Yesterday, I climbed outside in the cold white stillness of southern Québec forests.
Today, I sit inside and rewatch lectures and eat a lobstertail from Patisserie Roma and nurse my welldeserved headcold.
Coloured pens make the world a better, or at least more organized, place.
We can't all be Wolfgang Gullich or Barbara McClintock, but there is worth in pursuing things without being the best at them.
This, perhaps, is the most important thing.
The title of this post is from the Kinks' Lola. The Faculty of Theology librarian turned me onto the Kinks one Sunday at 1 A.M. in a bar, a story too good to make up. When I first heard Lola (a few days ago) I realized that I was missing a huge part of the history of rock and roll. I then went around talking about how poignantly the song tells of a wimp being made a man by an older, powerful woman. It turns out the song is actually about a transsexual. Ah.
