Off the Cliff

I keep trying to impress my daily perceptions of the lovely weather-- deep blue skies, cool breeze, sun-- into the long-term memory, but my mind has no good-weather memory ability. Mug and heat haze, that I remember perfectly. Sad, because there have been a lot of splendid days this month. But I have been at work with new babies etc, and nothing much else registers.

Twelve days' worth of Shibata Ami takes its toll, so I give myself a break with Bill Bryson's Shakespeare- The World as Stage, which I was very happy to find until I realized it's not Steven Greenblatt's Will in the World. A fun fast read nonetheless. ( Cut for Shakespeare's vocabulary )

Finished my reread of Channel Five on the 20th, the day before my 21st fannish anniversary which I totally forgot about in the press of work and new babies. I wish I tagged my LJ entries better because I seem to recall talking about this the last time I reread Channel Five, whenever that was; or maybe I was just musing aloud about getting the reissued manga that came out in 2010. There was something said somewhere about 'added material' that had me hoping maybe she'd given us something to offset that very unfinished- not ending, even, just a stopping point. But then I remembered that she altered parts of the tankoubon from what had first appeared in Animage: late enough that you can see the change in her style; and that's probably the new material the adverts meant.

So no, I'll never find out what happened to Jan (who is canonically dead but evidently also very much alive) or, fairly clearly, what Takamatsu did to alter Jan, or what happened to Servis, or what happens to the five brothers, or anything. This makes me very sad indeed.

For the rest of this week I am once again a body that works and does little else. Most people are in this position all the time, so I can't complain. But it adds depth to those Buddhist strictures about one's ineffable good fortune in being born a human who is able to learn about the Dharma, which western Buddhists specifically say means a person with enough leisure to do so.
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1. The Front Lawn Library is open for business. Copped a copy of Karen Armstrong's Buddha. The Front Lawn Exchange is likewise a go. Copped a small (8 in square) art deco mirror from across the street. Copped also three wooden louver shutters, hinged in the middle, maybe 10 in wide and three feet high. Probably custom made; if they were three inches higher they'd be perfect for that annoying study window whose left half I spend the summer trying to block. As it is they're almost perfect and I may look forward to not being dazzled/ broiled come July.

2. What a good thing I didn't try reading Adele Blanc-Sec in French, she says palely. It makes no sense in English. I fancy it's not supposed to make sense.

3. Jiro Taniguchi's The Walking Man is a lovely low-key manga whose plump and ordinary protagonist does nothing much except what I did- walk about the neighbourhoods of Japan. It's probably not Tokyo he's walking in, but it could be. (Unnamed protag also strips down and has a swim in a closed public pool, which is most enterprising of him.) I was a little put out that he was always coming home to his plump and ordinary stay-in wife, but then occasionally he runs into her while she's walking the dog, so evidently she gets out as well on occasion.
( Cut for potatoes )

Dry sidewalks allow me to errand into previously ice-bound wastes, so I now have wine (for next door) and salt stain remover (for my boots, since it seems ammonia is no longer sold anywhere. What shall we do for smelling salts, I ask me?) Also is official: I walk into the shoe repair store (only place that sells salt remover) in my foofy rose pink hat and mauve-lavender-rose pink scarf, and am addressed as Sir by the middle-aged white Torontonian male owner. Rose pink is no longer a gender marker in this culture, which I suppose is good; coats *are* gender markers, which is enh; but coats that are not cloth (cloth is useless in winter) and tailored female (buttons, nipped waist, patch pockets if any) are read male by default. No wonder the unisex comfy middle-aged confuse so many people.
( February reading )