even*cleveland: cleveland is a warm, fuzzy place

cleveland is a warm, fuzzy place

This is my favorite book about the Cleve. It was published in 1977 by Dave Cockley, and it details the adventures of one Benjamin Bear as he searches the city for his lost owner.

Benjamin arrives in Cleveland the usual way:
In addition to hitching a ride with a mounted cop, visiting other bears at the zoo and getting medical attention at the Cleveland Clinic, he checks out one of my local favorites:
He also manages to score the game-winning kick in a Browns game (oh Benjamin, where are you now?)
In recognition of this achievement, he gets to meet the boy mayor (you may know him as the once-and-future presidential candidate):
After these triumphs, he spends some time thinking deep and strange thoughts in front of the statue of Moses Cleaveland:
One Cleveland is enough for me too, bear.

His button reads: Cleveland - The Best Things in Life Are Here.

I could never hope to match the awesomeness of this book (there's a copy for sale here), but I am guest-blogging with some of my personal picks for travelers headed to the C-town over at Truant this week.

What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time.

V. Woolf

Don't be amazed if you see my eyes always wandering. In fact, this is my way of reading, and it is only in this way that reading proves fruitful for me. If a book truly interests me, I cannot follow it for more than a few lines before my mind, having seized on a thought that the text suggests to it, or a feeling, or a question, or an image, goes off on a tangent and springs from thought to thought, from image to image, in an itinerary of reasonings and fantasies that I feel the need to pursue to the end, moving away from the book until I have lost sight of it. The stimulus of reading is indispensable to me, and of meaty reading, even if, of every book, I manage to read no more than a few pages. But those few pages already enclose for me whole universes, which I can never exhaust.

Italo Calvino

Why didn't she try collecting something? It didn't matter what. She would find it gave an interest to life, and there was no end to the little curiosities one could easily pick up.

Henry James

cleveland is a warm, fuzzy place

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