birds do it, bees do it...

... even really blurry turtles do it, apparently. Fall in love, that is. Here by popular demand:


It's book week at Slate, and today there was this, from this:

I read somewhere once that in the 1960s fiction writers were troubled by the notion that life was becoming stranger and more sensational than made-up stories could ever hope to be. Our new problem -- more profound, I think -- is that life no longer resembles a story. Events intersect but don't progress. People interact but don't make contact.

This is well-said.

This is an anemone. Anananananemone.