1977. Studio Arena, Buffalo, N.Y. Twelve years old. I was goofing around in the lobby. Tall guy, jeans and leather jacket, walked by and gave me a nod. I played it cool for a couple of decades... BERNARDO! It was BERNARDO!!
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Showing posts from July, 2020
Philip Roth
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"G etting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It's getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know we're alive: we're wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that -- well, lucky you.” -Philip Roth
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
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"Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink." On this day in 1834, poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge died in the Highgate home of his doctor, James Gillman. Coleridge had lived with Gillman for 18 years, in an effort to cure his opium addiction. Just over the square from Gillman's, however, was a chemist's. Coleridge would go to the red door at the side to get his fix. An albatross round his neck indeed.