29 May 2003 - 12:37 a.m.
Heck, not even the Imperial Romans spoke in High Fructose-Emulsified Purple, as Julius Caesar's own writings make clear.
"High Fructose-Emulsified Purple." Hee! I couldn't resist throwing it into the comments on Naomi Chana's post on D.H. Lawrence, although I was laughing so hard at everyone else's entertainingly hardheaded assessments of DHL (and his devotees) it took me even longer than usual to cobble together my .02.
As for my own reading, I've just finished Steven Saylor's The House of the Vestals, which does in fact make me want to rush out and gobble down the rest of the Roma Sub Rosa series with some Sallust on top, but . . . sigh. The BYM's in the throes of a nasty cold and the cat's recovering from a ghastly (and expensive!) rash (cortisone, antibiotics, the works). Me, I'm just moody. The choir sang "Seasons of Love" in church this past Sunday, but it's the title song that's on repeat in my car:
How do you leave the past behind
Frodo was joking that he'd passed so many church marquees on his ride through West Tennessee that he felt he'd taken in an entire service without hopping off the bike. I passed one yesterday that declared, "Past mistakes don't mean future failure."
One year ago, Chicago. Speaking of which, Cubs lead NL Central and the Sox ahead of the Tigers and the Indians (ok, so that's not saying much. . .), October plenty of ways away. . .
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