Lemon-Scented Bivouac  

Fatherly and, eventually, teacherly blather. Also: graphic design, baseball, synthetic fabrics, jug band music and, lord help us, the occasional politics.

Saturday, January 03, 2004  

Last night we were passed on the highway by a bigass white limo whose license plate read:


I know that probably stands for "Emerald Limousine Service Limo" and that, but I can only read it as:

El Slimo

  posted by Andy @ 6:53 AM §

Thursday, January 01, 2004  

Not to become tenderhearted on all of you here, but I have to say that packing books gives me the jitters. I've packed so god-damned many books in my life, and lifted so many boxes -- but it isn't the physical exertion that bugs me.

In my latter-day moves, i.e., as an adult, my moving has consisted of chasing the same, 40%-unread books from one abode to another. Each time the decisions involved in stacking-em-up and sorting-em-around and very faintly weeding out the bulk open up a series of little queries. Will I ever really work through Max Euwe's Judgement and Planning in Chess and, if I did, what sort of person would I be? Should I just lie and say I've read Hermann Broch's The Sleepwalkers or should I stop showing its big quality title to our houseguests? How many insane number of times would you have to read books of record reviews to actually break their spines? And why would I pack the two halves of a book with a broken spine?

Honestly, the only compensatory therapy would be the soft whumping sound that would follow from throwing 90% of my books in a gully. But if by 33 years old I haven't shown the spirit needed to do that, it may be a bit late in the day now.

  posted by Andy @ 9:17 PM §

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