Lucky Pierre

I finally received a letter from SFSU's creative writing department; I'd applied to their MA program back in December, hoping to transfer from English Lit into something better aligned with my primary interest, which has always been writing (rather than reading, as it turns out).

I've decided not to open this particular piece of correspondence, however; my future has been decided, and as it turns out, it doesn't include finishing up any MA degree at SFSU. If I was accepted, well, that'll be sad, since I'm moving in a few short months, and if I didn't get in, well, that's a sad little story of its own, for all sorts of obvious reasons.

For now, it's all about focus: focus on finishing out this semester, on solidifying plans, spending time with loved ones, and on manifesting something meaningful--something that makes life worth living.

A week or two ago, in my 20th Century American Poetry class, we read an essay by Frank O'Hara, a mid-century poet whose work I really love, especially for its humor, which is sometimes very, very dark. In this essay, "Personism: A Manifesto," I learned a new euphemism: "Lucky Pierre." I'd never heard it before, but it's a fun way to say "menage a trois."

Rarely do I have the opportunity to squeeze menage-a-anything into everyday conversation, but the idea came up again when we heard back from Simon, our former landlord in Paris.

He is, in fact, using our one-time dwelling as his office, and has offered the place up to us over the summer if we need a short-term rental. He also let us know that Pamela's piece in Marie Claire about their "Lucky Pierre" experience might actually be made into a film. He figures Kermit the Frog is the best bet to play him on the big screen. (I'll cast my vote for George Clooney, if they try to Americanize it, or Clive Owen if they go English.)

Yesterday we met with Eli and Tracy, who we were introduced to by Lynn, my former boss at The SF/SPCA. They're looking to move out of their moldy place in the Outer Sunset and closer to Berkeley, where they'll soon be opening their chocolate factory. (They make the most amazing chocolate bars under the name "Bisou," which means "kiss" en francais; these bars are fair-trade, vegan, made with just three ingredients, and totally delish.)

It looks like E & T will be subletting for at least the first year we're gone, while we figure out if our move will be permanent. We weren't really sure whether or not we wanted to go the sublet route, but they plied us with chocolate, and we're weak like that.