Alright, Kristina, before you leave us for your boyfriend and Boston, before you dive into ontology and photography, before you dedicate your days to the books and your nights to the booze, before you lose track of the earth's revolutions — keeping time, instead, with semesters and exams — before all of that and everything else, if, in fact, you do decide you want to fill your spare moments with music — good music, produced with magic — then I've found a few things for you to read. I hope this will help.

I'm interested in this subject because my wife is unbelievably sensitive to motion—planes, boats, the middle seat of an automobile, they all make her ill.

Everything you know about Rembrandt may be wrong—except his greatness. Although, now that you mention it, that wasn't always a universally held opinion.

"You don't understand," said Huckleberry. "I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it."

As often as I photograph Bagheera, you'd think she get over being surprised by it.

I'm posting this link because it reminds me of my father-in-law, the least macho man I ever met—and one of the toughest. How tough was he? Well, in the 1930s he traveled through the South as a labor organizer for the hatter's union. He stood down thugs with axe-handles—and, having seen him get angry a time or two, I feel sorry for those poor ol' peckerwoods.