Restive, not restful

My apologies to anyone whose hopes of finding fresh material here have been repeatedly dashed in the last few days, but I’ve been working a full-time office job (and the intense ramp-up part of a project to boot), and by the time I’ve gotten home I’ve been so mentally trashed that I’ve only had enough energy to sit on the couch and stare at my big bare feet. However, a slew of subjects and events have tickled or whetted my interest in the last few days, and with any luck (and sleep) I’ll have the wherewithal this weekend to get around to at least a couple of them. In no particular order there’s been:

  • that mercurial (and devastating) opening credit sequence in Capturing the Friedmans
  • last Sunday’s episode of The Sopranos, from which I’m still trying to recover
  • a glorious lunchtime walk along the San Francisco waterfront that climaxed with my running headlong into Willie Brown, whom I’d been thinking about only some ninety seconds earlier
  • Marcel Ophuls and the reopening of the Emmett Till case
  • why Jack Shafer should get down on his knees every night and thank God for Judith Miller
  • how well that whole Iraq thing is going

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