As a writer, I like to believe that words can bring all mystery to light, plumbing the unknowable, parsing the ineffable, and sweeping the cobwebs from the inexplicable. And yet, this morning, I am up against the reality that there’s no good way to frame the following photo in words.

There is a story I could tell of its origins, the series of unforeseen calamities that led to its creation. I can tell you that this composite of photo and typeface is not of our making (while grudgingly admitting that Robbi did consent to be photographed as shown). I assure you that, in spite of all appearances, we have no album forthcoming. But I will attempt no further explanation because, in spite of my nearly 30 years of experience shaping words in the service of advancing truth, I do not possess the skills to help you with the surely unbearable task of reconciling the above with your formerly held conceptions of Robbi, of myself, of the Idiots’ brand.

Apologies on this cold Friday morning , if you have been disturbed. I would argue that a little disturbance is good from time to time, in measured doses, and from the relative safety of your cubicle.