Not only is it neater, it is also exactly cool, clean "elberryish," if you know what I mean. The flowers, the pinks and reds, the right-handedness, the portraits and the neat electrical panel close to everything essential. Very comforting and cubby-hol/d-out looking space (not at all like mine which is in the middle of everything since I live alone and can do what I damned well want and where and howl) . . . p.s. I remember your office, Frank, it was *amazing* in its piles of papers, simply jaw-dropping amazing you found *anything.*
The photo of me in my office was a tad misleading. I was actually sitting in Carlin Romano's corner of the book room and all those books piled up were ones he had just opened. I actually kept the book room in pretty good order and could unusually find anything I needed with a couple of minutes. I am in fact something of a neatnik.
That reassures me, Frank; because? I always thought of you as supremely organised and capable (or, in your terms, a neatnik). Early in life, I learned I could NOT live with another person because, inevitably, they were collectors; and, I am of the opinion there are only two types of people on the planet, collectors and editors. I, an editor, see no point whatsoever in collecting *anything* and, my perception was confirmed by Harman Grisewood <*angel*> who once told me I was right not to attach myself to things of this world. Once, during my professorial daze, when I had George Bowering visit campus for readings and workshops, he took a picture of my "office" because there were no books nor *anything* in it. (I worked at home and learned quickly the book I really wanted was at the office.) Later, he sent it to me with the caption, ZEN OFFICE.
My best obsessive-compulsive neatnik story is how I won my best uni friend, Susan, a bet with my other best uni friend, Judy, that the tops of my spice bottles would be dusted. Susan won; and, I have always made sure, if nothing else, they still are. I wonder if there's a connection between drinking and neatnikism? I know Gwen and I discovered one between drinking and our fear of flying. Something to do with control? She hid all books in her apartment; couldn't bear to look at them, not even her own.
Maybe this completes the Bermuda Triangle (where no one escapes, not even for lunch).
Not only is it neater, it is also exactly cool, clean "elberryish," if you know what I mean. The flowers, the pinks and reds, the right-handedness, the portraits and the neat electrical panel close to everything essential. Very comforting and cubby-hol/d-out looking space (not at all like mine which is in the middle of everything since I live alone and can do what I damned well want and where and howl) . . .
ReplyDeletep.s. I remember your office, Frank, it was *amazing* in its piles of papers, simply jaw-dropping amazing you found *anything.*
The photo of me in my office was a tad misleading. I was actually sitting in Carlin Romano's corner of the book room and all those books piled up were ones he had just opened. I actually kept the book room in pretty good order and could unusually find anything I needed with a couple of minutes. I am in fact something of a neatnik.
ReplyDeleteThat reassures me, Frank; because? I always thought of you as supremely organised and capable (or, in your terms, a neatnik). Early in life, I learned I could NOT live with another person because, inevitably, they were collectors; and, I am of the opinion there are only two types of people on the planet, collectors and editors. I, an editor, see no point whatsoever in collecting *anything* and, my perception was confirmed by Harman Grisewood <*angel*> who once told me I was right not to attach myself to things of this world. Once, during my professorial daze, when I had George Bowering visit campus for readings and workshops, he took a picture of my "office" because there were no books nor *anything* in it. (I worked at home and learned quickly the book I really wanted was at the office.) Later, he sent it to me with the caption, ZEN OFFICE.
ReplyDeleteMy best obsessive-compulsive neatnik story is how I won my best uni friend, Susan, a bet with my other best uni friend, Judy, that the tops of my spice bottles would be dusted. Susan won; and, I have always made sure, if nothing else, they still are. I wonder if there's a connection between drinking and neatnikism? I know Gwen and I discovered one between drinking and our fear of flying. Something to do with control? She hid all books in her apartment; couldn't bear to look at them, not even her own.
Maybe this completes the Bermuda Triangle (where no one escapes, not even for lunch).