Monday, February 17, 2003
posted 7:32 AM

Just walked up Broadway to Spring, *middle* of the street. Reminds me of Cayce's memories of London in the snow (which are of course mine, from another book-tour, long ago). I was poised, literally, to train up to Penn Station, when the call came through that the Virginia bookstore is closed, and may well be closed tonight as well. State of emergency, records being broken... In any case, I won't be there, so stay home, stay warm, and maybe I can cover DC later. Me, I've checked back into the hotel and plan on catching up on some more sleep. (Even though I always describe the life of the touring author as "rock and roll without the party", sleep-deprivation does set in; you get back to the hotel around eleven, then get up around five to catch the next plane.)


Yes, there's a message, a crucial one, but you need *ten* copies of the book (plus some duct tape) in order to decypher it.

No, wait: that's a *joke*. I haven't seen the dots in question, but I can assure you they are just splodges: some random, utterly meaningless artifact of production.

What this is about, actually, is *real* apophenia. A perfect example. Want to see the Virgin Mary on a tortilla?

Look long enough.


Exactly. The universe of PR is a Fortean universe, as, indeed, I, personally, assume this one (or however many there might be) to be. I actually *am* a Fortean, were you to pin me down philosophically. (And I've got the new issue of FT, with that hot Anomalous Big Cat update, waiting for me baqck in the room. Perfect blizzard reading!)


That's what it says on the mag-card they rent you when you check into this place. My sentiments exactly!

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