The Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I

will be the prime reason for me to fly to NY.

Because:

There are depths of emotion in even the mildest man or women that would, if the universe worked as it ought, set the skies on fire and boil the oceans until the sand beneath them turned to glass.

Klimt is the one for me.

For now.

(I know that this blog looks bleak and unloved. No I am not dead. Expect a post that contains value sometime this week)

And someone needs to tell Cal's Japanese professors that stuffing chapters in our throats isn't going to work.

I didn't learn English that way.

(at least they're nice, but not enough to justify 5 hours of Japanese everyday)