Tag Archives: books

Banned in Literature and in Flight

It is Banned Books Week, and I am attempting to read as many challenged and banned books as possible.

I am reading Strega Nona by Tomie dePaola and Rabbit, Run by John Updike today.

Yesterday, I walked the 4 miles to DUMBO to peruse the Dumbo Arts Festival. My feet are tired, but I was energized by the stroll. I can not say the same for this poor dear I found near Tillary Street.

Take today to hug your loved ones and share some stories.

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Hurricane Donuts

Inspired by the bookstore Word in Brooklyn (they commented that they were going to make a raft of donuts for this oncoming Hurricane), I determined that I would make some apple cider donuts. I call them Hurricane Donuts in honor of Cousin Octavia (she has weathered many a tropical storm in the kitchen, frying up donuts for the multitudes who take refuge in her enormous concrete manse) and pulled out a gallon of apple cider to flavor them.

Upepo, that imp of a dragon, got so excited that he nearly burnt my left eyebrow off. Now I look terribly sinister and am starving for donuts! I managed to spill the batter all over the kitchen floor, and it was promptly eaten by the flivvervaat young who have taken refuge in the cabinet again after the rain started. Any batter that could have been saved was burnt by Upepo’s flames and is toastier than toast.

Instead, I am chewing on a sugar cane, drinking tea, and reading fascinating articles while the creatures and specimens excitedly prepare for a hurricane. I know this old house will weather the storm quite nicely, but I hope my fellow Brooklynites are prepared for whatever may come. The something wicked is not my brother Mordecai. It is Irene.

Five facts about Hugo Munsterberg, the father of Forensic Psychology, found here.

The Postmodern Mystery Reading List – 50 essential works – compiled by Ted Gioia, found here.

Stay safe, oddlings. There’s nothing shameful in preparedness.

Twitter, Titter, and Read

Admittedly, I am quite an old-fashioned fellow. However, there is no denying how delightful the internet is. So much information, right at my fingertips! Now, obviously, I still pour into books – I like the smell of ink and paper. I like the heft of the tomes and I like the way my library looks filled with information and I like the portability of books.

And after the incident last year involving my bathtub and a computer, books are necessary should you want to read whilst bathing. (A breath-taking woman in the North Country informed me she intends to put her Kindle in a Ziplock bag in order to use it in the bath. She’s smart as well as stunning.)

On a lovely and cool August morning such as this one, I sit on my veranda sipping coffee and peruse the inter-world. Here are some of my favorite findings.

Today, August 24th, is Jorge Luis Borges’ birthday. “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” http://ow.ly/6bv5q

My cousin Amelia went into space in a homemade space ship. She never sent images like these back. No grudge held: http://j.mp/poFekI

Thank you to all my feathered friends. You make life soar. The joy of feathers http://bit.ly/o6HUSQ

Bubo did a little dance when she saw this: http://oddments.blogspot.com/2011/08/muricate.html. If you’ve never seen a great horned owl do a dance, I recommend against it.

This is absolutely beautiful. If you’ve been excused from work early, create something astounding. http://www.behance.net/gallery/May/1713447

It is never too late to start planning ahead, you know. Cryonics centers around the world: http://www.wired.co.uk/magazine/archive/2011/09/features/waiting-for-the-future

That should keep you busy for quite awhile. Happy Wednesday, my dears.

 

 

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Weathergram For A Crab

This is a sad entry for me. I am a lover of all living creatures; great, small, fierce, docile, feathered, scaled, cryptid, and otherwise. Last night I discovered that the great comic of the jellyfish tank, Jean-Pierre “Buster” Crabbe the hermit crab, had passed away.

Interestingly, he had crawled out of his shell prior to death, so I discovered him curled between two clear glass pebbles on the floor of the tank a few centimeters away from his shell. He was so small and rather naked seeming like that. When I removed him from the tank, the jellyfish seemed to caress my hand, feeling like whispers against my old skin.

Bubo set to wailing a mournful cry and I buried Buster in the garden, beneath the tomato plants. I placed his shell atop his grave.

As the characters in one of my favorite children’s books did, I will hang a weathergram dedicated to Buster in the garden, commemorating his life. (I speak, of course, of E.L. Konigsburg’s Up From Jericho Tel. Check it out and read it, why don’t you? I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself.)

I’m thinking of penning this for Buster, what do you think?

You boxed aquatic clouds while walking in water. Now you will swim with true welkin ones.

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