I'm Listening to the Words of My Main Men, Safe!

emember reading the poem "Ode on a Grecian Urn" in school? Sure you do--you don't know who wrote it, or what, exactly, it has to do with reality, but you read it. And you probably studied it in the context of learning what an "ode" aims to accomplish. As I recall, an ode, since the literary age's dawn, is a tribute, in marked contradistinction from an expression of gratitude. Gratitude connotes a relationship: one person, drawing a benefit from something or someone else, thanks that thing or person. An ode, though, is much more independently expositive; in other words, an ode doesn't necessitate a relationship. Whoever wrote "Ode on a Grecian Urn" (I think it was Keats, but who knows......wait.....ok, google says it was keats. i feel validated) didn't have a relationship with that urn (a relationship that I could write about without censors getting in my way, at least).

The problem with odes, though, is that they're boring. They don't have to involve a relationship, they often don't, and nobody wants to read about your abstract feelings for something to which you have no relationship. And it's for both those reasons--the lack of relationship, and peoples' non-interest in a non-relationship, that I never wrote an ode to my readers. I was under the impression that there were very few people who regularly read this, and that, moreover, those who read it felt removed, like internet frequenters accessing heartless zeros and ones from a distant, anonymous source.

Then yesterday happened. First, yakir posted a comment all the way from the world's first wireless city (take that, stockholm), stating in no uncertain terms that checking this blog space is an integral step in his morning routine, and that Israel is seriously lacking for strong coffee. For both comments I am grateful.

Then I got a call from Joe Fro, all the way from the world's first city to have Donovan McNabb play college football (let's hear it for Syracuse!!), who told me that he reliably turns to the blog for "respite" during finals, and that he appreciates that I take the time to write, even past the 100th posting. He also told me that the triglyceride molecule chain undergoes chemical homestasis maintenance in the fourth phase of miosis. Once again, for both pieces of information I am most thankful, except for the second one.

Neither were interpersonal surprises: I have much love for both Joe and Yakir. But what's interesting is that Yakir's comment and Joe's phone call weren't about me, per se. They concerened phenomena--reading/checking a blog space, irrespective of who wrote it. There is a relationship between the written word and its reader, and then, only if that relationship is successful, might the reader communicate to the author something about the writing. And it is only when the relationship between the reader and the written morphs into direct communication between the reader and the author that an ode is enriched into gratitude. So I'm glad I refrained from an ode, and appreciative, more than a blog can say, that blog number 104 will do good things for good people.

So if there's anything you'd like to say, good or bad or neither, feel free to leave a comment, call, email, or drop by my pad for single malt and a jam. As for yakir and joe, i have individual messages for both of them:

Yakir--You're my main man. Wish you played that wedding at the Waldorf.
Joe--If you ever fucking call me about environmental science again I'll suffocate you in your sleep with a burlap sack full of your own conscientiousness. New Deal in philly 12/16? lemme know.....

Stay unchained, methelynydioxymethamphetamine,
DJ dungeon depravity