But sometimes I long to be landlocked and to work in a bakery

In honor of Father's Day and the fact that, for his midlife crisis, he did not in fact buy a hot new sports car, we took my father to the MFA's exhibit of cars from the Ralph Lauren Collection. What on earth Ralph Lauren needs with more than sixteen vintage models—racers, luxury, and experimental, and some woman on the escalator indicated that the exhibit contained only a fraction of the total collection—I do not know. But they were extraordinarily beautiful. My brother is currently a fan of the 1938 Bugatti Type 57SC Atlantic Coupe, of which only three were ever made and lucky Ralph Lauren has one. It has haunches like a baby dinosaur, rivets that suggest black leather and studs, and the sort of sleek midnight curves that automatically require film noir lighting. For myself, I'm all about the 1950 Jaguar XK120, provided I can get it in British Racing Green. Not as though I could afford it, not to mention drive and park it in New Haven, or even that I particularly want a car. But if it was good enough for Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall . . .

In other news, this is lovely. It cannot be driven anywhere, but that is no less to its credit. I am reminded of Andy Goldsworthy, and fossils.

And if you've read Greer Gilman's Moonwise, and have your eye on its soon-to-be-released reprint, go forth and participate in nineweaving's Flapcopy Contest. Can you write better jacket text than that which adorned the mass market paperback? Sure you can. Now go and demonstrate it. Winning entry gets . . . something. But I'm just a signpost: don't ask me what.