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.)
(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
I live around the corner and around one more from that sombrero in the puddle, which is clearly a portal.
don’t you mean portkey? or sorting hat?
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!
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.”
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!
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