Running After My Hat

Ridiculous Pursuits, Solemn Matters

Adjust text size: Decrease text size Increase text size

  • Home
  • About Running After My Hat
  • Navigating RAMH
  • Fridays at RAMH
  • The Propagational Library

The Gods Who Live in the Gaps between Time and the World

By John on October 17, 2014 | 5 Responses

Opening scene from Myst ('realMyst Masterpiece Edition')

[Image: opening scene from the classic computer game Myst, as rendered in the later so-called realMyst: Masterpiece Edition. (Click to enlarge.) For some wool-gathering about Myst, see the bottom of this post.]

From whiskey river:

Reality is greater than the sum of its parts, also a damn sight holier. And the lives of such stuff as dreams are made of may be rounded with a sleep but they are not tied neatly with a red bow. Truth doesn’t run on time like a commuter train, though time may run on truth. And the Scenes Gone By and the Scenes to Come flow blending together in the sea-green deep while Now spreads in circles on the surface.

(Ken Kesey [source])

…and:

October

I used to think the land
had something to say to us,
back when wildflowers
would come right up to your hand
as if they were tame.

Sooner or later, I thought,
the wind would begin to make sense
if I listened hard
and took notes religiously.
That was spring.

Now I’m not so sure:
the cloudless sky has a flat affect
and the fields plowed down after harvest
seem so expressionless,
keeping their own counsel.

This afternoon, nut tree leaves
blow across them
as if autumn had written us a long letter,
changed its mind,
and tore it into little scraps.

(Don Thompson [source])

…and:

I am here not only to evade for a while the clamor and filth and confusion of the cultural apparatus but also to confront, immediately and directly if it’s possible, the bare bones of existence, the elemental and fundamental, the bedrock which sustains us. I want to be able to look at and into a juniper tree, a piece of quartz, a vulture, a spider, and see it as it is in itself, devoid of all humanly ascribed qualities, anti-Kantian, even the categories of scientific description. To meet God or Medusa face to face, even if it means risking everything human in myself. I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with a non-human world and yet somehow survives still intact, individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.

(Edward Abbey [source])

Continue reading “The Gods Who Live in the Gaps between Time and the World”

Send to Kindle

Posted in In the News, Looking Backward, Ruminations, Television, Video/Computer Gaming, whiskey river Fridays | Tagged Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Don Thompson, Edward Abbey, Myst, Patrick Dubost, time and space | 5 Responses

Regarding the Air

By John on October 10, 2014 | Leave a response

Resuspended volcanic ash over Katmai National Park, Alaska

[Image: photo by NASA's Terra satellite, taken September 29, 2014. (Click to enlarge.)
See the note at the foot of this post for more information.]

From whiskey river:

Our awareness is overwhelmed by hundreds of different thoughts, feelings and sensations. Some we latch onto because they’re attractive fantasies or scary preoccupations; some we try to shove away because they’re too upsetting or because they distract us from whatever we’re trying to accomplish at the moment.

Instead of focusing on some of them and pushing away others, though, just look at them as feathers flying in the wind. The wind is your awareness, your inborn openness and clarity. Feathers — the thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations that pass through our awareness — are harmless. Some may be more attractive than others, some less attractive; but essentially they’re just feathers. Look at them as fuzzy, curly things floating through the air.

(Ngawang Tsoknyi Gyatso [source])

…and:

Fall

Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
With the final remaining cardinals) and then
Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last
Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground.
At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees
In a season of odd, dusky congruences — a scarlet tanager
And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever
Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun
Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance,
A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud
Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything
Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s
Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment
Pulling out of the station according to schedule,
Another moment arriving on the next platform. It
Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away
From their branches and gather slowly at our feet,
Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving
Around us even as its colorful weather moves us,
Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets.
And every year there is a brief, startling moment
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air:
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies;
It is the changing light of fall falling on us.

(Edward Hirsch [source])

Continue reading “Regarding the Air”

Send to Kindle

Posted in Art & Photography, Everyday Life, How It Was, Poetry, Reading, Ruminations, whiskey river Fridays, Writing | Tagged Alaska, autumn, B.H. Fairchild, childhood games, Edward Hirsch, Katmai National Park, NASA, Tsoknyi Rinpoche, volcanoes | Leave a response

Distant Cool Dark

By John on October 3, 2014 | 3 Responses

[Video: "Composition Complete Track - Bossa 1," by Volkmar Studtrucker. See the note
at the foot of this post for details.]

From whiskey river:

Impermanence is not just of philosophical interest. It’s very personal. Until we accept and deeply understand in our very being that things change from moment to moment, and never stop even for one instant, only then can we let go. And when we really let go inside, the relief is enormous. Ironically this gives release to a whole new dimension of love. People think that if someone is unattached, they are cold. But this isn’t true. Anyone who has met very great spiritual masters who are really unattached is immediately struck by their warmth to all beings, not just to the ones they happen to like or are related to. Non-attachment releases something very profound inside us, because it releases that level of fear. We all have so much fear: fear of losing, fear of change, an inability to just accept.

…It’s like a dance. And we have to give each being space to dance their dance. Everything is dancing; even the molecules inside the cells are dancing. But we make our lives so heavy. We have these incredibly heavy burdens we carry with us like rocks in a big rucksack. We think that carrying this big heavy rucksack is our security; we think it grounds us. We don’t realize the freedom, the lightness of just dropping it off, letting it go. That doesn’t mean giving up relationships; it doesn’t mean giving up one’s profession, or one’s family, or one’s home. It has nothing to do with that; it’s not an external change. It’s an internal change. It’s a change from holding on tightly to holding very lightly.

(Jetsumna Tenzin Palmo [source])

…and:

Of Time

Don’t even ask how rapidly the hummingbird
lives his life.
You can’t imagine. A thousand flowers a day,
a little sleep, then the same again, then
he vanishes.
I adore him.

Yet I adore also the drowse of mountains.

And in the human world, what is time?
In my mind there is Rumi, dancing.
There is Li Po drinking from the winter stream.
There is Hafiz strolling through Shiraz, his feet
loving the dust.

(Mary Oliver [source])

…and:

The coolness of Buddhism isn’t indifference but the distance one gains on emotions, the quiet place from which to regard the turbulence. From far away you see the pattern, the connections, and the thing as whole, see all the islands and the routes between them. Up close it all dissolves into texture and incoherence and immersion, like a face going out of focus just before a kiss.

(Rebecca Solnit [source])

Continue reading “Distant Cool Dark”

Send to Kindle

Posted in Language, Music, Poetry, Ruminations, Science & Medicine, whiskey river Fridays, Writing | Tagged astronomy, Buddhism, dark, impermanence, Mark Strand, Mary Oliver, Rebecca Solnit, Tenzin Palmo, Tom Hennen, Volkmar Studtrucker, Wislawa Szymborska | 3 Responses

We Always Knew This

By John on September 26, 2014 | Leave a response

'Flossis' sculptures, by rosalie, in Dusseldorf, Germany

[Image: The caption of this photo as it appears on Flickr, in English translation, is "I always knew they would come sometime! Now they are here!" The photograph is by Heribert Pohl. (Used under a Creative Commons license.) For more about these "Flossis," sculpted by the artist known as Rosalie, see this page at Inthralld.com. Click the photo to enlarge it (it's big: almost 6MB).]

From whiskey river:

Questions About Angels

Of all the questions you might want to ask
about angels, the only one you ever hear
is how many can dance on the head of a pin.

No curiosity about how they pass the eternal time
besides circling the Throne chanting in Latin
or delivering a crust of bread to a hermit on earth
or guiding a boy and girl across a rickety wooden bridge.

Do they fly through God’s body and come out singing?
Do they swing like children from the hinges
of the spirit world saying their names backwards and forwards?
Do they sit alone in little gardens changing colors?

What about their sleeping habits, the fabric of their robes,
their diet of unfiltered divine light?
What goes on inside their luminous heads? Is there a wall
these tall presences can look over and see hell?

If an angel fell off a cloud, would he leave a hole
in a river and would the hole float along endlessly
filled with the silent letters of every angelic word?

If an angel delivered the mail, would he arrive
in a blinding rush of wings or would he just assume
the appearance of the regular mailman and
whistle up the driveway reading the postcards?

No, the medieval theologians control the court.
The only question you ever hear is about
the little dance floor on the head of a pin
where halos are meant to converge and drift invisibly.

It is designed to make us think in millions,
billions, to make us run out of numbers and collapse
into infinity, but perhaps the answer is simply one:
one female angel dancing alone in her stocking feet,
a small jazz combo working in the background.

She sways like a branch in the wind, her beautiful
eyes closed, and the tall thin bassist leans over
to glance at his watch because she has been dancing
forever, and now it is very late, even for musicians.

(Billy Collins [source])

…and:

It was one of those days when you can see the ghosts of all the other lovely days. You drink a bit and watch the ghosts of all the lovely days that have ever been from behind a glass.

(Jean Rhys [source])

…and:

I don’t like when precious things slip through people’s fingers — especially things that seem defenseless or undercelebrated, but also unheralded people who may have said sensible things at a certain time in history, but who were completely drowned out by other people. Or minor poets whose lives were instructive. Sometimes I’m astounded by the absence of sentimentality in other people. How can you not become attached to the poignant scraps that flow through life?

(Nicholson Baker [source])

Continue reading “We Always Knew This”

Send to Kindle

Posted in Art & Photography, Poetry, Reading, Ruminations, whiskey river Fridays, Writing | Tagged Billy Collins, Jan Frazier, Jean Rhys, Lev Grossman, Lita Hooper, Nicholson Baker, Rosalie, surprises | Leave a response

ADMIN (Sort of): Book Reviews on Goodreads

By John on September 21, 2014 | Leave a response

A few years ago, I posted a pretty good number of book reviews at a collaborative blog called The Book Book, curated by the blogger formerly (and probably forever) known as Moonrat. It was a pretty successful site in many ways — over 600 posts, spread over the five or six years of peak activity — and the quality of the reviews was about what you’d expect, given Moonrat’s professional standards. (She was/is an editor at a NYC publishing firm.)

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to be putting those reviews on Goodreads as well. I won’t be removing them from The Book Book — in fact, I’ll include a link to the original review in the version posted on Goodreads. But otherwise, the reviews (with possibly some minor changes) will be identical. My hope is that they’ll prove useful to a wider audience at Goodreads.

(And btw, yes: I’ve checked with Moonrat and with Goodreads to be sure this will be all right.)

Whenever I posted a Book Book review, I announced it with a post here. In some cases, the RAMH posts themselves might have included some useful extras (including comments from blog followers). In those cases, I’ll probably link from Goodreads to RAMH. But I’m not meaning at all for this as a “boost my stats” venture. (I don’t even look at stats anymore, although I guess they’re still out there somewhere.)

If you’ve been following RAMH, or The Book Book for that matter, you won’t find anything new in my Goodreads reviews unless and until I start posting honest-to-gods new reviews there more often. (Heh.)

Send to Kindle

Posted in Book Reviews, Running After My Hat, The Online World | Tagged Goodreads, MoonRat, The Book Book | Leave a response

All Those Pasts of Yours

By John on September 19, 2014 | Leave a response

'Lost in Time,' by Alice Popkorn on Flickr

[Image: "lost in time," by Alice Popkorn. Found on Flickr; used under a Creative Commons license.]

From whiskey river:

While it’s true you’re haunted by your past, it’s truer that you’ve traveled spectacularly far away from it. You swam across a wide and wild sea and you made it all the way to the other side. That it feels different here on this shore than you thought it would does not negate the enormity of the distance you traversed and the strength it took you to do it.

(Cheryl Strayed [source])

…and:

But what is the past? Could it be, the firmness of the past is just illusion? Could the past be a kaleidoscope, a pattern of images that shift with each disturbance of a sudden breeze, a laugh, a thought? And if the shift is everywhere, how would we know?

(Alan Lightman [source])

…and:

Listen: you are not yourself, you are crowds of others, you are as leaky a vessel as was ever made, you have spent vast amounts of your life as someone else, as people who died long ago, as people who never lived, as strangers you never met. The usual I we are given has all the tidy containment of the kind of character the realist novel specializes in and none of the porousness of our every waking moment, the loose threads, the strange dreams, the forgettings and misrememberings, the portions of a life lived through others’ stories, the incoherence and inconsistency, the pantheon of dei ex machina and the companionability of ghosts. There are other ways of telling.

(Rebecca Solnit [source])

Continue reading “All Those Pasts of Yours”

Send to Kindle

Posted in Looking Backward, Poetry, Ruminations, whiskey river Fridays, Writing | Tagged Alan Lightman, Cheryl Strayed, James Galvin, Rebecca Solnit, stories, the past, time | Leave a response

Of Scotland, and Towers of Strength

By John on September 17, 2014 | 1 Response

[Lyrics]

As you likely know, whether you’re in the United Kingdom or not, tomorrow Scottish voters will determine their independence from the rest of the UK. I have no personal stake in the outcome, other than having a Facebook friend who’s been very active in the “Independence YES” movement.

But I do have a philosophical/political stake in it.

As an American lefty of long standing, I’m accustomed to what might be termed Political Bipolar Disorder (PBD). Horror (at the enthusiastic handiwork of those on the right) alternates with disillusion (when my political heroes, inevitably, turn out rather wobbly-kneed once they actually get into office). Elections — even midterm ones, even primaries — can be exhausting affairs.

But what seems to be happening in Scotland — oh my. Which is to say, Go, YES!

On September 7, New York Times columnist (and Nobel Prize-winning economist) Paul Krugman contributed his own view on the debate. (With a title like “Scots, What the Heck?” it was bound to trigger inflamed opinion on both sides.) His central point: a YES vote makes no sense on economic grounds. (Scotland may or may not end up with a national currency called “the pound,” or possibly “the Euro,” and whatever it’s called, it may have little or nothing to do with any other such currency of the same name.)

Krugman is right, or at least not flat-out wrong, about one thing: the Scots need to be clear-eyed about the election, no matter the outcome. If (as seems about to happen) YES succeeds, disentangling themselves from a “partner” of centuries’ standing will likely bring many, many pains.

I sincerely hope the American experience will not be any guide. If it is, Alex Salmond — who heads the Scottish National Party, or SNP, and would likely become an independent Scotland’s first leader — may turn out to be something quite other than what he has seemed all along.

But the normally perceptive Krugman strikes me as wrong, wrong, wrong on the overall case for or against independence. So wrong, in fact, that his column (on which comments were closed by the time I read it) induced me to write a letter to the editor.

The Times‘s policy is to notify you if your letter will be printed, and they claim a seven-day response time. Given then that I have not heard from them, I think it’s safe to share my letter with you:

Re: Paul Krugman’s “Scots, What the Heck?” (2014-09-07)… I don’t live in Scotland, or anywhere in the UK, but I’ve been following the news about the upcoming independence vote. And I believe Krugman’s got it wrong, for one of those very rare occasions.

He writes eloquently and persuasively of the economic risks for an independent Scotland. But the Yes movement seems not to be about the economy (although they do talk of economic issues, wisely or not). It reminds me instead of the old Gene McDaniel song, “Tower of Strength,” which begins: “If I were a tower of strength, I’d walk away / I’d look in your eyes and here’s what I’d say / ‘I don’t want you, I don’t need you / I don’t love you any more’ / And I’d walk out that door.”

Scolding Scottish Yes supporters for not using their heads in this vote — especially over the economics — strikes me as rather like scolding a woman in an abusive relationship with her otherwise “respectable” husband: at some point, you’ve just gotta walk out that door.

For at least thirty years, official Britain has seemed (from a distance) determined to ape the worst practices and policies of its American counterparts. Yes, yes, the country still does what it needs to stay “quaint,” “historic,” “charming,” and so on. It’s getting harder and harder to believe that’s more than a two-dimensional façade, though. Driving on the left, half-timbered houses, and royal ritual just don’t carry the same weight as they used to for me. You can’t revere Margaret Thatcher, place a surveillance camera every fifty or hundred yards along every street, snuggle up to the American right, and somehow still convince me that you — no, really! no kidding! — remain, y’know, jolly old England.

On the other hand, Scotland’s got a history of leaning left. It’s just been held relatively powerless by the UK political system and constitutional constraints. Specifically, in the case of this vote, the YES party seeks to dispense with British nukes and British control over North Sea oil, overturn British immigration policies, shore up social resources like education and the National Health Service… It’s like a laundry list of things that American lefties wish would happen on this side of the pond.

So maybe it’s projection — maybe even nothing more than projection — but I really, really hope that Scots go the tower-of-strength route tomorrow.

Send to Kindle

Posted in In the News, Music, Politics, Ruminations | Tagged Gene McDaniels, liberalism, nationalism, Scotland | 1 Response

The Trap of What Never (Might Have) Happened

By John on September 12, 2014 | 1 Response

10th July 2008 - The Dream Diary, by practicalowl on Flickr

[Image: "10th July 2008 - The Dream Diary," by user practicalowl on Flickr.com. (Right-click and view in a new window/tab for a much larger version.)) Used under a Creative Commons license.]

From whiskey river:

Song for the Deer and Myself to Return On

This morning when I looked out the roof window
before dawn and a few stars were still caught
in the fragile weft of ebony night
I was overwhelmed. I sang the song Louis taught me:
a song to call the deer in Creek, when hunting,
and I am certainly hunting something as magic as deer
in this city far from the hammock of my mother’s belly.
It works, of course, and deer came into this room
and wondered at finding themselves
in a house near downtown Denver.
Now the deer and I are trying to figure out a song
to get them back, to get all of us back,
because if it works I’m going with them.
And it’s too early to call Louis
and nearly too late to go home.

for Louis Oliver

(Joy Harjo [source])

…and:

Some religions call life a dream, or a dreaming, but what if it is a memory? What if this new world isn’t new at all but a memory of a new world?

What if we really do keep making the same mistakes again and again, never remembering the lessons to learn but never forgetting either that it had been different, that there was a pristine place?

Perhaps the universe is a memory of our mistakes.

(Jeanette Winterson [source])

…and:

Birthday
(excerpt)

I know this world is far from perfect.
I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.
But every ocean has a shoreline
and every shoreline has a tide
that is constantly returning
to wake the songbirds in our hands,
to wake the music in our bones,
to place one fearless kiss
on the mouth of that new born river
that has to run through the center of our hearts
to find its way home.

(Andrea Gibson [source])

…and:

Shuttered Windows

To speak of the smell and feel
of books, the erotics of the text,
has begun to sound perverse

One by one, the old places of worship
churches, bookstores, Nature herself
become quaint and are vacated

In their stead a gleaming, ambitious screen
part shuttered window, part distorting mirror
full of wandering, restless spirits

Like so many ghosts in limbo —
free of the tyranny of bodies,
yet aching for their phantom limbs.

(Yahia Lababidi [source])

Continue reading “The Trap of What Never (Might Have) Happened”

Send to Kindle

Posted in Art & Photography, Music, Poetry, Ruminations, whiskey river Fridays, Writing | Tagged Andrea Gibson, dreams, Jeanette Wnterson, Joni Mitchell, Joy Harjo, memory, Michael Hettich, Yahia Lababidi, Zadie Smith | 1 Response

Weekend Music Break: Mozart’s “Divertimento No. 11 for Oboe, Two Horns & Strings in D Major / K.251″

By John on September 7, 2014 | Leave a response

Album cover: LaserLight recording (1990), Mozart 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, (etc.)'Something called a divertimento certainly sounds like something I’d want to listen to on (say) an idle Sunday afternoon.

And yet, yet… featuring oboes? Aren’t they kind of, well, somber?

Not in Mozart’s hands, evidently. Wikipedia says this work “was written in July 1776 in Salzburg, possibly for the name day of Mozart’s sister, Nannerl on July 26th or her birthday on July 30th”… which would certainly explain the light feel of this piece.

I can’t pretend to know the significance of the musical terminology for the six movements, but here are their names (and lengths) per the recording I have.

  1. Molto Allegro (4:43)
  2. Menuetto & Trio (3:39)
  3. Andantino (3:58)
  4. Menuetto (4:10)
  5. Rondeau, Allegro assai (5:05)
  6. Marcia alla francese (2:18)

(This is the 1990 LaserLight recording, which doesn’t identify performers for specific pieces. As you can see from the image above, though, the album cover attributes the album as a whole to these performers: Franz Lizst Chamber Orchestra; Berlin Chamber Orchestra; and the Budapest Wind Ensemble.)

[Below, click Play button to begin Mozart: Divertimento No. 11 for Oboes, Horns, and Strings in D Major. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left -- a row of little vertical bars. This clip as a whole is about 23 minutes long.]

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Send to Kindle

Posted in Everyday Life, Music | Tagged classical music, Mozart, weekend music break | Leave a response

Small Things Big, Big Things Small

By John on September 5, 2014 | Leave a response

Image from 'Mountains and Molehills, or: Recollections of a Burnt Journal,' by Frank Marryat

[Image: illustration from Mountains and Molehills; or, Recollections of a Burnt Journal (1855), by one Frank Marryat. (Click image to enlarge.) For the complete book in various formats, see the Internet Archive. For more information about this image in particular, see the note at the foot of this post.]

From whiskey river (italicized portion):

The Swan

Across the wide waters
something comes
floating—a slim
and delicate

ship, filled
with white flowers—
and it moves
on its miraculous muscles

as though time didn’t exist,
as though bringing such gifts
to the dry shore
was a happiness

almost beyond bearing.
And now it turns its dark eyes,
it rearranges
the clouds of its wings,

it trails
an elaborate webbed foot,
the color of charcoal.
Soon it will be here.

Oh, what shall I do
when that poppy-colored beak
rests in my hand?
Said Mrs. Blake of the poet:

I miss my husband’s company—
he is so often
in paradise.
Of course! the path to heaven

doesn’t lie down in flat miles.
It’s in the imagination
with which you perceive
this world,

and the gestures
with which you honor it.
Oh, what will I do, what will I say, when those white wings
touch the shore?

(Mary Oliver [source])

…and:

Time has no meaning, space and place have no meaning, on this journey. All times can be inhabited, all places visited. In a single day the mind can make a millpond of the oceans. Some people who have never crossed the land they were born on have traveled all over the world. The journey is not linear, it is always back and forth, denying the calendar, the wrinkles and lines of the body. The self is not contained in any moment or any place, but it is only in the intersection of moment and place that the self might, for a moment, be seen vanishing through a door, which disappears at once.

(Jeanette Winterson [source])

…and:

Living

The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer.

The wind blowing, the leaves
shivering in the sun,
each day the last day.

A red salamander
so cold and so
easy to catch, dreamily

moves his delicate feet
and long tail. I hold
my hand open for him to go.

Each minute the last minute.

(Denise Levertov [source])

Continue reading “Small Things Big, Big Things Small”

Send to Kindle

Posted in Movies, Poetry, Reading, Research/Resources, Ruminations, Science & Medicine, whiskey river Fridays, Writing | Tagged Big Fish, Denise Levertov, Don DeLillo, Frank Marryat, gold mining, Gold Rush, Jeanette Winterson, Lynn Aarti Chandhok, Mary Oliver, Mary Roach, Tim Burton | Leave a response

Next »

Archives

October 2014
SunMonTueWedThuFriSat
« Sep  
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031 

RSS Hats Recently Chased

  • The Gods Who Live in the Gaps between Time and the World
  • Regarding the Air
  • Distant Cool Dark
  • We Always Knew This
  • ADMIN (Sort of): Book Reviews on Goodreads
  • All Those Pasts of Yours
  • Of Scotland, and Towers of Strength
  • The Trap of What Never (Might Have) Happened
  • Weekend Music Break: Mozart’s “Divertimento No. 11 for Oboe, Two Horns & Strings in D Major / K.251″
  • Small Things Big, Big Things Small

Subscription Options

Subscribe via RSSSubscribe via Email

Categories

  • ▼In the Blood (1062)
    • Looking Backward (172)
    • ►Everyday Life (699)
      • Hearing (24)
      • Obsessions (9)
      • Ruminations (448)
    • ►Family (166)
      • The Missus (105)
  • ▼In the News (416)
    • Celebrities (50)
    • History (49)
    • Nature & Pets (69)
    • Politics (23)
    • Science & Medicine (100)
  • ▼Running After My Hat (640)
    • Flange (4)
    • Midweek Music Break (133)
    • Patterns (1)
    • Paying Attention (17)
    • Perfect Moments (13)
    • Real-Life Dialogue (17)
    • Story Up My Sleeve (32)
    • The Golden Treasury of Natural History (3)
    • What’s in a Song (18)
    • whiskey river Fridays (309)
  • ▼Tech (380)
    • ►Computers (36)
      • ►Operating Systems (14)
        • Linux/Ubuntu (6)
        • Windows (3)
    • GPS (3)
    • ►The Internet (261)
      • The Online World (211)
    • Phones (Cellular and Otherwise) (9)
    • Programming, Web Design, Databases (18)
    • Video/Computer Gaming (8)
  • ▼The Media (942)
    • Advertising/Packaging (32)
    • Art & Photography (159)
    • Books as Books (32)
    • ►Cartoons & Animation (55)
      • Looney Tunes (5)
    • Comics (24)
    • Movies (143)
    • Music (375)
    • Radio (11)
    • Television (64)
    • Theater (19)
  • ▼Writing (1705)
    • Book Reviews (29)
    • Crossed Wires (4)
    • ►E-Books, E-Reading, E-Publishing (33)
      • My Kindle (14)
    • Fantasy (9)
    • Seems to Fit (51)
    • Horror (2)
    • How It Was (19)
    • Humor (145)
    • Language (151)
    • Merry-Go-Round (16)
    • Poetry (302)
    • The Propagational Library (20)
    • Reading (186)
    • Research/Resources (45)
    • Science Fiction (10)
    • Short Fiction (98)
    • Style and Craft (136)
    • The Business (39)

Touchstones

  • Communicatrix
  • Froogville
  • Mature Landscaping
  • Nuts & Mutton
  • Querulous Squirrel
  • Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast
  • Suburban Soliloquy
  • The Burrow
  • Whaddaya mean, do I have room for dessert?
  • What Kate Did Next
  • writing in the water

Je Ne Sais Quoi...

  • Brain Pickings
  • David Byrne Journal
  • Dealing in Subterfuges
  • Haven Kimmel
  • in the fairy tale asylum
  • Libba Bray
  • Living in Dryden
  • whiskey river
  • xkcd

Writers to Be Read

  • Dancing with Dragons…
  • DarcKnyt
  • Julie Weathers
  • Livia Blackburne
  • Making Room
  • One Word, One Rung, One Day
  • Speak Coffee to Me

Family/Friends/Alter Egos

  • A Dog Starv’d
  • Anhinga Press
  • Because We're Men
  • Burning Lines
  • Diana Gabaldon
  • Floyd Kemske
  • Innocence Project of Florida
  • Lifting Fog
  • Nonordinary Time
  • SOME Architects

The Pantheon

  • Alan Watts
  • Annie Dillard
  • Bruce Schneier
  • Diane Ackerman
  • Don DeLillo
  • E.B. White
  • James Thurber
  • Janet Evanovich
  • Jean Shepherd
  • John McPhee
  • Joseph Heller
  • Kurt Vonnegut
  • Pauline Kael
  • Quentin Reynolds
  • Robert M. Pirsig
  • Thomas Pynchon

Book News, Book Reviews

  • Book Beast
  • Book Roast
  • Book Trib
  • Bookgasm
  • The Book Book
  • The Rumpus

The Pros

  • Editorial Ass
  • Et in Arcaedia, Ego
  • FinePrint Blog
  • Janet Reid
  • Nathan Bransford
  • Pimp My Novel
  • Pub Rants
  • Shelly Lowenkopf
  • The Intern

Writers' Biz Resources

  • AgentQuery
  • Bookfox: Literary Journals, Ranked
  • Duotrope’s Digest
  • LitMatch
  • Newpages.com Lit Mag List

Music Resources/News

  • Art of the Mix
  • Beat Surrender
  • dereksmusicblog
  • Jazz Standards
  • Largehearted Boy
  • My Old Kentucky Blog
  • NPR Music
  • Paste Magazine
  • Second Hand Songs
  • The Bluegrass Special
  • The Midnight Special
  • The Onion A.V. Club

Stuff, More Stuff

  • Amazon
  • Newegg.com

Elsewhere

  • Facebook
  • Google+
  • Twitter

Meta

  • Log in
  • Entries RSS
  • Comments RSS
  • WordPress.org

Copyright © 2014 Running After My Hat.

Powered by WordPress, Hybrid, and Leviathan.