Lessons Learned, Allegedly

1992 saw me vote for the first time. I voted in the Democratic primary for presidential hopeful Jerry Brown. Yes, I knew the numbers, but was attempting for the first time to reframe the debate in Indiana in progressive terms. Moving forward to yesterday, every candidate that I voted for lost. I must however commend Jerry Brown for a temerity and finesse which demand praise.

Somewhere in midpoint, the early spring of 1997, I was in Rome where I touched Raphael's tomb. Having recently finished Call of the Toad by Grass, I was tingling also with more present masters and there was a sense, however cliched, that history still at lived at the particular spot. I am reading Balzac for the time being, who dotes, as a matter of fact, upon Raphael whenever possible. In a time when sanctioned entitlement, avarice and pervasive fear appear to be the only sanctioned choice, I am refreshed by this other continuity.

I finished Monday night Ian McEwan's debut, the collection First Love, Last Rites, which aptly situated him on his wonky course.