The 'Nads of Poetry
Mrs. Manion sometimes does some editorial work for the fiction quarterly Ploughshares. This work gets her invited to some of their literary events. As her spouse, I get to attend as "Mrs Manion and guest". What follows is the harrowing tale of one pickled technical writer in a world of poets and short story writers.
The evening started with a release party. My employers had just finished a major version release of some enterprise software package or other. Traditionally, this happy event is celebrated with something called "release shots." Of course, it's horribly rude to turn down a release shot...
Anyway, I leave the release party and wobble down to the literary party. Mrs. Manion is shmoozing. I'm oozing. It's all good. And she introduces me to this poet. I forget his name, but he was a rising star in the poetry world. I'm all tequilaed up and friendly. I'm trying to be flattering...
So I say "Hey, I hear you're the 'nads of poetry."
"The 'nads?" he says, frowing.
"Yeah, the 'nads," I say. "Like gonads, but shorter..."
Like gonads, but shorter...
He just looks at me like I've done something unspeakably disgusting.
It must be unclear, I think. I'm a helpful guy. I'll explain. "It's a contraction or something. It means you're cool. All the kids are saying it...."
As I'm cheerfully digging the hole deeper, Mrs. Manion is dragging me away. Apparently one should not make genital references in the first 30 seconds of meeting someone. Who knew?
Mrs. Manion propped me up at the bar and asked me not to offend anyone else. But the night was young, and the drinks were free. I started nursing a Heineken and hanging out. After a while another woman at the bar asked me my association with Ploughshares.
I explained that I had already offended the rising star of poetry and was keeping a low profile. She asked the nature of the offense. I told her.
Turns out she thought the 'nads thing was great. Poetry should be similarly visceral and such. She wished people described her as the 'nads. We started talking. I found out later that she was some sort of high powered poetry publisher.
In one of life's little coincidences, it also turns out that my poetry buddy had been trying to approach her all evening. So as I'm talking, he walks up, interrupts, and introduces himself to the publisher. She mentions that she thought the 'nads thing was great.
"Yes, very amusing," he says through gritted teeth. "What do you do for a living?" he asks me.
"I flip ones and zeros," I say.
"And how many times a day do you use that joke?" he asks.
"Usually one or zero," I reply.
This guy is beginning to harsh my buzz. I hang out for a few minutes and walk outside. I found out later that the publisher also thought he was a jerk. So I feel better about that. Eventually the party ended and we went home.
The moral of the story? Poets do not like being called nads. Publishers groove on it. Plan accordingly.
LM
The evening started with a release party. My employers had just finished a major version release of some enterprise software package or other. Traditionally, this happy event is celebrated with something called "release shots." Of course, it's horribly rude to turn down a release shot...
Anyway, I leave the release party and wobble down to the literary party. Mrs. Manion is shmoozing. I'm oozing. It's all good. And she introduces me to this poet. I forget his name, but he was a rising star in the poetry world. I'm all tequilaed up and friendly. I'm trying to be flattering...
So I say "Hey, I hear you're the 'nads of poetry."
"The 'nads?" he says, frowing.
"Yeah, the 'nads," I say. "Like gonads, but shorter..."
Like gonads, but shorter...
He just looks at me like I've done something unspeakably disgusting.
It must be unclear, I think. I'm a helpful guy. I'll explain. "It's a contraction or something. It means you're cool. All the kids are saying it...."
As I'm cheerfully digging the hole deeper, Mrs. Manion is dragging me away. Apparently one should not make genital references in the first 30 seconds of meeting someone. Who knew?
Mrs. Manion propped me up at the bar and asked me not to offend anyone else. But the night was young, and the drinks were free. I started nursing a Heineken and hanging out. After a while another woman at the bar asked me my association with Ploughshares.
I explained that I had already offended the rising star of poetry and was keeping a low profile. She asked the nature of the offense. I told her.
Turns out she thought the 'nads thing was great. Poetry should be similarly visceral and such. She wished people described her as the 'nads. We started talking. I found out later that she was some sort of high powered poetry publisher.
In one of life's little coincidences, it also turns out that my poetry buddy had been trying to approach her all evening. So as I'm talking, he walks up, interrupts, and introduces himself to the publisher. She mentions that she thought the 'nads thing was great.
"Yes, very amusing," he says through gritted teeth. "What do you do for a living?" he asks me.
"I flip ones and zeros," I say.
"And how many times a day do you use that joke?" he asks.
"Usually one or zero," I reply.
This guy is beginning to harsh my buzz. I hang out for a few minutes and walk outside. I found out later that the publisher also thought he was a jerk. So I feel better about that. Eventually the party ended and we went home.
The moral of the story? Poets do not like being called nads. Publishers groove on it. Plan accordingly.
LM
posted by Lance Manion at 11:39 AM
2 Comments:
"Usually one or zero."
Well, I give you a 10 for that.
Sure, but was it nadular?
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