My friend Allison, who is also one of our Moby-Dick readers, was at the library renewing her copy of the novel when the librarian recommended this event: a 25-hour Moby-Dick marathon at the New Bedford Whaling Museum. Personally I think it sounds distinctly unpleasant, though I have visited the museum before, and the half-sized whaling boat mentioned in the press release is undeniably charming. I had a hard time restraining my children from swarming up the mast.

I've heard about Paradise Lost marathons too, and I don't want to go to one of those either. I mean, I love hard books and all, but I like to take a few breaks now and then, to recover my senses and breathe the fresh air. However, maybe you feel differently about spending all day and all night listening to a cast of volunteers stumble through an apparently endless work of literature. So if you're planning to rush down to New Bedford, let me know how it goes.

Don't I sound like a philistine? Actually, it's sort of refreshing to sound like one. After all, I'm usually so shamelessly book-ridden.

I don't know what the weather's like at your house, but it's pouring rain here today: and I will spend it editing and then driving a kid to the orthodontist, where I'll languish in the waiting room, attempting to read Moby-Dick while being surrounded by teenagers with crooked teeth. Meanwhile, Ishmael will wander off into a tangent about artists who draw bad pictures of whales, and a confused housefly will bonk, bonk, bonk against the ceiling, and the slumping teenagers will mutter at their iPods. C'est la bluestocking vie.