The winter has settled in, finally-- for most of December, it was clear and cold, New England weather displaced onto this valley of rain and constant cloud-cover. Now, the weather is back in form, drizzle and an unbroken ceiling of gray, and with the unrelenting drear comes too the stir-crazy wanting, the need to break loose and light up, to get beyond. I have felt it some days, waking early and pacing, or scrolling cable late at night, watching reruns of Iron Chef on unending queue as if in culinary battle there was something to be found. On my facebook page today, a local bartender posted the status "Isn't it about time for a good old fashioned make-out session," I nearly posted "Yes," before realizing that might be taken as an offer. Offers are out there at the bars, that much is sure-- last night, in town for an evening, a Hawaiian lass named "Baby girl," a given name in fact, seemed ready to go anywhere. The tall, likely crazy Barbie who has been pursuing me for months but who never remembers my name because she only sees me when drunk approached yet again, told me yet again how she likes mixed-asian men as a result of the time she spent in Hawaii, and it is too bad that she works retail and is clearly not too smart; there is some justice, at least, in the tall, hot blonde having a thing for stocky Asian men. Because it is in the air, last night I literally lost my glasses, and if there ever was a metaphor, losing for the looking, there it is. I fled Baby Girl to go by John Henry's, the best dive in town, and ran into a fellow who works the bagel shop who I sometimes play pool with, and he introduced me to his girlfriend, blonde and cute, a sophomore English major whose whole face lit up when she heard I was a writer and taught in the English Department. She told me she wanted to blow her adviser. She professed an interest in 16th and 17th century poetry, and though I could think only of names including John and somehow came out with John Locke when I meant of course John Donne, she was convinced of my authority as a writer of prose and nodded enthusiastically concerning the philosopher. She suggested that we "Get out of here right now, together," and when I protested about her boyfriend, she said, "He's not my boyfriend. I just wake up on his bed now and then on nights I need a fuck," and the coldness of the young debutante terrified me-- the bagel shop guy is awfully nice. The best line I could come up with to leave on was, "The world needs more English majors." Really, it needs more of everything, right now: more light and heat, more heart, perhaps even more poetry. More to find and be found, and less hapless seeking.