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Which might be better than TV
Today has been a wild toggle between things that were fun and being disastrously exhausted and in pain, but these things happen. Met up with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks after their Easter morning service and then with eredien. Ran into nineweaving on her way to Breaking the Code. Collapsed in the afternoon and finished Wittgenstein's Poker (2001), from which I had been temporarily derailed by the acquisition of Pat Barker's Regeneration (1991), a novel which I love dearly and do not understand how I missed for years. In the later afternoon, there was ham; in the evening, there was hanging out. I have to get up at stupid o'clock to see rushthatspeaks off at the airport. I have tickets for The Birds (1963) at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in the evening, however, so that should be fun, assuming my eyes still focus.
The philosopher who does not have a livejournal has said he'll get one if I join Facebook. I should have known from that snazzy black jacket that he was Satan.
rushthatspeaks after their Easter morning service and then with eredien. Ran into nineweaving on her way to Breaking the Code. Collapsed in the afternoon and finished Wittgenstein's Poker (2001), from which I had been temporarily derailed by the acquisition of Pat Barker's Regeneration (1991), a novel which I love dearly and do not understand how I missed for years. In the later afternoon, there was ham; in the evening, there was hanging out. I have to get up at stupid o'clock to see rushthatspeaks off at the airport. I have tickets for The Birds (1963) at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in the evening, however, so that should be fun, assuming my eyes still focus. The philosopher who does not have a livejournal has said he'll get one if I join Facebook. I should have known from that snazzy black jacket that he was Satan.
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Don't do it! Just say no!
I've been meaning to read Pat Barker for like forever; glad to hear you had such a wonderful encounter with her work.
I am just finishing Arthur Phillips' deliriously superb new novel, The Tragedy of Arthur, about the discovery of a lost Shakespeare play, or then again perhaps not. One of the book's many audacities is that it actually concludes with the entire five-act play -- and it's good! Which is to say, to my eyes and ears it's passable as Shakespeare c. 1594. The whole concoction makes for an amazing exploration of the nature of uncertainty and authenticity and much else besides, and manages to establish multiple valid but mutually-exclusive interpretive frameworks for his tale, flickering between what's real and what's not like a necker cube. A book that begs for rereading.
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Nine
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