Report

I can happily mention now that 220 was definitely not a bust at all, Sarah Brendel has a few good cuts but nothing specatular, and that I haven't listened to Silver Swan enough to give a capsule summary. The vocals, however, are haunting as usual, and the orchestration considerably improved since Tristan und Isolde.

I am recently returned from purchasing some books (and a mouse for Mother, who will probably tell me when she gets home this evening that I didn't actually need to get it for her).

There is honestly not much to report. No news is good news, as they say. We beat Penn State (last time we were playing PSU, I SAW RONNY CATES IN PERSON). The talking heads were rather disparaging after the win, which was somewhat pedestrian, but they managed to do it without mentioning the weather (fair amounts of rain, unless you live in Scotland) or Penn State's better-than-advertised defense. Sad to see JoePa feeling under the weather, though. Good coach, good man. All things being equal, though, I'll take Tressel.

(There's a great story about him, actually. He held an elevator for a reporter once, who called him, "such a boy scout." For the duration of their trip together—a couple floors, I guess—Paterno quoted the oath to her from memory.)

For the first time in awhile, I wished for a movie camera at karate. I had a highlight reel move. I also jammed my finger. Sorry for how up close and personal that picture is. It actually made me laugh when I saw it, so I guess maybe it'll be good for a smile.

It doesn't hurt, but it sure feels weird. (Did you ever realize how detailed the backs of your hands really are?)