Lovely essay on Greene's friendship with a genuine Foreign Office undercover agent. Peter Edmund James Leslie was an ex-Anglican priest who converted to Catholicism, owned shares in a diamond mine, worked as an arms salesman, and served as a Vice-Consul—in others words, he was the very template of a Graham Greene protagonist.
Happy Friday, lovely. I'm sorry for missing you yesterday. I started on several different entries, actually, but none went where I wanted. Which isn't necessarily bad — entries often take unexpected turns — but these entries, in particular, simply seemed not right enough for this space.
German scholars think they have deciphered the 3600 year-old sky disc of Nebra. I'll believe almost anything, so long as James Spader doesn't smack himself in the forehead and say, "I just remembered—I <I>do</I> speak ancient Egyptian!"
"Worship me, unworthy wretch!"
"These things used to be roomier," Huckleberry grouses.
Need I say more? I think not.
This is what the Internets was made for.
I don't know that I completely buy this premise, but the concept that the earth and humanity create a complex interaction <I>feels</I> right. I think that more examples will be necessary to completely convince me (and others). Now that the idea has been broached, I'm sure scientists will be looking for that data.
Meet the Schmidt Sting Pain Index. Example: Being stung by a Bullhorn acacia ant is "a rare, piercing, elevated sort of pain. Someone has fired a staple into your cheek."
<I>The Birmingham News</I> recently uncovered a cache of unpublished photographs from the early years of the Civil Rights struggle. Thank goodness these images weren't lost.