Let us go and make our visit

[sovay]

Rabbit, rabbit! An assorted collection of links does not make a day (which mostly contained grocery shopping and the next-to-last performance of the Post-Meridian Radio Players' Night of the Living Dead prefaced with Ghost Hunt), but it does make a post.

R.I.P. George Thornton, the man who blew up the whale. MetaFilter has already taken care of the inevitable jokes about his funeral arrangements.

Have the first nine illustrated pages of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Comments indicate the artist is already being encouraged to Kickstart the rest of the poem, which I am glad to see; I love the linework and the conceit of using Eliot's own likeness, even if that is a far more adorable fog than I ever envisioned on my own time. Bonus: OH MY GOD BISHOUNEN YEATS.

Have a gigantic searchable database of English folksongs!

We now return to your regularly scheduled staring at boxes and wondering where to unpack. On the uncomplicated, heartwarming side: postcards arrived this afternoon from gaudior in Turkey and strange_selkie in D.C. They're on the refrigerator. We knew what to do with those.

Comments

A patron saint of sorts

[rinue]

I have always assumed that the blowing up of the whale wasn't a plan in the sense of "intended to succeed" as much as a man realizing he had a whale and a whale-like volume of dynamite available and might never again get such an opportunity. Thus Thornton's spirit lives on in my young cousin Max, and I imagine many such boys.

[sovay]

a man realizing he had a whale and a whale-like volume of dynamite available and might never again get such an opportunity. Thus Thornton's spirit lives on in my young cousin Max, and I imagine many such boys.

I am all for the realization of such opportunities. Amen.