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wouldn't it just figure?

that this morning's mla on arthurian legends was not (if i had read closely) a presentation, but rather a roundtable? a roundtable!!!

oh, the synchrony!
in a bizarre turn of events, the william penn hotel downtown which houses the offices where i just started a new gig on tuesday commenced today the hosting of the conference for the northeast chapter of the modern language association. is it worth it to pay for an independent scholar membership to the mla and go to some conference events, my friends?



 photo 20180412_143558.jpg

sometimes it snows in april, endlessly

it's a regular thing, this citation to that sweet prince lyric, to the point one struggles to recall which aprils showed no snow.

and blessedly, easter sunday no sign was seen (to the happy detriment of nightspore's pun). but easter monday it came, and should i really be surprised that one monday later it recurred? that snow fell lazily in a snow globe all the afternoon and into the evening today of all days? and then, as i discovered around eleven while taking the trash cans to the curb for morning pickup, picking up in intensity and clinging more readily to the now cooler ground and grass and cars and all, until i had to scrape an inch and a half off the lid of the can? today, the ninth day of april, and sure to stay through til morning when in distasteful irony our brand new outdoor furniture is to be delivered and placed upon our wooden balcony? a cruel joke indeed yet of that kind that cannot fail to amuse.

déjà vu, déjà vécu

her letters, from london, continued to come with the same tender punctuality; but the altered conditions of her life, the vistas of new relationships disclosed by every phrase, made her communications as impersonal as a piece of journalism. it was as though the state, the world, indeed, had taken her off his hands, assuming the maintenance of a temperament that had long exhausted his slender store of reciprocity.

in the retrospective light shed by the letters he was blinded to their specific meaning. he was not a man who concerned himself with literature, and they had been to him, at first, simply the extension of her brilliant talk, later the dreaded vehicle of a tragic importunity. he knew, of course, that they were wonderful; that, unlike the authors who give their essence to the public and keep only a dry rind for their friends, mrs. aubyn had stored of her rarest vintage for this hidden sacrament of tenderness. sometimes, indeed, he had been oppressed, humiliated almost, by the multiplicity of her allusions, the wide scope of her interests, her persistence in forcing her superabundance of thought and emotion into the shallow receptacle of his sympathy; but he had never thought of the letters objectively, as the production of a distinguished woman; had never measured the literary significance of her oppressive prodigality. he was almost frightened now at the wealth in his hands; the obligation of her love had never weighed on him like this gift of her imagination: it was as though he had accepted from her something to which even a reciprocal tenderness could not have justified his claim.

he sat a long time staring at the scattered pages on his desk; and in the sudden realization of what they meant he could almost fancy some alchemistic process changing them to gold as he stared. he had the sense of not being alone in the room, of the presence of another self observing from without the stirring of subconscious impulses that sent flushes of humiliation to his forehead. at length he stood up, and with the gesture of a man who wishes to give outward expression to his purpose--to establish, as it were, a moral alibi--swept the letters into a heap and carried them toward the grate. but it would have taken too long to burn all the packets. he turned back to the table and one by one fitted the pages into their envelopes; then he tied up the letters and put them back into the locked drawer.

happy 47 day!

i hope yours was grand.
we spent ours with bill murray at heinz hall.
(if those of you in new england have the chance to see him at the orpheum later this week, i do recommend it.)


and to top everything off the fireworks show after the pirates baseball game began just as the murray show ended and we saw it virtually in the entirety from the sidewalk outside the concert hall.

a perfectly 47 day!

found my beach

(on the first official day of spring, year of lord 2018, wednesday, march 21st, at an early hour you'll seldom find me finding anything but rest in a nice warm bed)


so naturally i find it fitting to finally put this long* winter** to bed by writing this brief entry while sipping on the second*** of two bottles of samuel adams winter lager which were given to me by my sister-in-law, leonora****, as a stocking stuffer at the annual christmas morning gathering at the queen mother's*^. there is still a nice layer of snow an apple or two high on the portion of our deck (i call it our balcony) that doesn't get much sun, just outside the thick glass of the door and windows separating me from the outside as i sit in my little corner office kingdom scant feet away. but the temperatures tomorrow will top out at that milestone number of fifty and will surely obliterate those last remnants and the uppermost of days to come will seldom dip below 47. spring sprung free at last.


* phil, as ever, prophesies aright (one wishes he could provide more than a simple yea or nay, but we know in part, and we prophesy in part, i oughtn't need reminded)

** i call it winter, though it pales before that which fell upon new england and several other colonies

*** the first bottle consumed joyfully in the company of many and the company of what little snow one had to satisfy oneself with this christmas day (in our little town)

**** to coin a pseudonym i feel will have lasting utility

*^ and another

so

one of the few hobbies that take up what little free time that i have is fantasy baseball, in several varieties.

in the one variety, every player has a virtual salary which changes from year to year based on performance. salaries can range anywhere from a hundred dollars to more than ten thousand dollars.

and so,

as one of the little things the universe does, the salaries of two players, dallas keuchel and patrick corbin, are only separated by nineteen dollars, so that as one reads down the page from the top the names are consecutive (in that order) and one's mind leaps across the gap to read "dallas corbin". and dallas corbin is, of course, the name of a protagonist of that masterpiece of cinema, the fifth element.

just a knowing wink, is all.

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