1. Happy lobster-tomato day
2. Antipodal: The Lion in Winter by James Goldman:
ELEANOR: I’m so relieved. I didn’t want to lose you.
HENRY: Out of curiosity, as intellectual to intellectual, how in the name of bleeding Jesus can you lose me? Do we ever see each other, am I ever near you, ever with you, am I ever anywhere but somewhere else? Do I write, do we send messages, do dinghies bearing gifts float up the Thames to you, are you remembered?
ELEANOR: You are.
HENRY: You’re no part of me, we do not touch at any point. How can you lose me?
ELEANOR: Can’t you feel the chains?
4. From Roger Angell, age 93, in this week's New Yorker:
Getting old is the second biggest surprise of my life, but the first, by a mile, is our unceasing need for deep attachment and intimate love. We oldies yearn daily and hourly for conversation and a renewed domesticity, for company at the movies or while visiting a museum, for someone close by in the car when coming home at night. This is why we throng Match.com and OKCupid in such numbers—but not just for this, surely. Rowing in Eden (in Emily Dickinson's words: "Rowing in Eden—/Ah—the sea!") isn't reserved for the lithe and young, the dating or the hooked-up or the just lavishly married, or even for couples in the middle-aged mixed-doubles semifinals, thank God. No personal confession or revelation impends here, but these feelings in old folks are widely treated as a raunchy secret. The invisibility factor—you've had your turn—is back at it again. But I believe that everyone in the world wants to be with someone else tonight, together in the dark, with the sweet warmth of a foot or a bare expanse of shoulder within reach. Those of us who have lost that, whatever our age, never lose the longing: just look at our faces. If it returns, we seize upon it avidly, stunned and altered again.
5. Let's hear it for the Manilow. Oh, what's that? A tear in your eye? You're welcome.
6. I lied before. I had this sixth lovely thing tucked away in my back pocket this whole entire time. Observe how the uniformed gent standing on the left, bisected though he may be, serves both to ground the frame and to place the beautiful man for certain right here on this earth, right here for an instant, just before he catches flight and bolts for the heavens.