The Birth of Tiresias
“You got your mother in a whirl, cause she’s not sure you’re a boy or a girl.”
Sing it once more with feeling, Ma. Thanks. She sang this to me as a child, when she thought I was too young to know what she was talking about. But little does she know that my memories extend beyond my existence as a discrete human being, that I know hymnals in two languages plus the entire Thank You for the Music and Tommy soundtracks and all of Jim Croce from days in utero.
I, Tiresias, the blind prophet, was born on the coldest day of the coldest month. I attended an elementary school whose south windows faced a cow pasture. Somehow, a lifelong love and yearning for Art and Beauty were instilled in me during my time here. I painted, drew, cut out paper furniture for my shoebox dollhouse and got written up for my efforts by my third-grade teacher, who didn’t like boys, who didn’t like girls, who especially didn’t like me, as I defied, for those early years in our little burg, all conventional notions of masculinity or femininity.
I played the recorder and sang soprano like an angel in the fifth grade chorus. I was also made hall patrol and wore plaid pants and platform slides and a peach Members Only jacket and polished rock bead necklaces.
In the seventh grade, I predicted that Gerald Akata would beat out Susie Keener for first cello. Everyone said I was jealous of Susie and had a crush on Gerald and why don’t you just shut up already, no one asked you, fifth chair second violinist. Then Gerald became first chair and people stopped talking to me.
In Jazzercise class in the Magnolia Parlor during college, I said The Spice Girls were a one-summer one-note one-wagon sensation and they would disband after Spice World. The instructor glared at me, turned up “If You Wanna Be My Lover,” made me grapevine until I was debilitated by shin splints, and told me I was no longer welcome in her class.
In my first post-college job, I said to my co-worker, “It’s not turkey season yet.” He went anyway and was issued a citation by the Department of Natural Resources and they revoked all future hunting permits. Love bloomed and left so soon. Then it really was turkey season, so off I went with my turkey call and rifle. He never spoke to me again.
In graduate school, upon being asked if a potential hire was a good fit for the program, I said, “I’m not so sure about this guy. Why didn’t you bring in another candidate if you’re asking our opinion?” I was never invited again to issue my opinions and the program director blacklisted me from all program announcements, especially ones that announced job openings and AWP postings. The new hire came to our school the following semester, got into a fist fight over cocktails at a dean’s function, had an affair with the program director’s wife, who was going to leave him anyway, as he was on the Pulitzer Prize train to nowhere and he was only holding back her acting career, the same program director who told me that I was only a “temporary member” of this fine esteemed institution so why don’t you just shut the fuck up already, hack writer. Undeterred, I put him in my romance novel as the villain and killed him off on page 157. My travels took me away, and I was five states over when I was finally in a position to say “I told you so.”
I enjoy eating, drinking, reading (often frequent Penn Books and The Book Corner), and listening to music. The number of times in a row I can listen to “See the Sky About to Rain” (so far) is nine, which just might put me on the list as a hard-core Neil Young fan. And only nine because I had to leave to meet Cassandra for coffee.
I, Tiresias, went through many of the hoops of higher education and did time in many professions and received countless numerous accolades before settling into my current profession. I was a good employee, a hard worker, on time, courteous, never spilled coffee on my keyboard or put up incendiary political material in my cubicles. I was a model employee, and I made many friends. However, no one wants advice or to hear “I told you so” when one’s job is to answer phones or copy-edit trade magazine articles or wait tables, especially when the couple who ordered the scampi after I told them what I recommended (and it wasn’t the shrimp scampi) comes back in after a night on the toilet and accuses me of food poisoning, to which I answer, “Tweren’t me, lady, I told you scampi wasn’t a good choice,” and then I get fired anyway, even though it’s not my fault their ass exploded. As a consultant to people from all walks of life, I issue statements whenever and wherever I please and sometimes get paid for my efforts. I believe I can make a difference, and I endeavor to do so every day. I spend most of my time in Penn Station, where I frequent many of the fine eating establishments and shops.
Sing it once more with feeling, Ma. Thanks. She sang this to me as a child, when she thought I was too young to know what she was talking about. But little does she know that my memories extend beyond my existence as a discrete human being, that I know hymnals in two languages plus the entire Thank You for the Music and Tommy soundtracks and all of Jim Croce from days in utero.
I, Tiresias, the blind prophet, was born on the coldest day of the coldest month. I attended an elementary school whose south windows faced a cow pasture. Somehow, a lifelong love and yearning for Art and Beauty were instilled in me during my time here. I painted, drew, cut out paper furniture for my shoebox dollhouse and got written up for my efforts by my third-grade teacher, who didn’t like boys, who didn’t like girls, who especially didn’t like me, as I defied, for those early years in our little burg, all conventional notions of masculinity or femininity.
I played the recorder and sang soprano like an angel in the fifth grade chorus. I was also made hall patrol and wore plaid pants and platform slides and a peach Members Only jacket and polished rock bead necklaces.
In the seventh grade, I predicted that Gerald Akata would beat out Susie Keener for first cello. Everyone said I was jealous of Susie and had a crush on Gerald and why don’t you just shut up already, no one asked you, fifth chair second violinist. Then Gerald became first chair and people stopped talking to me.
In Jazzercise class in the Magnolia Parlor during college, I said The Spice Girls were a one-summer one-note one-wagon sensation and they would disband after Spice World. The instructor glared at me, turned up “If You Wanna Be My Lover,” made me grapevine until I was debilitated by shin splints, and told me I was no longer welcome in her class.
In my first post-college job, I said to my co-worker, “It’s not turkey season yet.” He went anyway and was issued a citation by the Department of Natural Resources and they revoked all future hunting permits. Love bloomed and left so soon. Then it really was turkey season, so off I went with my turkey call and rifle. He never spoke to me again.
In graduate school, upon being asked if a potential hire was a good fit for the program, I said, “I’m not so sure about this guy. Why didn’t you bring in another candidate if you’re asking our opinion?” I was never invited again to issue my opinions and the program director blacklisted me from all program announcements, especially ones that announced job openings and AWP postings. The new hire came to our school the following semester, got into a fist fight over cocktails at a dean’s function, had an affair with the program director’s wife, who was going to leave him anyway, as he was on the Pulitzer Prize train to nowhere and he was only holding back her acting career, the same program director who told me that I was only a “temporary member” of this fine esteemed institution so why don’t you just shut the fuck up already, hack writer. Undeterred, I put him in my romance novel as the villain and killed him off on page 157. My travels took me away, and I was five states over when I was finally in a position to say “I told you so.”
I enjoy eating, drinking, reading (often frequent Penn Books and The Book Corner), and listening to music. The number of times in a row I can listen to “See the Sky About to Rain” (so far) is nine, which just might put me on the list as a hard-core Neil Young fan. And only nine because I had to leave to meet Cassandra for coffee.
I, Tiresias, went through many of the hoops of higher education and did time in many professions and received countless numerous accolades before settling into my current profession. I was a good employee, a hard worker, on time, courteous, never spilled coffee on my keyboard or put up incendiary political material in my cubicles. I was a model employee, and I made many friends. However, no one wants advice or to hear “I told you so” when one’s job is to answer phones or copy-edit trade magazine articles or wait tables, especially when the couple who ordered the scampi after I told them what I recommended (and it wasn’t the shrimp scampi) comes back in after a night on the toilet and accuses me of food poisoning, to which I answer, “Tweren’t me, lady, I told you scampi wasn’t a good choice,” and then I get fired anyway, even though it’s not my fault their ass exploded. As a consultant to people from all walks of life, I issue statements whenever and wherever I please and sometimes get paid for my efforts. I believe I can make a difference, and I endeavor to do so every day. I spend most of my time in Penn Station, where I frequent many of the fine eating establishments and shops.
posted by hobos in space @ 4:38 PM
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