things I like this week, vol. 22

So many things to share. Have been saving up a long time. (More like "things I like this month.")

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Like a picture frame for nature.

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“The story of writing in the digital age is every bit as messy as the ink-stained rags that would have littered Gutenberg’s print shop or the hot molten lead of the Linotype machine,” Mr. Kirschenbaum said, before asking a question he hopes he can answer: “Who were the early adopters, the first mainstream authors to trade in their typewriters for WordStar and WordPerfect?”

From A Literary History of Word Processing. Worth reading the entire article (assuming you're a book nerd, and I'm going to make a blanket assumption that most of my readers are).

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Speaking of book nerds . . . who wouldn't want a book the size of a box of cigarettes? Heart of Darkness is particularly appropriate, I think.

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Photo of the day, several days ago.

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Haven't been terribly pleased with 20x200's recent price hike (the name is obsolete, now!) or their taste in goofy prints, but I love, love this photo.

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So pretty.

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Neil and Amanda (you should know who these people are!) had a tango lesson the day they got married. She has this to say:

and during the lesson, when she talked about how the art of tango was to relinquish control to your dance-partner and trust that he would bravely carry you across the floor, i cried.

Tango is a good metaphor for many things, on many levels.

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I bought my full-access ticket to the Tucson Tango Festival at the early bird price. So excited. There is a beginner's option, if you're interested . . .

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Reminiscences and resolutions from a friend:

When I was about 7 I began reading Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. I was allowed to read as late as I wanted. There was no "lights out" rule in my home. One night my mother awoke to hear me sobbing hysterically in the next room. Running in to check on me, worried, she asked what happened.

"Oh, momma!" I hiccuped, "Beth died."

She laughed at me, then folded her 6 foot frame into the tiny bottom bunk I slept in and cuddled me while I cried.

Mommas are good for that.

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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd . . .

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A post from a woman in Cuba about the tradition of throwing water out the door on New Year's to wash away the bad of the previous year:

The child is bathed in a basin because the suds must then be used to clean the floor, and the bent-backed retiree drags a water cart from the hydrant to the shack where he lives. The jacuzzi jets in some hotel, the stillness of of the blue waves of one of those swimming pools that can only be seen on Google Earth, so hidden are they behind the hibiscus hedges and watchdogs of certain residences. It is not the same water.

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Jiro Dreams of Sushi.

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More to come.