Walking home this afternoon I saw two different cars with front plates that read "God Did It!" I assume that's an assertion of faith, though my own first instinct is to take it as an accusation or an admission of guilt.

All day I've had recurring visions where Pete Campbell from "Mad Men" recites "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" to a silent audience in masks and robes. I have no idea what that means.

I really do want to hear from the Other Melissa at kraftig_bewegt about Baroque music. I do wish her I could talk her into making me a Baroque mix CD. Sadly--- as late as March or April of the Year Nine, I could've asked and she'd have made for one for me. Right now I can't even go to FaceBook and leave a message--- let alone read any of her responses to my comments/notes. The Other Melissa takes a very hard-line view about musical terminology. I'm afraid of being mocked for Getting It Wrong--- asking about Wrong composers or pieces, getting the names of periods or pieces Wrong. Laura-Ashlee at bladeoftheknife once told me that she'd send me mp3s of Schubert and Debussy, but I'd be afraid to ask the Other Melissa. I don't know which composers are déclassé. I know that the Other Melissa has mocked people for using "Classical" incorrectly about music. Laura-Ashlee before she Vanished told me to use "orchestral" or "historical", but I don't know the distinctions. And I can't risk getting the names of pieces or periods Wrong. Well, that's why I never published in academia: fear of Getting It Wrong, fear of being mocked--- or unmasked ---as Not So Smart After All. The Other Melissa at kraftig_bewegt has meant a lot to me, and I'd trust her tastes in Baroque music. Okay--- Baroque, yes. I'll use the word. I know the derivation, know the architectural style, know the historical background. I'll use the word--- but I'm still terrified of Getting It Wrong around someone Juilliard-trained. That's the difference between me and, say, Lissy at emigree or Trish at kissingverlaine or Artemis at artemislives. I can't risk getting anything Wrong. I can't risk not being thought of as Smart. I have nothing else to fall back on. I want so much to hear the Other Melissa's voice again. I wish I could talk with her about Baroque, wish I could persuade her to make a mix CD. I'm just too afraid to read the responses she's made to me at FaceBook, or to ask her about anything.

Cynthia Gralla posted a link this afternoon to a Newsweek story that purports to list reasons "Why Women Have Sex". One more disheartening moment on a midweek afternoon. I noticed that nowhere on the list of Reasons Why Women Have Sex could one find "Because aging, ne'er-do-well, bachelor quondam academics are HOT". Trust me. I looked.

Discussing the differences between Patrick Bateman and Dexter Morgan with a friend. Well, Dexter listens to Philip Glass. Bateman listens to Whitney Houston albums. That explains a lot. And I'll note in one episode, Dexter makes a really good purist's steak for his sister. A seriously key skill. And Dexter, unlike the lab tech killer at Yale, would know enough not to leave DNA about. Clorox--- Clorox is just absolutely key at a kill site. Clorox everything. My friend and I agreed: a clean kill is a happy kill.

When one hears the mermaids singing each to each, it's never Whitney Houston.

Amongst the many reasons why I'm going to Hell... There's a "Family Guy" episode where Peter Griffin hears a news report about three co-eds being raped and murdered and sullenly laments that "Everybody's getting laid but me." It's not just that I thought the line was funny, it's that about twenty minutes later I realised that, ummm, I'd have felt the same way.

"Blood Meridian"... There's a moment where two of the filibusteros look at the figure of Judge Holden and ask one another what he's a judge of. It's a scary little moment of realisation. I realy do want to ask Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo about her take on the scene. And on McCarthy's description of the Judge there in Anasazi caves, making notes in his great ledger-book and sketching the cave-wall paintings. The Judge tells the filibustero captain that whatever he takes down into the book is taken away from the mind of Man. Another scary moment, and one I so want to see filmed.

McCarthy's Mexican border in 1849, Chinese Turkestan a generation later. And...the Argentine. The Argentine there in the 1830s--- General Rosas waging a war of extermination across the pampas, paying his soldiers and gauchos bounties for Indian heads. Three landscapes for stories like "Blood Meridian".

The young Darwin ran across Rosas when he was traveling across the pampas on the "Beagle" trip. Rosas was courteous and gracious in the Spanish style, but...so was Judge Holden. And young Charles got a sense of the underlying menace there in Rosas' campaign tents.

Last night on "Nova"--- a two-hour piece called "Darwin's Darkest Hour", about Darwin's decision to publish the "Origin". Good acting, good writing, good use of flashbacks. I suppose I've always admired and envied the young Darwin for the "Beagle" voyage...and for the notebooks he kept. I really do love eighteenth and nineteenth-century scientific illustration--- and I really wish I could sketch.

I do wish I could talk to the Other Melissa at kraftig_bewegt tonight. I wish I could ask her about Baroque music, ask her about composers and pieces. I wish I could get her to make a mix CD for me, yes. But I miss hearing her laugh, miss hearing about her life. I miss her kindness and support.

68 degrees in Manhattan today. 58 degrees in Monreal. Two disheartening and depressing bits of information. I do always feel inferior when it's cooler in cities where I want to live than it is here. I always feel inferior to the girls I know who live in Real Cities, anyway. And living someplace that's hot and humid and lacks any real seasons is...always a mark of inferiority, of somehow being a Rube. Girls I Obsess over are somewhere tonight where they can wear classic trenchcoats and dress gloves and keffiyehs. They have fashion and seasons and city nights. I can't even find a way to leave my rooms. And I won't be wearing jackets or long sleeves for another six weeks. You have no idea how ashamed I am of that.

There are 146 people listed here as being able to read me. I miss the days of the Year Five and the Year Six when I believed that some serious fraction of those people actually did read me, when my Notes section had actual long-running exchanges. I miss having Exchanges, miss Voices and conversations.

I so don't want to be Pete Campbell. I really, really don't.

And I wish I had the value I'd need to live somewhere with seasons. Or even just to have the Other Melissa at kraftig_bewegt make me a Baroque mix CD. Or just talk to me.