Tuesday, August 25, 2009

124. Magic Husband

Part I:

The following is a letter that my department recently received from a customer (which has nothing to do with us). We get stuff like this pretty frequently, but I haven't worked comment cards or letters in a long time so I usually don't get to read them. My supervisor gave me this one as a gift, and it is now framed at my desk.

The return address is from Western Medical Center, and is addressed to:
Magic Husband
C/O CEO

It is written in pencil on wide rule notebook paper, with the handwriting of a second grader.
______________________________________________________________________________
Dear Magic Husband,

Alot has happened since I wrote you last. If you read the papers, then you will know that Orange County placed me on conservatorship a long time ago and then put me in a brothel that they couldn't get me out of. They were holding me hostage there for about 4 million years. I just got taken to a board and care about 2 weeks ago. The doctor changed my meds. to a lethal substance. She refused to change them back and sent me to another place in Orange County (Anaheim Western Medical) that I may be a hostage at. Renee M. was at the board and care. She said that she wanted to marry Billy Idol and become my mother. I don't want that at all. She won't let anyone come for me until Xmas. Alot of people being killed so be careful. Renee M. has been tampering with the mail and she had people stealing my packages from my people.
I am going to write you some more tommorrow.

Love,
Your "Baby",
Grace R.
______________________________________________________________________________

Part II:

I am the sort of girl who enjoys googling random things just to see what I find. As it turns out, there is also a poem called "The Magic Husband". I find I rather love it, so here it is. Consider this blog a sort of textual diptych and just go with it.

"The Magic Husband" by Kathleen Ossip

(1)
Oh, we cavort. A little less poise, please.
The shower-crud, the plangent peonies!
He chisels at the oaken escritoire
his paperwork-his toy, his dream, his art
and hums as if to all America
a dope impromptu on the sound of schwa.

(2)
The shower-crud, the plangent peonies
translate to a grace note, key of E,
which definitely won't be what it should
have been; in fact, will pass away unheard,
but every night at ten my hardy wretch
plays air-piano at the oaken desk.

(3)
With uninvited earnestness he laughs.
He only asked for summer nights sans gnats,
a nap, and freedom from all social roles.
At summer's end he walks the yard and trolls
for squirrel-gnawed pears beneath the fraser fir,
and when he finds them, look, the guy's on fire.

(4)
He came in with the envelope in paw.
He had me read the letter then. I saw
the magic pager on his magic pants,
the wallet fill of chits, the triceps tensed,
the pen and pencil set I had a cry.
Stoop labor, baby. That Ill never try.

(5)
The venture on the Island's fallen through.
Surely the sky shouldn't be that blue.
Has never faded, my true ding an sich,
holdover, throwback, tetchy nihilist
a-muzz with love and narcotherapy.
The tenor wavered contrapuntally,

(6)
the tune bespoke a swan upon a pond.
Even his nerve endings aren't his own.
Sure, I like money. I like lots and lots.
He pitted through his business shirt. He stopped
lightly, lightly, lightly on the steps.
No boy knows just when he goes to sleep.

(7)
The kidskin briefcase trembles at his touch.
We're on a kick with Cherry 7-Up.
How flaky, toxic, wondrous, marginal,
those dulcet suds! He whistles, Hell was full,
so I came back. Next afternoon in bed,
he ordered me to spill it so I did.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

123. To Do List

Play the viola
Buy a high end digital camera
Have lots more late nights with friends
See more live bands/photograph bands
Pay off my credit card and my car loan
Compete in show jumping and dressage
Take yoga
Get my associate's degree
Move to the city
Travel to unusual places
Go to art school
Take voice lessons
Learn Japanese
Learn HTML/web page design
Have my own photography darkroom & studio
Learn to refinish old furniture/make lamps
Play viola/sing in a band
Own my own horse
Design/build our own house
Own/drive a classic car
Pay off my student loans
Have a cushy retirement fund
__________________________________________________
This was sort of meant to be an exercise in self-evaluation. I'm beginning to have serious doubts about committing myself something so all-consuming as business ownership. I'm afraid it will take precedence over everything else I'd like to do, especially in regards to my social life. I also think I may be too fast-paced, impulsive and transient to put myself in a position to be so tied down.

Sighee. I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

122. Happy Little Trees



Today was the happiest of weather. We went to Greenlake and walked the dogs.

121. Sunday. The Day of Rest.

It's been a supremely busy weekend of fun times, so today is going to be kind of mellow.

My dinner meet up went great. Rachel was the only one who came, and it was determined that she and I will be the only ones on the loan should this actually come to fruition. We talked a whole bunch about a whole bunch of ideas, and I think we're very much on the same page. So that's a good start. We're hopefully going to hit Redwood this week, which was one of Rachel's picks, and I think Matt is going to come with.

While waiting for Rachel to arrive, I realized I had parked my car right in front of 2nd Time Around. So of course, I had to snag some more records for the collection:





I also picked up a Dvorak cello concerto and a Brahms record which the clerk ended up giving me. It was only a dollar anyway, but I guess not many people want classical records. Which is sad, considering how amazing they sound. I play my copy of Rachmaninoff half to death.

So after dinner with Rachel, I had about an hour and a half to kill before I met up with Kelsey and friends. I ended up driving myself to Alki and sitting by the water watching the sunset. I tried to take some pictures, but I only had my wimpy little point and shoot with me, so the zoomed in shots came out kind of fuzzy. Here's a couple of my favorites though:





We spent the night divided between a couple bars in Ballard (I can't seem to get enough of The People's Pub). Kelsey succeeded in talking me into Bumbershoot. In typical fashion, we got super rowdy and lots of mayhem ensued. There was a lot of shoe throwing and sidewalk fighting. The evening ended with a group of us fending off crazy coat-salesman guy who was trying to pawn off his ex-wife's leather jacket for a mere $10. Jake told him he thought he was creepy, which led to a lengthy debate about creepiness vs. passion. It was fairly hilarious, and I totally regret not taking pictures.

Yesterday Jen and Gerritt came over and we biked 25.5 miles after having Performance adjust the gears on my new bike. It's the longest I've ever ridden. Ever. And it wasn't flat trail either. Matt said he was very proud of me.
I am a machine.
Only today I am a kind of broken machine. So. Very. Sore.

Afterward we ate our weight in bbq. Actually, I ate my weight in fruit salad, because it was really the only thing that sounded good to me. I had other stuff too, but I'm pretty sure if I were to become sweaty, pineapple juice would ooze out my pores.

This is one of those times where I don't quite know how to wrap things up. So I will just say, THE END!

Thursday, August 13, 2009

120. To Bumbershoot Or Not To Bumbershoot...

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are playing Sunday September 6th, which is pretty enticing on it's own. But I found out this week that Hey Marseilles and The Dusty 45's are also playing that afternoon, which would more than justify the $35 ticket price even if the Yeah Yeah Yeahs hadn't already. Plus I've never been to Bumbershoot, and I know Jesse and Kelsey are going. So I believe I'm leaning toward yes.

In other news, and not to jinx this entirely (because I have reservations anyway), myself and three of my co-workers are having our first dinner meeting tomorrow night to discuss business plans for opening a bar. I'm not sure that anything will actually come of it. Small business is risky business, and I'm definitely nervous.

I may just gracefully back out tomorrow. Especially if it turns out we're not on the same page for the overall concept. I can be pretty flexible, but I couldn't live with neon beer signs and 15 different channels of ESPN. I was imagining something much more conceptual and unique.

Rachel and I have been emailing constantly for over a week now, tossing around ideas and researching what it would take. I think I'd be more comfortable if I knew it were just going to be the two of us. I feel like four owners is two too many, and I'm not even sure that all of them actually want that much involvement. That's kind of what the meeting is for though. We'll sit down, seriously discuss what we each want out of this, and then see what happens. But I'm pretty skeptical.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

119. Want to smash...



I swear I'm getting worse.
I am not a quitter, and I intend to keep trying. But I am so frustrated I just want to cry.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

118. Emo.

I hate crashing after being in a really good place for quite some time. I've been super happy lately, and energetic, and really feeling good about myself. And then tiny little things happen, and I immediately start second-guessing myself again. Like messaging my friend who happens to be online at the same time as me, and asking them to hang out next week, only to see them drop offline shortly thereafter with no reply.

Or writing another friend who I adore, and probably gushing a bit too much about how grateful I am that they are my friend and how amazing I think they are, and then receive no reply at all. Because I know the silence isn't due to the fact that the message wasn't read, or that they didn't have a chance to reply. It just screams, "That was a bit too much. And now I feel awkward."

I get too wrapped up in certain people. And then I feel horribly crushed when they get uncomfortable and distance themselves. Like an idiot.