Wednesday, September 29, 2010

a ballad for September

We stayed in that ghastly pseudo-period piece for a good week, with its tepid showers and soggy toast and weak coffee and mattresses that seemed to be made out of straw that had been hauled in from ye olde barn in 1823, and during this week of programmed nuptial bliss we saw the Falls; we perambulated around the Falls; we boated through the Falls; we joined a geological tour group for a history of the Falls slideshow; we crossed a bridge over the Falls; we crossed the border and examined the Falls from a foreign identity; we attended movie showcasings of great moments of cinematic history filmed at the Falls; we listened to lectures about the Falls in the Guinness Book of World Records; and by the end of the week choosing between throwing myself or my beloved spouse over those goddammed Falls would have been too difficult a decision to make.

This Sunday! 4 pm! Neilson Library, Smith College!

Morning Edition : "[if you say:] 'Write something; write anything; you can write a story about anything you want,' they can't think of anything," says Hornby. "But if you say, 'Write a story about a crocodile, a pineapple and a stair lift in a hotel,' then it will spark something up."

alors, October!