We ride by waves that you ought to try

Today contained a surprising amount of running around, mostly because the MBTA all but literally fell over. Tomorrow will contain even more running around, but in that case it's because spatch and I are taking the train to New York so that I can be interviewed either very late on Wednesday night or very early on Thursday morning on WBAI's Hour of the Wolf. Tune in and listen to me read and answer questions! If I have to live with this gutting insomnia, I'm going to make it work for me.

I don't understand what governs Amazon rankings, but earlier this evening Forget the Sleepless Shores was hovering at #136,392 overall but #82 for "Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Books," which made me happy. I don't want to drive myself crazy, but of course now I want to know how it gets to #1.

I really enjoyed this review of a Bob Fosse film festival, especially the descriptions of Damn Yankees (1958), Cabaret (1972), and Sweet Charity (1969).

I have seen some movies I would like to write about, but see above under gutting insomnia.

The siren sings no lullaby

The wi-fi on the Amtrak Regional decided it would prefer not to, but fortunately the train itself did its job with some minor delays and we are now in Brooklyn. spatch informs me that we got out of Boston just in time, i.e., before the Orange Line actually caught fire. (There was smoke at Downtown Crossing. And delays.) Instead we got the sea-swell brush-green of salt marshes and the sun sinking through the girders of Hell Gate Bridge, the wide curve of the East River like hot wrinkled metal. We saw a rainbow in New London. I had smørrebrød for dinner at the Great Northern Food Hall. I would have liked to be less exhausted for a talkative late night, but the day is what it is. Onward to radio.