Went to the CTFWS party, had a fine time, and interpreted, as is customary for me, the commencement of loud singing as a sign for me to leave. People. Don't drink and try to harmonize at major sixths. We've talked about this.
Well, actually I haven't in the past discussed it per se, but I like to add that for rhetorical effect.
I was in the Carnegie Library earlier, and in one of those moments of delightful synchronicity that befall me so frequently there, the spine of "The Third Policeman" caught my eye, a book I had seen mentioned recently in relation to the television show "Lost". Make no mistake, it is a fucking brilliant book, or at least it sure seems to be from the first half of it. It is like a bastard child of Kafka and Lewis Carroll, where a man finds himself inexplicably in a rabbit-hole world whose rules are grimly fatal, obscure, unspoken, and hilarious. And the writing, god, the writing. So good. I didn't know words could do the things he does with them.