Happy Birthday, Dear Friend Howard

In case you suddenly felt an unspeakable urge to weepily goth around today, you’re not without reason!  One hundred and nineteen years ago on this very day in this very city (at 454 Angell Street), Howard Phillips Lovecraft was born.

I’m not really into unspeakable horror, unspeakable racism, unspeakable fear of aliens, or the use of the word unspeakable as a modifier, so his stories don’t really do much for me, though his mean-spirited depictions of the Italians of Providence can often provide great hilarity if you’re bored enough.  Also his fans are hilarious.

[photo via Accelerating Future; Lovecraft looks more like Stephen Fry than I would have guessed.]

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