So here I am sixty years old (geez, I still don't believe that) reading stuff printed for teens, for a jury ( Read more... )

Ordinarily I have pedestrian dreams, which I consciously sort through and then drag and drop to the mental recycle bin come morning, but last night's image of Jessie L. Weston with a tongue of fire over her head, driving in a chariot race between Aristotle and Demosthenes, and winning, was remarkable enough to mention at least in passing ( Read more... )