Avoidance! Diversions! Escapism! As a service to our occasional customers, we’ve brought back this possibly unpopular feature. If we cared more about you, you’d have real content once in a while, sure. So go pay somebody already – even lousy CNN now has a paywall for some of its content. But not us, not here, …
So, nothing to see here. I am badly broken up about it, sure. So many other people are as well. The sky feels weighted with sadness, with the horizon foretelling a storm of despotism and blunt stupidity, which is all just as wretched as hell, but … Look, squirrel! Avoidance. Diversions. Escapism. What say we …
Bobby “Bacala” Baccalieri, in The Sopranos: “You know, Quasimodo predicted all this.”Tony Soprano: “Who did what?”Bobby: “All these problems, the Middle East, the end of the world.”Tony: “Nostradamus. Quasimodo’s the hunchback of Notre Dame.”Bobby: “Oh, right. Nostradamus.”Tony: “Nostradamus, and Notre Dame. It’s two different things completely.” Donald Trump and Kamala Harris. Two different things completely.Yet …
I feel I must share with you the appalling circumstance of this morning. Fairly early into it, that feet-to-floor, brushing of teeth, handful of pills, navigating of pre-dawn dogs near empty food bowls, the scratching of things in need of scratching, I came to the hard realization that there was, simply, no cake. And wouldn’t …
<Illustration by Tel Aviv artist Yuval Robichek> I don’t usually post two days in a row. Yesterday’s somber deconstruction of conflicting raw emotions demanded from today, however, some little upswell of positivity, at the very least. As did I, as well. This aims itself in that direction. I hope it comes close to hitting its …
I’ve never shared a link to one of my own pages of past newspaper writing here as its own blog post however, the response in just the couple of days since I originally added this almost-30-year-old story to this site, and then mentioned it on social media, has been kind of amazing. It really seemed …
For more people than not, the expression “broken record” likely carries no literal meaning at this point. That generation is a couple past. Hell, even my own old-guy turntable has a broken lid and the stylus is duller now than even my late-night senses. So a new metaphor is likely in order here. See, I …
I am among the lucky who deeply experience the annual joys of seasonal affective disorder, even here in the South. For me, it kicks in each year about early September, as daylight hours noticeably start slipping away earlier, and earlier, and goddamnit, where did my day go? It’s a lousy thing, SAD. Symptoms overtake me …
I am sitting alone in the insect-humming dark of the back porch, stars stranded high above, satellites blinking past, drinking wine that isn’t helping. Because. Because, because, because, because, because … Because some days it’s like you’re standing all at once naked in the high roadside weeds, one thumb up and the other hand down, …
Hey, 2019, how’s about not being a fucking bastard, huh? Because after these past couple of humdinger years, I seriously don’t trust any of you any longer to get it right.