sovay | Well, of course we talk. Don't everybody?

I dreamed last night of Alan Turing and Christopher Morcom. (I was helping throw them a party. There was a cake. It was dark chocolate and bright green, from which I conclude one of them had a taste for crème de menthe. Happy Pi Day?)

I woke to an improbable piece of mail that cheered me immensely.

captainbutler had never seen Singin' in the Rain (1951). I got to watch someone see Donald O'Connor run up (and fall through) a wall for the first time.

greygirlbeast was at Pandemonium Books & Games, reading Chapter One of The Drowning Girl (2012). I don't know if there was really spectacular Indian food afterward, but there was discussion of Rift.

I had aguadito de pollo from Machu Picchu with

derspatchel, the chicken-and-cilantro soup which the menu mentions is also known as levanta muerto, raise the dead. It actually kind of does what it says on the tin.

(I wound up explaining Gussie Fink-Nottle to

ratatosk, but I don't think that was related.)

My poems "The Color of the Ghost" and "A Find at Þingvellir," otherwise known as the Wittgenstein poem and the poem about Mjölnir, have been accepted by Archaeopteryx: The Newman Journal of Ideas.

I gather from all of this that I am not Caesar, but I rather enjoyed the Ides of March.

Well, of course we talk. Don't everybody?

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