At the court of King Antiochus whose punk rock shows were full of rabid pro- and anti-Zionists

Because I kind of lost track of Monday, I realized only belatedly that today is Pi Day. I seem to have seen it in by rewatching Robert Wise's The Desert Rats (1953) for the first time in almost exactly five years. I am very fond of that movie; it gives good Robert Newton, young Richard Burton, untranslated German (sometimes courtesy of James Mason), and bit-part characters with agency, though this time around its sprightly marching-band arrangement of "Waltzing Matilda" kept confusing me by almost turning into "The Battle Cry of Freedom." I suppose there were some mathematics in it, although mostly in the form of tactics and attrition. This thing where I have developed a bunch of WWII movies as comfort viewing should probably be examined someday. In any case, we have exactly one pie shell in the house and it was just marked out for a quiche. It's circular. It'll count.

My Sunday night blew up so dramatically that I didn't have a chance to post Schmekel's "Homotaschen," otherwise known proudly as the only Purim song I own, or mention the letter-writing Purim party held on Sunday afternoon by gaudior and rushthatspeaks to which I contributed a tray of hamantashn, two letters, some further signatures, and a sizeable dent in the Cadbury mini egg population. I wrote to AG Maura Healey to thank her for her general awesomeness and to Governor Baker for his support of OUTVETS and his continued skepticism regarding the revised travel ban and while he's on a roll would he please reconsider the Safe Communities Act already? We had graggers and intended to use them any time the name of the current president was mentioned, although that idea went somewhat off the table after the baby fell asleep. I may have been designated Singer-to-Babies. I can live with that.

Speaking of politics, anybody who managed to attend Monday night's town hall with Representative Capuano should please let me know how it went. I am going to take a very hot shower and try to sleep in my own bed.

I wrote elegiac stanzas for you, I hope and pray that they come true

Well, we made the quiche for Pi Day, with Irish cheddar and goat's milk gouda, black olives, and sautéed mushrooms, but the current state of derspatchel's dentistry proved recalcitrant, so now he is eating a baked custard, which is also circular. It's all okay.

P.S. Geez, Hugh Dancy, whover passed up the opportunity to cast you as Dorian Gray really missed the boat.

P.P.S. I can't believe someone wrote and staged a play about Oscar Levant—Dan Castellaneta's For Piano and Harpo—and I only found out about it (a) after it closed (b) on the West Coast. Maybe he'll decide to take it off-Broadway. Maybe I'll inherit a teleporter.