...No recent blogging or Almanacking because all that furniture and clutter glutting our apartment has been removed in the past 24 hours, and we're working to develop alternative furniture arrangements. We can finally breathe in our own home. Which is good, because it's one of the few things we can actually still do in this yawning empty cavern we live in (live in... live in... live in...)

And I meant to mention that the Monday Almanac is up. Olympics as a metaphor for a simile for a hackneyed cliche. And more.

...And I've got the proof:



Technically it doesn't prove anything, I suppose. There's a rock in Assistens Kirkegård with his name and a couple of dates on it, though, and I saw it on Friday. Presumably his crumbling remains lie six feet under that stone—but that's a pretty big presumption.

I know I said there'd be plenty of pictures, but I lied. (There are more pictures, I just don't have time to post them today because the owner of our apartment is removing all her furniture and belongings and, frankly, it's hell.) Maybe I'll post more later. Maybe I won't.

I never knew Søren Kierkegaard's name meant "Søren Churchyard." It's a hell of a name for a philosopher. Imagine if Plato had been named "Chumlee," or Friedrich Nietzsche had been "Buster McSnatch." Probably they would have had to look into career counseling.