A tad "graspy" I was when I bought my first Kindle. Buying e-books meant, necessarily, I was totally dependent on the device. I still coveted owning books even in virtual form (which hardly seems a form of ownership at all), but what worried me about the Kindle was that it would flop and they'd stop making them and my Kindle would break and I'd be out of luck. I'd have a library with no way to read it. I thought of trying to purchase security by buying a second Kindle, to lay aside for a rainy day. I shouldn't have sweated it so. Fortunately I didn't waste the money since better Kindle versions came soon enough at a smaller price.
Equatorial heat. New Guinea heat. Aborigine heat. 100 degrees and I'm sitting on the back porch, scorched. It feels good, at least for a minute or two, like a hot bath or sauna.
Managed to walk 2.5 miles today in order to burn a few calories. Went to the lovely and talented Goodale Park, where the grass was all straw-colored and laying down due to the stress of having so many visitors there during Comfest festival last weekend.
Walking down those winding pleasant paths, I was reminded how similar it felt to my alma mater's "Slant Walk". The sterling sun and mature trees, even the same Georgian architecture in the glimmering distance. I wondered how much was mere sentiment, this desire to go visit my old school and walk her paths, even though this felt on a level of similitude that makes me wonder if the drive is worth it. Can't I squint my eyes and believe I'm there? Or is that the sort of thinking that gives us "virtual confessions" and "virtual sex" and all the other modern abominations?
So the staccato of the water sprinkler on the front lawn plays while the sun spritzes through the droplets of water in a splendid way. It's nice to be riding high in the saddle weather-wise; every eve is special and incandescent in a way impossible in chill January or February.
I didn't make it to "CommunistFest", as the downtown Columbus festival known as Comfest (from "Community Fest") this year. There's something about these liberal ecstasies that intrigues me, in the same way that Woodstock has some weird cache. I can't put my finger on it; perhaps there's just the fact that there were people then, as there are people at Comfest, willing to put themselves out there, put themselves on the line, to risk rejection. There's something compelling about a person not willing to play it safe, be it a writer or a boobie flasher.
You dance like the love
Fred and Ginger made.
Sunday mass featured a visiting priest from a Wisconsin diocese who was plugging "Food for the Poor", a "hot" charity of late. I'm a tad surprised that our pastor is publicizing what seems to be an alternative to Catholic Relief Services. He must know something I don't. I like that Food for the Poor focuses on this hemisphere and that 97% of the money goes to the charity. The only negative thing, it seems, is that it doesn't give in the name of the Church, and thus in the name of Christ, like CRS does.