I want to thank the great number of you for the outpouring of support and kind wishes over the loss two days ago of one of my best, my dearest and truest of friends, who just so happened to be an old, blind cat named Banjo. He was indeed better people than most people you …
Yesterday, something not at all unexpected, but in no way less foul, was revealed, and which today, in source after source, even on GOP-blinded Fox News, has been confirmed, in one detail after another. Today the “President,” your president, perhaps, somebody’s President anyway, not mine, not a chance, was revealed, again and again, through his …
Some people celebrate birthdays, cake, friends coming together, drunken foolishness, whatever. Me, I have reckonings. So, trade ya …
Dylan on a Sheridan Square bench in the West Village, New York, N.Y., Jan. 22, 1965. Photo by Fred. W. McDarrah/Getty Images, as also with the one below. My adoration of Bob Dylan 1965-66 is akin to what rowdy religious types have for crucifixions and blue-eyed saviors, upward-mobility reincarnations and a heaven tripping over itself …
Facts. These are all FACTS. Not fake news. Not hyperbole. Not partisan yammering. FACTS.
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 …
The word of the day, according to my nifty new Word of the Day Calendar, a gift this past Christmas, is “blogosphere.” (BLAH-guh-sfir). A noun. I am a bit foggy from all the sinus-blowout drugs I’m now on; I take medications under great protest, cuz they tend to mess with me so damn bad. That …
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 …
Earlier, having mastered two exceptional new words, I declared to my wife, who has professed her love for me at times, that I was brewing a cup of ante-jentacular tea in an effort to jump-start personal anabiosis. She barely glanced at me, walking instead into the other room and sitting down in front of the …
These last few days, and my own hometown’s appalling part in them, have battered my spirit into an ugly husk of itself, a balloon of despair inflated within a leathery suit of nerve-aching skin. I am not being merely melodramatic, as can certainly be my way; my beloved country’s slippery slope down into blind idiotic …