where the writers are
John Clare

Summer and besides the football--who isn't a Brazil fan when the home team (France) embarrasses itself (not to mention the home country)--my thoughts turn to John Clare.  Tired of trying to make sense, tired of polysemy, tired of messages and profundity, I think just describing stuff is plenty to aim for (is this what the Chinese paintings I was looking at last week want to do? Paint a couple lipsticky peaches on a leafy twig? Why is this so effective, so moving?).  Here's Clare on insects:  "Thou tiny loiterer on the barley's beard / And happy unit of a numerous herd / Of playfellows the laughing summer brings..."

Besides that?  Besides that I excursed (ten minutes, across the freeway, next to Ikea) to Mi Pueblo, the Mexican supermarket in East Palo Alto and felt like I'd had a trip to a foreign country.  If you want Mexican football shirts, that's your place.  Or cactus, dried hibiscus, tomatillos.  Not to mention the cafe and the fact that all the announcements are in Spanish and the butcher only understood my quest for rabbit after I made ears and hopping movements.