Saturday, March 08, 2008

Photo of today

Remember what it's like, being 9 years old and staring out the window on a rainy day?

Friday, March 07, 2008

Chuckling predicts

Although I've known for some time who each party's nominee would be, I've held off making a public prediction because I was unsure who they would choose as their running mates. Well, I've figured it out, so here ya go:

Democratic Presidential Candidate: Hillary Clinton.
Republican Presidential Candidate: John McCain.
Democratic running mate: Joe Lieberman.
Republican running mate: Joe Lieberman.

Yes, chuckling confidently predicts that both candidates will choose Joe Leiberman as their running mate. He will, of course, accept, though he will decline to give up his senate seat, just in case.

Who will ultimately win? I'll tell you that when you tell me why it matters.

Sunday, March 02, 2008

Lord's day (brooklyn edition)

Slideshow here.

Breaking News: Hell just froze over

The New York Times Magazine has a long article about one of my literary heroes, Eduard Limonov. Everyone who appreciates Knut Hamsun or Dostoevsky's underground man should read Limonov's masterpiece "It's me Eddie," in which, coincidentally, he regularly savages the Times. And although many of his articles, particularly the ones detailing the nitty gritty politics of political organizing, are hard to get through, check out the Exile archives. A lot of it is precious.

I don't have time go go into this thoroughly now. Maybe later I'll pick through the archives and point out some good stuff. A lot of it is outrageous and Eddie is easily the least politically correct writer on the planet, but his stuff is worthwhile and his life is one of his better literary works. Very much like Mishima.

Pictures of yesterday

Another Saturday hanging out with the kid in the teeming concrete borough of Brooklyn. That's John Bob doing his meditation exercises in the foreground. Will winter never end?

You can't walk ten feet around here without tripping over an agave of some sort. I took this photo in a particularly bad moment of self-loathing. What next? Pretty flowers?

Some days I hate myself.