Silver and tin...
Twenty-five years and day. Last night, I uncovered an ancient photocopy of the New Yorker article on mad Oxfordians that set me off on quarter-century rampage of glee and wrath. The "irk in the oystershell," as I said of another tale. And I did in the end get a story from it, though perhaps not a pearl. If it is one, black and baroque.
...and pure gold.
Heard an evening of radio plays by the glorious Post-Meridian gang. Them! is a tour-de-force of straight-faced fifties kitsch (with .... mandibles); derspatchel's Crisis of the Cuddlykins is divinely demented. Last chance to catch them is next Sunday at the MIT Museum.
(And isn't Responsible Grace a wonderful name for a church?)
Nine
...and pure gold.
Heard an evening of radio plays by the glorious Post-Meridian gang. Them! is a tour-de-force of straight-faced fifties kitsch (with .... mandibles); derspatchel's Crisis of the Cuddlykins is divinely demented. Last chance to catch them is next Sunday at the MIT Museum.
(And isn't Responsible Grace a wonderful name for a church?)
Nine