A evening to mimic

At 10:41 p.m. I sit at my desk in my new study/library. Some jazz piece is on the radio blue noting my bluest eye, but I ain't that type of reduction.

I just ate a piece of Cuban bread with some Camembert cheese (Ile de France). My drink? A Guiness in a frosted 41st International Congress on Medieval Studies (Goliardic Society) glass.

My reading material for this evening? Matthew "Monk" Lewis's magnum opus: The Monk. It should be a seasoned and disconnected re-reading of Radcliffe's The Italian.

The house is at a very cool 75 degrees; the only light source is my academic desk lamp (think With Honors here, minus the green canopy).

Before I turn in, perhaps some Carla Bruni and some more Camembert. The night is truly a beautiful mare; like Piers Anthony's Night Mare (a good read, and one of his better Xanth novel puzzle pieces, no).

Like I said, a night to mimic.