Good morning Hank, it's Tuesday. I can't find my Norton Anthology of Poetry. I don't mean the Norton Anthology of Poetry, which can be purchased from any bookstore. I mean my Norton Anthology of Poetry, or more specifically, my friend chips Norton Anthology of Poetry that I borrowed from him in 11th grade and then eventually stole. The third edition of the Norton Anthology of Poetry is a deeply flawed book. For one thing, it contains almost no poems from the last 40 years on account of having been published 35 years ago, but it is my deeply flawed book, or at the very least chips. And I can't find it. One of the central facts of my life is that no matter how many times I reorganize my home library in any given moment, I will not be able to find the book that I desperately need. Like I can always find the New York Public Library's guide to organizing your home library, except when I'm embarking on a library reorganization. And I can always find my ninth grade copy of 100 poems by e. Cummings, except when it's March, and I want to quote that poem about spring being like a perhaps hand which comes carefully out of nowhere, etc. Right now, I have no problem locating everything you need to know about the Goth scene. I can find plenty of copies of the Swedish edition of Turtles All the Way Down, and it's amazing cover, but I cannot find my Norton Anthology of Poetry. It's not with the poetry, it's not with the Hot Wheels Ultimate Track, it's not in the bookshelf behind our bed, and it's not in the background of this video set, although while we're here, two books I've really enjoyed reading recently, this extraordinarily engrossing biography of Joseph Conrad, which are not words I ever thought I would say, and Dactyl Hill Squad, which doesn't come out until September, but I've been reading an advanced copy with Henry, it's about orphans in the Civil War who ride dinosaurs, and it is amazing. But that is a tangent. Where is my Norton Anthology of Poetry? I mean, this is ridiculous, I've been looking for my Norton Anthology of Poetry for an entire day. I haven't been able to write a vlog brother's script, because I've been looking for my Norton Anthology of Poetry, which Ergo has to become the topic of today's vlog brother's video. It's a 3.2 pound book. Nobody like takes a 3.2 pound book on vacation and leaves it there. And yes, I know that I could just google the poem I want to read, but I don't want to google it. I want to read it in my Norton Anthology of Poetry, which has to be somewhere in this house. I mean, it's not like I would have taken it out of that. Wait a second. Could it be at the office? Okay, I'm going to drive to the office to look for my Norton Anthology of Poetry, and if I don't find it, I am going to let it go. Maybe. I'm on my way to my office, come on big money, no whammy's. Yes, yes, yes, my Norton Anthology of Poetry. Yes! The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book, and summer night was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet and the world was calm. The words were spoken as if there was no book, except that the reader leaned above the page, wanted to lean, wanted much most to be the scholar to whom his book is true, to whom the summer night is like a perfection of thought. The house was quiet because it had to be. The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind, the access of perfection to the page, and the world was calm. The truth in a calm world in which there is no other meaning, itself is calm, itself is summer and night, itself is the reader leaning late and reading there. It's every bit as good as I remember, and just what I needed today. Hank, I will see you on Friday.