It's the start of the day. I'm sitting at my computer, listening to The Voice of the Baroque. I'm not really listening to the music—it's on for background noise—I'm sorting quotes and orders, snatching bits of web sites here and there. I'm focused.

A song begins to play; the violins bounce-bounce-bounce. Only half aware of what I'm doing, and perfectly in tune(!), I join the chorus: "Gloria! Gloria! [lower] Gloria! Gloria! In excelsis deo." Tom Gingerich taught Vivaldi's Gloria to the concert choir when I was in high school. My subconscious had slipped back nearly twenty years: for a moment I was in concert choir, singing with my friends

What if tickets for Simon and Garfunkel (November 2nd in Portland!) are $100 or more? What then will I do?

My cousin (Nick's brother), Bob, has stopped in to brag on his son, Chris. Chris is a freshman at the high school, a running back on the freshman football team. Apparently he's doing well and has been named a starter for this week's game. Bob is excited. Nick is excited, too. He has the freshman football schedule posted on his bulletin board and plans to attend several of the games (he might even drive down to Dallas this week). You know what? I'm excited, too. It's hard to think of Chris as a football player, though. (Or as a freshman, for that matter.)

How's this for a start to the football season? My Seattle Seahawks are 2-0 and actually may be good this season. The Canby Cougars are ranked number one in the state for the first time in several years. Even my fantasy football teams are off to a good start. In my league, my team is off to a 2-0 start, and I've outscored my opponents 123-39. In Joel's league, my team is also 2-0 (though not convincingly).

If only Everton were playing better.

I already added this bit as a comment to the truth thread, but have decided it's worthy of its own entry:

On his recent trip to California, Nick picked up a little light reading: Umberto Eco's Baudolino. This morning he showed me a couple of passages he found serendipitous (in relation to this thread):

Baudolino was about to close Otto's eyes, believing he had heaved his last sigh, but suddenly the older man reopened his mouth and whispered, exploiting his final breath: "Baudolino, remember the kingdom of the Presbyter Johannes. Only in seeking it can the oriflammes of Christianity go beyond Byzantium and Jerusalem. I have heard you invent many stories that the emperor has believed. So then, if you have no other news of that realm, invent some. Mind you, I am not asking you to bear witness to what you believe false, which would be a sin, but to testify falsely to what you believe true—which is a virtuous act because it compensates for lack of proof of something that certainly exists or happened…You can imagine what you haven't seen. Oh, why has it become so dark?"

Baudolino, who was a liar, told him not to worry, because night was falling. Just as noon was striking, Otto exhaled a hiss from his now hoarse throat, and his eyes remained open and fixed…Baudolino closed his teacher's eyes, and shed honest tears.

Nick remembered another passage, which he paraphrased, "Writers tell lies, poets tell beautiful lies." Here's the actual passage:

"Baudolino," he [said], "you are a born liar."

"Why do you say such a thing, master?"

"Because it's true. But you mustn't think I'm reproaching you. If you want to become a man of letters and perhaps write some Histories one day, you must also lie and invent tales, otherwise your Histories would become monotonous. But you must act with restraint. The world condemns liars who do nothing but lie, even about the most trivial things, and it rewards poets, who lie only about the greatest things."

Writers are liars.

On this day at foldedspace.org

2005 — Animal Personalities   Our cats are filled with personality. I wonder if all animals exhibit individual personalities. Do chickens? Do hedgehogs? Do fish?

2004 — Ollie   My nephew, Michael, is surprisingly athletic.

2002 — You Know   For better or worse, here's a fragment I wrote a couple of weeks ago while running errands.