I had lunch with a friend in Harvard Square today and we had a lovely conversation about what stimulates us and makes us happy. For me, it’s great tools. I love the heft and feel of a good sharp knife when I am chiffonading some veg or using an old-school 1-click mouse on my mac (steve was right). I was in the market for a great, simple black pen that would draw a great, strong line without fault. It’s been a while since I had been in the square, and I wandered about looking for Bob Slate, who seems to pop up in a different place every time I go there, reminding me of a great Angela Carter book I once read about a city that rearranged itself each night, with streets and alleys recombining under the influence of a realty-distorting machine. (I have my dear friend C to blame for the fascination with Ms Carter). At last I found Bob Slate in it’s latest perch, squatting where the beloved WordsWorth bookshop used to dwell. The selection has dissipated a bit, I suspect, due to less interest in actually writing, but I found my trusty Micron pen and now I suddenly feel like Flaubert.
