Tonight's a soir�e to welcome LT to B*st*n; responses to my invitation have been flooding in like cheese through a strainer. I should probably be out purchasing nibbley bits and wine instead of sitting here listening to Vivaldi and writing a journal entry. However, my prudent side is nothing but a hindrance to my art.
Reading: Still Clarissa, which I finally gave in to reading again for this somewhat odd reason: my bus, the stalwart **, passes Harlowe Street not three blocks from my house. And every time the automated stop announceress announces Harlowe Street, I think about Clarissa and Lovelace and everything. Did anybody else see the rather splendid adaptation on television a few years ago, which featured the most amazing chinoiserie coffin? I had theretofore considered myself a "plain black box" kind of guy, but when I caught a glimpse of its gilded rocailleries, I knew I had to be buried in just such an object.
KM and I went to see Pegasus play on N*wb*r* Street last Thursday -- (mostly) Venetian baroque, the first half being Merula to Marini, the second being Corelli, Stradella, and Vivaldi. Excellent good concert, and, since the Vivaldi they chose was the trio-sonata setting of the Follia, I was utterly transported.
All right -- I'm afraid I won't be able to concentrate on this fully until I've done the shopping for tonight.