Despite the snow emergency lights flashing blue all over town since yesterday afternoon, the promised storm was a thin dusting in our back yard and some rain. I am sad not only because of the reinforcement of climate change, but because I really had been looking forward to snow. I miss it. Yesterday morning I found myself at the Back Bay T station for a doctor's appointment and it seemed unreal yet calendrically undeniable that I had not been out there in four years. I meant to wander around afterward and look for the former site of the Copley Theatre, but all I had time to do was make it to my next appointment. Have some links.
1. Graham Fuller's "Powell and Pressburger: the glueman cometh" is a beautifully detailed discussion of A Canterbury Tale (1944), which I am resolved to see someday in a theater. I am afraid I cannot accept any heterosexual reading of Colpeper, but at least the author is one of the very few critics of my experience to have paid attention underneath the closing credits.
2. I read Lilian Bowes Lyon's "Daybreak" (1941) and Edward Field's "World War II" (1967) within a day of one another; there is no moral, except that they chimed.
3. Obviously I took the internet quiz to determine which ancient epic poem you are. It seems to have determined that I am "the argonautica: like if homer and the library of alexandria fucked." Please advise if I should feel attacked.
4. When I was feeling particularly bad,![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch sent me some volcano snails.
5. I was close to tears while reading about the unexpected altruism of elephant seals, which I suppose will continue to happen to me for some time when some small thing in distress is saved. The existence of the Hitler beetle made a sort of astringent chaser.
"Art makes me happy!" Rob just had to listen to me yell. "Why do people make it so difficult to make art?"
1. Graham Fuller's "Powell and Pressburger: the glueman cometh" is a beautifully detailed discussion of A Canterbury Tale (1944), which I am resolved to see someday in a theater. I am afraid I cannot accept any heterosexual reading of Colpeper, but at least the author is one of the very few critics of my experience to have paid attention underneath the closing credits.
2. I read Lilian Bowes Lyon's "Daybreak" (1941) and Edward Field's "World War II" (1967) within a day of one another; there is no moral, except that they chimed.
3. Obviously I took the internet quiz to determine which ancient epic poem you are. It seems to have determined that I am "the argonautica: like if homer and the library of alexandria fucked." Please advise if I should feel attacked.
4. When I was feeling particularly bad,
spatch sent me some volcano snails.5. I was close to tears while reading about the unexpected altruism of elephant seals, which I suppose will continue to happen to me for some time when some small thing in distress is saved. The existence of the Hitler beetle made a sort of astringent chaser.
"Art makes me happy!" Rob just had to listen to me yell. "Why do people make it so difficult to make art?"
