I call it Thinking Sphinx.
If ever there was a device that science needed to bring us, it would be the one that tells us what our animals are thinking. There’s no thing as fascinating as the inscrutable, unknowing of knowing that goes on inside of a furry creature’s —
“SQUIRREL!”
You’re hoping for more, of course. Something just before Aristotle, and a full stop or three before Che because, let’s be honest, when the plotting gets too intricate, we’re toast.
So I’m sitting on one end of the sofa pecking away at the keyboard and The Yankee is sitting on the other end reading and she jumps up, crosses my lap, confusing the computer with the intricate kitteh combination of things she touches simultaneously while walking across the keyboard and track pad.
Did you know a Macbook can open a transwarp conduit? Oh the key combination is a bit more detailed than the digit-twister required to do a screen cap. I’ve yet to figure out how to fire up the tachyons, but I’m sure the Thinking Sphinx will demonstrate it before next weekend is over.
Where would we be without cats? I mean, aside from asleep at 7 a.m. like I should be? She thinks differently. I’m thinking of inventing a feline tossing sport.
On campus today there was class, where we are in full-on learning Dreamweaver mode. If you can sympathize, you can sympathize. If you can’t, don’t try. Dreamweaver, I mean. Don’t try it. Hire a third-party. Go push-button. Or write your code by hand. (I do. I find it relaxing. There’s probably a small problem with that.)
The student-journalists at the Crimson are churning out another copy of the paper which will be on newsstands tomorrow.
Over dinner I started a new book. I finished Sledge’s With the Old Breed. For me it was a fast read — which is saying something — and a look into the war in the Pacific. The focus is on Sledge’s war, not an overview or a recounting of general’s. Particularly you gain his insight into the horrible fighting on Peleliu, which has been all but forgotten, and the long trials of Okinawa.
The book went largely undiscovered for some time, but has always been well praised. It is a straight forward and feels as honest as a memoir possibly can. Sledge’s telling is gripping, but at times it feels as if things are missed. I’m calling it the passage of time from enduring those terrible experiences and writing it, but also possibly the desire to not put ink to paper. That reads as if he glossed over things. He did not. There’s more gruesome detail in this book than anyone should ever have to endure, but you get a sense that it isn’t everything.
Sledge came home after the war, the Mobile, Ala. boy had become a man and he enrolled at Auburn University. He’d settle as a professor at the University of Montevallo and live out his days in relative peace. This book was a key part of HBO’s miniseries, The Pacific.
That was the book I finished last night.
The book I started today was a Christmas gift from my mother-in-law. She picked it up, she said, because it seemed like something I would like. She was right. Every review has glowed and the subject matter is great. This is Daniel Okrent’s Last Call, the story of Prohibition.
I’ve read the first chapter thus far, and am hooked. I’d like to share with you a paragraph:
When Dr. Dioclesian Lewis showed up in town, he could usually count on drawing an audience. Dio, as he was called (except when he was called “beautiful bran-eating Dio”), was no doctor — his MD was an honorary one granted by a college of homeopathy — but he was many other things: educator, physical culturist, health food advocate, bestselling author, and one of the more compelling platform speakers of the day, a large, robust man “profoundly confident in the omnipotence of his own ideas and the uselessness of all others.” He was also the inventor of the beanbag.
This is going to be grand fun, this book.
