Scandals in Stonemasonry

You've got to admire a lady who is so ashamed of her nakedness that she covers her face despite being made of stone. The cheery inscription on the stone seems to read: "Is life a boon? If so it must befal that death when he call must call too soon." Man that is depressing. I'd probably get naked too if I had to stand next to that every day. Not sure it would help though.

e.e. cummings: so cool he doesn't need capitals

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis


e. e. cummings

West Wing? More like BEST wing...

"I have wit, I have charm, I have brains, I have legs that go all the way down to the floor, my friend"

"I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land"

"Why should we go to Mars? Cause it's next. Because we came out of the cave and we looked over the hill and we saw fire. And we crossed the ocean and we pioneered the West and we took to the sky. The history of man is hung on a timeline of exploration and this is what's next."

If for the sake of argument in some kind of Greek-gods-gift-bestowing-upon-me type manner I could write like Aaron Sorkin but in order to do so I would have to be a crack addict...it would be totally worth it.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins

Lolita has been on my 'To Read' list for an absurdly long time. Perhaps the joy of reading it was partly personal triumph and the joy of ticking an item off a list - perhaps it's just that it's AMAZING. I wish I could more eloquently express what a stunning piece of work it is. As a child I wore glasses. I have a vague and possibly false memory of the time I first saw the world clearly; the clarity, the sharpness, the colour - this is how I felt reading Lolita. My literary glasses are on and the world is clear again. Hurrah for Nabokov. And paedophilia.

I wish I were joking - it seems I'm drawn to it these days; I'm fairly disturbed by the fact that the next book I read also centred around inappropriate adult/child relationships: The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton. I feel it would be pretentious to suggest that writing about other people's writing is a false echo of the real thing and has something to do with Plato's shadows on the cave - in other words it's totally douchey. That being said, this book is really, really good. The writing is like nothing I've ever read and I wish I'd written more of it down so I could impress people at parties by pretending the words were my own. I go to some wild parties. My only worry it it seems more like a long short story than a novel; what is it about writers that they think if they write stunningly we'll ignore the fact that the plot doesn't really resolve? My other Only Worry is that Eleanor Catton was born in 1985. This isn't a problem in itself, but hark, what's that? She published the book in 2007? This girl wrote this incredible book at 20. I'm trying to teach myself to change my perspective on this; rather than be intimidated by this and feel like I haven't acheived enough and it's shameful I haven't written a novel yet, I have a different perspective. I am motivated and inspired to acheive more and do more and be more. If I say that enough it will become true.

Thou Art

Last week I attended the ukelele fest that was Thou Art; an indie-esque festival in the depths of Suffolk. There were a lot of cool people there; I slightly felt like I was soaking it up by osmosis. There were so many brilliant things about it, so here are just a few:

Bunting:

Art on trees:

Face-painted tambourine wielding singers:

But best of all - amusing signage:

Next year you should definitely go.

Working 9-5: Tales of a Dolly Parton Cliche

Ah, how I love the smell of Metros in the morning. It's like the news, only less substantial. The long commute to and from work has been providing plenty of amusements - highlights include the guy I sat down next to who whipped out a pack of cards and proceeded to practice hand-cardy-flick-poker-type-things for FORTY MINUTES, the young teenage girls clearly on their way to have 'the best time ever' taking photos of themselves in various train related poses - including putting rubbish in the bin - and finding it hilarious (oh to be young again), or the Hooray Henry yesterday morning barking a very rude joke about hung parliaments which I'm too polite to repeat. Or I can't remember it.

The real fun, however, begins in the office. Some professions have built-in excitement - as a doctor, or a fireman, or florist (go with it) - you know every day will bring the ups and downs of life, death, love and loss. And burns. If like me, you're a thrillseeker in academic publishing...you have to seek pretty hard. Which is why it made my day last week when, after handing me a list of herculean tasks (e.g. emailing) my manager picked up an author's file and said this:

"Now this might take you a little longer...I want you to try and get in touch with this guy. We haven't heard from him in a while, I'm not sure we have current contact details for him...also, we think he might......be dead."

This is a true publishing mystery - it has everything: late manuscripts, missing people, potential death, and a large file. I am now keeping my eyes out for a deerstalker hat so I can get to the bottom of the puzzle as Arthur Conan Doyle intended.

I have no real way of linking to this, but I just think it's amazing. Parton sings 9-5 with Minnie Mouse.

Being Heliocentric is Fun

The lovely people at Information Is Beautiful have imagined what would happen if our solar system was a music box. It is incredibly awesome. I could try and explain but it would be easier if you could just go here and press play...