A Bit of a Writing <---> Effort

I'm trying to loosen up my synapses to pour out some fresh prose, but something seems to interrupt this process. What am I talking about, you ask? As Wendy would tease me, I could expound on what I mean in miles and miles of analytical prose to give you my life's history, background, and contextual understanding of the situation, but suffice to say: I am running low on ideas to write about.

Don't get me wrong - my imagination is still thriving. I can dream in brilliant colors (although Wendy takes the cake for quantity and vivid quality of dreams - it seems like one a night!), but I cannot seem to capture the essence of these sogni in a solitary moment. Perhaps the moments scream by, and my moments of solitary plentitude leave nothing but quiet reflection for the writing process. Perhaps these thoughts are only as good as the moment in which they arrive, to be lost forever as the Xanadu of my Samuel Taylor Coleridge existence. Perhaps it is my lack of focus and concentration on the task at hand which causes these dreams to vanish in the smoky confines of whatever chosen room. Whatever the reason, I seem stuck.

Never mind - this is an attempt to recover my imagination for purposes of fiction. Give it a shot, you know, because before I know it, the year will be over with nary a poem or short story to show for it. A bit of an effort writing, 'tis true, to get a bit of a writing effort.

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Party Like It's 1999

A coworker sent me a meeting invitation to the end of the world. Fitting. I'm not sure if I should accept or not (suppose it depends on your views of the end of the Mayan calendar ), but somehow it reminded me of the Prince song on a related subject . Fitting as well that this coworker was not born when Prince extolled the virtues of partying like it's 1999 (side note: I did party like it's 1999 while studying abroad in Milan at that time, which was a heady experience with the coming of the Euro and all. How times have changed, how the mighty have fallen...). Time change, sometimes faster than we think, and our cultural references become dated. Perhaps just like the Mayan calendar falling out of fashion over the last few centuries, until its end becomes a modern cultural phenomenon - or not, depending on your view of things. In either case, it's worth partying like it's 1999 regardless because hey, it will be Friday when this all goes down, and Fridays

New York Pause

Heading to the Helmsley Sometimes I work in NYC, and this is my office. More precisely, there is a desk in the upper floors of this distinctive building that has a major thoroughfare running through it that I inhabit while typing up documents and conducting meetings in the city. It is nothing exceptional, usually the work and sometimes the desk at which I sit, but the surrounding city is commanding, ever-thriving, and never-still. If I pay close enough attention, I am reminded of the countless things that make this city unique among the many cities I have had the pleasure to live in and visit. But on this brisk morning, when winter gusts barrel down Park Avenue as I hustle the blocks from Lex to the building entrance security guards, I pause long enough to snap this picture. That pause is enough reminder that I am lucky to be here, and New York City is ready to give me its best shot (I'm still not sure if the city is better personified male or female). But that is all t

In Memory of Rose

Pets have an uncanny ability of ingraining themselves into the fabric of a household, so much so that their disappearance can cause great grief and disorientation to their owners. Such is the case with Rose, who passed from our household on Sunday. An older dog when we took her in to our home last year, Rose was supposedly the runt of her litter, a fact confirmed by her diminutive 5-pound Pomeranian frame - too small for her breed but too big to be classified a "teacup." This suited her just fine, however, as she came to embody a singular personality as a dog among people, often little acknowledging some dogs and appearing frightened by others just as a hesitant human being might act around jumpy canines. Rose embodied all of what defines unconditional love. She was raucous when we would leave the house and even more raucous when we returned, partly due to separation anxiety but mostly due to her sadness and excitement of being around us; she let us know her affection b

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