Tuesday

I'll tell you what makes me feel good: going to bed at 9:30.  I got something like ten hours of sleep last night, and for once I woke feeling great.  Sleep!  That knits up the raveled sleeve of care.  Or something like that.

The problem with taking on a long involved project like reading Herodotus is that you can't read anything else while you're doing it.  Well, I can, of course, but I'm not going to.  I have a pile of a dozen books that I got for Christmas sitting on my shelf.  They all call out to be read.  But, no.  First I have to get through Herodotus.  Or do I?  I don't know; maybe I could read only another hundred pages and then take a break. Herodotus has finally got into the history of Greece (in book FIVE, no less); that means the actual Persian should be coming up.  Or maybe not.  There are another 300 pages to go.  So we'll see.

On my daily walks I'm listening to Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.  Gaiman is a wizard at big ideas and scene setting; his actual prose, however, leaves a lot to be desired.  The sheer imaginative power carries you along, but I still can't help wishing, once in a while, that he didn't write like a very dedicated high school student.  (Note the pronoun shift in that sentence.  Terrible!)

Another beautiful day in SoCal.  I have been urged by the Wif-al Unit to write more about family and home life and less about what I'm reading.  But what is there to say about home life?  It's peaceful and calm and idyllic.  The wife is in her office, the Bink is at her feet, gently snoring.  Things move on apace.

Addendum: all are urged to read this outstanding discussion of the life and work of PG Wodehouse by A.N. Wilson.