officeinsight Articles on Ira Joe
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A Minute with Ira Joe
12.14.09 | It was nice to thumb through the pages of last week’s officeinsight and happen on a photograph of Princeton’s restored Whig Hall. Nice in a comforting, old-fashioned nice-ness. In so many senses. (And I realize one cannot thumb through officeinsight; one merely scrolls. Down). But ah, the classical design of the building. The sturdy stone walls, the tall, proud columns. A design of nineteenth century architect A. Page Brown.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
11.23.09 | Ah. A certain slant of light, varying with the season. And varying in intensity from the objects – leaves and windows and eyes – through which it passes. This Thanksgiving-time-of-year light is slanting into the angle that caught and clouded the poet’s mood back in nineteenth century Amherst, Massachusetts. Well, in Manhattan recently, Fabbian lighting experts hosted a show celebrating the work of New York and New Jersey designers. And in its pages Metropolis Magazine boxed little photos of the show.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
11.23.09 | Ah. A certain slant of light, varying with the season. And varying in intensity from the objects – leaves and windows and eyes – through which it passes. This Thanksgiving-time-of-year light is slanting into the angle that caught and clouded the poet’s mood back in nineteenth century Amherst, Massachusetts. Well, in Manhattan recently, Fabbian lighting experts hosted a show celebrating the work of New York and New Jersey designers. And in its pages Metropolis Magazine boxed little photos of the show.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
11.9.09 | Forgive my presumption; but, if you are turning to this page because you are drawn to do so from past encounters, you will find no “A Minute with [your humble correspondent]” this week. I am taking the week and, hence, the “minute” off. And know that I know my pieces take longer than a minute to read. But, less than a minute to forget. I have made my “piece” with that. Sorry.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
11.9.09 | Forgive my presumption; but, if you are turning to this page because you are drawn to do so from past encounters, you will find no “A Minute with [your humble correspondent]” this week. I am taking the week and, hence, the “minute” off. And know that I know my pieces take longer than a minute to read. But, less than a minute to forget. I have made my “piece” with that. Sorry.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
11.2.09 | Driving along New England’s charming, leafy, winding Route Seven recently I passed a business called “Classic Towing.” I did not know towing could reach such a height. If I ever need a tow, that’s who I will call.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
10.19.09| As I walked down the driveway from fetching the paper this autumn morn the sky was iron gray and seeping its chill into the air and me. The grand maple in our front yard has gone from green to gold to bare-branched …in what seems like the blink of a barnswallow’s eye. The leaves lay strewn and still on the leaning-into-sleep grass.
Ira Joe >>
A Minute with Ira Joe
10.12.09| I’ve had time on my hands recently. And I’ve noticed things that need to be accomplished. My desk is cluttered. There are dirt smudges on the garage door opener-button on the wall beside the entrance to the house. (Sorry about all those prepositional phrases.) My e-mail name ought to be changed; it seemed so cute ten years ago. But now I think it’s dippy and looks like something a gum-snapping sophomore would come up with …sitting in study hall. Or detention.
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A Minute with Ira Joe
9.28.09 | Hitchhiking. The preferred mode of transportation for my generation in the 1960s. I hitchhiked all over the place. To and from high school. To and from cities. To and from my first job in radio – WGGO – in Salamanca, New York.
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A Minute with Ira Joe
9.14.09 | Panic. My Thursday restaurant is crowded. Again. All summer it was wide open. I’d stop by any time between eleven-thirty and one o’clock and glide right up to a vacant two-seater. Sometimes a four-seater. Becoming a regular I had risen above standing and trying to appear nonchalant as I tried to catch the eye of the smiling server (who, I think, had once been a waitress) so she would gesture me to a seat at a table.
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