“Beauty is difficult,” Mayor Cacciari said, sounding as if he were addressing a graduate seminar in aesthetics rather than answering a question about municipal policy. He quoted Ezra Pound (the American poet, buried in Venice) quoting Aubrey Beardsley’s line to William Butler Yeats, a kind of literary game of telephone.
Mark Cavendish has started the Tour three times, but never finished. He’s never made it this far before, and I think you can see the difference in this interview, after his most recent stage win, his fifth this Tour. The arrogance that makes him good television is gone, left behind in the mountains maybe, replaced by an even deeper respect for what his team does to get him to the finish line.
Crazy, but humble still manages to be good TV.
I have to remember to go back to SFU every once and a while to visit this painting. I definitely have to go back to find the artist’s name because I can’t find it now.
Maybe my favourite thing about the semester I spent up on the mountain.
Pianos seem to have been thrown around with frenzied violence–an observation that says as much about the popularity of pianos as it does about the strength of the shocks.
The planet very briefly shrugged.
The pleasure of sport was so often the chance to indulge in the cessation of time itself–the pitcher dawdling on the mound, the skier poised at the top of a mountain trail, the basketball player with the rough skin of the ball against his palm preparing for a foul shot, the tennis player at set point over his opponent–all of them savoring a moment before committing themselves to action.