I found this while tidying.

a page from Index. Recycled.



I’m looking for new blogs to read and track. I’m particularly in search of ones that regularly post about as much text as this post you’re reading—approximately seventy-five words. Interesting posts, mind you. I’m also interested in finding quiet blogs. Searches for “quiet blog” and “quietest blog” somehow produced only the notion that I like regular posts around the seventy-five word mark. I’m aware that mine may have to become the blog I seek.


Yesterday and today, all the pretty young things on the bus ride in were reading Camus.

with roasted delicata squash, sugar-cured cranberries, pinenuts, and pomegranate vinaigrette.


I found this while tidying.

A poster I made for the English Department Follies. Even more exciting to me than the finished work was this, a step in the process where I glued bits of stippling copied from archived 18th-c. texts to define the edge of one page, and my additional penciled stippling (which you likely can see only by clicking on the photo to enlarge it):

Both of these, I recycled. But I kept a copy of the poster for my files.


I found this while tidying.



What I thought was a trading card must have been a sticker: the front image slid off in my fingers en route to the scanner. The back, so mysterious and beautiful. I threw the front image away and will use the back as a book mark.


I found this while tidying.

I purchased a copy of Teen People at the supermarket Dick's in Dodgeville, WI just so I could have the calendar.

I found the following separately, as I'd torn it out to be hung in my library carol:

Jake today is not what he used to be-- by which I mean to mark only change, not decline.

I cannot believe that I was seeing my therapist Deb in 2003. Have we made any progress? Amanda: another graduate school relationship that just evaporated, quite suddenly, to my great sadness as Amanda is (was?) so lovely. Recycled.


made in good part with leftovers from the salad in the 1.22.09 post--
half a cara cara orange, goat cheese, toasted walnuts. far less perfect
than that previous salad, but possibly prettier.

I found this while tidying.

from Bradford. So beautiful I could weep. Kept.


Rod Lane

I found this while tidying.

Clipped image of Coddington by Newton. Recycled.


Golden beets, walnuts, blood oranges, cara cara navel oranges, scallions, basil, greens, goat cheese. You can't see the citrus so much-- I didn't include much. Lately, I've been really inspired by Melissa Clark. I love the casualness of her serious engagement with food. What I really want is Clark with just a twist of Steingarten or a dash of Harold Cook, but I know I'm asking too too much.

I found this while tidying.



A memento from the age when we received a subscription to Us Weekly-- a magical time, really. Like ancient VHS recordings which are currently most interesting because of the advertisements they captured, rather than the programming they sought to preserve: only now do I find the back significant. Recycled.


from my typed notes

is it possible to forward an argument about form before form has been formalized?

My grandmother Doris Mae Penny Kay, whom I called Nan.


I cherish this mistake knnth made.
I aspire to errors such as this.

I found this while tidying.

ugh, is there anything sadder than a credit to a book store which has closed? reluctantly, i toss it.



who loses everything.

That is me in the middle frame above.

For Suzanne


Horror Feathers

I found this while tidying.

A photo of Dennis and Vince in the Marin Headlands, late 90s. I think I stuck this away because I found the plastic mat to be ugly. Now I find it quite beautiful. I'm hanging this in the dining room.


This is destined to become a new winter regular.

An Advance


from my typed notes

One clue to the unreal optimism in the Spectator’s self-representations that refuse to credit readers with the ability to resist its tactics is the very extremity of Mr. Spectator’s construction, which testifies, I believe, less to his power than to the intractability of the problem his surveillance tries to control. Extraordinary weapons [my flabbergasted emphasis] deal with extraordinary problems


103 VOMIT:
Mr. Spectator’s light humor hides, as always, more serious concerns.


The Spectator empowers its author to menace readers with constant surveillance.

and, finally

Rejecting the visible authority on which Sir Roger’s or John Sly’s discipline depends, Mr. Spectator’s surveillance regime deploys absence as a terrorist force.
[this is fucking OUT OF CONTROL—simply off the scale]

(i'm somewhat fond of this book with the exception of the chapter noted above which drives me nuts)

I found this while tidying.

It fell off a jar I labeled years ago. Bradford once commented that it was a pretty label, so I tucked it away. I tossed it out this time around.


today is very cold. our thermometer read -9 F this morning.

I found this while tidying.

I'm keeping it. (duh)



Spot Sequence - Update Right Up to Date

1. 12. 09

1. 7. 09

1. 5. 09 (not alone)

12. 23. 08

12. 21. 08 (-5 degrees F)

At the Ballet



What we're reading:

What we're popping: