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10 Essential Tips to Find That Perfect Corporate Gift

Your regarded customers, steadfast clients and stunning representatives are your most significant resource. The correct blessing picked with care and consideration will fortify connections, regardless of whether to remunerate accomplishment or commend achievement. Why settle for a conventional blessing when you can dazzle with the phenomenal?

I have assembled the fundamental tips to locate that corporate blessing.

Simply read on

1) Must Always Select A Quality Gift

As a matter of first importance, you should choose a blessing that you would be glad to put your organization name on. Your client and customers are destined to accept your blessing as an impression of how you view and worth relationship with them.

On the off chance that your initial introduction taking a gander at the blessing, is floating towards it being modest or normally accessible stuff, odds are that they will see precisely the same way.

2) Always and Always Check Corporate Policies

In all honesty, numerous associat…

Air Without Reserve

Every Thought...

Week 29: Doodling

More rough drafts.  No connection between Mr Euginides and Eugene Schieffelin or, for that matter, Walter Herring.  For the Underground Man, the question is lost but the answer remains.


 07/15:

  TWL, Lines 207-214: Mr. Eugenides

  207   Unreal City
  208   Under the brown fog of a winter noon
  209   Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
  210   Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
  211   C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
  212   Asked me in demotic French
  213   To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
  214   Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

208. TIME FRAGMENTS: We return to the Unreal City.  Recall lines 60-61, which had set the city in the fog of a winter dawn.  Time is not linear, however, and memories are fragmented; see note 263 and compare lines 202, 222, 263.  See also note 60 for recurrences of the Unreal City and for specific London references.

209. MR. EUGENIDES is introduced just as the noon fog rolls in.  By his name alone, he would seem to be one who is well-bred (eugenetic), but the image here (lines 207-214) of an unshaven, demotic London currant merchant is unmitigatedly negative. His no-credit sales suggest a lack of trust; he chooses to speak a base version of French instead of the Greek or Turkish of his native Smyrna or the English of his clientele; and he operates within the prevailing brown fog of an unreal city. Even the product he sells, small dried grapes, are far from what one would hope to find in a healing holy grail (see note 0.2). In his notes, Eliot marked him as the “one-eyed” merchant in the Tarot deck (see line 52 and note 46) and his invitation directly follows an oblique reminder of Philomela’s rape (see lines 203-206), suggesting that this too is the woven tapestry and birdsong of a victim’s report. But Eliot’s notes also associated the merchant with victims, identifying him as one who “melts into” the sailor who drowned and lost his looks and stature (see note 218 and see lines 312-321) and is himself tied to the drowned hyacinth girl (see note 126).

The merchant's one eye may also allude to the Norse god Odin, who gave up half his sight in exchange for a drink from the Well of Wisdom; see Storri Sturluson, The Prose Edda (ca. 1300 AD).

See also Rudyard Kipling, The Finest Story In The World (1891):

  “When next I met him it was in Gracechurch Street with a bill-book chained to his waist. Business took him over London Bridge, and I accompanied him. He was very full of the importance of that book and magnified it. As we passed over the Thames we paused to look at the steamer unloading great slabs of white and brown marble. A barge drifted under the steamer’s stern and a lonely ship’s cow in that barge bellowed. Charlie’s face changed from the face of the bank clerk to that of an unknown and – though he would not have believed this – a much shrewder man.”

See also Revelation 18:1-19 (note 0.5) for multiple references to merchants of the earth in a fallen city:

  “And after these things I saw another angel come down from heaven, having great power; and the earth was lightened with his glory. And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird. For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fornication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich through the abundance of her delicacies. And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues. For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath  remembered her iniquities. Reward her even as she rewarded you, and double unto her double according to her works: in the cup which she hath filled fill to her double. How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her: for she saith in her heart, I sit a queen, and am no widow, and shall see no sorrow. Therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine; and she shall be utterly burned with fire: for strong is the Lord God who judgeth her. And the kings of the earth, who have committed fornication and lived deliciously with her, shall bewail her, and lament for her, when they shall see the smoke of her burning, Standing afar off for the fear of her torment, saying, Alas, alas that great city Babylon, that mighty city! for in one hour is thy judgment come.  And the merchants of the earth shall weep and mourn over her; for no man buyeth their merchandise any more:  The merchandise of gold, and silver, and precious stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk, and scarlet, and all thine wood, and all manner vessels of ivory, and all manner vessels of most precious wood, and of brass, and iron, and marble, And cinnamon, and odours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men. And the fruits that thy soul lusted after are departed from thee, and all things which were dainty and goodly are departed from thee, and thou shalt find them no more at all. The merchants of these things, which were made rich by her, shall stand afar off for the fear of her torment, weeping and wailing, And saying, Alas, alas that great city, that was clothed in fine linen, and purple, and scarlet, and decked with gold, and precious stones, and pearls! For in one hour so great riches is come to nought. And every shipmaster, and all the company in ships, and sailors, and as many as trade by sea, stood afar off, And cried when they saw the smoke of her burning, saying, What city is like unto this great city! And they cast dust on their heads, and cried, weeping and wailing, saying, Alas, alas that great city, wherein were made rich all that had ships in the sea by reason of her costliness! for in one hour is she made desolate.”

BABYLON, the fallen city in the Revelation account, is also a town of weeping at note 182, of desolate streets at note 248 and of falling towers at note 376.

211. CURRANTS: Eliot: “The currants were quoted at a price ‘carriage and insurance free to London’; and the Bill of Lading, etc., were to be handed to the buyer upon payment of the sight draft.”  In other words, shipping costs were built into the price, payable on delivery. Currants are dried, seedless berries, suggesting infertility, the opposite of the renewal and revegetation themes of the poem (see note 0.2).  They also carry inferences of homosexuality and graveside preparations; see note 214 for each of these perceptions.

212. DEMOTIC means common, of the people. Demotic and demobbed (line 139) were the only specific words Ezra Pound had suggested to improve the poem, but he also offered general encouragement and suggested broad edits.  See note 0.4.

214. THE CANNON STREET HOTEL, a hotel about a quarter mile northwest of where Eliot worked (see note 66), frequented by businessmen commuting to and from the Continent, was also reputed to be a homosexual rendezvous.

THE METROPOLE is a luxury resort hotel in Brighton on England’s southwestern coast, about sixty miles west of London. The hotel opened to great fanfare in 1890.

HOMOSEXUALITY, already suggested by the rendezvous at the Cannon Street Hotel and the follow-up weekend in Brighton, might also be inferred by the currants in the merchant’s pockets (line 210); see Whitman, These, I, Singing in Spring (note 2), in which currants are among the wild plants being “collect[ed] for lovers” as “the token of comrades”:

  “Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world—but soon I pass the gates,
  Now along the pond-side—now wading in a little, fearing not the wet.”

WEEDS AND WILDFLOWERS may be a homosexual token by Whitman’s measure, or a festive accouterment by any measure (see, e.g., Spenser, Prothalamion (note 176)), but there is also a more somber parallel: Compare the merchant’s currants with the “weedy trophies” that Ophelia reached for at her watery death (see notes 172 and 378), or Cornelia’s leaves and flowers covering unburied men (see note 74).  See also Whitman, Memories (note 2) 7:

  “Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes
  With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,”

and compare the plants that drain their forgetfulness along the River Lethe (see note 4). See also the death and mourning ties of the lilac (line 2), the hyacinth (line 35) and the violet (note 378).


 07/16:

  Notes From "Notes From Underground"

  Dostoevsky Final (Russian 141, 11/30/90, Prof. Rubchak)

  The question, with its “quoted translation,” is lost for all time; the answer is all that remains.

  The Underground Man perceives the prostitute Liza as being a creature and a victim of debauchery, which itself exists, according to his perception, in lovelessness, with a general lack of all feeling.  (The quoted translation uses the phrase “at the culmination point” of love.  Another text, translated by David Magarshack, says “consummation” (339), which seems to imply that the vice is less a result of true love’s previous existence as an aspect following its absence.)  This perception differs from that of one of Liza’s more ordinary clients in that the Underground Man sees into this “general picture” and stays conscious of it, instead of merely being a “coarse and shameless” part of it.

  To the ordinary man —the “plain man” or the “man of action” (269) —vice is just another stone wall before which he invariably yields.  As the Underground Man had described, to such a man of action “a stone wall is not a challenge as it is, for instance, to us thinking men... and it is not an excuse for turning aside.... No, [the ordinary man] capitulates in all sincerity” (269).  In other words, such a man yields to his debauched desire and lets himself be calmed by its effectual wall.

  The Underground Man, a thinking man, sees debauchery here as  “inane... revolting... coarse... shameless;”  in another translation, “hideous... gross... absurd” (339).  In his mind he seems to turn away, repulsed —and yet he, too, is a living part of it.  The spider of vice even makes him feel “creepy” (339), as if he were the  spider himself.  Indeed, he has spent two hours “capitulating” with this as yet nameless prostitute, and still he continues to ‘lie next to her and look into her eyes.  But he is not calmed by her in any way.  The ordinary man is not revolted and pretends that there is a kind of consummated love in the prostitute’s bedroom; he becomes sincerely soothed by this lie.  But the Underground Man is cursed by a continually sensitive conscience; he is painfully aware of this reality of absent love; and if he has paused at this wall, it has not been for “cheap happiness,” but rather “exalted suffering” (376).


 07/17:

  The Disappearance Of Walter Herring

  Walter Herring, age 29, was doodling on paper yesterday when he got carried away. Literally. According to witnesses, Herring had been scribbling on a paper place mat in a local restaurant when two men in collar-up overcoats came in and stood on either side of him. Herring and the men had a brief moment of what seemed to be conversation, then suddenly the men took hold of Herring’s arms, stood him up and walked him out of the restaurant. They pushed Herring into the back seat of a black car and inconspicuously drove away.

  Tom Smith, the restaurant’s manager, had been working in the back when the incident occurred, but he was immediately called into the dining room after the abductors had left. “Everyone was gabbing away about what they had just seen,” said Smith. “After a few minutes I was able to piece together what had actually happened. ”

  “It was Walter Herring, he’s my neighbor,” said Mrs. Harriet Lockwert of 872 Maplecourt Road. “He lives right next to me, so I know it was him. Yes, 874.”

  “Oh, he was just sitting there, doodling, you know,” said Trent Dagnow. “What? Oh yes. He had this kind of absent face on, so he couldn’t have been writing anything seri... What? Oh, well, yes. No, you don’t need my address.”

  “They just talked in whispers for a while and then they grabbed him,” said Archie Baldwin of Bensenville. “Yes, I was at the next table.”

  “They looked like mobsters,” added Archie Baldwin’s wife, who asked to remain unnamed.

  “Oh, Marcy, no, they were G-men, I’m sure,” said Constance Labelle.

  “No, you didn’t get a good look at them,” said Mrs. Baldwin. “One of them had a scar.”

  “They were from the State Department,” said Jack Lloyd.

  “How do you know?” an unidentified voice in the crowd asked. “It was on their license plate. A government seal,” said Lloyd.

  “Jack, you wouldn’t know a government seal if they stamped it on your forehead,” said another unidentified voice.

  “Maybe so, but I saw it. It said, ‘U.S.A. State Department, Secret Service.’” said Lloyd.

  “Jack, sit down,” said William Richter of Peoria. “Last I checked, you couldn’t even read.”

  “Shut up, Billy, I can read.”

  “What’s that say,” said Richter.

  “I don’t have to prove anything,” said Lloyd.


~~~~  ζ  ~~~~


  Detective Morley Bright of the Chicago Police Department arrived approximately forty five minutes after Herring’s disappearance. Bright questioned the several restaurant patrons who had remained behind waiting for him, then he talked with Tom Smith, who had taken notes from the diners who had left.

  “Very concise report, Tom. ”

  “Thank you. ”

  “But I hate to tell you...”

  “What’s that, detective?”

  “The Secret Service is part of the Department of the Interior.”

  “I know. I was just reporting what I heard.”

  “So do you put much value in what Jack Lloyd said?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you record it then?”

  “Oh I don’t know. ”

  After further questioning, Detective Bright determined that only the quotes from Harriet Lockwert and Trent Dagnow were of any worth in Smith’s report. It was certainly Walter Herring, and he had apparently been doodling.

  The other witnesses, whom Bright had interviewed directly, were able to confirm many facts about themselves and that they had all been eating lunch at Denny’s on 1213 Rowday Drive when “the hell had broken loose.” They used these words several times, but  no one would elaborate. They asked Bright if he thought the TV news was going to come, but Bright was already done talking to them.


~~~~ ξ  ~~~~


  “This is Brad Kopak of the Channel 4 Eyewitness News Team, live at the scene of Denny’s Restaurant at 1213 Rowday Drive, where just moments ago a most unusual abduction occurred. Behind me are Jerry Lyman and Mimi Peters. Jerry, Mimi, can you tell our viewers what just took place here.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Uh, Jerry, Mimi, we understand that a Mr. Walter Herring of 874 Maplecourt Road was forcibly dragged out of here tonight by two mysterious men. Can either of you confirm this?”

  “Today.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “It happened today, not tonight. About eight hours ago. The hell broke loose.”

  “So you’ve been here since two o’clock?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, right, well —then what happened?”

  “Since two o’clock? Not a whole lot.”

  “What happened at two o’clock?”

  “They took Walter Herring...”

  “He was just sitting there doodling away...”

  “And then the hell broke loose...”

  “...And?”

  “And that’s it.”

  “Uh, well! So there you have it. Obviously not all has been answered yet, but we’ll keep you posted. From the Denny’s at 1213 Rowday Drive, this is Brad Kopak, investigative reporter. Back to you, Judy.”

~~~~ ϰ  ~~~~

  “What was Walter Herring doodling? That is the question —the mystery of the week here in Chicagoland, and it is very mysterious indeed. Mr. Herring had been at Denny’s waiting on a late lunch last Friday. The meal had not yet come and he took out a pen and started drawing on his place mat with what one witness called an “absent” face. Suddenly, two men wearing trench coats and dark glasses burst into the restaurant. They went immediately to Mr. Herring and picked him up out of his chair, talked to him for a minute in hushed tones and then escorted him out of the restaurant. But here’s what no one noticed right away:  They also took the place mat! It was not until after they had left with Mr. Herring that anyone noticed that the place mat was gone!

  “What was Mr. Herring doodling? We may never know for sure, but that is the question we will try to uncover in this week’s episode of... ‘It Really Happened.’

  “We will return to ‘It Really Happened’ after these messages.”


~~~~  ϕ  ~~~~


  “Hey Obert, will ya take a look over here?” Harrient Lockwert of 872 Maplecourt Road was leaning over her sink, peering out the kitchen window. “There’s somebody snooping around at Walter Herring’s house.”

  “Let it be, Har. Stop snooping.” He was reading the paper.

  “But Obert, they look like criminals.”

  “Exactly. Don’t get involved.”

  “Don’t you care, Obert? Don’t you want to help Walter?”

  “Harriet, I barely know Walter Herring. In the five years he’s lived next to us, we’ve barely waved at each other.”

  “Yes.” Harriet pondered, went back to the window, this time peeking more discreetly through the curtains. “But suppose they come here next?”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They’ve got my name in the police report.”

  “Harriet, will you get away from the window.” Obert put his paper down. “Look, Har. You saw that show on the television last night. Those guys are all concerned about a doodle, right? But it has nothing to do with us, so let’s keep it that way!”

  Harriet went back into the kitchen and closed the curtain all the way. But she couldn’t resist one last peek.


 07/18:

  Citybird

  And who would believe the outcome of this gathering babel?

  Observe Sturnus vulgaris, everywhere,
  A bird become too ubiquitous to deserve
  The usual refuge of conserving care,
  And so it’s granted air without reserve,
  Thanks to the Bard for having Hotspur teach
  The bird to speak the single word of Mortimer,
  Which led old Eugene Schieffelin to reach
  Across the Great Atlantic to import ‘em here;
  He may have heard in turn of Laurence Sterne,
  Once troubled by a caged bird that would shout
  For freedom: “Can’t get out!” the starling churned;
  “God help thee!” said he, “but I'll let thee out.”
  Thus Eugene did release his forty darlings,
  Progeny to a quarter billion starlings.


 07/19:

  Good People Of Chicago

  Good People of Chicago, you and I
  Belie our nature to categorize
  By last names and colors of opacity:
  Though I am see-through and you are tag-defined,
  We all share the streets, the weather and time.

  Good People, look beyond Division Street,
  Past the iron gates and the cul-de-sacs:
  We share main roads and fenceless avenues,
  Undenied paths and ways to get home
  Through this grand maze of lines: we need to share—

  Good People, look beyond the lake effect
  And local winds that vary by degrees:
  We share the winter freeze that shuts us in
  Till summer sends us out, year after year
  To spraying hydrants, Michigan waves, escape—

  And as we share time, Good People, you and I,
  As the roads stretch on and on with potholes
  And snowbanks, as seasons run their cycle,
  Time touches all, heals all, moves all, tolls for all,
  And here we are, Chicago, until we die.


 07/20:

  House

  This is our new house, same as the old house,
  Where we once lived before moving away
  Into the next house, the house before this house
  Ran out of room for a family to stay.
  We thought the next house might be the last house
  To live out our days in an ambient way
  But this is the next house after the last house,
  Where we once lived before moving away.

  We thought the last house might be the best house,
  And it was nice for a year and a day:
  It was a new house, a nothing-to-do house,
  All we could want for the price we could pay,
  And it was a big house, a two story tall house,
  A dream house for those who like dreaming that way;
  At least it was newer and bigger than this house,
  And it was nice for a year and a day,

  But we missed our old house, our used-to-be-cold house,
  And found our way back to a place we can say:
   "A house that is old is a house that’s well settled,
   A house that is small can be comfortably warm,
   And the house that is ours at the end of the day
   Is the house we return to, the house we call home."
  This is a good house, the house we remember.
  We’ve found our way back to a place we can stay.


 07/21:

  Moleskin 4.1: Audience

  But where was I? Yes, the point. As I proceed past sixth grade, I begin beyond all whims and maybes to realize what wasn’t clear on the earlier pages: that I have a story to tell, a singular tale, and there is a point to it. In the summer before seventh grade I start to see past the nothing and everything of my memories that I have words that need to be said, and a narrative to lead me through my hesitations. And here is where I find myself turning, once again, to my audience. You are the point. You are the only reason I am writing, the prompt to get me to remember my lines, the pull that hooks me onto the stage and sets me before the spotlight. My better instincts would keep all this to myself and wallow in a comfortable shadowy shyness, but you, out there in the darkness, are why I have taken to these pages. All of you, in ways. But one of you in particular.

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