Happy President’s Day! Unless, like me, you’re at work and wondering why. See, I’m completely useless unless the markets are open, unless I can transact business with banks, unless I can contact our firm's service team. Since I can do none of the above today, I’m literally performing warm body duties today unless some project suddenly materializes. Of course we all now realize that doom is inevitable.
The poetry front is still pretty quiet. Received a rejection from the Parthenon West Review, though they do something nice by offering submitters a discount on their newest issue. But it does seem like a “we weren’t meant to be lovers, but I’ll still be your friend” deal.
But I am up this week at the No Tell Motel, so slip into something comfortable and dim those lights.
In her graduate theory seminar, my wife is going over Rorty. Have I mentioned 1) that I’m lame and 2) that I’m terribly envious yet? And she doesn’t even like Rorty. The shame!
This time next month, I’ll be in Myrtle Beach for a golf week. This weekend, it’s supposed to be 60 degrees here. Time to start preparing.
I’m informed B that her aesthetics post was as biased and subjective as mine, and she agreed. I was expecting more resistance, but I figure she’s saving her energy for bigger battles. The realization that we come from different worlds aesthetically is hardly earth-shaking knowledge at this juncture.
I feel as if cogent thoughts are eluding my grasp right now. I shouldn’t neglect you, o’ blogger, the entire weekend again.
-j
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