I was born, I suppose. I’m told most people were. Not that you would have known it from mother’s puckered mouth and youthful skin, of course, she was a model of chastity and virginity. From across the street, at least. Coming nearer, that marvellous plaster facade was marbled with blue and a little more rough
Auden is darkly, depressibly comic, eloquent, concerned both about the wider world and the horrible authorities in it, and with the very, very personal and embarassing. He’s like an Elliot without the unnecessary stretching for benchmarking references… It’s a sad poem, of a man past his prime or never in it, lusting in the carefully-instituional
Dave Gilbert: The Shivah Glorious little rabinical mini-game I’ve been looking at. Will have to give it a go and report back. I’m also playing Kudos at the moment, a life-simulator by the maker of the excellent election/re-election sim Democracy where you start off as a 20 year-old and have to achieve success by your
Structured Procrastination Original link broken so here’s the text. Version of April 25, 1995 I have been intending to write this essay for months. Why am I finally doing it? Because I finally found some uncommitted time? Wrong. I have papers to grade, textbook orders to fill out, an NSF proposal to referee, dissertation drafts