04 May 2002 - 2:50 p.m.
Well, I managed to resist the siren murmurings of my wishlist in spite of the 10% discount glowing from my in-box, but it's turned out to have been a week of book-splurging nonetheless - finally got around to locating a copy of Nancy Willard's All on a May Morning via my favorite out-of-print book database - the Willard was one of my favorite picture books as a child - and just now seized upon an affordable copy of Louis Macneice's Autumn Journal. (Fans of Rosamund Pilcher may recall the lines about "September" quoted in The Shell-Seekers - they're from AJ, and there's more of them, as I found out last night while meandering around some more in the used Norton I picked up last weekend.)
And I stopped by Davis-Kidd on my way home from the Y last night to look up a calligraphy reference, and Stephanie Laurens' The Promise in a Kiss was right next to the door on the remainders table (I love the glimpses of the young Lady Osbaldestone - she really is a scene-stealer in every novel she appears in). Mmm. And reading the new Bujold has sent me back to the two installments of the Vorkosigan saga that preceded it, of course.
And while at DK I browsed through a copy of Noordjiz's letterletter that made me giggle, which means I now know what I'm going to spend my Powell's gift certificate on...
Not that there's any shortage of reading material here to begin with: the May issue of Poetry while soaking in the bath. Back issues of Vanity Fair and Saveur. Assorted library books...
Wanda and Allegra were musing aloud on unfortunate surnames yesterday afternoon, which is how I happened to bring up this page on Hitler's descendants. The link will also take you to one of Walter Matthau's favorite Jewish jokes...
Even my subconscious seems to be telling me to lighten up: I can't remember the punchline now, but in the middle of last night's dream (which involved sitting next to Tommy Womack in some strange diner serving beef with brown gravy and lopsided chunks of avocado while a woman sang her songs and handed out long pink stickers to attach to our lapels), the action halted and the dream proceeded to tell me a joke. It's bothering me that I can't remember the content of the joke since the dream made such a point of stopping itself in order to deliver it - as in, "Hey. You. Mechaieh. Get this!"
Can't remember it, dammit, but I got it anyway. Gonna eat some strawberries and then go play with paint.
One year ago: "I'll...admit that there are plenty of people in this world whose departures from it would give me more gratification than guilt (such as half of the 107th Congress)"
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