S1 liked a little of the circus, but overall it was too loud for her. I asked S0 what he liked:
Me: So, what did you like most about the circus ?
S0: The motorcyles !
Me: And what did the motorcycles do ?
S0: [grinning] Nothing !
Well, I guess we can forget about the career in journalism for now. But maybe art criticism…
Tim Horton's Timbits are Canada's way of weakening America's moral resolve.
Last night, I was listening to Tanya Donnelly's beautysleep album, and now I'm convinced it's a great album. This time, though, I was listening to it very low (since everybody else in the room was asleep), and it's funny what kinds of things will pop out in the mix that you might not notice at normal or loud listening levels. Of course, the words and vocals dominate, and I like the way that most of lyrics communicate a sense of settling down and being at peace, but not in a smug kind of way that says "I've got mine now, so I'm just gonna natter on about how much better I've got it." (Exhibit A: John Lennon's Double Fantasy)
There's an article in the New York Times about a guy from Texas who collected and made all sorts of all little things, things that added up to quite a collection.
But truth lives in the details, and D.D. Smalley left behind hundreds that, taken together, breathe life into a most unusual man. Many of those details are on display through year's end at Houston's Brazos Projects gallery, where visitors can marvel at the results of his seemingly limitless curiosity laid out as they once were in the confines of his attic, which he opened to the public as the Hyde Park Miniature Museum in 1941. Rows and rows of arrowheads and American Indian tools, mastodon teeth and a rib cage with an arrowhead caught betwixt its bones were treated exactly the same as a corset stay, an old spark coil, a shoe-button hook, bullets from No Man's Land, a seed from a cucumber tree on the Capitol grounds, a jar of soil from the Brazos river and another jar of pencils so short that the eraser sits just above the point. And so on, totaling more than 1,500 similarly quirky, irresistible objects. It is as if Smalley had opened the bureau drawers of a generation and lifted out the fragments of lives lived, of moments enjoyed or (as with his collection of World War I bullets) simply endured.