New Dog, New Blog?

Carole went down to the Russell Rescue last weekend to pick up Dash, who will be our third JRT. Call it a weakness. We just love the little suckers. Speaking of weakness, I didn’t even make a post last week to note the tenth year of this blog, or some version of it. I began in October following my Fulbright year in Vietnam in 2000 – 2001. It certainly has been a busy fall — I’m serving on a couple of departmental committees as well as trying to organize a student trip to Vietnam for the spring, teaching a new course, and preparing to teach another new course next term in the Honors Program. But I’ve been busy before without going completely silent in this space. I’ve been doing mostly drawing and painting in my free time, moving toward some kind of quasi autobiographical approach to those media and that seems to have drained my desire to write about myself here, though of course I ought to still be interested, on e would think, in the ostensible purpose of this blog, which is writing about reading. Perhaps as fall diminishes and winter settles in, I will want to setting in the warm glow of a computer monitor more often. Or not: the wood stove has its attractions, however lacking in intellectual rigor.

Well, well, Well . . .

. . . I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without a post before. Not sure why, except that I’ve had a lot on my mind, school has kept me busy, and so on. Strangely, just before going quiet I had begun to develop a more focused idea of what to do in this space. I still like the idea of doing what is essentially a reading journal, so I’m going to see if I can get the momentum back for that. I have another installment of my William Vollmann saga almost ready to go.

Reading (& Drawing) Not Writing

I’ve been spending much less time in front of the computer & much more with a book — or a piece of charcoal — in my hands. But I’m beginning to feel the urge to post my little squibs again. In the meantime, I want to note the passing of Bruno S., who has recently become a hero of mine for the way he responded to evil, ignorance, and neglect with a kind of dark joy & courage so quiet one can only hear it in complete silence of the sort that lives between the syllables of old songs.