Reading Humphrey Carpenter's biography of Tolkien. Keen. You have to like a popular biography this short (>300 pages) that nonetheless makes you want to go hunting for Icelandic sagas and maybe give Beowulf another chance. Maybe. Good warm-up if you're thinking about trying Perfesser T's Letters or the various History of Middle-Earth volumes. Sadly, Tolkien's lack of sexual scandal, derange-o foreign lecture tours, prison time, or spectacular bankruptcies means it's not as entertaining as Wossname's massive biography of Oscar Wilde. It's more like spending time with your Grampa. I'm assuming, of course, that your Grampa isn't one of those raving, malodorous Grampas. If so, never mind. I have no Grampa-related memories, so I just have to go by what I see in Kodak commercials.
Went out at lunchtime and found a store that sells Dawn outfits. I'm glad she's back - she's the upper-class needleuse of the doll world, a tiny little Edie Sedgwick with her giant lashes and indifferent, slightly baked expression. I'd bought one of the dolls earlier this year, and now she's got a nice little red plaid schoolgirl outfit to replace the go-go blue lamé horror she came packed in. Being Dawn, the red jersey top has a keyhole neckline to add that touch of ho that is her signature. She also gets a red plaid backpack, presumably to hold her lunch, Bloomingdale's card, and works.
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