Seems like a nice way to package some potpourri, I think.
First of all, it is in fact Valentine’s Day, and I’m conventional enough to want to recognize Mrs. M, who has been the part of me that I didn’t have room to contain for nearly 27 years now, and my wife for 22 years and counting. I’m not an easy person to live with — some of that is the nature of scholars and creatives, I think, and the rest is my own special set of quirks and fidgets, of inabilities and sloth. Nonetheless, she was there this morning when I woke up, and I’m more glad for that than she might realize. I printed out her Valentine’s poem a few minutes ago, and I hope this serves as a supplement. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe; I love you.
On the death of Justice Scalia: I appreciated his efforts to establish that laws and the Constitution had meanings, and that if necessary, those meanings should be understood in terms of what the Framers meant. As a literary scholar of a rather old-fashioned bent, Scalia’s approach made a great deal of sense to me, whereas the theory of “the living Constitution” strikes me as the equivalent of saying that Moby-Dick was about the Republic of Ireland (or at least had the Republic in its penumbrae), because wouldn’t it be nice if it were so? Even if we agree about the niceness of the result (and frequently I don’t), it does violence to the text in the service of providing a fig leaf for some other agenda.
Justice Scalia had a good life. May he rest peacefully, and with my thanks and appreciation.
On the writing scene, I’m pleased to report that I’ll be taking part in a reading at McCray’s Tavern in Lawrenceville, GA, in the Atlanta burbs, on Sunday, 3 April. It’s part of an unofficial national series called “Noir at the Bar,” and I attended one at Bouchercon last year. Having taken part as a fan, I can assure you it’s a good time, and with readers including Eryk Pruitt, James Ray Tuck, Ed Brock, Ashley Erwin, Grant Jerkins, and Peter Farris, it should be great fun. More details as I have them, but if you’re in the area, I’d love to see you there!
And it wouldn’t be a potpourri without a musical conclusion, so here’s a little oddity for you. I think we can classify this as rockabilly, but what it mainly is, is creepy as hell — which given the subject matter, seems appropriate. The artist is Gin Gillette, about whom I know nothing — and a Google search indicates that I have plenty of company. The track (especially the guitar) sounds like it was recorded underwater, but it’s quite compelling in its own gnarly way. So from sometime in the 60s, here’s Gin Gillette, with “Train to Satanville.”
See you soon!