|b l o g|
Two thoughts: I'm glad I don't have to shave my forehead. I wish my computer had a face. You know, so I could hit it with a shovel. You know.
In other news, congratulations to Kimi Raikkonen.
For those interested in the doings of the Unified Kingdom of Greater Albia. The Albia Factbook will acquaint you with the country. For instance (brilliance): 'Terrain: flat in the North and West, where anybody who is anybody lives, rugged hills and mountains elsewhere.'
And my first time with this: here is a dragout of what is evidently a popular university picture of a man who might (forgive me) at first glance be mistaken for Kiznya Schlop.
A practically sensible presentation ready to go, class cancelled due to a 'deportation disaster,' post-class swilling still going on, three mates from three states coming up tonight, break tomorrow. Who's going to sleep where with all this fun is anybody's guess. Wawa bags & dirty laundry for pillows, I say. (Not for me, of course.) This is the best I can do.
Open letters, it seems, have not been so popular since, well, Open Letters. I've been stewing over one.
Sent: Wednesday, November 17, 2004, 3.59 p.m.
Subject: [no subject]
Thanks for being there. It's a farce that I've read NO lyric poems for class this semester. But then you came for me with that perfect little rhythmical bundle, 'Down in Wapping Town.' We've said some nice things together & I won't forget them. Let's do something tomorrow night. I'm just so tired of EXPLAINING things. Love,
As it's been blogged elsewhere, I have nothing (in duplicate, triplicate) to add to the reckoning of that possibly-murderous flaming skeleton of a car we were 50 yards from near the southbound entrance to the Tappan Zee Bridge Saturday night. Not even Google News. Just another ordinary survivable 50 ft inferno.
Red Bull saves 300 British jobs, and DC may make 301. Additionally, there must be a job for an American.
Cox's Market is not only the best deli in town, it might as well be the only deli in town.
I thought it was curious enough to hear that Paul Muldoon's & Nigel Smith's outfit Rackett is playing at the Knitting Factory on Dec. 5. Sunday. At 5.00 p.m. Now I learn that hearthrob / 'male spin on the sensitive female singer-songwriter who rose up in the wake of teen pop in the early 2000s' / fellow I drank Everclear with in the closing hours (4.00 a.m.) of a party that one time, Ben Jelen, is playing the very same evening (8.00 p.m.).
I brought a cold steak back to Princeton.
Month-old genius. This was clipped out for me while it slumbered on the Internet. Note the personnel. Inquire if you don't know/remember our favorite Ghost. Consider the moral turpitude (rent-dodging, goldbricking, whining) that diddled six virtual strangers out of hundreds of dollars. Delight in the universe's exquisite ironies:
PATERSON - A councilman and angry residents Tuesday night called for the immediate resignation of City Council President Jerry Luis Rosado at his first regular council meeting since his Sept. 20 arrest on hit-and-run charges.
'We cannot have somebody breaking the laws making the laws,' said *Wilkin Santana*, 22, of Paterson.
Police have said Rosado hit another car at 21st and Railroad avenues and fled.
Santana was so outraged by news of Rosado's arrest that he came to the council meeting - his first. After Santana called for Rosado's resignation, several audience members broke out in applause. [...]
Being an account of the election & the public voice.
6.54: I get to a TV. Hours of handsome talking experts.
7.33: A leftover cheese platter makes an important appearance. The election is still fun!
8.01: Anne Wolfe is going to lose.
9.32: Someone has made (made, I say) four stromboli. Howsa!
11.13: The entire center of the country (one of them) turns red. A vision of the Lord Jesus riding his uranium chariot on a sea of money, the Lasers of Justice blazing from his eyes.
11.40: The math begins to be disturbing. The NYT Electoral Calculator is down. Everything has to be done from memory.
12.55: I switch from scotch & beer to glasses of flaming pitch.
12.59: I stop watching the returns. I ride in a car to the bar.
1.25: A Republican (!) is getting hassled. He's handling it pretty well.
1.47: It's over. I am an evangelical Christian. The moon stands still in the sky.
It's hardly in a body's pow'r,
To keep, at times frae being sour,
To see how things are shar'd.