Well, it looks like the storm didn’t complete pass us by. I went home for lunch this afternoon only to discover that the power was out in the building. No idea how long it’s been out, and I don’t have anything in the refrigerator that will immediately spoil (I almost never buy milk or eggs), but I’m hoping the electricity comes back on before I get home again this evening. Otherwise, I’ll have to swing by Walmart for a bag of ice, hope nothing’s been defrosted so much that it can’t still be saved in my tiny plastic cooler, and probably throw out the meat I’ve been defrosting for dinner tonight.

None of this, I expect, is all that interesting to any of you. But, really, who else am I going to tell?

The last time the power went out for any length of time in my building was last Halloween. It was out for almost two days.

It’s very hard to find something when you’re not quite sure what it is.

I’ve been searching for something that someone once said about William Butler Yeats. Except I don’t remember exactly who that someone was, or what that someone said. I think it was T.S. Eliot, and I think he was writing about Yeats’ apparently bugfuck spirituality (not Eliot’s words obviously), and I think he was quoted in an article or review I read in the Sunday New York Times a couple of years ago. But that’s all I’ve got. I even remember someone else quoting it back to me a few days later. I just haven’t a clue what Eliot, if it even was Eliot, said.

And it’s starting to drive me a little insane.

I write weekly horoscopes for the Monty Python Society newsletter. Because this usually proves to be quite difficult, I often find myself wading through the local paper’s horoscopes for inspiration. Two things I notice today: one, Jacqueline Bigar, who writes these horoscopes, uses a lot of mights and maybes for something that’s already pretty meaningless and vague; and two, maybe listing John Ritter among the celebrity birthdays wasn’t the best idea.