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11/14/2001 Entry: "Call me Ishmael."

Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in.

Today is the 150th Anniversary of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. I'll slip on a little Laurie Anderson to commemorate. Someday I'll have to go back and reread all the parts on whaling that our 8th grade English teacher advised us to skip, as they were "too boring."

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