The Quarter Rat

Coffeehouse Dandy

2012-01-11T12:13:00.000-06:00

While the Quarter is no longer the southern outpost of Greenwich Village Bohemia (one suspects that Bohemians are pretty thin on the ground in GV these days), one sees interesting/fabulous people from time to time. There's one holdover from the 60's who goes around in an old marching band tailcoat, a top hat and a cloud of patchouli. Then there are the retro swing dance kids, many former goths, who combine 1940s clothes and hair with modern tattoos. Sometimes on Etta's morning walk I see an older black gentleman who gives Nick Foulkes a run for his money. And of course on weekends there are the expensively dressed yuppies visiting their pieds a terre (my balcony neighbor asked me where I lived when I introduced myself across the railing).

My recent underemployed status allows me more time to spend on this sort of flaneurial anthropology, this morning at my local coffee/interweb place.

Most of the patrons at this hour are leftovers from Monday's BCS tournament wearing their respective teams' livery or random tourists pushing the boundaries of casual clothing. This tiny woman (possibly local - people here tend to be small) came in wearing a vintage coat with victorian-looking a tie-back, black jodhpurs, riding boots, and a comparatively urban green hat (the only color she wore) and white Willy Wonka shades. She appears to be in her 40s, and obviously feels no need to conform.

I don't make a habit of photographing people getting their coffee, but her look was too distinctive not to share. The camera on my free cellphone is not of iPhone quality, so her anonymity is secure. Otherwise I wouldn't have shared.

Last Nice Weekend for a While

2011-12-05T09:11:00.015-06:00

I love the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas in the French Quarter. It's usually pretty quiet. There was a Saints game in town today, but the Who-Dats were relatively silent. Except for an idiot in LSU facepaint screaming that under my balcony Saturday morning while I was watering plants.

Everything is getting a little yellow and it's time to start trimming. The canna behind the metal chair blooms until the week before Thanksgiving, so I always give it some TLC before I cut it down to the dirt when I have to bring it in for winter.

The croton and amaryllis were inside on my writing table, but I thought I'd give them one last fling before spring. I finally found my paperwhite bulbs from last year, and they're soaking in the little bowl.

My neighbors' ferns are looking a little worse for wear. It's been a dry summer/fall and they've neglected to maintain their automatic sprinklers.

If there is a ray of sun outside, Etta is there, even if it's freezing (for a while, anyway). I'm home today working, getting the last of my balcony time before a front comes through tonight and finally brings winter. Until it warms up to 70 again in a couple of weeks...

WWOZ Birthday - correction

2011-12-03T12:42:00.012-06:00

Oops! I thought it was a 2nd line for Coco Robichaux, but instead it was a birthday parade for WWOZ. Oh well.

That's right: TWO brass bands!

Yes, we do things different down here. RIP Coco.

The View from My Office

2011-12-03T12:16:00.007-06:00

Lately I've been quite busy sending out resumes, responding to RFQs (requests for qualifications) and brushing up on my CAD skills. My current contract is winding down, but that's the nature of consulting. There are many opportunities out there, some in NOLA, some out in the Great Elsewhere. Until these materialize, I'll enjoy the view from my worktable in my bedroom.

Thanksgiving in Kentucky

2011-11-24T15:37:00.009-06:00

With both parents in their 80s, I come home for ALL major holidays. My parents are both relatively healthy for their age, but things change quickly at that age (sometimes it's like a sad version of watching a toddler grow up) and I don't want to regret missing time with them. I love to come here in the summer, when everything is green and alive, but the holidays are bittersweet, with many quotes from the Book of Better Days.

After a busy morning helping cook Thanksgiving dinner, eating Thanksgiving dinner, and finally cleaning up the good silver and china we use for Thanksgiving dinner (no dishwasher for these), I decided to take a walk, and finding my camera in my jacket pocket, took the only non-New Orleans photos on this blog. We've owned the farm since the turn of the last century, and various branches of my family have lived in the general area since Kentucky was part of Virginia.

This is the house we always refer to as my grandmother's house (I grew up in a comfortable 1960 bastard-colonial ranch across the road, where I'm writing this post), although my great grandfather bought the place. The original part of the house (on the right hand side) was a hall and parlor house built in 1835 that may have replaced an earlier house on the site. The house grew over the years until it arrived at its current configuration shortly before my family bought it.

My grandmother grew up here and later presided over a farm, children and numerous grandchildren. My father was born here, a late 7th month baby whose doctor didn't bother to weigh him; his 82nd birthday is in a couple of weeks. Alas, the only people who seem to be interested in the house (like me) live elsewhere, so the house has fallen into a sad decline - my grandmother died in 1986 and not much work had been done to the house for many years before that.

Behind the house are a series of fields and pastures. The dairy barn is now used to board horses, but there are several tobacco barns like this that are still in use, even after the end of tobacco price supports. In the summer this field was planted with soybeans and looked like a rich green tapestry when I visited in early July. It will soon be planted with winter wheat, and when I visit my family after Mardi Gras we'll see the acid green shoots coming out of the dark earth.

If the weather holds, I'll take more pictures of my lovely hometown as the weekend progresses.

Etta

2011-11-14T17:44:00.000-06:00

We're both getting a little grey...

All the Images, None of the Text

2011-05-24T21:52:00.003-05:00

Some of the links....

Introducing The Quarter Rat on tumblr. Maybe I'll post a little more often.

I'm Back!

2011-05-22T22:59:00.013-05:00

Actually, I was here all along.

My first long silence was the result of simple lassitude. This time, it seemed like the universe conspired to quiet my voice.

No, I wasn't in jail.

Shortly before my last post - in September '09 - my elderly Mac finally died, leaving me with only an iPod Touch for recreational internet. While I'm quite sure that there are people who can manage to post on Blogger using such devices - today at lunch (Satsuma Cafe in the Bywater) my friend Donovan informed me that Kar Wai Wong is shooting a movie with an iPhone - such ingenuity was beyond my ken. Then shortly after my last post, which was done on a work computer during lunch, every computer on our network was infected with vicious spyware (less from my intermittent blog posts than from everyone's addiction to Facebook and YouTube), ending all recreational internet at work. For a while, anyway.

Then I changed jobs. More money (a little), more stress (a lot), and an even tighter firewall, so no blogging and not much internet. I filled the gap with the printed word and my reading pace got back to grad school levels.

And my office is now at the lakefront. Where my old commute was 6 blocks, my new commute is 6 miles, so a car was in order (more on that later). This and other random expenses (and extravagances) compounded to keep me away from the Apple Store. Until now.

I also went through a period where I suspect that I wasn't very much fun. Stress at work was a major factor, as was an illness in the family (which showed me how trivial my other problems really were). Since I didn't have much to share beyond predictions of impending disaster, I kept my counsel. Fortunately both situations are currently in abeyance and I've returned to my usual sunny disposition. And I have observations to share.

But not tonight. My drink is empty, and it's time to go to bed.

Current Reading

2009-09-04T12:11:00.014-05:00

The Edwardians, Vita Sackville-West
A slightly fictionalized account of life at Knole (Chevron in the novel) at the height of the Edwardian period. Probably her best novel.

My Other Life, Paul Theroux

A work of fiction with the attributes of an autobiography - the main character is named Paul Theroux and has written books with the same titles (My Secret History, The Mosquito Coast, etc). In this book he has such experiences as giving poetry lessons to an arms dealer in Singapore, fending off advances from wealthy literary groupies, hosting a dinner with a drunken Anthony Burgess and a ridiculous bibiomane, being interviewed by someone who appeared in The Great Railway Bazaar (and was unhappy with her portrayal), and receiving life-advice from QE II, which leads to him writing The Happy Isles of Oceana.

Sacred Monsters, Sacred Masters, John Richardson

Scurrilous gossip about the great, the good, and their pilot fish. Intensely entertaining. With phrases like " a libido like an electric eel" (describing Dali's horrendous wife Gala), he approaches Vidalian levels of wit and erudition, especially when he writes about artists and their hangers-on. His descriptions of Armand Hammer and Dr. Barnes ("The Beastly Dr. Barnes") are priceless, and his portrayal of Andy Warhol's secret (he was intensely religious) is very touching. There's also a very good essay about poor Mario Praz.

The City of Florence, Historical Vistas and Personal Sightings, R.W.B.Lewis
I'm about halfway into this one. I don't know why I bought it - I've had a distaste for Florence ever since the Great Gelato Incident of 1998. Perhaps it's time to forgive and forget.

Katrinaversary

2009-08-29T10:39:00.003-05:00

"Times are not good here. The city is crumbling into ashes. It has been buried under a lava flood of taxes and frauds and maladministrations so that it has become only a study for archaeologists. Its condition is so bad that when I write about it, as I intend to do soon, nobody will believe I am telling the truth. But it is better to live here in sackcloth and ashes than to own the whole state of Ohio."
Lafcadio Hearn, 1879

Fortunately, I have managed to avoid the sackcloth and ashes. So far.

Friday on the Gallery

2009-08-24T11:34:00.015-05:00

In the Quarter, balconies and galleries are prime social spaces - generally breezy in the summer and great for people-watching. If one is lucky enough to have one, one spends less time in bars because one's apartment becomes a destination. This has been the case for much of August, which has been surprisingly (OK, comparatively) mild, despite the 99% humidity. So on Friday, my friends Jennifer and Scott, who were celebrating their impending adoption of a rescue frenchie, randomly showed up, as they will do (in all fairness, I drank much of the contents of their wine fridge a couple of weekends ago). I was actually next door drinking grappa on my neighbor Mike's gallery (note to self: grappa gives a vicious hangover, especially when consumed with more than one bottle of red wine) when they hollered up from the street (as people will do), but soon enough, things moved over to my spot.

Scott watching the parade below.

Bugsy wants to know what all of this noise is about. No, we weren't playing French Quarter Lifeguard (Out of the pool!), because I couldn't find my whistle. Etta stayed inside, sniffing the contents of Jennifer's bag.

The humidity (around 99%) made the lights twinkle more than usual. Or maybe it was the booze.

This is what it felt like while cleaning up.

A Pack of Two

2009-07-28T15:20:00.033-05:00

Seven years ago today, my closest, most reliable friend entered my life. We made it through The Poor Years, Katrina, and even FEMA.

Deciding the best plan of escape from the breeder, with Etta

A few months before I babysat my friends' pug, Bugsy, for a week and was inconsolable when I had to give him back. Accepting responsibility for my new-found need for a pug, my friends Jennifer and Scott drove me to a breeder on the North Shore (of Lake Pontchartrain). I was going to pick out one of the show-quality boys, but Etta had the most personality - she was in time out for fighting with her littermates. She also was half the size of her brothers and had a corneal abrasion. When I suggested that maybe she needed a couple of weeks still, the breeder - one of the strangest people I've ever met (remember, I live in the French Quarter) - told me to pick out one of the boys, as he had no problem selling female puppies. I finished the sentence mentally: "to a puppy mill." The picture above looks like it was taken just after that exchange (Etta is the dark spot behind my hands). Shortly afterward I paid this strange man and fled with the scrawny, purebred rescue puppy. The rest is French Quarter legend.

A couple of hours later back home

Yes, the tongue was out even then

A week later she met her Uncle Bugsy.

It's been a rocky relationship ever since.

Parents always hope their children make smart choices.

I watch her a little more closely at the park these days.

Last year, just before the Gustavacation.

A couple of months ago hunting on the gallery.

I think that this occasion calls for a Ramos Gin Fizz at DBA (where she is always welcome), followed by some food somewhere outside to enjoy the unseasonably cool weather. Yes, I usually share...

Yes, things got a bit out of hand....

2009-02-25T01:45:00.013-06:00

It was Mardi Gras day (okay, weekend), so:

1. I explained to my mother in KY that no, I was nowhere near the parade shooting this morning because I was still out elsewhere when it happened. From the night before. (that's a DJ known as Treasure Fingers, not me)

2. A friend tried to pour vodka down peoples' throats from my balcony. And succeeded a few times. This is a happy customer showing some petticoat in thanks.

3. My friend Kizatherine brought sexy back...

4. I let my friend John wear a mullet wig. He had no excuse to put it on backwards like this, though.

5. I let an Englishman who never finished shaving upstairs.

6. No, this wasn't the office King Cake party. Yes, I know people who wear codpieces....

7. But surrounded by this sort of moral turpetude, what can one expect.

8. This is a family blog, so I won't post the pics of the Draft Stormy person running around naked under my balcony. No, she wouldn't come upstairs, even after my friend poured vodka down her throat from above.

more later.....

You know you're famous when...

2009-02-19T13:57:00.010-06:00

You're on a MUSES throw! Congratulations, Ronnie Numbers! (photo from the New Orleans Times Picayune) I know you'll get quite the thrill from the thought of all of those women's feet up against your face!

It's coming...

2009-02-19T13:38:00.008-06:00

Saving their spots on St. Charles for Muses this morning.

Barkus!

2009-02-15T18:57:00.021-06:00

I break my blog silence for Barkus, my favorite Mardi Gras parade. It is the day when Etta (not so) reluctantly ventures forth to meet her adoring public.

Here Etta poses the eternal Barkus question: "Why do you dress me like this, Daddy?" The confusion ends once she goes downstairs and gets (even) more attention than normal

Hey! Butt sniffing is a two-way street, pal!

Hmmm... I saw a documentary about this sort of thing.

Any other time of the year this would be its own post.

Pug bookends

I know, there are other kinds of dogs at Barkus than pugs...

Another shot of these two maginificent beasts.

After the parade, Bugsy (Etta's friend) is ready for a Pimm's Cup!

Well, Etta's done. I have tons more pictures, but I don't want to crash the server.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

2008-12-19T15:04:00.003-06:00

Things got a little out of hand at the company Xmas party.

(yes, that's me)

Snow Day in the Quarter!

2008-12-11T10:48:00.021-06:00

The world is ending!

Well, maybe not, but it was magical enough to drag me from my sick bed (my luck to be sick on the one snow day in New Orleans) and skulk about in the snow with my camera. It will all be a memory by lunchtime.

Decatur and Esplanade (by my office - I had to go there to retrieve my camera)

Decatur and Barracks (the other end of the block)

The Ursuline Convent (Chartres and Ursuline)

My gallery (front porch in Kentuckian)

Etta was NOT interested in her photo op. Even the repeated chorus of "Three Dog Bakery!" couldn't get her to sit and look at the camera.

(The yellow snow was where I spilled my coffee, in case you were wondering)

The view from my bedroom window - I guess I'll be busy pruning this weekend.

Malocchio

2008-12-07T13:03:00.044-06:00

The young Mario Praz

Were you that kid who always got blamed for crap other kids did? Do you sometimes feel like you're walking under a personal raincloud? Surely all but the most self-assured of us feel this way some of the time, but this was the public condition of Mario Praz (1896-1982), a genius literary critic (The Romantic Agony), tastmaking art historian (Gusto Neoclassico, An Illustrated History of Furnishings), and carrier of the Evil Eye (malocchio in Italian). In an essay for the New York Times in 1983*, Muriel Spark noted that, despite his general eminence, Romans treated Praz like the cooler in an old-time casino: "everyone noticed when Mario Praz was present at a party, and waited for the disaster. There was usually a stolen car at the end of the evening, or someone called away because his uncle had died. " This was apparently treated as a matter of fact, and did not prevent him from being liked (although John Richardson has said otherwise), much less widely respected - a book of essays, Friendship's Garland, was published in honor of his 70th birthday - and mourned on a national scale after his death. He was just this sad neighborhood character who happened to be famous.

The older Mario Praz

Spark's article goes on to describe him sitting under a leak in the roof of the opera house: "sure enough, there was our dear Malocchio sitting under the afflicted spot," enduring his own private rainstorm. The burden of such a reputation would turn anyone into a recluse.

These friends won't blame you for their bad luck - Praz's drawing room at the Palazzo Ricci (from The House of Life)

This eminent outcast eventually assembled one of the finest collection of Empire, Regency and Biedermeier furniture and decorative arts in private hands at the time, paid for by his work as a translator (he translated most of his English contemporaries into Italian). His oddly fascinating memoir, The House of Life (a reply to the roman a clef written by his estranged ex wife, who considered their marriage a tomb), catalogues his collection in terms of relationships with the various people who passed through his life when he wasn't haggling with dealers. A description of a rare objet will end with an anecdote about T.S. Eliot; his attempt to show his affection for his daughter with fine Empire furniture in her nursery was not met with the hoped-for gratitude.

The collection now resides in the Museo Mario Praz, located in his final apartment in the Palazzo Primoli, over the Museo Napoleonico on Via Zanardelli. http://www.museopraz.beniculturali.it/

The Grande Galleria

The Scrivania

The Salle della Biblioteche (3 pictures above courtesy the Museo Mario Praz)

*http://www.nytimes.com/books/01/03/11/specials/spark-rome.html

Needlepoint Pillow Quote - Quentin Crisp

2008-11-08T23:30:00.011-06:00

"If at first you don't succeed, failure may be your style. "

(photo from crisperanto )

Seen on my way to work...

2008-11-06T12:58:00.008-06:00

four layers of grafitti: the grey ghost (over someone else), a paw (a new anti-grey ghost coverup) and a fine sentiment from Major Payne*.

*I had to look it up - never saw the movie. I just liked the colors. And the sentiment was bracing at 7:30.

Stop!

2008-10-21T12:09:00.004-05:00

Is this a hoax?

2008-10-08T23:59:00.015-05:00

Or does (did) Stephen Alesch (Roman and Williams) have a blog?

http://schopfung.blogspot.com/

Out and Around

2008-10-03T11:52:00.010-05:00

Our Lady Star of the Sea, 1835 St. Roch Avenue

Wogan and Bernard Architects, 1930-31.

One of the perquesites of my job is that I'm out and around in most of the historic neighborhoods in New Orleans and seeing sights like this almost every day. Wogan and Bernard have a long history in New Orleans: under various firm names, they are responsible for large houses Uptown, the original part of the Xavier University campus, the Monteleone Hotel in the French Quarter and numerous churches around Louisiana.

The church is built in a Byzantine/ Venetian style and is a landmark in the St. Roch neighborhood north of St. Claude Avenue.

I was just passing through the neighborhood, so I couldn't go inside, but found these images online. Apparently it has quite a pipe organ.

I like the interior, but not quite sure what I think about the altar painting. (It's starting to grow on me)

last 2 photos from http://www.neworleanschurches.com/StarofSea/star.htm

A Rainbow in Marrero

2008-09-27T15:40:00.003-05:00

We do things a little different in New Orleans.

p.s. he's playing at One Eyed Jack's Tonight

http://www.oneeyedjacks.net/

John Richardson at Home

2008-09-22T21:26:00.002-05:00

Truly the grand style.

My Dream Bedroom...

2008-09-16T23:41:00.005-05:00

Horst image of Cy Twombly's roman apartment in the 1960s. (image from http://hdldesign.blogspot.com/)

If I won the lottery, this is what my bedroom would look like (minus the fur bedspread - perhaps on the floor for my dog)

Something for Everyone!

2008-09-11T12:38:00.008-05:00

http://www.democraticstuff.com/Supporter-Buttons-s/7529.htm
Oh, SNAP!

Not quite sure that I'd go to an optometrist with this sign.

All hairstyles can participate!

You can vote for Obama, no matter how big your 'stash!

Or how existentially oppressed..

My favorite, but the Dude may be too busy abiding to vote. (Although there might be a polling place by the grocery/ liquor store/ bowling alley)

Evacuation Recap 1 - The Corinthian Order

2008-09-10T11:29:00.029-05:00

I know it's a week late, but my wi-fi is on the blink, work has been crazy since Gustav, and it's not like I post that much. Anyway, the Corinthian Order is very popular in Madison, MS , a suburb of Jackson. According to my (very gracious) hurrication hosts, Madison has strict design guidelines, so the Corinthian Order may very well be in the building codes, along with ADA and NFPA guidelines.

The above pergola of fuel makes filling up the tank a veritable garden party!

This convenience store features engaged Corinthian Columns on plinths. I guess they're going for the ruined grotto effect with the bricked-in arch. You, know, instant history - like Lutyens and Addison Mizner. Yeah.

This Walgreen's is practically academic in its use of the Corinthian Order- note the double pilasters at the entrance pavillion. The frieze is a bit exaggerated, but I saw much (much!) worse in town; unfortunately, the person driving me around found my outrage less than amusing -"not everyone is that picky about architecture" (her Dad's a civil engineer) - and didn't want to pull over on busy roads so I could get pictures of numerous monstrosities. I wish I could have gotten a better shot here, but the Madison police were busily arresting a Gustav evacuee. (Or maybe they caught some local stealing Sudafed to make meth - you just know there are labs up in the hills)

One final shot, taken on the way out of town. On the left is the local Kinko's. Nice cupolas.

Hurricane's Coming!

2008-08-30T15:03:00.014-05:00

Time to bring in the plants! I inherited this split-leaf philodendron with my current apartment - it usually lives out on the gallery (see previous posts) where it does well enough to require regular pruning. This thing moving to the hallway has always been something of a bellwether - it also sometimes showed up in my old apartment across the hall. The wardrobe is Italian Art Nouveau - my landlords have a side business doing estate sales. It looks like it belongs in a hotel room overlooking Lago di Como.

ALL of the plants have to come in. Even the ones I would prefer to throw away. Of course I managed to break a pot in my living room. There's a nice marble mantel and campaign bed behind that jungle...

A little grim, no? (well, I was going to paint the floor anyway)

Yes, a bit grim. Now I'm off to help my friends Uptown batten down their hatches. We'll decide tonight or tomorrow morning whether to stay to go. If I stay, I'll stay at their house. If not, Jackson here we come. We being Etta and I. We're prepared.

View Up Royal, 11:00 pm

2008-08-10T23:18:00.002-05:00

A rare quiet night in the Quarter.

A Suggestion for Visitors to the Quarter

2008-08-10T22:08:00.008-05:00

Your Chevy Suburban is not a Lotus Elise. Slow your happy ass down.

I'm Happy to See You, Too!

2008-04-01T23:52:00.006-05:00

My friend Donovan has a new fisheye lens, which my pug Etta seems to think is something to eat. Yes, her tongue is always like that. No, I don't know why.

Happy New Years

2008-01-01T18:37:00.000-06:00

Wow! I somehow managed not to post for a year, but then 2007 was a helluva year, mainly a series of narrowly averted disasters. When my old job became hell on earth thanks to a couple of people (who happened to be a couple), I managed to jump ship to a better job. I've managed to not get thrown in jail, go to the hospital, get fired, or permanently alienate my friends and family, but there were times when I pushed it. So I'm giving my guardian angel some time off: no pushing it. So far I'm off to a good start; no hangover on NYD, and no regrets for last night's behavior. There are things about my life I'd like to change, but there's a lot in my life to envy.

I'm also going to take more pictures around the quarter, since my walk to work is a visual feast - if I'm awake enough!

My Balcony in the NYT!

2006-12-26T10:02:00.000-06:00

This is from an article in the NYT a month ago; I downloaded the image during Thanksgiving and it sat on my sister's desktop in Kaintuck for a month. The building dates (far right of picture) from 1859, and is probably what rightly should be called the Beauregard House: PGTB lived here for several years after the war (I'm not sure whether he owned it or not - I'll have to check the title chain at the HNOC), not the several months he lived at the house on Chartres St that bears his name. But then my building didn't have the luck to be restored by a lady who wrote fanciful historical novels; instead it became something of a tenement, divided into a series of one bedroom apartments, which was ultimately to my benefit. While I have a million-dollar balcony (gallery, actually), the apartment is rather modest. My old apartment across the hall was honestly a nicer apartment - refinished floors, a decent sized kitchen (with a dishwasher), and great morning light, but it lacked the balcony. The place needs a bit of work: I've started with the floors - down to the tongue in the living room, so they'll have to be chemically stripped. Then the next step will be redoing the bathroom (new tile). I suppose that the floor of the balcony should be repainted while I'm at it...

All of this will have to wait until I return to NOLA, which should be Wednesday; I'm still in Kentucky suffering from a cold - perhaps I will be in a state to drive back down tomorrow. As far as my reading, not much of that, just watching movies with my sister.

My Balcony, with Etta

2006-12-19T16:57:00.001-06:00

At the left is my balcony, complete with my dog, Etta. People who live in the Quarter all know Etta, while I'm just known as her walker. The picture was taken in September, roughly a week after I took possession of the apartment; since then I've added to group of plants and furniture. The split-leaf philodendron was inherited - it used to always wind up in my old apartment down the hall during hurricanes.

Right now my life revolves around my job, walking Etta and what I'm reading. Since I work for the government (meaning I really shouldn't discuss work, not that it's that interesting) and dog-walking is very repetitive, I'll discuss what I'm reading....

Currently reading:
Memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon (vol 1 of 3)
The gossipy account of life in the court of Louis XIV through the Regence of Louis XV and finally his Royal Court. Similar to Pepys's brush with fame, but Saint-Simon is not quite the amusing scamp as Pepys (he is just a little to concerned with good friars for my preference). Definitely an ongoing project.

The Sitwells, A Family's Biography - John Pearson
Literary gossip, a guilty pleasure because I'm only familiar with Facade.

In the wings:
Pages from the Goncourt Journals - Edmond and Jules de Goncourt
More guilty pleasure, but then I'm going to visit my family for the second time in 2 months. It's still better than reading old issues of Star.

Put down to be picked up later:
A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon
The Natural Disorder of Things - Andrea del Cannobio