I took J. in to Physics this morning, not into Physics, note, though I do understand the bit of Physics she's doing at present, Physics being one of my fortés..., in order to buy a long day's journey into night. That would be Mr. O'Neill's version, which I remember from old reading as thoroughly miserable, but we've got a production coming that has William Hurt in it and some of Cate Blanchett's chums, so He Who Complains that the Acting Hereabouts Isn't Good was asked if he would like to buy tickets. Yes, said I. And then I reached the box office. Suffice it to say that the non-ticketmaster convenience fees were eight dollars a ticket. I bought the cheap seats, times four. Fifty dollars each. Had I not been the youngest person in the line by about thirty years I could have simulated a heart attack, but in that company I figured this was not a wise move. Upper balcony seats, fifty eight dollars each. The acting had better be good. I could buy Mr. O'Neill's favorite hooch for that. At least the whole deal caused me to look him up on Wikipedia and find that he disowned his daughter for marrying Charlie Chaplin. Didn't know that.
I figured out today which book I'm going to use at the central text in my "History of Secrets" class. Can't tell you though; it's a secret. Now I am quite close to having all three classes planned. More tennis tomorrow night, and then The Game, on Saturday morning, when we find out what the term "trope" really means. England get beaten by Germany in almost every World Cup. The only question is whether the defeat comes in open-field play or penalty kicks at the end. After England's defeat, we hie ourselves off to collect at the airport the guy from East East..., "Timor" meaning "East." Name of Felix.
That might be a good name for a band. Carry on. David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html
