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Sunday, April 1, 2007
Ah, Crazy Month #2. Salve, chaire, and what up. I tend to think of April as the second crazy month, because I’m wired into the academic calendar rather than the Julian one.
Ye Olde Movie Reviewe: “Love’s Labour’s Lost”. Yeah, the infamous Kenneth Branagh version. It was pretty bad.
Books, Scoring Of. Took an hour-long (but cheap) bus ride to a bookstore liquidation sale. Most of the good general SF/F was gone, but lots of kids and YA. I bought the illustrated MirrorMask script book, a beautiful illustrated Peter Pan, the Penguin edition of the Epic of Gilgamesh, and a Maxfield Parrish calendar. There was lots of poetry, but I truly hate the regular Penguin editions (although the classics series is okay – I prefer the black covers). I don’t care about most books, although pretty is better, but I require that my poetry books be nicely bound. Or old. Or both.
Funny how poets can be rambling along about something infuriatingly pastoral or sentimental, like flowers, and then suddenly they’ll say something that hits you in the gut.
( Goats, Abs, and Tote Bags. No, I'm not talking about 300 )
Ah, Crazy Month #2. Salve, chaire, and what up. I tend to think of April as the second crazy month, because I’m wired into the academic calendar rather than the Julian one.
Ye Olde Movie Reviewe: “Love’s Labour’s Lost”. Yeah, the infamous Kenneth Branagh version. It was pretty bad.
Books, Scoring Of. Took an hour-long (but cheap) bus ride to a bookstore liquidation sale. Most of the good general SF/F was gone, but lots of kids and YA. I bought the illustrated MirrorMask script book, a beautiful illustrated Peter Pan, the Penguin edition of the Epic of Gilgamesh, and a Maxfield Parrish calendar. There was lots of poetry, but I truly hate the regular Penguin editions (although the classics series is okay – I prefer the black covers). I don’t care about most books, although pretty is better, but I require that my poetry books be nicely bound. Or old. Or both.
Funny how poets can be rambling along about something infuriatingly pastoral or sentimental, like flowers, and then suddenly they’ll say something that hits you in the gut.
( Goats, Abs, and Tote Bags. No, I'm not talking about 300 )
