Monday was lovely.  I don’t think that’s a sentence I’ve ever typed before, but I shall explain.  After work I met Sarah and Becky at Sushi O in Raleigh, where we feasted and caught up on each other’s news.  From there we went to King’s Barcade to hear The Lighthouse and the Whaler in concert.  The opening artist was exceedingly unpromising; I felt very, very sorry for the singer.  He kept trying to get the audience involved, but all of his songs were downers.  I felt deeply  uncomfortable clapping along to a song about someone’s dying mother.  Mercifully, his set dragged to an end at last, and we excitedly waited for Lighthouse to take the stage…only to find there was a second opening band called Neulore.  Fearing another unwanted trip into a stranger’s psyche, we braced for the worst–and were pleasantly astounded when Neulore turned out to be as good (maybe even better) than Lighthouse.   See the music area below for a bunch of links to their music; you’ve got to check these folks out.

Other events this week included watermelon and discipleship on Wednesday and coffee with a friend I’ve not seen in a long time on Thursday.  This weekend I’m wending my way to Winston Salem to see a pack of friends, so there is much laughter and very little sleep predicted.  I can’t wait!


Know this:


Books: You may remember me enthusing over the recent publication of The Fall of Arthur by J.R.R. Tolkien.  I guiltily paid full price for it at B&N, but after reading it, I have no regrets.  It was worth every cent.  Latest in a long line of posthumous publications edited and compiled by Tolkien’s son Christopher, The Fall of Arthur is a tragically incomplete alliterative poem in the Northern and Anglo-Saxon tradition.  Think Arthurian Beowulf.  If there’s anything more perfectly calculated to make me fall in love with it, I’ve never encountered it.  The poem is absolutely exquisite, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive Tolkien for dying without finishing it.  Aside from the subject matter, the poem itself is an astounding piece of skill.  English alliterative meter is no joke, and according to Christopher, his father just dashed large chunks of it off without batting an eyelash.  Christopher’s extremely detailed (if a little dull) analysis of the evolution of the poem is still worth a read, and if you read nothing else of the supplementary materials, at least check out the Appendix on the verse form so that you can appreciate the difficulty of writing alliterative verse.

I breezed through The Burning Hills by Louis L’Amour as a dusty, danger-filled, light-hearted excursion before tackling something more challenging.  Grim westerns are my comfort food, evidently.