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Friday, February 12, 2010


Let's dispense with the formalities; obviously I've abandoned this as a daily discipline.

In the spirit of honesty, I'll opt to return on a semi-regular basis. Vultures always return to carnage. Perhaps I need a better analogy...

The snow has fallen and continues to fall. Just when I had managed to build my meteorological skepticism into a virtue, these cascading flakes decide to make a fool of me. Heather and I haven't ventured out of our little secular hermitage though. The roads are frozen and I'm not a particularly adroit figure skater. The people who have moved above us either need crutches or have managed to secretly turn their apartment into a horse stall. That, or their keeping time to the beat of their music with hammers.

Still not finished with Updike nor he with me. In the interval I gobbled up Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. It's inspired my latest HandsforChrist blog. You can check that out on Monday. Reverend Tom Marshfield, he of Updike's usual fearful symmetry, has taken to nearly every woman in his congregation. I'm now officially sharing your struggles Ethan; I can't see past Updike's penchant for bottling up filth and passing it off as treasure. Is all of this squalor meant to augment our moral understanding of man? In the wake of our vile modern age do we really need one more sage confirming how fallen we all are?

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