• I seem to be coming down with something — or at least that’s what I’m telling myself to justify skipping free, emergency readings in support of democracy from the likes of Kurt Vonnegut, Joan Didion, Laurie Anderson, Edward P. Jones et al., last night. I know: I’m lower than the lowliest slug. I don’t deserve to live in my adopted city. I probably don’t deserve to live, period. But here are some Vonnegut t-shirts, so that’s something. (Via Rake’s Progress; if you went to the reading, please send a report.)
  • Speaking of death, the 89th Annual Universal Congress of Esperanto was held last week. Says Dana, “I remember reading an obituary in the NY Times whose lede read ‘Fluent in Esperanto.’ I take back what I’ve said in the past, usually when drunk: I don’t want to die. Not until my obituary can carry a better lede than that.”
  • And speaking of illness, if you’re a freelance writer, be careful not to get sick. (Via Sarah.)
  • “Houses are like books,” Alice Hoffman says, kicking off an extended reflection on old houses, their stories, and the writing of those stories. And in the Daily Telegraph, Patrick Gale characterizes Hoffman’s latest novel as a captivating imagining of the people who once lived in an old Massachusetts farmhouse.

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