercy blamed our childlessness on my obsession with history. Although I knew that was a crock, scientifically speaking, I never contested the point with her. My history of Niagara Falls is expansive enough to include the science of emotion, according to which she was probably right. On more than one occasion I have seen mist rising from the falls in such a way as to suggest that time and space are lovers after all. There is a reason that our city was known for a time as the honeymoon capital of the world.
I have no wish to live unsatisfied and die alone.
To return to the cat: from the moment it first appeared on the sidewalk I have entertained rich mixed feelings about the animal. Once last summer I watched it stalk and slay a grackle, a bird I am particularly fond of because of its prosaic ordinariness. The grackle is a city bird, a neighborhood bird, the kind of bird that rose in clouds from the grass in the front yard when your grandmother started beating rugs on the front porch during her rite of spring cleaning. Last week the cat narrowly missed a cardinal. Against a sun-dazzled snowbank the bright red bird seemed to be a trick of the eye, and then it was gone. Afterward, wet clumps of snow clung to the fur on the cat’s chest, and it skulked away embarrassed.
As for the emperor himself, I have seen him twice. Once he was walking to the inconvenience store on the corner. The second time he stuck his head out the front door and whistled for the cat the way other people whistle for their dogs. Two times in all these years, and at a distance! He must have his reasons for keeping such a low profile. His mustache inclines me to think he may be of Asian descent. It’s not easy to see; it’s the kind of mustache you have to intuit. Naturally I would like a closer look.
To stay honest, I regularly ask myself the hard questions. The most important one is: am I nuts? Have I been warped out of shape by solitude and my desire to write the world’s history? I’m convinced the answer is no. The reduction of human experience to categories of the sick ward is a failure of the imagination.
I’m sixty, or will soon be. To keep body and soul together, I work thirty hours a week selling auto parts behind the counter of what used to be Hutchins’, across the street from what has always been Page’s Whistle Pig, near the intersection they used to call Six Corners. (That’s how a historian sees a place.) We stock a warehouse full of parts for all makes and models, including domestic and foreign although that’s a distinction without much of a difference, any more. The computer list of things we can special order is as vast as cyberspace.
I sleep in disappointment. I cover myself with obscurity. On my low days -- today is one; perhaps because I saw the cat, which always sets off a chain reaction of longing in me -- I am tempted to recite from memory the pages of a catalogue of replacement parts. The purpose of that act of self-abasement would be to demonstrate just how full of shit my self and soul and consciousness have become. But being your own buffoon is a cultural cliche, and I won’t give my enemies the satisfaction.
I don’t really have any enemies, unless you count an indifferent world. Years ago I used to send an outline of my history, with two sample chapters, to people in the publishing business: agents and editors, for the most part, although several times to professors of history who had written books I admired. My cover letter was straightforward, and not too long. The voice I employed was briskly professional. In the beginning I thought they were just not good at writing back. They were careless, or preoccupied, or their secretaries were. Then I learned they got together at a bar in Manhattan and burned every page I sent. They drank their expensive whiskey and laughed and watched all that paper and ink and me go up in flames. They were doing their job.
I was forty when Mercy left me. For the first year or so I used to call people up and tell them how lonely I was. I could write a book on loneliness, I would say. You want the definition of forsaken, you call me. No one knew how to respond, and I quit calling when I realized how uncomfortable I made them. Now, if I called anybody, I would tell them it’s hard to catch a glimpse of the emperor, but I often see his cat.
I have rehearsed ad nauseam a scene in which I invite Clarice down for dinner. She is ambitious and works too hard to waste her time dating. Besides, the pool of eligible men for a classy woman like her must be sadly small. She has a future, and the men in her world mainly cling to the past. A meal with me would be anything but threatening, but I can’t seem to bring myself to take the plunge. I won’t describe the way Clarice looks. That would be a betrayal of her privacy. But she is good looking in a one-of-a-kind way that I’m a sucker for.
My sexual fantasies got stale years ago. Most of the time I can ignore them.
I should also mention that I quit paying the phone bill six or eight months ago. Lately I’m economizing. What I make hawking auto parts doesn’t go far, not even when I add Clarice’s rent to the kitty. I could get more for the apartment but like letting her live there cheap because she is a student, and because she is Clarice.
Sometimes I wonder whether my desire to see the emperor up close is healthy. Even strong and successful people experience doubt. Only the fundamentalists appear not to, and they might be repressing theirs. But healthy or unhealthy, the longing to see the emperor is what makes me who I am.
Once when I stayed home from work, sick with a migraine, I happened to see a veterinarian come out of the emperor’s house, which is four doors down from my place and on the other side of the street. She looked at any rate like a vet and carried a medical black bag. I admit there is something psychologically fishy about the agonies I endured thinking the cat might be ill. And of course there is the question of whether vets make house calls.
Other times I have wanted to give the cat a name. But I won’t. I’m afraid naming it would diminish its luster.
When I was fifty I would have considered the most succinct jeremiad beneath me. Any more, who knows? Some mornings I wake up to face another blank page and find myself wanting to throw things, to rage and curse and break glass. Perhaps I could kill, if a suitable victim were at hand. The only good thing about my anger is it forces me to understand why Mercy divorced me. She saw this coming, all of it. Good for her that she got out.
Last Thursday, I think it was, I heard Clarice vacuuming upstairs. She had come home from class to fix something to eat before she went back out for the evening shift at Memorial. She must have had a few free moments, and it is like her to fill them with work. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to rush upstairs and pound on her door. Listening to the vacuum moving across the floor, and Clarice moving furniture as she cleaned, I worked myself up into a weird frenzy. I was convinced I needed her advice, that I could not go on living another day without asking her: has the time come? Shall I give up my history of the world? Is my dream finally dead? I long ago tired of asking myself those questions, but I was sure she had answers to them. Luckily my self-control stood me in good stead. I sat in my recliner until I heard her footsteps coming down the stairs, and then the sound of her engine turning over as she drove off. I will not make a fool of myself.
It’s a superstition to believe that the winter will never end. But my history of the world has room in it for superstition. In fact some day the snow may melt. I may live to see the thaw, although I don’t believe I will. If I live to seventy -- we die young in our family; I come from a long line of working-class fatalists, and we are Irish and blackly Catholic to boot -- I hope to provide a detailed description of the emperor.
At work I’ve been told I need to improve my communication skills, verbal and non-verbal both. The store belongs to a national chain. They recently hired a consulting firm to assess all their employees with an eye to boosting sales. They have put in place a system based on what they call the customer-satisfaction quotient. They want people to walk out the door happier than they were when they walked in. A tall order, in the world as I conceive it. The thing is, I can put on the facial tic at will. It stands to reason I could remove it just as easily.
I won’t inflict my dreams on you. Suffice it to say that in my one recurring dream the emperor appears obliquely. I’m always catching him from the corner of my eye.
I worry about the cat crossing the street. It seems oblivious to its surroundings in an uncatlike way. They are animals. One expects them to be instinctively alert. In case of an accident what would I do? The phone company cut my service months ago.
I have made up my mind. I could give up my history. I’m not saying that I will, just that I could. Or I think that I could. But I cannot and will not depart this life without having seen the emperor up close. I will feast my eyes. I will impress the features of his noble face on my memory, the way a blind lover reads the face of his beloved with fingers that trace and, tracing, see all. I will absorb everything there is to absorb. I will assess his mustache.
The vigil starts now. In the Florida room. It will last as long as it needs to last. When I see the emperor -- not if, but when -- I will need to approach him respectfully. No doubt he is besieged by courtiers, lackeys, office-seekers of all kinds. I’ll probably come across as the contemporary equivalent of a peasant with garlic on his breath. He will assume I have an ulterior motive for bothering him, so I need to know exactly what I’ll say when the time comes.
It will put him at ease if I bring up the cat. With a multitude of weighty matters oppressing him, he cannot be blamed for giving less than his full attention to the comings and going of a household pet. He may not even notice the blithe disregard with which his cat steps into our street, which draws a lot of traffic crossing between Walnut and Ferry. I’m willing to go so far as to rehearse my lines. If he’s half the emperor I believe him to be, he will recognize that I am telling the truth and keep the cat inside.
Fond as I am of observing the creature, it will put me at ease to know it’s safe, not out in the street where any idiot in a muscle car can kill it in an instant of thoughtless reflex.
With the cost of fuel oil being what it is, I don’t normally heat the Florida room, but I’ve turned on the thermostat and will run it at sixty five so I can watch in comfort. In a flannel shirt and sweater, I’m comfortable. I have vacation time to burn. I’ll take the week off. Now that I’ve made the decision, the idea of actually speaking with the emperor excites me.
I’ll heat a can of soup for lunch. Tomato. The crackers are stale so I’ll crumble them in the bowl. I don’t find much difference of taste between Campbell’s and the store brand, which is cheaper. Later I’ll go out and pick up some groceries. Steaks. Two of them. One for Clarice and one for me. Baked potatoes, fried onions, green beans with slivered almonds. A bottle of good red wine. If I invite her to have dinner with me this evening, if I tell her I need an honest friend, she will not let me down.
I like a New York strip steak. I hope she does, too. We could make it a habit. Dinner every other week, say. I’m betting she’ll enjoy the break in her routine, not to mention having somebody else doing the cooking once in a while. We’ll talk about the things that matter to her: her job, college, what she plans to do when she graduates. Where she would like to be in five years, in ten. Not until she has told me everything she feels like telling will I bring up the question of my history. And I’ll do it in a casual way, as if I don’t care much about it. That will make it easier for her to respond. Clarice has a lot of what they call emotional intelligence. She’ll get it. I’m hoping she’ll say keep going, don’t give up. I think that would be enough to get me through the winter.
There it is. The emperor’s cat. Three doors down from my place, chickadees have settled on a feeder. In the stalking animal’s absorption, its absolute concentration on the birds as it approaches the feeder with slow stealth, I recognize a difficult beauty. Still, it’s not the emperor, is it? It’s only his cat.
_____
Mark Jacobs has published over 70 stories in commercial and literary magazines including The Atlantic Monthly and The Iowa Review. His most recent book is A Handful of Kings, from Simon and Schuster. He plays lead guitar in The Double Crossed Band http://doublecrossedband.net/.
Francis Raven, "Markets Across the Country"
Francis Raven
Markets Across the Country: A Portrait
May 19, 2006
94101
$1,700,000 US$ Diamond in the
Rough. Classic 1908 Victorian
between Hayes Valley & Haight.
Solid building on deep lot ready for
upgrades. Owner is retiring. Seller is
anxious. Sold “AS IS.” Needs TLC.
Median home value = $380,300
National Average = $126,047
People per household = 2.8
The Slanted Door is a
modern Vietnamese
restaurant that showcases the
abundance of produce as well
as ecologically farmed meat,
game and poultry found at
farms around the San
Francisco Bay Area. The
Phan family opened the
original Slanted Door in 1995
on Valenica Street with a
vision to blend Vietnamese
cooking technique with local
ingredients.
Median household income = $47,434
Overcast with rain showers at times. High 56F.
Winds W at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 40%.
Percent commuting by bus = 38.7%
National Average = 2.0%
* * *
I don’t want to hear from people who are:
over 28, boring, far-away/don’t drive, don’t
want to believe I’m big after seeing my
pics/don’t realize BBW means fat, super-ethnic
[i.e. just arrived in the US looking for a bride],
here to jerk me around, hella perv in a gross
way. DICK PICS ARE STUPID. Anyway.
I like boys who are: chubby, younger or my
age, clean shaven, funny, charming, and have
piercings, tattoos, braces, glasses, dark hair
(& blue eyes!), etc.
* * *
37501 “Birthplace of the Blues”
88F. Some clouds and
possibly an isolated
thunderstorm late. Low
69F. Winds SW at 10 to
20 mph. Chance of rain
30%.
If you know barbecue, you are
probably already well aware of
Corky’s Ribs & BBQ Restaurants,
a “Memphis Landmark,” according
to Restaurant Hospitality
Magazine. Corky’s, LLC is a
master franchise organization
developed to expand the Corky’s
concept nationwide. Now qualified
entrepreneurs are being invited to
put the wide range appeal of the
Corky’s BBQ business to work for
themselves.
Male Population = 307643 = 47.32%
Tour group information on touring Sun Studio, the birthplace of Rock ‘N’ Roll! We offer group tours of the recording studio and gallery at a reduced admission rate if the group is booked in advance. Group tours can be booked for groups of 20 or more at $6.00 per person. Group tours can be scheduled on the hour for up to 30 people per tour. We are open from 10am to 6pm daily, 7 days a week, year round.
NEWLY CONVERTED
DOWNTOWN CONDO.
Perfect for anyone who wants
to be close the FedEx Forum,
Beale, The River Walk,
Peabody Square or kick back
& watch sunsets on the Roof
Top Deck. This corporate
owned condo offers
washer/dryer combo, pine
hrdwd flrs, security entrance
& unit, fire alarm, whirlpool
tub, maple cabinets, Free 1 yr
parking and 1 yr HOA fee for
only $149,900.
The Peabody Hotel, located near the midpoint of the
downtown district has a unique tradition. Every day at
eleven AM and at five PM, the Peabody ducks parade to
and from the lobby fountain with the accompaniment of an
orchestral march.
I am a single guy who is
looking for just the right
person to share what life has
to offer with. I’ve been in a
couple of long term
relationships that didn’t work
out that I’m almost scared to
get into another one. I know
if I find the right person,
though, It will eventually
happen sooner or later. I’ve
dated since my last serious
relationship that ended
almost a year ago, but I just
haven’t “clicked” with
anyone. I am an outgoing
person who can’t stand to be
bored, unless its being bored
with that special someone.
* * *
The Big Easy
86F. Generally clear. Low
69F. Winds SW at 10 to 15
mph.
The Comfort Suites® Downtown is
conveniently located in the heart of the
Central Business District, just steps away
from the exciting French Quarter, the
Louisiana Superdome, Jackson Square, the
Ernest N. Morial Convention Center and
the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas.
Tulane University, Loyola University and
Xavier University of Louisiana are within
five miles. The Louis Armstrong New
Orleans International Airport is just 14
miles from the hotel.
PLANNING A GROUP EVENT, MEETING OR GET-TOGETHER IN NEW ORLEANS?
Spectacular 1856 side hall
classic on the National
Historic Register abounding
in original architectural
details. Only blocks from the
famous French Quarter this
meticulous restoration
showcases 3 bedrooms, 2 full
baths, music room, great
room and gourmet kitchen
with splendid finishes. May
be purchased fully furnished
including its world wide art
collection. Offered at
$650,000.
* * *
Appetizers
-Creole Tomato and Tabasco Mozzarella Salad
Grilled Vidalia onions, arugula, Hawaiian Fleur de Sel, cucumbers and liquid basil
-Gulf Hake Ceviche
Local tomato tartare, “crab boil” potatoes, grilled green onions and smoked paprika oil
-Turtle Soup Au Sherry
-Commander’s Las Vegas Salad
Recently stopped dating a
very nice women due to
distance. So, I have more free
time. I am independent,
happy, liberal, and I really
like to laugh a lot. I like to
walk, take walks and I prefer
to ride my bike for
transportation. I am slightly
addicted to coffee, funny
sometimes, talk a lot
sometimes, am silent for long
periods at other times, enjoy
life and being outside. I
should mention that I shower
often but don’t wear
deodorant, don’t shave my
legs, etc. Though, I do smell
great mostly.
* * *
Latitude/Longitude 45.49882/-122.69026
Low 56F. Cloudy with
showers. Low 56F. Winds
SW at 5 to 10 mph. Chance
of rain 40%.
Population of 5 to 9 year-olds = 31184 = 5.89% of total population.
$379,900! RIVER FRONT
CONDO! 2bed/2ba
Spectacular Remodeled
Condo w/View & Steps to
Willamette River! Close-in
John’s Landing! Granite,
Hrdwds, Frpl.
I am a 36 y.o. quad who is
lookin’ for someone to go out
and enjoy the town with or
just stay in and enjoy a good
movie. I am a very simple
guy. Even though I’m in a
wheelchair I think I’m pretty
independent. I enjoy the
outdoors and jokin’ around
with anyone who has a sense
of humor. By the way, I’m a
high-tech red-neck.
The Hotel Lucia is conveniently located in downtown
Portland Oregon and offers the best in hotel guest services
at affordable hotel rates.
* * *
19103 “The Sixth Borough”
Windy with a few showers
this evening. Partly cloudy
skies overnight. Low near
50F. WSW winds at 20 to 30
mph, diminishing to 5 to 10
mph. Chance of rain 30%.
Median age: = 35.6
CENTER CITY ELEGANCE
RITTENHOUSE SQUARE
Largest 1 Bedroom Unit, 2
balconies with city views,
laundry room and parquet
flooring are special features
of this home. Health Club &
pool, heat, electric and on-
site security included in
Association Fee of $520.
Underground parking
available. Spacious floor plan
and close to shops and
restaurants. Reduced!
$469,500
Housing units = 4,700
This professional position,
requiring excellent
communication and
organizational skills, is
responsible for high-level
administrative support to the
Vice President for
organization-wide
development and
communication activities.
Rural population = 0
Being genuine is more
important than expectations.
I’d like to meet a few
interesting people and see
where it goes. It would be
nice to find a few days or
nights of that feeling of
melting into one another
along with whatever may
follow. I get along best with
people who stand out as
being really intense, very
relaxed, or both.
* * *
Area Code 305
Mostly clear. Low near 70F. Winds SW at 5 to 10 mph.
FREE MAGAZINES TO
WHOEVER WOULD LIKE
TO HAVE THEM! Would
you like to get several years’
issues of “Scientific
American,” some
“Smithsonian” and
“Aerospace America,” for
free? I don’t want to just
throw them out!
Position Description:
IRC has an immediate
opening for the position of
Biologist/Program
Coordinator. The person in
this position plans, organizes,
develops funding for,
coordinates and conducts
projects related to inventory,
monitoring, management and
conservation of wildlife and
rare plants. This position will
also be responsible for office
administration, financial
management, community
outreach, and fundraising for
IRC. The position is
based south of Miami, Florida, and
field work will be conducted
throughout southern Florida.
When you’re in the mood for good times,
pleasant dining, and great cuisine, A Fish
Called Avalon can’t be beat. The restaurant
offers a pleasant, inviting atmosphere that is
perfect for casual dining with families and
friends. The menu features an extensive
array of selections, with something sure to
please every member of your group. A Fish
Called Avalon also features a professional
staff of friendly people, who will ensure that
your visit is a pleasant one. Everybody looks
forward to seeing you, so please stop in
soon!
I am an intelligent, sweet
loving girl who’s very
hardworking and dedicated to
making her life a happy and
successful one. I graduated
college with a technical
degree in MIS. Within the
next year or two, I’m
planning to go back for my
MBA in finance or
accounting. People often
want to know what I like to
do for fun...Well, to be
honest, I don’t have much
time for fun since I work six
(6) days a week, with only
one day to relax.
* * *
The Capital
5/18-5/20: GenderYouth Leadership Summit
Death By Gender. Join Sylvia Guerrero, civil rights
activist and mother of slain teen Gwen Araujo,
TransGeneration star T.J. Jourian, and Academy Award
winner Debra Chasnoff of It’s Elementary to mobilize
against violence! This three day, action oriented
conference is perfect for students and youth interested
in gender issues. The registration fee is only $60, so
sign up today!
Area = 68.25 square miles
President George Washington
chose the site as the future
capital of the USA in 1791
(the French architect Pierre
Charles L’Enfant designed
the city). Washington, D.C.
became the nation’s capital
on June 11,1800 (previously,
the country had been
governed from Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania). The first
President to live in
Washington D.C. was John
Adams; his family moved
there in 1800.
Population = 572,059 (as of 2000)
DC DUCKS - City and River Tour
See Washington DC on the land and water with this
most unusual tour. Traveling in original WW II DUKW
amphibious vehicles, this 90 minute tour will take you
through the city of Washington before splashing down
into the Potomac River for the most unique ride of your
vacation!
Major Industry = Government
$3,500,000
5 Bed, 4.5 Bath
Condo/Townhome/Coop Property. Subdivision: GEORGETOWN.
County: WASHINGTON. Approximately 0.05 acre(s). Lot is 2400
sq. ft. Year Built: 1900. Central air conditioning, Basement, Dining
room, Hardwood floors.
Major Rivers = Potomac River, Anacostia River
* * *
Boston
The truth is, a savvy student can mine this
tourist trap for some good, cheap eats. First
off, the Quincy Market Colonnade is a giant
step above the food court at the
Cambridgeside Galleria — no BK here.
City Population = 5,819,100*
*Population corresponds to Metropolitan Statistical Area or
Consolidated Metropolitan Statistical Area.
Hi, Good morning, I am 43, 5.7, 150 lbs,
healthy, educated, respected, have a
great job, non smoker, D/D free,
vegetarian. I enjoy movies, different
kinds of food, spending time outside
when the weather is nice; I pretty much
enjoy everything. Looking for someone
Hispanic or Asian; slim slender under
fifty with a small chest and sexy body
who is dependable, sane and that wants a
relationship. Yes, I am married, just
want to have a discreet relationship. If
you are married, divorced, or under fifty
as long as we can share a common bond
and formulate a friendship I’m into it.
Race = African-American = 5.10%
This 2 Bedroom apartment on the
Watertown/Cambridge line on Mt. Auburn St.
features hardwood floors, tiled full bath, dining
room, eat-in kitchen and storage porch. $1200 +
utilities. What really makes this great besides
the low price are the two bus lines (71 and 73)
right by you. The 71 is in front of the place and
the 73 is a short walk down. Or go to the
supermarket (1 minute walk) and wait for both
buses to increase your chances. Once on the bus,
you’ll be in Harvard Square in less than 10
minutes, much less if traffic is good.
Average Number of Family Members = 3.13
In response to Boston’s embrace of No.9
PARK and Barbara’s desire to expand her
offerings in the city, she opened two small
restaurants next to each other in the artsy
and gastronomic enclave of the South End.
An oyster bar that serves sparkling New
England seafood and cool white wines
anchors one corner while next door is a
welcoming spot that offers a variety of
artisanal wines to enjoy with charcuterie and
light dishes as well as a full-service butchery
in the back. In the tradition of No.9 PARK,
B&G Oysters, LTD. and The Butcher Shop
focus on excellence, exceptional ingredients
from small producers, and an extremely
knowledgeable staff.
* * *
Mayor Richard M. Daley’s City
Pheww ! I just graduated, and am ready for
the real world. And that means real love. I
haven't had a girlfriend in two years, for
several reasons, which I will explain when
we chat online or meet. Of course the main
reason is I was burning the midnight oil
tackling the arcane developments of IT
(coincidentally my childhood
nickname...lolz). Please be ecological,
desire tropical locales, adore gentle
hair/head massages, smart, and cute
wouldn't hurt either. Pix please, and no m/f
couples or men: I'M A LESBIAN.
Description: Get detailed
statistics about Chicago and
Illinois employment,
economy, wages and more.
Resource Type: Statistics
From downtown Chicago, there are several ways to reach the Museum of Science and Industry by bus.
* Take the #2 Hyde Park Express south to 57th and Stony Island and walk 1 block east to the Museum.
* Take the #6 Jackson Park Express bus south to 56th Street and walk 1 block south to the Museum.
* Take the #28 Stony Island Express south to 56th and Hyde Park Boulevard and walk 1 block south to the Museum.
* Take the #10 Museum of Science and Industry bus which runs every day during the summer and weekends-only the rest of the year right to our front door.
South Chicago, Chicago = Median Income = $28,279
The Hancock Observatory
is open daily from 9:00 a.m.
to 11:00 p.m. (last ticket sold
at 10:45 p.m.) and is located
at John Hancock Center, 875
N. Michigan Avenue,
Chicago. The newly
renovated Hancock
Observatory will meet your
loftiest expectations!
Murder: May 15, 2:45 a.m.
HM351280
5400 block S. Damen Ave. Sidewalk
* * *
Asian influences surface throughout Moto’s four always-changing tasting menus. Fennel presented four ways includes purees painted on the plate, gelled cubes, a savory ice and fennel candy. A delicately flavored sashimi course has bites of salmon, scallops and hamachi alongside a cup of coconut milk and black squid ink. Chef Homaro Cantu's interest in science is evident in many dishes. Whimsical Squeezes—eyedropper-like pipettes filled with purees of ingredients like Swiss chard and bacon—pack a flavorful punch. Pacific bass is baked tableside to melt-in-your-mouth perfection in a futuristic-looking transparent polymer box.
Murder: May 12, 12:35 a.m.
HM345333
400 block W. Chicago Ave. CHA hallway/stairwell/elevator
* * *
_____
Francis Raven is a graduate student in philosophy at Temple University. His books include 5-Haifun: Of Being Divisible (Blue Lion Books, 2008), Shifting the Question More Complicated (Otoliths, 2007), Taste: Gastronomic Poems (Blazevox 2005) and the novel, Inverted Curvatures (Spuyten Duyvil, 2005).
Markets Across the Country: A Portrait
May 19, 2006
94101
$1,700,000 US$ Diamond in the
Rough. Classic 1908 Victorian
between Hayes Valley & Haight.
Solid building on deep lot ready for
upgrades. Owner is retiring. Seller is
anxious. Sold “AS IS.” Needs TLC.
Median home value = $380,300
National Average = $126,047
People per household = 2.8
The Slanted Door is a
modern Vietnamese
restaurant that showcases the
abundance of produce as well
as ecologically farmed meat,
game and poultry found at
farms around the San
Francisco Bay Area. The
Phan family opened the
original Slanted Door in 1995
on Valenica Street with a
vision to blend Vietnamese
cooking technique with local
ingredients.
Median household income = $47,434
Overcast with rain showers at times. High 56F.
Winds W at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 40%.
Percent commuting by bus = 38.7%
National Average = 2.0%
* * *
I don’t want to hear from people who are:
over 28, boring, far-away/don’t drive, don’t
want to believe I’m big after seeing my
pics/don’t realize BBW means fat, super-ethnic
[i.e. just arrived in the US looking for a bride],
here to jerk me around, hella perv in a gross
way. DICK PICS ARE STUPID. Anyway.
I like boys who are: chubby, younger or my
age, clean shaven, funny, charming, and have
piercings, tattoos, braces, glasses, dark hair
(& blue eyes!), etc.
* * *
37501 “Birthplace of the Blues”
88F. Some clouds and
possibly an isolated
thunderstorm late. Low
69F. Winds SW at 10 to
20 mph. Chance of rain
30%.
If you know barbecue, you are
probably already well aware of
Corky’s Ribs & BBQ Restaurants,
a “Memphis Landmark,” according
to Restaurant Hospitality
Magazine. Corky’s, LLC is a
master franchise organization
developed to expand the Corky’s
concept nationwide. Now qualified
entrepreneurs are being invited to
put the wide range appeal of the
Corky’s BBQ business to work for
themselves.
Male Population = 307643 = 47.32%
Tour group information on touring Sun Studio, the birthplace of Rock ‘N’ Roll! We offer group tours of the recording studio and gallery at a reduced admission rate if the group is booked in advance. Group tours can be booked for groups of 20 or more at $6.00 per person. Group tours can be scheduled on the hour for up to 30 people per tour. We are open from 10am to 6pm daily, 7 days a week, year round.
NEWLY CONVERTED
DOWNTOWN CONDO.
Perfect for anyone who wants
to be close the FedEx Forum,
Beale, The River Walk,
Peabody Square or kick back
& watch sunsets on the Roof
Top Deck. This corporate
owned condo offers
washer/dryer combo, pine
hrdwd flrs, security entrance
& unit, fire alarm, whirlpool
tub, maple cabinets, Free 1 yr
parking and 1 yr HOA fee for
only $149,900.
The Peabody Hotel, located near the midpoint of the
downtown district has a unique tradition. Every day at
eleven AM and at five PM, the Peabody ducks parade to
and from the lobby fountain with the accompaniment of an
orchestral march.
I am a single guy who is
looking for just the right
person to share what life has
to offer with. I’ve been in a
couple of long term
relationships that didn’t work
out that I’m almost scared to
get into another one. I know
if I find the right person,
though, It will eventually
happen sooner or later. I’ve
dated since my last serious
relationship that ended
almost a year ago, but I just
haven’t “clicked” with
anyone. I am an outgoing
person who can’t stand to be
bored, unless its being bored
with that special someone.
* * *
The Big Easy
86F. Generally clear. Low
69F. Winds SW at 10 to 15
mph.
The Comfort Suites® Downtown is
conveniently located in the heart of the
Central Business District, just steps away
from the exciting French Quarter, the
Louisiana Superdome, Jackson Square, the
Ernest N. Morial Convention Center and
the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas.
Tulane University, Loyola University and
Xavier University of Louisiana are within
five miles. The Louis Armstrong New
Orleans International Airport is just 14
miles from the hotel.
PLANNING A GROUP EVENT, MEETING OR GET-TOGETHER IN NEW ORLEANS?
Spectacular 1856 side hall
classic on the National
Historic Register abounding
in original architectural
details. Only blocks from the
famous French Quarter this
meticulous restoration
showcases 3 bedrooms, 2 full
baths, music room, great
room and gourmet kitchen
with splendid finishes. May
be purchased fully furnished
including its world wide art
collection. Offered at
$650,000.
* * *
Appetizers
-Creole Tomato and Tabasco Mozzarella Salad
Grilled Vidalia onions, arugula, Hawaiian Fleur de Sel, cucumbers and liquid basil
-Gulf Hake Ceviche
Local tomato tartare, “crab boil” potatoes, grilled green onions and smoked paprika oil
-Turtle Soup Au Sherry
-Commander’s Las Vegas Salad
Recently stopped dating a
very nice women due to
distance. So, I have more free
time. I am independent,
happy, liberal, and I really
like to laugh a lot. I like to
walk, take walks and I prefer
to ride my bike for
transportation. I am slightly
addicted to coffee, funny
sometimes, talk a lot
sometimes, am silent for long
periods at other times, enjoy
life and being outside. I
should mention that I shower
often but don’t wear
deodorant, don’t shave my
legs, etc. Though, I do smell
great mostly.
* * *
Latitude/Longitude 45.49882/-122.69026
Low 56F. Cloudy with
showers. Low 56F. Winds
SW at 5 to 10 mph. Chance
of rain 40%.
Population of 5 to 9 year-olds = 31184 = 5.89% of total population.
$379,900! RIVER FRONT
CONDO! 2bed/2ba
Spectacular Remodeled
Condo w/View & Steps to
Willamette River! Close-in
John’s Landing! Granite,
Hrdwds, Frpl.
I am a 36 y.o. quad who is
lookin’ for someone to go out
and enjoy the town with or
just stay in and enjoy a good
movie. I am a very simple
guy. Even though I’m in a
wheelchair I think I’m pretty
independent. I enjoy the
outdoors and jokin’ around
with anyone who has a sense
of humor. By the way, I’m a
high-tech red-neck.
The Hotel Lucia is conveniently located in downtown
Portland Oregon and offers the best in hotel guest services
at affordable hotel rates.
* * *
19103 “The Sixth Borough”
Windy with a few showers
this evening. Partly cloudy
skies overnight. Low near
50F. WSW winds at 20 to 30
mph, diminishing to 5 to 10
mph. Chance of rain 30%.
Median age: = 35.6
CENTER CITY ELEGANCE
RITTENHOUSE SQUARE
Largest 1 Bedroom Unit, 2
balconies with city views,
laundry room and parquet
flooring are special features
of this home. Health Club &
pool, heat, electric and on-
site security included in
Association Fee of $520.
Underground parking
available. Spacious floor plan
and close to shops and
restaurants. Reduced!
$469,500
Housing units = 4,700
This professional position,
requiring excellent
communication and
organizational skills, is
responsible for high-level
administrative support to the
Vice President for
organization-wide
development and
communication activities.
Rural population = 0
Being genuine is more
important than expectations.
I’d like to meet a few
interesting people and see
where it goes. It would be
nice to find a few days or
nights of that feeling of
melting into one another
along with whatever may
follow. I get along best with
people who stand out as
being really intense, very
relaxed, or both.
* * *
Area Code 305
Mostly clear. Low near 70F. Winds SW at 5 to 10 mph.
FREE MAGAZINES TO
WHOEVER WOULD LIKE
TO HAVE THEM! Would
you like to get several years’
issues of “Scientific
American,” some
“Smithsonian” and
“Aerospace America,” for
free? I don’t want to just
throw them out!
Position Description:
IRC has an immediate
opening for the position of
Biologist/Program
Coordinator. The person in
this position plans, organizes,
develops funding for,
coordinates and conducts
projects related to inventory,
monitoring, management and
conservation of wildlife and
rare plants. This position will
also be responsible for office
administration, financial
management, community
outreach, and fundraising for
IRC. The position is
based south of Miami, Florida, and
field work will be conducted
throughout southern Florida.
When you’re in the mood for good times,
pleasant dining, and great cuisine, A Fish
Called Avalon can’t be beat. The restaurant
offers a pleasant, inviting atmosphere that is
perfect for casual dining with families and
friends. The menu features an extensive
array of selections, with something sure to
please every member of your group. A Fish
Called Avalon also features a professional
staff of friendly people, who will ensure that
your visit is a pleasant one. Everybody looks
forward to seeing you, so please stop in
soon!
I am an intelligent, sweet
loving girl who’s very
hardworking and dedicated to
making her life a happy and
successful one. I graduated
college with a technical
degree in MIS. Within the
next year or two, I’m
planning to go back for my
MBA in finance or
accounting. People often
want to know what I like to
do for fun...Well, to be
honest, I don’t have much
time for fun since I work six
(6) days a week, with only
one day to relax.
* * *
The Capital
5/18-5/20: GenderYouth Leadership Summit
Death By Gender. Join Sylvia Guerrero, civil rights
activist and mother of slain teen Gwen Araujo,
TransGeneration star T.J. Jourian, and Academy Award
winner Debra Chasnoff of It’s Elementary to mobilize
against violence! This three day, action oriented
conference is perfect for students and youth interested
in gender issues. The registration fee is only $60, so
sign up today!
Area = 68.25 square miles
President George Washington
chose the site as the future
capital of the USA in 1791
(the French architect Pierre
Charles L’Enfant designed
the city). Washington, D.C.
became the nation’s capital
on June 11,1800 (previously,
the country had been
governed from Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania). The first
President to live in
Washington D.C. was John
Adams; his family moved
there in 1800.
Population = 572,059 (as of 2000)
DC DUCKS - City and River Tour
See Washington DC on the land and water with this
most unusual tour. Traveling in original WW II DUKW
amphibious vehicles, this 90 minute tour will take you
through the city of Washington before splashing down
into the Potomac River for the most unique ride of your
vacation!
Major Industry = Government
$3,500,000
5 Bed, 4.5 Bath
Condo/Townhome/Coop Property. Subdivision: GEORGETOWN.
County: WASHINGTON. Approximately 0.05 acre(s). Lot is 2400
sq. ft. Year Built: 1900. Central air conditioning, Basement, Dining
room, Hardwood floors.
Major Rivers = Potomac River, Anacostia River
* * *
Boston
The truth is, a savvy student can mine this
tourist trap for some good, cheap eats. First
off, the Quincy Market Colonnade is a giant
step above the food court at the
Cambridgeside Galleria — no BK here.
City Population = 5,819,100*
*Population corresponds to Metropolitan Statistical Area or
Consolidated Metropolitan Statistical Area.
Hi, Good morning, I am 43, 5.7, 150 lbs,
healthy, educated, respected, have a
great job, non smoker, D/D free,
vegetarian. I enjoy movies, different
kinds of food, spending time outside
when the weather is nice; I pretty much
enjoy everything. Looking for someone
Hispanic or Asian; slim slender under
fifty with a small chest and sexy body
who is dependable, sane and that wants a
relationship. Yes, I am married, just
want to have a discreet relationship. If
you are married, divorced, or under fifty
as long as we can share a common bond
and formulate a friendship I’m into it.
Race = African-American = 5.10%
This 2 Bedroom apartment on the
Watertown/Cambridge line on Mt. Auburn St.
features hardwood floors, tiled full bath, dining
room, eat-in kitchen and storage porch. $1200 +
utilities. What really makes this great besides
the low price are the two bus lines (71 and 73)
right by you. The 71 is in front of the place and
the 73 is a short walk down. Or go to the
supermarket (1 minute walk) and wait for both
buses to increase your chances. Once on the bus,
you’ll be in Harvard Square in less than 10
minutes, much less if traffic is good.
Average Number of Family Members = 3.13
In response to Boston’s embrace of No.9
PARK and Barbara’s desire to expand her
offerings in the city, she opened two small
restaurants next to each other in the artsy
and gastronomic enclave of the South End.
An oyster bar that serves sparkling New
England seafood and cool white wines
anchors one corner while next door is a
welcoming spot that offers a variety of
artisanal wines to enjoy with charcuterie and
light dishes as well as a full-service butchery
in the back. In the tradition of No.9 PARK,
B&G Oysters, LTD. and The Butcher Shop
focus on excellence, exceptional ingredients
from small producers, and an extremely
knowledgeable staff.
* * *
Mayor Richard M. Daley’s City
Pheww ! I just graduated, and am ready for
the real world. And that means real love. I
haven't had a girlfriend in two years, for
several reasons, which I will explain when
we chat online or meet. Of course the main
reason is I was burning the midnight oil
tackling the arcane developments of IT
(coincidentally my childhood
nickname...lolz). Please be ecological,
desire tropical locales, adore gentle
hair/head massages, smart, and cute
wouldn't hurt either. Pix please, and no m/f
couples or men: I'M A LESBIAN.
Description: Get detailed
statistics about Chicago and
Illinois employment,
economy, wages and more.
Resource Type: Statistics
From downtown Chicago, there are several ways to reach the Museum of Science and Industry by bus.
* Take the #2 Hyde Park Express south to 57th and Stony Island and walk 1 block east to the Museum.
* Take the #6 Jackson Park Express bus south to 56th Street and walk 1 block south to the Museum.
* Take the #28 Stony Island Express south to 56th and Hyde Park Boulevard and walk 1 block south to the Museum.
* Take the #10 Museum of Science and Industry bus which runs every day during the summer and weekends-only the rest of the year right to our front door.
South Chicago, Chicago = Median Income = $28,279
The Hancock Observatory
is open daily from 9:00 a.m.
to 11:00 p.m. (last ticket sold
at 10:45 p.m.) and is located
at John Hancock Center, 875
N. Michigan Avenue,
Chicago. The newly
renovated Hancock
Observatory will meet your
loftiest expectations!
Murder: May 15, 2:45 a.m.
HM351280
5400 block S. Damen Ave. Sidewalk
* * *
Asian influences surface throughout Moto’s four always-changing tasting menus. Fennel presented four ways includes purees painted on the plate, gelled cubes, a savory ice and fennel candy. A delicately flavored sashimi course has bites of salmon, scallops and hamachi alongside a cup of coconut milk and black squid ink. Chef Homaro Cantu's interest in science is evident in many dishes. Whimsical Squeezes—eyedropper-like pipettes filled with purees of ingredients like Swiss chard and bacon—pack a flavorful punch. Pacific bass is baked tableside to melt-in-your-mouth perfection in a futuristic-looking transparent polymer box.
Murder: May 12, 12:35 a.m.
HM345333
400 block W. Chicago Ave. CHA hallway/stairwell/elevator
* * *
_____
Francis Raven is a graduate student in philosophy at Temple University. His books include 5-Haifun: Of Being Divisible (Blue Lion Books, 2008), Shifting the Question More Complicated (Otoliths, 2007), Taste: Gastronomic Poems (Blazevox 2005) and the novel, Inverted Curvatures (Spuyten Duyvil, 2005).
James Sanders, "Days: (0:35) & (0:14)"
James Sanders
Days: (0:35) & (0:14)
_____
James Sanders is the tallest member of the Atlanta Poets Group. Their blog is at www.atlantapoetsgroup.blogspot.com. Among other projects, they run a sound poetry magazine at www.aslongasittakes.org.
James Sanders is the tallest member of the Atlanta Poets Group. Their blog is at www.atlantapoetsgroup.blogspot.com. Among other projects, they run a sound poetry magazine at www.aslongasittakes.org.
Andrew Terhune, "Changes to a Poem"
Andrew Terhune
Changes to a Poem
I removed “she dyed red with Kool-Aid” from the first line. I felt that it could have worked with it, but it wasn’t completely necessary. I wanted to remove red, because we see red again in the next line and later on in the poem. Then just taking out red would leave “she dyed with Kool-Aid” which wouldn’t work.
I removed “Ashley” from the second line. “Ashley” wasn’t needed, because the speaker was speaking to her as the “you” in the rest of the poem.
I removed “That was the day” from the fourth line. I didn’t think it needed to be said that that was the day.
I removed “Yankees” from the fourth line. I thought it would better to emphasize that it was a blue cap more than blue Yankees cap, because “Blue was truly midnight.”
I removed “at The Barns” from the fifth line. Deleting it pulls the attention back to Robert and the reception.
I removed “shooting” and left it as “A star fell…” I thought “a star fell” made it more somber or solemn than a “shooting star fell.” I liked the phrasing of the line without the “shooting.”
I removed “at the center of the Wesleyan Hills” from the seventh line for the same reasons I removed “at The Barns” from the fifth line. “A star fell and I wished for TJ and the green pond.”
I removed “over Henry” from the eighth line. It is a very specific thing to be crying over, and I hesitated for a moment before I removed it because of the way its phrased, because if that is the only thing that Tova’s mom cried about too much, then it was important to know.
I removed “Bush on” before “the black boombox” in line 9. I liked seeing “the black boombox,/remember? I liked seeing “the black boombox” by itself without anything in front of it.
I removed “was” from the tenth line. This was the first thing I removed.
_____
Andrew Terhune is a proud representative of the displaced South in Chicago, where he lives with his wife and two daughters. His poems can be found in Columbia Poetry Review, Glass, O Sweet Flowery Roses, and online at www.andrewisvanishing.blogspot.com.
Changes to a Poem
I removed “she dyed red with Kool-Aid” from the first line. I felt that it could have worked with it, but it wasn’t completely necessary. I wanted to remove red, because we see red again in the next line and later on in the poem. Then just taking out red would leave “she dyed with Kool-Aid” which wouldn’t work.
I removed “Ashley” from the second line. “Ashley” wasn’t needed, because the speaker was speaking to her as the “you” in the rest of the poem.
I removed “That was the day” from the fourth line. I didn’t think it needed to be said that that was the day.
I removed “Yankees” from the fourth line. I thought it would better to emphasize that it was a blue cap more than blue Yankees cap, because “Blue was truly midnight.”
I removed “at The Barns” from the fifth line. Deleting it pulls the attention back to Robert and the reception.
I removed “shooting” and left it as “A star fell…” I thought “a star fell” made it more somber or solemn than a “shooting star fell.” I liked the phrasing of the line without the “shooting.”
I removed “at the center of the Wesleyan Hills” from the seventh line for the same reasons I removed “at The Barns” from the fifth line. “A star fell and I wished for TJ and the green pond.”
I removed “over Henry” from the eighth line. It is a very specific thing to be crying over, and I hesitated for a moment before I removed it because of the way its phrased, because if that is the only thing that Tova’s mom cried about too much, then it was important to know.
I removed “Bush on” before “the black boombox” in line 9. I liked seeing “the black boombox,/remember? I liked seeing “the black boombox” by itself without anything in front of it.
I removed “was” from the tenth line. This was the first thing I removed.
_____
Andrew Terhune is a proud representative of the displaced South in Chicago, where he lives with his wife and two daughters. His poems can be found in Columbia Poetry Review, Glass, O Sweet Flowery Roses, and online at www.andrewisvanishing.blogspot.com.
Nico Vassilakis, "Rotationally Ours"
Nico Vassilakis
Rotationally Ours
_____
Nico Vassilakis’ latest book is TEXT LOSES TIME. He co-wrote and performed in a one-man play about experimental composer Morton Feldman. Vassilakis is a curator for the Subtext Reading Series, http://www.speakeasy.org/~subtext/. His visual poetry and videos have been shown worldwide at festivals and exhibitions of innovative language arts: http://www.pages.drexel.edu/~blc35/final/vassilakis.html.
Rotationally Ours
_____
Nico Vassilakis’ latest book is TEXT LOSES TIME. He co-wrote and performed in a one-man play about experimental composer Morton Feldman. Vassilakis is a curator for the Subtext Reading Series, http://www.speakeasy.org/~subtext/. His visual poetry and videos have been shown worldwide at festivals and exhibitions of innovative language arts: http://www.pages.drexel.edu/~blc35/final/vassilakis.html.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
