Harriet

Categories

Harriet
Contributors

Archive

Blogroll

All Posts

The One That Got Away.

By Amber Tamblyn

I’m finally back in New York Citayy on a mini break from tour.  Good thing too, because some H1N1-style critter has crawled up into my throat and built a throne, barking exhaustive orders at my immune system and leaving me couch ridden.  Prior to the cold, I was able to make it to Rachel Mckibbens’ book release party at the Bowery Poetry Club.  I had my book release party there as well back in September, and the energy can sometimes be stressful and a little crazy.  Rachel was incredible and her book Pink Elephant is filled with the kind of poems some women spend their entire lives trying to write.  It was a magical evening.

I really wanted to write today about an experience I had with my dad recently, but the tips of my fingers are sore with fever, and that’s a long story to tell.  So perhaps next blog.

So here is, I guess, what I really wanted to share with you all.   Post Halloween New York streets:  They always give me something to look forward to on any walkabout.  I took some photographs this afternoon on my way to get some chicken noodle soup and here’s some of the things I saw:

But the one that got away, the mustache wrapped in a pink garter belt hanging from a bike rack directly outside my apartment… that’s the one I wish I had taken a picture of.  I thought it would be there when I got back.  How stupid of me, that’s like leaving a Snickers in the school sandbox.  I wish you could have seen it in it’s glory- hanging there so candidly, ignored by all the hungover parents running their baby carriages down Essex street to the nearest coffee shop. That garder-stache would have made a great poem piece.  Or centerpiece.  Or hairpiece.  Whatever.  Peace.

Amber

(I need some Dayquil and a nice Scotch.  I love you all.  Even you, Terreson.  Especially you.)

2009-11-01

Comments (7)

  • On November 1, 2009 at 6:35 pm Terreson wrote:

    (Be still oh my beating heart.) Thanks, Amber Tamblyn, for the immediate chuckle. And touche on you.

    I do love writing when it quickens the moment, especially when it looks to quicken immediate environment. Your scene of Halloween detritus comes through.

    About that Scotch, might I suggest an Irish instead. They don’t call it mother’s milk for nothing.

    Terreson
    Report this comment

  • On November 1, 2009 at 7:09 pm Anselm wrote:

    I live around the corner and around one more from that sombrero in the puddle, which is clearly a portal.
    Report this comment

    • On November 2, 2009 at 10:55 am Matthew Z wrote:

      don’t you mean portkey? or sorting hat?
      Report this comment

  • On November 2, 2009 at 11:26 am Jessie Carty wrote:

    I really have to try living in New York at some point. Just to see these kinds of things :) Dayquil is like liquid gold. Hope you feel better!
    Report this comment

  • On November 3, 2009 at 1:12 pm kt wrote:

    Glad to see that Terreson can be civil when he wants to be. No offense to you, Terreson, but I’m a little scared of some of your other comments.

    Thanks for your post Amber, it’s exciting (as a young poet) to see another young poet writing about poetry & feelings of inadequacy without posturing, and with excitement and gratitude and (yes) with a throne-sitting critter ruling your throat and nasal cavity.

    Be well! I hear whiskey, warm water, lemon and honey do the trick, if by trick we both understand that I mean “falling asleep.”
    Report this comment

  • On November 3, 2009 at 5:50 pm CD wrote:

    LOVED your description of the barking thing that is now stationed in MY throat! Sort of glad I had been laid low … at least it offered the time for me to read your musings AND the suggested remedies … Think I will toddle off to find the whiskey … oh yes, will mix with hot water, lemon and honey … I believe my Uncle used to use this toddy as a remedy for multiple aches and pains … Feel better!
    Report this comment

  • On November 3, 2009 at 7:30 pm Terreson wrote:

    No offense taken, KT. Besides, I am not nearly as scarey as that shadow that stays right behind me. Now he scares me. Anyway, writing that quickens the perceptions of a moment, as Amber Tamblyn’s little piece does, I call good writing. It might be the thing I look for the most in writing, all writing.

    Terreson
    Report this comment


Posted in Group Blog, Uncategorized on Sunday, November 1st, 2009 by Amber Tamblyn.

All Posts