Never A Bond Girl

Would it kill you, Maine, to surprise us with some sun? What kind of Vacationland is this when there are days of damp and mist and rain? Someone needs to give the state a bit of stick.

I only have two children, but some days it feels like I’m Private Frank Pike in Dad’s Army. I’m just a punching bag of parental jerks and stutters and false starts.

A good friend suggested a book to me. I like suggestions. And this one is especially tasty. It’s Observatory Mansions by Edward Carey. The mansion in the title is a crumbling apartment complex that’s home to the very eccentric Francis Orme (great name!) and other misfits. It can’t come quick enough through inter-library loan for me.

Before going to bed last night, I went out on a limb and decided it was time to watch The House of Cards, the Brit one with Ian Richardson as Francis Urquhart, Chief Whip of the Conservative party just after Thatcher spread her wings for greener pastures. And Richardson is simply brilliant as the vengeful politician with his mix of Macbeth and Machiavelli and the insane touch of the hand of Mephistopheles. Can’t wait to see more episodes.

Sometimes I get the feeling that the world is a disappointing place to the one I can imagine and then I walk out onto my deck and witness an armada of slugs. And sometimes I get sick and tired of staying “positive,” as if all electrons in this huge universe never have a negative charge, or if they do, it’s against the Thermal Dynamic Law of Happiness to ever show some doubt and existential malaise.

Here’s some classic Echo and the Bunnymen.

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