Greyby Number
Happy Birthday, Baby Grey! My son and only turns 21 today, and I'm wishing him all good things.
He's in the midst of his senior year of college. At the moment, he's just gotten back from protesting at the G20 summit in Pittsburgh and is trying to wrap his head around what he saw there.
When he was little, he made up the magical "Greyby number" (Greyby, of course, being a meld of Grey and baby), which was, if I'm remembering correctly, more than a billion and more than infinity. Why not? When our family would part or talk on the phone from far away, we'd say, "I love you Greyby number!"
If I said, "I love you to the moon!", he would say, "I love you to the stars beyond the moon!" And so on. You can just imagine.
Okay, back to earth. I've been attending way too many bureaucratic meetings this week, so I'm very grateful to my friends for three good links:
From writer Tanya Whiton, who sussed out my swoony admiration for Jane Campion (remember that tea-cup, shot from above?), this interview about Campion's latest movie (the one about Keats and Fanny).
From Sandra Cisneros, who first introduced me to Mercè Rodoreda--"the greatest Catalan novelist of our time and quite possibly the best Mediterranean woman author since Sappho," according to her translator--this piece about Rodoreda in The Nation. (Forgive me for sounding like an ad for cheap perfume, but if you like Jean Rhys, you'll love Rodoreda. Swoon.)
Lastly, for you denizens of Star City, my charming colleague Sonam Singh offers a heads-up about this Friday's opening at the Sheldon, "Agents of Change: Mexican Muralists and New Deal Artists." Maybe see you there!
He's in the midst of his senior year of college. At the moment, he's just gotten back from protesting at the G20 summit in Pittsburgh and is trying to wrap his head around what he saw there.
When he was little, he made up the magical "Greyby number" (Greyby, of course, being a meld of Grey and baby), which was, if I'm remembering correctly, more than a billion and more than infinity. Why not? When our family would part or talk on the phone from far away, we'd say, "I love you Greyby number!"
If I said, "I love you to the moon!", he would say, "I love you to the stars beyond the moon!" And so on. You can just imagine.
Okay, back to earth. I've been attending way too many bureaucratic meetings this week, so I'm very grateful to my friends for three good links:
From writer Tanya Whiton, who sussed out my swoony admiration for Jane Campion (remember that tea-cup, shot from above?), this interview about Campion's latest movie (the one about Keats and Fanny).
From Sandra Cisneros, who first introduced me to Mercè Rodoreda--"the greatest Catalan novelist of our time and quite possibly the best Mediterranean woman author since Sappho," according to her translator--this piece about Rodoreda in The Nation. (Forgive me for sounding like an ad for cheap perfume, but if you like Jean Rhys, you'll love Rodoreda. Swoon.)
Lastly, for you denizens of Star City, my charming colleague Sonam Singh offers a heads-up about this Friday's opening at the Sheldon, "Agents of Change: Mexican Muralists and New Deal Artists." Maybe see you there!
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