Just the links, ma’am
Welcome, friends to another Dr Frank Weakly Reader, that thing I do where I create my own index of the previous week’s Doctor-sphere. This edition is a bit “bare bones” without a whole lot of augmentation, expansion, etc. But there’s good stuff nevertheless, if you’re into that sort of thing. I do this mainly for my own index and archive purposes, but as always you’re welcome to read along if you like.
And away we go.
— Valentines Day: it came late this year, due to manufacturing issues, but those Valentine’s Day “More than Toast” flexis have finally materialized and have been arriving along with signed posters, some of which have wound up pictured on the internet. e.g. here, here, and here, in which I, instructed to draw a robot, attempt to draw a robot:
— Good enough for Ryan: a nice review of Mtx forever. [Link was broken — fixed now — ed.]
— coupla guys on twitter playing “Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend.”
— …and your Friday morning “Love Is Dead”, from Ukulele Hiro:
— Dr Frank at the Garage Upstairs, London, 2001. Daz dug up an old pic.
— Jim and I (I in a great big social-distancing hat) in May 1996, for Cinco de Mayo.
—That time I went for a long walk up a big hill.
— Dept. of bons mots:
I do the best I can despite limited talent and resources. Anything “punk” in that resides entirely in the word “despite”.
In my capacity as a pretend rock star, I trust I can count on your pretend indulgence for my pretend excesses.
— Odin XXV: the latest compendium of Songs for Odin “minor secrets”. Table of contents: “Monongahela Bridge,” “I’m Like Yeah…”, “Green Eggs & Ham,” “I Want to Hold Your Ear,” and “Jill,” plus “Bitter Homes and Gardens.”
— Dr Frank — “Swallow Everything” live in Bergamo, Italy, 2006, this week’s Song for Odin.
— Roman calendar: Athanasius the Great (with Eusebius) from an illuminated manuscript; Helena with the True Cross, by Cranach; the site of the Tyburn tree (the Forty English Martyrs); Jutta of Kulmsee; St John before the Latin Gate; Domnius; the Apparition of Archangel Michael at Gargano (lower right)…
The novel was in no wise autobiographical, but I learned to my discomfort that all fiction is assumed to be thinly disguised, if occasionally embellished, memoir. I had to spend a solid year assuring readers that I did not prematurely ejaculate.
Which will wrap it up for the Weakly Reader this week. Have yourselves a merry little weekend.