29 September 2003 - 11:31 p.m.

Scattered synapses:

Robin Selinger's Texas Tashlich is not particularly Texan to my ear or mind, but nevertheless a sweet little song.

Since when is "traffic manager" an obsolete phrase? [Via Moby Lives, which also mentions the upcoming expansion of the ISBN. It feels not significant but a trifle odd - in the same category as glimpsing old stationery imprinted with shorter phone numbers and zip codes.]

Pointless mystery driving me mad: whatever happened to Mike Gwilym, who played Pericles and Berowne on TV in the mid-1980s? I rewound and replayed his rendition of "Go to! it is a plague!" over and over. . . what became of him? Did he die suddenly? Retire? Is he now raising marrows in Machynlleth?

(Triggered by Mer's geeking out over her Henry VI. Jenny Agutter was Gwilym's Rosaline.)

Didn't manage the cake last night, but made up for it this morning with "one bowl feather cake" (which actually required two bowls for the mixing up, and was not at all feathery but still fine with tea), and this evening with "extra-crispy red snapper with apples" from Bittman's How to Cook Everything. Contemplating more baking therapy - there's a grapefruit pecan bread in one of the Southern Living anthologies that looks too peculiar not to attempt, and pecan tassies (miniature pies, basically), and other possibilities - it's become chilly enough to wear flannel, and this weekend I've a bakesale to help supply.

But, at the moment, it's late and my head aches. The dishes can wait. Checkbook, calendar, couplets, bed.

Two years ago: Old grouch, you were right: we love and we die. . .