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You know, after reading this I suddenly realized that by choosing to read Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago last winter rather than this winter, I really jumped the gun. Your metaphor is the dead of winter...mine is this long bleak Russian winter that is epitomized by so many novels that I read when I was younger, or wanted to read and waited until I was much older. And now we seem to be living it.

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It does feel like we're in a Dostoevskian winter!

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Heh-heh, I started reading The Tunnel by William Gass, which seems to be about a man holed up in his basement, slowly going insane in a whirlwind of memories and guilt. Cathartic but a little painful to read! Should maybe pick up something by Jimmy Buffett... By the way, this is now my second favorite song about Kansas City, behind Okkervil River’s “ Kansas City,” and reminiscent of the Eels’ bleak “Dead of Winter.” Good stuff!

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Thanks!

And now I'm pondering the possibility that Jimmy Buffet is an antidote for wintery misery. I would like a margarita, cheeseburger, and some paradise, now that you mention it...

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