Copious Free Time

5:42pm: fun with music
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My evening stretches (prescribed) take about fifteen minutes, and I usually like to do them with music. The other day I opened up iTunes, as I often do, and had a stroke of cleverness. I went to the Library (which contains everything) and viewed by length. Then I had plenty to choose from, instead of trying to think of something appropriate to listen to.

This also got me listening to things I keep forgetting I have.

Another thing: every so often, I think of music I miss -- used to have, or used to hear, or whatever -- and remember to go search emusic for it. So now I can listen to the Mills Brothers in my favorite version of "Tiger Rag" whenever I want. And Rudy Vallee's classic performance of "The Whiffenpoof Song" too.
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10:24pm: sharing
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The current bathroom book (downstairs: upstairs it's a Benjamin Franklin anthology) is Shakespeare's Jest Books, a paperback containing the 1864 edition of some medieval jollity and instructive tales. The connection to Shakespeare is kind of tenuous -- he seems to have heard of them, and mentions bits from it a time or two. But I'm sharing it with you today, as it is a real trove of anecdotes that were dusty when Joe Miller was in the womb. Here you go -- archive.org has it scanned for you.

While I was looking for it (in vain, until I struck the terminal 's'), I stumbled on my own link to Robert Williams. Not my dad; one of the other ones. His web site has a small, random, but nonetheless wondrous collection of his twisted art. "He's so good," I kept thinking as I peered at the far-too-small reproductions of his paintings, and wished I had more of the books. [nsfw]

( YouTube embeds and Tintin too, behind el jumpo )

Meanwhile, in real life, Sarah's birthday is tomorrow. I'll be bringing cupcakes to school on her behalf. Today was Chinese New Year (year of the Rat), and she wore a Chinese jacket to school for the occasion. I went to Target and picked up her birthday presents, but I won't tell you what they are, so you won't be tempted to blab it to her. Santa won't get credit for these.
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