New this month:

WIRE SCULPTURE : 12 works from Tom's 1997 Exhibition "Sacred and Profane"

IRMA : Poster from the world premiere of Tom's opera

HUMUMENT : Pages 151-180

A BACK ISSUES Page

A COLOPHON Page

1 April 2001

SEEK APPLAUSE, SUPERGIRL,
DON'T JUST GO TO BED

If you're ever asked to contribute to a festschrift, you may want to consider Humumentizing something. In case you've not had the pleasure, a festschrift is a book that is assembled in honor of an individual on/or an occasion (typically the former on the latter) composed of pages made by friends and colleagues.

I was asked to contribute to one recently, and my page included Humument-style treatments of the recipient's publications. The recipient is a fan of Tom's work and knows my association with Tom and this website. I just hope she doesn't read this editorial before her big surprise party in San Diego on the 30th.

The epigram above is lifted from my festschrift page, as you may have guessed from the Humumentian tone and cadence. It's not my number-one favorite from the page, but it's most appropriate for where I'm sitting, and for something I've been thinking about.

I'm stalled on the tracks between Odenton and the BWI Rail Station. A Metroliner headed for New York has broken down in front of us, and we're waiting for our engineer to set things right. Several thousand commuters travel between Baltimore and Washington every day; for those of us making the full tour, we have at least an hour each way: two per day, ten per week. Breakdowns, though infrequent, add to the weekly sum.

Back in December 2000 I wrote about the social structures that evolve on the train. But there are just as many quiet folks, people like me who keep to themselves. They read novels and newspapers, revise reports and spreadsheets, and squint at the laptop of the person sitting next to them (Yes, that means YOU, Mister Pretending-to-be-Asleep!).

And there are those who truly do sleep. Some bring little pillows, some snore, some slump over the snoozers beside them. Whitman's poem The Sleepers comes to mind, especially on the 5:10AM.

I'd sleep too if not for my work on this site. I'm a sleepy person but my laptop keeps me awake. I tried writing fiction on the train during my first years commuting, but my engines don't warm up until I pass the 55-minute mark, and that's around the time we approach our destination. Then one day, somewhere between Bowie and Seabrook, I tried making a few pages for Tom.

Ten hours a week adds up. 520 hours in a year, a sum total of 21 and a half days. In my spare time I'm an amateur carpenter, and 21 days sounds like heaven to me. Just think of the things I could build, the spaces I could create and live in.

You can guess where I'm going with this. Thanks to Tom, I've been able to put those hours toward creating a space, and it's our pleasure to invite you in. You can return the favor if you're willing. Find those unassigned hours and minutes in your daily schedule and account for them.

Do the math and see how many days they'd comprise at the end of a year. Make deliberate choices about your use of them. Meditate, learn a language, tackle Ulysses. Reading the paper is fine, but take joy in knowing that at year's end you've absorbed n hours of current events, qualifying you as someone with an informed opinion.

And really, sleep is okay too. Especially if your baby or your lover keeps you up all night. But be deliberate in the choice. Age quod agis; consciously experience that which you find yourself experiencing. Live.

JOHN NICK PULL, editor.