From the mixed up files of...

Whose book this is I think I know
hand-written, old and battered though;
He will not see me looking here
to search out words writ long ago

The librarian must think it queer,
to search for something so unclear...

----

NEW YORK (Reuters) - A poem by one of America's best-loved poets, Robert Frost, has been discovered 88 years after it was handwritten in the front of a book and will be published next week.

The poem was found by a graduate student among uncatalogued books and manuscripts bought by the University of Virginia and once owned by Frost's friend, Frederic Melcher, founder of publishing industry trade journal Publishers Weekly.


The 35-line poem, called "War Thoughts at Home" and dated 1918, was apparently inspired by the death of a fellow poet in World War I.

Student Robert Stilling said he was alerted to the poem by a 1947 letter by Melcher in which he referred to an unpublished poem handwritten in a copy of Frost's book "North of Boston".

Stilling said in a paper that when he read the letter it set off "little scholarly alarm bells" and sent him looking for the book at the Charlottesville university library. Frost died in 1963 aged 88.

It took several months to verify the handwriting and check whether the poem had been published before, said Kevin Morrissey, managing editor of The Virginia Quarterly Review which has permission from Frost's estate to publish the poem

----

Seriously, I wish my hum-drum life was suddenly turned into treasure hunt with historical and artistic significance to the world. I also wish there were secret passages in my house...

Maybe there are and I haven't found them...

Better go look.

Life is not the West Wing

Yes, a conclusion that everyone had probably already reached. I had to, but sometimes it's nice to pretend. Indeed, life is not the West Wing. Sometimes you get your electoral ass handed to you in a a contentious primary.

In any case, I am living the life of an unemployed political operative waiting for all those job offers to start flowing in. Hopefully I will be able to blog a little bit. This, of course, necessitates sending a out an e-mail reminding people that this blog exists, but shit - why not?

Hopefully I'll have interesting things to say soonish.

-Davin

The Bro Goes Bridal

Need I say more than coed bridal shower bubbles? At least I got to break out my snazzy bridal shower pink polo...

Note to the 3 remaining readers of this blog:

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHY ARE YOU CHECKING THIS BLOG? I HAVEN'T POSTED IN A FREAKIN' MONTH AND A HALF!!!

Seriously though, things are going well. Aside from a propensity towards consuming frozen burritos in campaign headquarters, the job is great.

Last Goodbye

As most of you already know, I've left DC to further pursue my interest in kicking liberal tree-hugger ass. It's been interesting so far. Three major news stories broke while I was settling in so I had to get adjusted fairly quickly. Today's been a bit of a lull so I thought I'd post some pictures and let everyone know that my blogging will be a bit sparse during the campaign. I also need to keep it non-political and, as that consumes most of my time you can recognize my dilemma. In any case, let me recap my last memories of DC:

And by last memories of DC I mean Club nationals in Salt Lake City Utah:

Taylor gets psyched for aiport waiting, while Alyssa, well, is Alyssa...



One of the rare occasions on which the girls are listening to me.



Me and my favorite Seniors after our last match.



We actually did quite well, though getting put in a championship pool with Zona and UCLA didn't help anything.... Yeah, I just wanted to brag about being in a pool with Zona and UCLA. We took a game off of those California bitches.

So then we transition to my going away party, which was held at Grog and Tankard. Why you ask? Because the incredibly talented singer/songwriter who played there that night was staying at our house (couchsurfing.com, ask the Pan).



Smuker and I mainline some serious Scottish Distillery Product (SDP).




Ernie get down with Charles Kelley and Dave the guitarist. If anyone needs me to play them a soulful yet amateurish version of "Whisper" I can now do so because Ernie taught me the chords. Anybody? Whisper? Soulful Davin?



Homeboys brought together by the inexorable bond of living with Eduardo (aka California Horseshit, aka The Cuban Lover) Raul Ferrer. That is the lasting image with which I'd like to leave our nation's capital.

It was a great night and I'm thankful for all the people that came to see me off. I hope you are all well and I hear from you soon.

-Davin

Johnny Style

One day, as John and I sat counting our holy cards, we realized that he had quite a hole in his jeans. Upon my repeated inquiries, I learned that, despite said gaping eyesore of a rip, John had no plans to purchase a livelier set of denim blitzers in the immediate future. What to do?

Needless to say, he has since located new jeans...

I salute Caesar, while John gives his best Dean Martin "shooter" look...

Draft Bobo

As if in answer to my prayers, Brandon Bowman's name magically leaped onto the draft board at #42. Check it out at NBAdraft.net. Also, Mean Jeff Green is Projected at 8, and Roy is projected at 11 for 2007. Hit those damn workouts hard Bobo.

Ramble On

Let's review the bidding shall we?

1/2 pound of beef jerkey
16 Red Bulls
61 cigarettes
13 cups of tepid coffee
2 nights at the Snapmansion
1 night in arctic Minnesota
15 other teams that can claim to be in a league with our Hoyas
9 states
2,500 miles

The following is a brief account of our journey into the heart of coldness...

Ahh, the necessities of any roadtrip. I look optimistic don't I? Well this was mile 100 and we all look foolish sometimes don't we?


Surprisingly, we only got two decent pictures between DC and Milwaukee. Above, Smucker contemplates his impending irregular heartbeat somewhere in Indiana.

Victory! Smucker climbs atop the Amish bomber to celebrate our arrival at the Snapmansion. We proceed to crash out and wake up 5 hours later so that we can...
Drive some more! The road to Minneapolis was apparently pretty boring because The Smuck took about 26 attempts to produce the image above.
We saw this as we were getting off the interstate somewhere outside of Baraboo Wisconsin. I believe it was on the sign for the Cheese Chalet, specializing in Cheese, Beer, Amish Furniture, and (of all things) fireworks.

THE METRODOME! We arrive and naturally, my first impulse is to climb on top of a snow bank. In anycase, we are so stoked we can hardly handle it. Adreneline has taken over.
Here it is, the M-Dome set up for basketball. Much to our shock and dismay we learned (too late) that there was no beer to be purchased. Upon discovering that neither of us could make a controlled substance with only our sunglasses and rudimentary gardening tools, we ate some brats and pounded cokes until neither of us could see straight. The Hoyas take the floor, at which point both Smucker and I go absolutely freaking nuts. Our section, comprised mostly of neutral Minnesotan fans thought we were hilarious. This was, in no small part, due to the fact that we cleverly combined obscenities with jibes on that dude on Florida's pretty boy hair.
Notice how dodgy we are around the eyes...

This is Strickland celebrating after that nasty Bowman cutting throwdown.
This is me in the aftermath of said throwdown...

Sadly, we were too nervous (and later disappointed) to think about chronicling the rest of the night. One thing I will say. It was a great year for Georgetown basketball and I was happy and proud to have been there that night. I'm sure Smucker would agree completely.

After the game, we crashed at My buddy Nick's place in St. Paul. Apparently he and his roommates play chicken with the heat, so it was damn cold. I woke up around 9 and found Smucker in long johns and under approximately 8 sleeping bags.
Naturally, I decided to wake him up with my soulful, acoustic rendition of Poison's classic "Every Rose Has its Thorn."
Again, Smucker alone with a camera is a recipe for weirdness.

Nick and Erin took us to the Uptown Diner where we proceeded to chow down on hearty and gigantic Minnesotan portions. Hard to believe these two goofballs will be married in 2 months.
One sees the strangest things while driving across rural Wisconsin...
One does the strangest things while driving across rural Wisconsin...

Just to give a little background, the guy who took this picture owns the firework emporium next door. He told us that the lady who owns La Cheese is actively trying to franchise it. Apparently franchising in Wisconsin involves installing a bar and adopting a foreign sounding name.

It only took us 4 hours to go the 300 or so miles across Wisconsin back to Milwaukee. It would be important to note that at this point music becomes and important part of our journey. Download Melissa Lambert's "Me and Charlie Talkin'" to see what I mean.

Back at the SnapMansion, I learned that The Intern invests in (gasp) the evil empire that is Budweiser. I proceed to hit him over the head with the Bud annual report.

Dinner with my parents. The Intern acts like a nut, while SnapMom acts like she'd wish The Intern would stop acting like a nut for the first time in 30 years.
SnapMom gives the cake she prepared a ginger pat in appreciation for its service to humanity.

A post-waffle hug for the SnapMom as we embark for parts unknown the next morning.
Armed with coffee, some sleep, and the noble strength of the Amish Bomber, we begin the Road Home.
Smucker looks depressed to be leaving the Cheese State. We stop at the Mars Cheese Castle to pick up some Spotted Cow brews and recharge before hitting the road in earnest.
I wasn't kidding. The Mars Cheese Castle exists and we went there and had a beer at 11 AM.
Chi-town... Smucker and I listen to Whiskeytown's "Damn Sam (I Love a Woman that Rains) and then blare Zepplin's "Ramble On." We almost get lost but recover in time not to miss Indiana completely.
Somewhere in Ohio or Pennsylvania I think it's a fantastic idea to take a picture of the Smuck while I'm driving the winding turnpike.
He retaliates in kind, but not in time to prevent me from putting a cigarette behind my ear to maximize my patented "I-look-like-crap-but-think-i'm-cool-anyway-but-really-i'm-not" look. At this point we begin listening to Death Cab's "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" on repeat.

Somewhere on the George Washington Parkway The Tombs entered conversation. I think we all know how that ended up...

Beautiful, fantastic, and other such complimentary adjectives.
Two crazy bastards.
Fin.

I'm sure I'm leaving a lot out, and didn't even mention the time we got lost trying to leave Wisconsin (twice). But I will say that it was a magnificent trip and I'd do it again.

Anytime things are a little up in the air, and life isn't going as you'd planned it's never a bad idea to do something a little bit insane. For me that was driving through the mountains of Pennsylvania in the middle of the night, listening to sad songs, and talking about love and life with my good friend.

I hope you are all well and enjoy this woefully inadequate account of our trip.

-Davin