July 16, 2006

Darleen

. . . rescued a cute cockatiel.

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July 15, 2006

Please.

Please.

Nevermind.

Please.


You know how it is: one is always bargaining with life. Especially those who were born without the gift of contentment.

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My Mother's Prius

. . . arrived Thursday.

Okay: so it looks like a miniature hump-backed whale. On a certain level, however, you must admit that there's something charming about a car without a GPS system that nonetheless includes a screeen—through which one controls the AC and the stereo, and gains all kinds of handy-dandy information.

I insisted she get the one with the iPod jack. In case, um, she ever gets an iPod.

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So. Human Nature.

Essentially dark, or is there some hope?

Discuss.

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It's Too Hot To Work.

I'll be in bed with a juicy George Friedman book on precision-guided munitions.

Ta-ta.

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July 14, 2006

Happy Bastille Day.

Try not to, um . . . keep your wits about you, okay?

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July 13, 2006

So, I Took the Re-Write of Chapter One to My Crit Group.

They weren't nearly as thrilled by it as I had been.

A few of them actually thought some improvements could be made to it.

I'm left with one possible conclusion: MY WRITING GROUP IS TEH SUXXOR!

Time to get with people that appreciate my genius. This is the litmus test: when I read, do people fall down on their knees? If not, I'm taking my manuscript and going home.

I mean it.

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Misha

. . . is a brute. And I'm shocked—shocked!—at his rhetoric.

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"Shake Hands with Beef"

There are just layers upon layers, aren't there?

Is it a vegetarian anthem?

Does it compare, in its fly's-world-view, the eating of meat with the consuming of fecal matter?

Is it a commentary on the psychological arteriosclerosis of life in a whitebread trailer park?

Or is it yet another adolescent explosion of testosterone?—not that there's anything wrong with that.

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July 12, 2006

Defending Greenwald:

Sure. Threatening a two-year-old with sexual predation and violence is exactly the same as rhetorically "threatening" overwhemingly powerful unelected public figures in their golden years whose actions deprive private citizens of their homes.

Gotcha. You're just a reasoning machine, aren't you?

[Inside blogball; apologies all around.]

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The Only Reason Isreal Still Exists

. . . is that it refuses to fuck around.

So I'm happy—and sick at heart. Both.

Just like in Afghanistan. Just like in Iraq.

The world has turned into a maximum-security prison, and if we don't fight, we don't survive.

But I don't have to like it, do I?

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July 11, 2006

"What Is This Pirates of the Caribbean Craze?"

Hog asks.

"Two words," I reply. "Johnny Depp."

"I can understand that," he tells me. "He is hot."

"And two more words: Orlando Bloom."

"He doesn't do it for me. All he gets is a sort of mercy hard-on. With Johnny, it's 45 degrees. But not in a gay way, mind you."

"Understood."

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So I'm on the Cell Phone with Hog Beatty

. . . who's walking around the Promenade in Santa Monica.

Suddenly: "Lord have mercy," he exclaims. "I've got to go."

He calls me ten minutes later. "That must have been fast work," I tell him. "Did you get a phone number?"

"There were three of them. They were just like walking truffles. But I had to go because a colleague of mine called at that moment. He's married, and when I described what I was looking at he accused me of trying to get him in trouble."

"That would imply you were willing to share," I remark.

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Commuter Train Attack

PJ Media has a roundup, of course.

I wonder if the folks at The New York Times will get any sleep tonight. They shouldn't.

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Is It Possible

. . . that the terrorists haven't been reading Dale Carnegie lately?

India will be the next country to lead the world, after our influence fades. And they will understand the threat posed by terrorism; I'm sure of that.

And, yup, I do think it's the Islamofascists this time: look at the calendar. Happy fucking 7/11.

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With a Hat Tip to Erica Jong

I'm starting to think that the world is obsessed with finishing its crime novel. Sure, people talk about other stuff. But what they're really wondering is how many chapters one can spend wrapping up loose ends after the final revelation, without it all becoming tedious, a la that horrible movie AI.

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July 09, 2006

Darleen Has

. . . new kittens. They sound like particularly smart ones.

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The Bangles Played

. . . for my birthday. Unfortunately, they did it out in Milwaukee.

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Ace

. . . on the World Cup:

Be proud, France. Another "moral victory," which is just like a true victory, except without the actual "victory," which, let's face it, is an "Anglo-American cultural hegemonic concept" anyway.

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Thanks, Darrell.

The tank top fits perfectly. I put it on when we got back from mass, and I've been wearing it all day. Attila the Hub got a pic, which I'll send you once it's downloaded.

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