Monday

Cool and sunny. 64 degrees, calm, low humidity. Supposed to get up to 80 today.

Yesterday had some fun in the Spoiler Speculation thread on HHoW. Read the new issue of the New Yorker, which had a great article on music researchers recording old American folk music, mostly in the Appalachians (I would link to it but it's not available online). Anyway, I ended up ordering this for my birthday, from Amazon. It's one of the CD sets mentioned in the article, and I loved all of the snippets I listened to yesterday. Mr. Nightdog was highly amused and said my Kentucky was showing (one set of my grandparents was from Kentucky; the other set (great-grandparents) was from Tennessee before they moved to Missouri and then on to Texas, which is a very typical Scots-Irish migration pattern).

So. Not much else. Have to run a few errands today.

ETA: There is an audio portion of the article on the New Yorker's site, here.

Poem #25 for Poetry Month

Today's poem is from the great American novelist Joyce Carol Oates (born 1938). In this she's writing about another poet, William Carlos Williams (1883 - 1963) and the effect a series of strokes had in the later years of his life. This is a lovely, luminous poem, with an unexpected twist at the end, and perhaps a promise.

( This Is the Time for Which We Have Been Waiting )

Houseficlet: Divergence

Written this morning, from a bunny that's been in my head for quite a long time. AU, not a death!fic but not terribly happy either. Concrit is very welcome.

ETA: Posted to sick_wilson for the comm's first birthday.

( Divergence )

I CALLED IT!

RICKETS! THE KID HAS RICKETS!

... um. On Bones.

*g*

So ...

... on tonight's House ...

( Cut for west coast )

And Foreman? Smokin' hot in that gorgeous suit with the little pinstripe, the pale blue shirt and the golden tie. Oh. My. God.

And In Other Important News ...

I am Wilson. Heh! Thieved from my old friend crowdog66.

( Read more... )