What I'm doing now, addendum

Boy, I'm really procrastinating. I just organized my sock drawer.

What I'm doing now that the war started

1. Putting off writing articles.
2. Reading the New York Times.
3. Catching up on old New Yorkers.
4. Reading Plato.
5. Reading God's Little Isthmus, the sequel to Madlands.
6. Celebrating my new turntable and receiver by listening to the records of Patty Loveless, Arthur Rubenstein, Al Stewart, Sade, Faron Young, Willie Nelson, Tina Turner, and others.
7. Going to AA meetings.
8. Watching Conte d'�t�, which I enjoyed immensely.
9. Thinking about the Amish, apropos of Devil's Playground, which I watched Before The War (i.e. Tuesday).
10. Reading old aims of education addresses, one of which incoming University of Chicago freshmen hear their first week.
11. Did I mention putting off writing articles?
12. Learning the words to "El Paso."
13. Deciding other songs I'd like to learn (suggestions welcome).
14. Folding laundry.
15. Blogging.

Not long ago I spent the better part of a work week reading e-mail I wrote and received between September 1997 and June 1999.

I have compulsively hung on to all my e-mail. Here is, I hazard, the first e-mail I ever received, from my dear college friend Rachel:

Date: Wed, 23 Oct 91 22:35:37 CDT
From: rachel marie fumia
To: krb1
Subject: jean paul sartre and the fall of rome

dearest kenneth, i have received your messages. you are not much of a talker
but i love you anyway. jackie says hi. jackie's mailfokenneth, this is
totally fucked up for some odd reason. are those bugle boy jeans you're
wearing? love from fumi

I take David Allan Coe's taunt in "Longhaired Redneck"--"I can sing you any song Hank Williams ever wrote"--as a challenge, a program for self-improvement. I hope, someday, to be able to sing you any song Hank Williams ever wrote.

I likely will not strive to be able to sing you any song David Allan Coe ever wrote, though I sometimes catch myself humming some of "those" songs despite my best intentions. Then I shower.

Once bitten, twice shy, yes, but: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

What I just said to Ereck: "It's all about the clubfoot neonates."

I feel sad that Mister Rogers died. And it's okay to feel sad.