Anne Sexton poem

As MUG has done on past 9/11 anniversaries, today it features Anne Sexton's 1975 poem "Riding the Elevator Into the Sky."

Raining

My memory might be playing me false, but hasn't every September 11 in New York, from 2001 to 2006, been piercingly beautiful—sun, blue skies? And the weather somehow made the connection to 9-11 that much sharper: It was just like today...

(I say this because it's been raining all morning.)

Tucked away in the Times: "I never intended to make flying on Sept. 11 an annual ritual."

MUG runs Anne Sexton's 1975 poem "Riding the Elevator Into the Sky," as it's done for the past couple of years.

I had other stuff to blog about, but let's wait till tomorrow.

Getting MUGGY out there —

The inimitable MUG isn't too impressed with a new restaurant—and we chuckled at this image of a pair of post-apocalyptic diners:

Some of the food is passably good: the churrasco is properly tender and the monkfish is allowed to speak for itself. But the beef and the monkfish (entrees average $26) are in a small minority. The biggest tell is what the kitchen sends out as paella. A grim, desiccated wasteland of overcooked fish, even the father and son in Cormac McCarthy's The Road might toss this mess aside. No restaurant that truly loved seafood would do this to the crustaceans and mollusks, which were, after all, victims, not conspirators in the felony.

* * *

Anyone following the Prydain string below might like Levi's latest musings on children's lit, over at I've Been Reading Lately.