My Valentine’s Day Date

As my boyfriend put it, since he can’t make it to town for the holiday, “I figured I’d send you something from another hot renaissance man you appreciate.” It’s Criterion’s Paul Robeson: Portraits of the Artist box set, and it’s beautiful. Paul Robeson did not suck at anything, ever. All American football player, played professionally, great baseball player, valedictorian of his college, graduated law school, beautiful singer, political activist, brilliant actor, great orator…the way that America treated him was absolutely shameful.

Although I may have to supplement that with Colin Farrell shooting up Bruges. Someone’s making a giant cake over at MIT as well. I hope they don’t leave it out in the rain.

To the writers (and me!) out there, listen to your good friend John Darnielle (credit Village Voice): I go through times when I don’t write much, but I think “writers block” is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t believe in it. I think the times when you’re “blocked” are transitional times when your inspiration is sort of trying to re-direct you toward the place where you’ll eventually end up. Thinking of this state as a “block” is really counterproductive, pernicious even: you’re not “blocked,” you’re on a detour, and maybe the sights aren’t as pretty, but they’re still really valuable. That’s my take, anyway. I mean, if you couldn’t actually move your hands to make the pen go across the page, that’s a legitimate block. Otherwise, sit down and work!


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