To the blogroll!

Ok, stop the presses--Jimmy Beck takes the next step toward world domination: starting his own blog. Happiness is a vibrating egg (not just a singing one).

The Count joins the rank of champions of the book quest (which I would've spotted sooner if Technorati weren't so flakey--Dave, it's not just you), and shares info on someone else's fabulous project:

I propose to create, with the help of the Book Review's readers, a literary map of Manhattan -- not of its authors' haunts but those of their characters, a map of the literary stars' homes. [...]

Locating other houses requires close reading or at least alert looking. Bernard Waber places Lyle, Lyle Crocodile for us: ''This is the house. The house on East 88th Street.'' But where on East 88th Street? The clue comes in an illustration: the amiable reptile stands on his front stoop looking at a house to his left marked No. 234. That puts Lyle's own house at No. 236. Alas, a visit to the block shows not the charming brownstone where Lyle lolled but an ordinary tenement. Lyle's house, like Lyle, is a fiction. As it happens, Harriet the Spy lives in the same neighborhood, in a house on East 87th. You'd think someone as clever as she would have noticed a crocodile around the block.

Indeed.

I love wandering through my blogroll only to be sideswiped by the beauty I so easily forget...

Pisan Cantos, LXXXI

What thou lovest well remains,
the rest is dross
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee
What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage
Whose world, or mine or theirs
or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee

~ Ezra Pound

(via wood s lot)

(All apologies for not yet figuring out how to indent individual lines in blogger.)