Measured Extravagance

20 January 2003 - 6:45 p.m.

Just got back from a lovely twilight walk with Abby. "Walk," in this context, corresponding to a relatively sedate trot during the homeward half of the outing, but with a first half that reminded me of Laura's attempts to drive Barnum in These Happy Golden Years. (Yes, The Snowstorm of Last Week is fading - no gloves! no parka! - at least until Wednesday!

"Senior year in college, I had a special masking tape "X" on my wall. If you hit the X hard enough (with a basketball, your forehead, a shoe, etc.) the Luther Vandross would stop. If you didn't hit it hard enough, the Luther Vandross would just skip." - Chris's response to a Caterina's post on music and housing ("When I asked him what had happened he explained that when he moved in he had a job, no guitar and didn't like Bob Dylan").

At Electrolite, a pair of links and a series of comments well worth perusing on Catholicism and politics. (I've just put Charles Pierce's Sports Guy on my library list - I figure a man who can liken Joe Lieberman's late-night appearances to "hearing Cotton Mather rap" ought to be good for providing a decent bedtime read.)

A shoutski to Mer: I don't retain any actual memories of me crocheting during Cards, either, although I'm sure I did, and it's likely my own journals would corroborate that detail. That said, rereading my entries from that period tends to induce a major fit of "GAUGH" on my side, so I'm not about to check.

I did peek at some entries from 1999 a couple of weeks ago, though, and was amused anew at some of the little things I'd (already!) forgotten, such as learning how to operate a snowblower, lettering a sign for a friend's new business, and the exchange I overheard one snowy evening, after the Beautiful Young Man spun the car around on the ice in front of my then-employer's parking lot:

GIRL NEXT DOOR, horrified: "Oh, my God!"

THE SHOP OWNER, calmly peering out: "Oh, that's just him picking her up."

Two years ago, I was delighted by Sylvia Townsend Warner's verdict on Cardinal Newman: ". . .he turned from a trumpery little silk purse into a honest respectable pig's ear."

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