the jack-o-lantern map of boylan heights
in the 1970s, radical cartographer, denis woods started an nontraditional atlas of his neighborhood in raleigh, north carolina. this image is his attempt at mapping the locations and faces of decorative gourds. the other maps are also worth a looksy.
the image is from dancing and singing: a narrative atlas of boylan heights, unpublished (ca. 1975).
you can read more about this ferly project here and listen about it here.
thus resumes the second part of my poolitzer-nominated series within a series of select f-words from this ferly dictionary:
my grandfather looking totally badass in front of the ruins of angkor (1969)
today marks my 94 year old grandfather’s 95th birthday. for those interested, he is the source of my predilection for poetry (particularly gerard manley hopkins and w.h. auden) curios (numismatic, philatelic, and archaic), and adventure. he is the exemplar of who i strive to be.
cheer up, mr. joyce—it’s bloomsday!
as tomorrow is the 105th anniversary of bloomsday AND many of you have confessed to me that ulysses is one of your crack books (a book that you have only pretended to have read) AND ALSO the infinite summer project is a hot commodity right now, i thought that i would announce my latest project:
slowblogging ulysses, where i have been blogging the entirety of ulysses since may 4th at the rate of one word per day. i expect to complete the project around noon on the 27th day of April, 2741.
![a very special quinquennial anniversary
as long as i am blah-blah-blahing about holidays and whatnot, it would be rude of me not to mention that on this day EXACTLY 5 years ago, i purchased baronessa alessandra, my bitching pontiac. i have since put close to 50,000 miles on her, used her to mule benzodiazepine across the mexican border, and conceived 6 children in her [very spacious] backseat. go red sox!](http://19.media.tumblr.com/3FZnoU8PUmyxgq39wLGaRRnUo1_400.jpg)
a very special quinquennial anniversary
as long as i am blah-blah-blahing about holidays and whatnot, it would be rude of me not to mention that on this day EXACTLY 5 years ago, i purchased baronessa alessandra, my bitching pontiac. i have since put close to 50,000 miles on her, used her to mule benzodiazepine across the mexican border, and conceived 6 children in her [very spacious] backseat. go red sox!
today happens to be one of the three most unlucky days in the egyptian calendar. the other days are the second monday in august and the third monday in december.
but to cheer you up, here is an etymological factoid: the word dismal literally means evil day.
are the last three days of march. from the book of days:
The popular notion is, that they were borrowed by March from April, with a view to the destruction of a parcel of unoffending young sheep—a purpose, however, in which March was not successful. The whole affair is conveyed in a rhyme thus given at the firesides of the Scottish peasantry:
‘March said to Aperill,
I see three hoggs” upon a hill,
And if you’ll lend me dayes three,
I’ll find a way to make them dee.
The first o’ them was wind and weet,
The second o’ them was snaw and sleet,
The third o’ them was sic a freeze,
It froze the birds’ nebs to the trees:
When the three days were past and gave,
The three silly hoggs came hirpling’ hame.’
for a similar irish tradition: this.
the book-fish
from the book of days:
On the 23rd of June 1626, a cod-fish was brought to Cambridge market, which, upon being opened, was found to contain a book in its maw or stomach. The book was much soiled, and covered with slime, though it had been wrapped in a piece of sail-cloth. It was a duodecimo work written by one John Frith, comprising several treatises on religious subjects.
The treatises contained in this book were written by Frith when in prison. He was removed from thence to the Tower, and in 1533 was burned at the stake for his adherence to the reformed religion.
from the book of days
On the evening of the 7th of April 1779, a handsome, well-dressed lady was stepping out of Covent Garden Theatre, to take her coach, when a young man in the dress of a clergyman moved abruptly towards her, and firing a pistol into her head, killed her in a moment. Immediately he fired another at himself, but without fatal effect, and then began to beat his head with its butt, as if eager in any way to deprive himself of life.
