.Right now I'm slogging away at the opening chapters of the Darger and Surplus novel. This is the stage where a day's work is measured in paragraphs rather than pages, and keeping you advised on how little progress was being made would only convince you that the book will never get finished. But it will, it will, it will. I speak from experience.
Meanwhile, life goes on. Two weekends ago, Marianne and I went to see the Kensington Kinetic Sculpture Derby. Alas, their site does not have the glorious array of photos it should, but it's a truly demented event. Surely everybody here knows the old saying, "If you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day, but if you give an artist a bicycle, you're just asking for trouble." Well, way up in the Northern Liberties of Philadelphia, it happened that an artist was adding a couple of extra wheels to his son's outgrown tricycle when a friend dropped by and was inspired to challenge him to a race. And the rest is . . . whatever it is. I dunno. Everybody seemed to be having fun, though.
And you simply cannot dislike an event which offers a special award for "the sculpture who breaks down in the most glorious fashion." Even the solecism is quintessentially Kensington.
And Yesterday's Poem du Jour . . .
. . . was by Dorothy Parker. Fondly referred to by those who love her work best as Dotty.