Robert Frost

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Frost liked going to school in Salem and having his mother as teacher. He won the respect of his classmates because of his talent for hurling a baseball; in the school yard on weekends and after school, he developed a fastball, which he called a “jump ball,” a curve, and a drop ball. His first career goal, as of 1886, was to pitch in the major leagues. “He loved to talk about baseball,” said a friend, “and knew the players going back half a century - even minor ones.” He played into late middle age, often dazzling his colleagues and students at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference with his pitching ability and determination. “He played to win,” recalled Reginald L. Cook, a professor of American literature … “In fact, if he didn’t win, there was a price to pay. Winning was the point, he would say.”

-- Jay Parini, “Robert Frost: A Life”

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George Eliot

David Brooks seems to have done some appreciable reading on George Eliot, the "Middlemarch" novelist. In today's column, he shares some excerpts from a love letter that she wrote to Herbert Spencer, the philosopher and evolutionist. She was not a physically prepossessing woman and was a little desperate. She wanted this one to happen.

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Those who have known me best have already said that if ever I loved any one thoroughly, my whole life must turn upon that feeling, and I find they said truly

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If you become attached to someone else, then I must die, but until then I could gather courage to work and make life valuable, if only I had you near me. I do not ask you to sacrifice anything — I would be very glad and cheerful and never annoy you.

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I suppose no woman ever before wrote such a letter as this — but I am not ashamed of it, for I am conscious in the light of reason and true refinement I am worthy of your respect and tenderness, whatever gross men or vulgar-minded women might think of me.

-- George Eliot (1852)

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Alas, without physical charms, the most passionate love letter cannot arouse an other's desire. As Brooks wrote, "Spencer liked her company but could not overcome his own narcissism and her lack of beauty."

Miss Girlie

It looks like my last possibility for some sexy-flirty play has died. Miss Girlie is the last hottie left that shows up on my Friends Page. She comes and goes, and the last time she popped in, she posted that quiz on rape fantasies. I thought things were beginning to heat up. But then she doused my little flirtation without the least bit of mercy. Then, after that, she posts about how she is all hot and bothered by another guy who keeps hitting on her despite her boyfriend. No doubt it is another white guy. Another Asian chick who only goes for white dick. It is very common. Even Gabe suffers this syndrome. White men like Asian girls, and why not get a full man if you can, right? Well, it is not as though my only problem here is the hue of my skin or the height of my head or the length of my dick, but it is a punctuating kick in the groin. As my flame is flickering out.

Chores

It's late, almost dinner time. I'm thinking about what to eat as I take a piss, and then I remember: I was supposed to clean the toilet today! Pop should be back tomorrow. I see that, despite the wintry darkness outside, it is still only a quarter after six, and I get busy.

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Even though I feel rushed in cleaning the toilet tonight, I need to dig deeper into my sink's cabinet for a spray-cleaner. I see that it is corroded and look for another, and I see that I have quite a bit of stuff in there that I never cared to check out before. It has been piled up back there since mother died fourteen years ago. I feel a little industrious and decide to clear it out. She seems to have used this cabinet to store her collection of half-used Pine-Sol, with a couple of other goodies.

Elvis

The Colonel heard reports about Elvis from lieutenants and associates, and he went to Shreveport to catch his act at the Louisiana Hayride.

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The conversion was immediate. And so was his recognition of a vital factor about Presley: he was the only male performer selling what so many female performers sold - sex. Since then, of course, all the top rock stars have got in on the act, but in those days male singers were romantic, sad, heroic, inspiring, heartbroken - but they were never sexy.

-- “Elvis: What Happened?” by Steve Dunleavy

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