Leaves of Grass Day

One hundred fifty years ago yesterday, Walt Whitman published Leaves of Grass, sounding his barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world and into high-school lit classes. How did you celebrate the big anniversary day? Here in Chicago, they had several parades, and lots of people shot off fireworks, which I think would have made Whitman happy.

I edited for most of the morning. I have a 200-page freelance project that I have to get done by Thursday. (I should probably be working on it right now.) Around 1:00, my favorite art historian and I climbed aboard a series of public transportation vehicles (her car being a $700 brake job from running safely) to get to Evanston, where we were to meet the Katherines, Nicole, and Brian for a 4:00 viewing of Howl's Moving Castle, the latest animated film by Hayao Miyazaki. It was really great to look at, but it didn't make a heck of a lot of sense. I really loved Turnip-Head the scarecrow.

After that, Brian and the art historian and I headed back down to Hyde Park. We ordered pizza, and then Brian and I watched Rabid Grannies, which is three things: Troma's best-made film, not a zombie movie, and almost watchable. Then Brian drove me over to the building where my bike was chained up, and I rode home in a mix of rain and fireworks that made me feel like the kid in Hope and Glory. Then I watched three-quarters of the silly dream episode in season five of The Sopranos (three-quarters because it started to skip), and then I went to bed.