I'm actually writing this on my Pad, but I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get it into Blogger, since there doesn't seem to be a dedicated Blogger app. Oh well, I'll worry about that later.
It's so interesting, the things that get your attention sometimes. I'm sitting here on the upper floor of the big Barnes & Noble in Paramus reading the new issue of Vanity Fair. Katy Perry is the cover feature, and there are articles on Prada's new Venice digs, the New York City Ballet, Blenheim Palace, a few political things, a few celebrity things. It kind of feels like Rolling Stone with a shiny gold finish on it.
Why am I reading this? Why is this interesting to me today? Is this just another manifestation of getting comfortable in the Icarus costume? Probably. Does Icarus seem to have fancier tastes (despite the still limited food palette)? It seems so. So I read these things and think about my James Bond future (minus the killing, of course) and wonder what how these kinds of new preoccupations will manifest.
On a more normal note, whatever that means anymore, I'm also sitting here with the long awaited fifth book in Neil Peart's fascinating series of travel memoirs, Far & Away, and the new Everyman Library selection of Emily Dickinson's letter that I mentioned the other day. This is the third time in three days I've come across references to baking bread. (This article in particular has me thinking of it as a spiritual act. Must explore this further.)
I would be remiss if I didn't mention my dear Lovelies, out having their dance performance at the little Fun Fair. They both looked great in their outfits this morning, and I wish I could be there to be proud of them. On a related note, the PBT had a wonderful gathering last night, 'til the wee hours as always. It was nice to find that I could still be me in that setting, even though "me" is such a slippery proposition these days.
Enough for now. Back to Vanity Fair. Sheeeesh!
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