Is Sunday the appropriate day to cheat on your blog?

I'm feeling very lethargic tonight. The Red Sox are on, the weather has officially gone from "fall is in the air" to "where's that sweater I have that's big enough to fit over two others," and I'm snuggling with Mr. Boogie (that's my dog, not a euphemism) watching my 6 new cherry barbs become acclimated to their new tank. Since it's hard to snuggle and watch with a laptop on my lap, I'm choosing them.

I did have a question from someone who read the blog (I have readers -- like, 3 of them!) about the title of this blog. Some of my fellow Raiders might recognize the title from my years on the school paper in Laurens. This was the name of the Editorial column that got me in a lot of trouble (or as much trouble as a girl like me could get into in Laurens in the late 80's). My fellow English majors, I hope, will forgive the bastardization of a poet's images.

In high school journalism, everything gets a by-line because everything is included in college portfolios (yes, Mr. College Admissions man! I can prove I didn't spend my time slacking off or enjoying myself AT ALL in high school. I worked all day and all night to prove myself to you and to show you I'm ready to spend an 85 hour week in service to a company RIGHT NOW. Here's my name! Now let me go to college, so I can spend it in a four year drunken haze I'll barely remember!). Still, the column was the thing that had not just your name but your picture (for me it was a big decision between ponytail scrunchie Suz and way over hot rollered Suz, but it WAS the eighties). You, grinning wickedly and hoping to hell the first picture comes out all right because you don't have to go back into the classroom for 20 minutes before Mr. Corley gets suspicious and you just might have time to streak by the other senior English class and flip someone the happy bird.

But I digress. The editorial staff decided on the name because we were still fresh faced in AP English (we hadn't had our heart dashed by Hamlet or our souls scarred by Crime and Punishment yet. Existentialism was just a speck on the horizon at that point). We loved Ferlinghetti, and I for one still do. So, instead of writing anything of merit tonight, I'll leave you with his image, much better than anything else you'll find here:


Constantly Risking Absurdity

Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of the day
performing entrachats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
And he
a little charleychaplin man
who may or may not catch
her fair eternal form
spreadeagled in the empty air
of existence

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

stolen from: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/constantly-risking-absurdity/ *
*If you have money, give it to them. If you don't have money, give them some anyway, even if they don't ask for it.