Thursday, March 31, 2005

Book #8

Boy In Darkness, by Mervyn Peake.

I had never heard of this strange little aside to the Gormanghast trilogy but, among Peake fans, this is considered a rare gem of a read.

Nestled somewhere inbetween Titus Groan and Gormanghast, this novella tells the story of Titus on his 14th birthday. In a fit of Pique, he leaves Gormanghast, finding himself in a desolate gray, dusty land populated by two strange beast-men and a freaky little lamb. It's quite weird and very short but has moments of brilliant prose. If you can find a copy, I recommend it.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Kicking the Legs Out From Under Civilization

You never heard much talk about the Enemies of Civilization before 9/11. That is one of the few things that the WTC disaster did change. It's all we hear about now. The Enemies of Western Civilization (EOWC) supposedly crouch in caves, polishing their homemade explosives, plotting to blow up our churches and unravel the cables on the Brooklyn Bridge, just because they have no churches or Brooklyn Bridges of their own. That's a vivid picture, isn't it? The dirty, brown skinned fellow with the weird language and the hard to pronounce name, huddled in a cave. The problem is, he's not really the Enemy of Civilization. Sure, Bin laden, the Taliban and all the other bogeymen we call Al Quida don't like Western Civilization so much. but they love, love, love Muslim culture, even if they are willing, in their fanaticism, to undermine it with their explosive expressions of devotion.

No, the real enemies of civilization have been with us for a lot longer than the last four years. They've been around for more than a thousand years. I'm not talking about the Commie Jew Pinko Atheist Terrorist scapegoats of the last hundred years or so. I'm talking about the proud, upstanding Enemies of Civilization. The men in fancy suits and elaborate robes, with rings on their fingers and desolate minds filled with vapourous notions. About Good and Evil. About the Culture of Life (so long as it isn't living on their land).

What's gotten me in this mood is the news that President Kill Again has nominated yet another fox to guard the hen house of Western Civilization. This is another example of Bush's disturbing attitude towards every institution that might even clear a throat and mutter week objections concerning his agenda: find the most vocal enemy of a cause and put them in charge of it. Need to fill some vacant Judicial seats? Load them with naked theocrats. Got a UN ambassadorship that needs a warm body? How about a dude who thinks the UN building in New York could stand to loose a few floors. Got a gross incompetent advising you on National Security? Why not promote them!

Bob Harris has rather accurately described this trend as Dada Performance Art rather than the actions of a concerned civil servant. Either that, or the actions of a man frustrated by the niceties of civil culture, trying to remake the world in the image of a medieval empire. Not that I for one minute buy any of Georgie boy's piety. It rings as hollow as a church bell. No, he and his gang of ubercapitalists strike me as third rate Medicis; wealthy families trying to rule with impunity while pretending to be just bankers and art patrons.1

It's as if Ubu Roi came to life and is stalking across the political stage. Only this time, when the curtain closes, it just might kill us all. Maybe this sounds like hyperbole but what other reason could there be? What other end can be reached when Unrestrained greed trumps even basic human rights? Our leaders are all Randian Survivalists, dreaming of an end to the restraints put on their desires by such petty concepts as justice, decency and emotion. Only the strong will survive. The poor and week will be crushed and their goods and services devoured, until nothing remains but one really, really wealthy king. He won't be able to breathe the air or drink the water but he'll have the grandest, most bejeweled mausoleum, ever.

Bob again:

Last year, I wandered the ruins of Troy, where you can witness the rise and fall of almost a dozen different civilizations, all stacked up in the same spot. Every single one of them thought they knew what they were doing. When then end came (as it always does), every single one of them returned to the dirt, their gods dead, their epic struggles wasted and forgotten, and their most treasured creations reduced to inscrutable shards.

You and I and all of us are not the privileged product of millennia of human improvement. We do not occupy a privileged luxury box from which we can view the mistakes of the past from above as they parade for our amusement. We are on the ground, in the dust, and making the same short-sighted decisions, this time on a fantastically grander scale.

What disturbs me this morning, other than my own part in the waste (which remains large, as it must be for anyone living in the highest-impact society yet designed), is a growing sad realization:

Suppose for a moment that an international movement began with the genuine potential to start pulling humanity back from the precipice. Just imagine it, briefly. Let a few details of its shape and scope and necessities bounce around in your brain for a few seconds.

And now let's consider: if such a movement actually existed, would America's government, media, and populace be likely to join?

Or would this most heavily-armed nation in human history -- the one where an advocate of killing rare species for fun is currently about to become director of a key wildlife post -- be vigorously, furiously opposed?

1. Their lack of taste in art is what makes them third rate. The Medici family may have been wealthy beyond all reason, they may have hand picked Popes and bent the rules of the day to serve their own interests but at least they threw some coins to make their palaces and private chapels presentable. The Bushici just drape gaudy velvet over statues to hide their tits and froth about the decadence of modern art and wonder aloud why more artists can't paint pretty pictures like Thomas Kinkaid.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Return From Spring Break

So, I'm back from vacation and it's right back into the thick of it for me. Spent yesterday catching up on work I ignored while spending the week with my wife. Today has been all about the car. Seems I need new rear brakes, and front tires. Fun. Anyway, here's a few pictures from Spring Break.

Elvira and I spent several days in museums. We went to the Baltimore Museum of Art (The Slide Show was lame, all photographs that would have looked better printed instead of on slides), saw the Toulouse-Lautrec show at the National Gallery in Washington DC (Kevin joined us for this little outing. He took the above picture, in fact). And Philadelphia (if you're in Philly, check out the Dali exhibit if you can).

We also went to the Greenmount Cemetery in Baltimore and took pictures of interesting headstones and monuments, which is a hobby of ours.

Who says Goth librarians don't know how to have a good time?

Friday, March 25, 2005

Spooky Cat Blogging

We're staying with my aunt and uncle and their two cats (and a dog). One of the cats, Smoky, managed to get upstairs into our room and hide under the table, where Elvira took this picture of the demon cat with moon eyes. Below is what Smoky looks like when he hasn't swallowed the moon.

Haley wouldn't sit still long enough for a picture.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005


General consensus was that the black background was a little hard on the eyes. I like this one better. Also, after extensive research, it looks like I won't be able to afford to switch over to Typepad right now. So, it's Blogger for me for a little while longer.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Gone Fishin'

I'm still on vacation and enjoying myself very much. I'll have a full report when I get back into the grind on Monday.

Even though I'm not really trying to keep up with news, I can't help but add my two cents about the Terri Schiavo kerfluffle: If she were poor or brown skinned, Georgie and Jeb would be falling over themselves to see who could get to the hospital first to pull the plug. Note to pro-lifers and Evangelical Bible Beaters who are eating this shit up: They're using you. They don't give a fuck about Jesus or this woman or baby stem cells or your dying grandma. Not one fuck. They smell votes oozing off your overheated brow, as you scour the Bible for the best soundbite to shoehorn into this situation.

On a lighter note, it's nearly Fafday.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Spring Break!

Posting will be slight to non existent for the next week or so. It's Spring Break and I'm pooped. When we return, however, there will be a few changes to the Library. Here's a rough preview of one major change that I'm considering. Kevin and Jay may pop in from time to time so there could be some activity here but as for me, I'm going on vacation. Turn off the lights when you leave.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Boys Have Small Language Centers

"My mother's a librarian, but I hate to read," Sharon Grover's son is quoted as saying in today's
Washington Post article by Valerie Strauss
about boys and reading, page A12. [Does this sound like a radio ad for the paper, or what?]

One of the basic intellectual and emotional challenges people face, I think, is nesting one's own talents and gifts with those of a community, either a biological or chosen family, or an arbitrary intellectual family in a public school. Elementary school, well in fact school in general all the way through graduate school, was (and is) a mind-bending experience. My own reading interests didn't take root until high school, and I am almost a librarian. [Unlike my blog host, Keith, who was reading avidly from an early age and is way a head of me!] The thing is, people are motivated by (in this case NOT motivated) at different times and different ways.

The recent flap, more than a flap really, about Harvard's President Summers and women in the sciences is another very complex example of diverse definitions of diversity in education at all levels.

The gender divide in human intellectual development is fascinating, and territory laden with morals and morasses often if not always better avoided. However, over the holidays, a family member (who is also a librarian) was telling me about grant work she was doing with public libraries in Maryland to help boys read. On these issues, I'm used to the teacher's perspective, but not the public librarian's. I find myself not wanting to avoid these issues at all, but need to be careful with my verbal tendencies and my small male language center.

Equality of being and of access to information are two of the highest ideals our society and education system support, though for many it's more a myth, according to the papers, if not also life experience. And that ideal of equality exists in the face of tremendous human diversity.

Archivists and librarians have a role to play in these issues, I think. So when we read in class the psychological aspects of the reference interview, it is important material, and material not mastered without the support of our professional peers.

Where am I going with all of this? Simply this: information professionals in all contexts have a responsibility to make themselves and their institutions as diversely user-friendly as possible. So many aspects of our lives encourage us to act against the rhythms of our bodies, let's not make reading (the second best adult game ever) another.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Dance, Library Monkey, Dance!

So, we had a guest speaker in my class today who gave a presentation (for an hour and a half) on resumes, cover letters and interviews. But she spent the bulk of the time describing in detail the new trend in library interview techniques, the Portfolio Presentation. Apparently, we now have to have a nice big book full of awards, cirtificates and thank-you letters scribbled in crayon from drooling anklebiters to round out our resumes. Who knew?

When I was in high school, conventional wisdom dictated that to get a decent job, a college degree was a must. After college, I discovered the reality: so many people have college degrees that they are pretty much worthless. The new CV had it that an advanced degree would definitely get you the good job (or at least, a decent one).

Now, less than two months to go and I find out the masters degree and skills honed over two years don't matter so much as whether or not I can do a little tap dance and entertain some jaded librarian administrator, bored with the other seventy five applicants and in need of some way for me to set myself apart from the masses.

"Yawn. I'm bored. Dance for me library monkey! Play me a fiddle!"

Has Western Civilization decayed so far that now even librarians must be entertained 24/7? Has the corporatization of America become so thorough that Power Point slides and "Shameless Self Promotion" have become standard practice, even in Academia? If so, than I'm in the wrong fucking profession, in the wrong fucking country.

Guess it's off to Nepal to heard mountain yaks.

Book # 7

On Bullshit, by Harry G. Frankfurt.

Bullshit is the operative word here. "Pure Academic Masturbation" would have been a more apt title. It's a good thing the book is only 68 very small pages of very large type, or else I would feel cheated by the time I spent reading it. There's probably a good reason no one has ever written a philosophical treatise concerning the nature of Bullshit before. Who said, "You become the thing you hate?" Well, your book also becomes the thing you write about, apparently.

On the plus side, if you have a thing for nicely designed, small press hardbacks, the book itself is a lovely object. I'll probably dissect it in order to get a better idea how books are bound.

Friday, March 11, 2005

No Zombies In Sight

So, it turns out that the kid arrested for writing a Zombie story, didn't in fact include any zombies in the story. He did however, arrange to acquire stolen weapons and ammunition and write a scene describing people being shot. Then he lied to the press about the details. Thanks, William Poole for making me, and a lot of other people sensitive to free speech issues, feel like fucking tools. Now, the next time someone does have their creativity stifled unjustly, we'll have to work extra hard to justify our defense of them, all the while shouting, "I don't see any Zombies here!"

Sleepy Catblogging Friday

Lucy has a good idea. I wish I could take a nap...

And, as if there weren't enough pictures of Lucy on the Internets, she now has her own webpage at Catster (which is like Friendster, except for... cats).

The Library of Discontent

The King of Zembla pointed me to this conversation at between Joe Bageant, Phil Rockstroh and John Steppling. Some rather bright fellows, I must say, wondering aloud about the world around us. It's long, fraught with introspection and a vocabulary as vast as the night. I highly recommend it. An excerpt, to drive you there:

...Reading requires empathy and, again, eros. The rising of the cosmic johnson of joyous excess and potentially depth-engendering intimacies -- not the spurious dick of Thanatos that corporatism wags in our faces. Death has always been with us -- though in recent times he's hired a PR firm to disguise his age-old agenda. The mere sight of his true face depresses sales potential in nearly every demographic group. You see: The sight of too many flag draped coffins will ruin the profit potential of a very lucrative war. Too much reading of poetry and literature could destroy the pharmaceutical industry. What would Paxil do to Bryronic Whitmanesque Blakean numinosity?

Book # 6

English as She is Spoke, by Jose de Fonesca and Pedro Carolino.

In the mid nineteenth century, hoping to cash in on the craze for language phrase books for travelers, da Fonesca decided to fill a much needed gap and write a book translating common words and phrases from Portuguese to English. That he spoke not a word of English was not a hindrance. The intrepid da Fonesca had at his disposal a Portuguese to French phrase book and a French to English dictionary. The result is one of the strangest, most unintentionally hilarious books ever written, in which we learn how to "Craunch the marmoset," and that ,"All hairs dresser are newsmonger."

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Return of the Blog People

First, a little site maintenance: I've been meaning to add this link for a week or more but life's been hectic. Better late than never though: the site feed is now active for all you atom subscribers out there (over on the sidebar, under Familial Blogs). Also, continuing my Open Source Evangelism, I've added a button at the bottom of the page, linking to, a fantastic, free alternative to the corrupt behemoth and child bone marrow-sucking spawn that calls itself the MS Office Suite. I've been using Open Office for about a week now on my office computer and just downloaded it for my laptop. It has everything that MS Office has, just not as clunky and not subject to the whimsical maintenance schedule of a corporate puppy kicker. It even reads your old Word Doc, Excel, and Power Point format documents and can save in those formats as well. Open office is very user friendly, with a much more intuitive interface than MS Office, in my opinion. So, check it out. It's free, which means if you no likey, you no loose any money.

Now, the meat of the matter:

I've been wanting to write a follow up on last week's kerfluffle, ALA President-Elect Michael Gorman versus the Blog People. Doesn't that sound like an old 50's sci-fi movie? The tweedy librarian with the thick glasses who saves civilisation from the mush mouthed, pin headed Techno Geeks from planet Blog, who are bent on replacing all complicated books featuring long words with short, pithy posts, probably about Paris Hilton, or their cats.

The problem, as I eluded too last week, is the fact that Dr. Gorman doesn't know his audience. He wrote a screed decrying the proliferation of blogs, the digitization of public domain books by Google, (the scourge of the Old School Librarian) and the general decline of Western Civilization as we knew it, about ten years ago. Like many librarians of the previous generation, President Gorman isn't very comfortable with computers. He uses them, even writes articles on how he thinks they should be used and can be useful. But he doesn't trust them. Of course, what this generation of librarians is learning, is that you don't have to trust computers. They are tools, and will do what you want them to, if you take the time to learn how to use them efficiently. You shouldn't put trust in an inanimate object because computers, cars and dishwashers, as shiny, complex and lively as we like to think they are, are really nothing more than just fancy hammers and saws. No one is suggesting we trust them to do anything. But to distrust them is to fall into the Animistic Fallacy, to presuppose that a computer or any other machine (or inanimate object) has a life force, and one that might oppose you if you don't stroke it and whisper encouragements into it's USB port. One wonders if President Gorman casts disparaging glances at his salt shaker or distrusts his fork.

We all fall prey to the Animistic Fallacy from time to time. It's a hardwired concept, one that creeps around in our genes and sneaks up on us in the middle of the night, or when confronted by something unfamiliar. That shadowy thing in the corner, is it out to get us? Do we eat it? Fuck it? Chase it away before it spoils our crops?

Well, not to worry, we Blog People aren't out to get you. In fact, we want to help. Don't let our crass vocabulary or extravagant, middle brow lingo fool you. Bloggers, at least us crazy liberal ones, have the same goals as librarians: providing access to information. Whether it's by commenting on current events, ranting about the state of the world, or just trying to get people to read our novel in progress, blogging, like being a librarian, is all about information and providing people with a way to access it. Blogs aren't a threat and neither is Google. They're simply tools, like the old card catalog you miss so much used to be. They're just easier to get to.

Update: Judith Berman hits the topic from a different angle (changing trends in SF publishing):

The Internet is perhaps the best symbol of everything disquieting to boomers (and their elders) about the present, including the generational divide with respect to technology. This divide is the subject of the old joke about the 8-year-old being the one who programs the family VCR. Part of what the joke expresses is the fear that members of the younger generation, at ease with all new technology, are growing up strangers to their parents.


With this posting I celebrate my blog self, completely, utterly, and proudly. Should any ALA president find a photo of my friend's cat anti-intellectual, he's just outta the loop and didn't get the memo.

Teshup is my pin up, of a kind. Teshup and I share a friend who's in Turkey, and I miss our mutual friend a lot.

To all the cats in the world, I love you.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Maybe It's Just Me

Anyone else find it ironic that an author known for her Vampire novels is writing a book about Jesus? Probably not.

Pole Shift!

Yesterday in Maryland it was 72 and sunny. Today, it is 33 and snowing. But global warming is just a myth, you understand. This sort of dramatic weather change is perfectly natural for the 8th of March.

Friday, March 04, 2005


Fish tanks are like TV for cats.

Gonzo Darko

Hello, again, everyone.

Three things: Good news, bad news, and "the consolation of philosophy". The good news first.

I have to thank Keith and E. A couple of years ago they introduced me to a little movie called Donnie Darko. They knew that I would be drawn to the themes of time travel and (let's call it) Loophole Causality, because it's the kind of thing K. and I used to love to discuss at Barnes and Noble when we should have been working. Even though it took me a few viewings to grasp, as near as I could, the actual plot, every one was worth it. It's a movie that is friendly to subjectivity, and it's the kind of thing I like. If you haven't seen it, I'm not going to go into the details of the plot. Without spoiling anything: In the story, Donnie faces the possibility that he can greater serve humanity--and certainly his family and friends--by being, let's just say, absent.

Now the bad news:

Hunter S. Thompson, as most readers of this blog probably already know, killed himself last week at his Woody Creek, Co. compound, sitting in his writing chair at his typewriter, a glass of Chivas Regal at his side and a single word written in the center of a page of stationary: "Counselor." I couldn't venture to say what that means, and it's not the point, anyway. What I selfishly want to say is that Hunter was a hero of mine. What he did, I think, was to be fiercely loyal to the hardest Truths while taking the flimsy, Perceived Truths and dressing them up in monster suits and silly dresses. Which, if you think about it, is both wise and ballsy. Hunter Thompson was, to me, a modern American embodiment of my favorite literary character. He was a Mercutio. If Hemingway, long his idol, was brave Romeo running headlong at Apparent Reality with his sword thrust out blindly, Hunter was Mercutio, getting in there close, jabbing and weaving (like another Thompson hero, Muhammed Ali), making little nicks in the armor, and all the while making snarky commentary with a respectful--but perilously close--distance.

Consolation of Philosophy: (Apologies, Boethius, wherever you are.)

I was thinking about Hunter S. Thompson last night as I watched the recently released Donnie Darko Director's Cut. Without really spoiling much, we can say this: Donnie has to remove himself from his environment in order to have the the most powerful effect on it. It has become apparent that it is no longer an environment he can survive in and, more, one which he can offer some degree of relief with his absence. Hunter, apparently facing serious health issues (including, at least to some degree, physical dependence on others) also seems to have thought that his time--his relevance--was done. The night before he killed himself, he was given an expensive Italian scarf by his son and daughter-in-law. He performed a ritual exchange and gave his son a medal formerly owned by Oscar Zeta Acosta. You get the impression, reading him, that Hunter was not a man to mistake or undervalue ritual. It seems as if he knew--or perhaps after that night he decided that it was best to end with such a beautiful memory fresh in his mind. At any rate, it seems to have been a conscious decision and on his own schedule.

Whether or not you can ever justify suicide--for any reason--is not the discussion here. The intersection of this fantastical movie about time-travel and this real-life American writer, it occurs to me, is that Hunter Thompson's personality was so large that it is better suited to the parameters of Legend. His influence can range out beyond any physical limitation, now. No more will people ask "Where is he now?" or say "Well, his writing's not what it used to be". His relevance now, in a very real sense, transcends the temporal. And not just in his writing. People who knew Hunter will continue to tell stories of his surprising and disarming behavior to their children, and those stories will get passed down in an oral tradition that probably outweighs, in influence, anything that ever went through the New York Times bestseller list. This kind of longevity, let's call it, effects people in a way that a spirit limited by time and place never could. In this way, Hunter Stockton Thompson is a real-life Donnie Darko. His spirit--his writing and his life and his enduring legacy of thoughtful dissent--will continue to affect person after person in ways probably too miniscule to notice and too numerous, collectively, to count.

Spreading inspiration and influence from a locus outside of time, Hunter will continue to be a 'counselor' to all of us, and we, if we listen, can all be the better for it.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

Thursday, March 03, 2005

I Was That Kid

When I was in high school, I wrote a short story about a superhero named Bedlam who had tentacles in his arms and killed a criminal by impaling him on an iron fence. Not my best effort, but my creative writing teacher really liked it, because it was descriptive and imaginative.

I sure am glad I don't go to high school these days, where they arrest kids for writing stories about their schools being attacked by zombies. Apparently no one got the irony.

"Mmm... Must punish creativity... Must eat brain...."

Link via Flea at One Good Thing.

And We Librarians Wonder How We Get Our Reputation

Because we elect bugeyed twits like Michael Gorman to head the ALA. From Library Journal:
It is obvious that the Blog People read what they want to read rather than what is in front of them and judge me to be wrong on the basis of what they think rather than what I actually wrote. Given the quality of the writing in the blogs I have seen, I doubt that many of the Blog People are in the habit of sustained reading of complex texts. It is entirely possible that their intellectual needs are met by an accumulation of random facts and paragraphs. In that case, their rejection of my view is quite understandable.

At least two of the blog excerpts sent to me (each written under pseudonyms) come from self-proclaimed "conservatives," which I find odd because many of the others come from people who call me a Luddite and are, presumably, technology-obsessed progressives. The Luddite label is because my mild remarks have been portrayed as those of someone worried about the job security of librarians (I am not) rather than one who has a different point of view on the usefulness of this latest expression of Google hubris and vast expenditure of money involved.
It's good to See President-Elect Gorman knows his audience. Perhaps this librarian/blog person will give him a few cents worth of information when I see him at the next ALA conference. Really, is it too much to ask of my fellow librarians to find someone with half a brain to run the only professional library organization with any credibility? I'd do it myself but I'm just a novice who has yet to endure the all-important "Google or Card catalog" Death by a Thousand Papercuts initiation.

George at It's All Good puts things in perspective for Abbot Gorman. Blame Micheal Schaub at Bookslut for the links.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

That Old Transylvanian Religion

As a follow up to my post on UU and science fiction, here's a sermon from Rev. Bruce Clear of All Souls Unitarian Church in Indianapolis, Indiana about the most unlikely Cradle of Unitarianism, Transylvania:
Unitarianism we celebrate today began nearly 450 years ago in Transylvania. The story I tell about the commitment to freedom and reason in religion has continued unbroken through the centuries, making Unitarians older than Methodists or Baptists, Pentecostals or fundamentalists.

Most Unitarians seem surprised when this centuries-old heritage is identified. It is a surprise to discover that our roots go as deep as they do. The fact is, of course, that the central principle which brought together Unitarians in 16th century Transylvania is the same principle which brought together Unitarians in 18th century New England, and is the same principle which brings people into the doors of All Souls Unitarian Church in 2001. It is the principle of freedom in religion. This is our roots, and our roots go deep.

Everyone understands something about the idea of freedom. And most people do not associate freedom of belief with relig?ions. And to me it is our commitment to freedom that most distinguishes Unitarians from other religions I know. It is not an exaggeration to suggest that, in the context of our current world crisis, religious freedom, and particularly religious tolerance, are among the values this world could most benefit from today.

This principle of freedom leads us to a conviction that many other religions would repudiate: that it is far more important for our beliefs to be freely affirmed than it is for our beliefs to be correct. And further?more, it is far more likely that beliefs will be correct if they are allowed to be freely reached.

This is the underlying justification for the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution: freedom of speech and press and religion. Why? The First Amendment is an expression of a faith -- a faith that truth is more likely to prevail in an environment of freedom, and not coercion.

Our commitment to religious freedom parallels, therefore, our commitment to political and social freedom. Where there is repression, you are likely to find Unitarians and Universalists in battle against it.
Who knew? Ken Macleod, apparently. What a strange and beautiful thing it is to discover that one of the few genuinely tolerant and progressive expressions of faith in the world has it's roots in the land of Vlad Tepis, the model for Dracula? Of course, Old Vlad is a hero in Transylvania, their equivalent of George Washington. But it's still an ironic and odd confluence, atheists finding god in th epages of fantasy and science fiction novels and an outlet for that spirituality in a faith that has its roots in the land of Dracula.

If this keeps up, I may just find religion, after all.


I've made a few minor changes in the last few days. The biggy is that I've activated the Invisible Library's Atom feed so I'm all RSS capable, which means if you're even lazier than usual, you can read my titles and the first paragraphs without ever even coming to the website.

Edited to delete a rant. Who cares?