It’s Friday today, I know. But way up north of the equator, it’s still Thursday.
Radiohead – Lotus Flower
Finally, a new Radiohead album, and look at Thom Yorke go!
Adele – Rolling In The Deep
In love with her voice. Haven’t heard such full-bodied heartbroken voice since Amy Winehouse.
Amy Winehouse Smiling
I don’t think I have ever seen Amy Winehouse smile, at least not with her eyes. She looks contented and cheeky here. And look at the shoes! Same shoes! minus the blood! Amy, now that you are all cool again, would you please come back?
Whoever said not to judge a book by its cover obviously has no idea what he or she is missing.
I was attracted to this book by its beautiful binding and illustrations. And if I haven’t picked up this book, I wouldn’t know that:
FIG is not a fruit.
Figs don’t actually produce fruit — that fleshy, juicy appendage that people eat is actually more like a swollen bit of stem with the remnants of the flower inside and a tiny opening at one end.
LILIES will kill your cat.
All parts of lilies are toxic to cats, causing kidney failure and death within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
STINGING TREE is one mean, mean tree.
Simply brushing up against the plant results in unbearable pain that may last up to a year.
The story and its author have had great influence on Russian literature, thus spawning Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s famous quote: “We all come out from Gogol’s ‘Overcoat’.” Wikipedia
A tale of an unexceptional life of an unassuming man named Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin. The poor guy scrimped and saved for ages for a fabulous overcoat, only to have it literally nicked off his back after wearing it for only about a day.
The work describes the abrupt cessation of this lifestyle, followed by Candide’s slow, painful disillusionment as he witnesses and experiences great hardships in the world. Voltaire concludes with Candide, if not outright rejecting optimism, advocating an enigmatic precept, “we must cultivate our garden”, in lieu of the Leibnizian mantra of Pangloss, “all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds”. Wikipedia
I imagine Borges’s mind as an minotaur-resided labyrinth where only he knows the way out. I don’t entirely understand what he’s writing about in most of his books and they often leave me feeling inadequate and I enjoy reading them because I love the feeling of dozing off to an incomprehensible book. But this one is quite light on the palate.