Saturday, July 23, 2011


Why? Boehner Can't Deliver The Votes

And more at TPM.
Meanwhile, Asian markets open at 2 p.m. (EST?) Sunday.

Today In Other News

I've been avidly reading the back-and-forth on the debt ceiling debate over at TPM with my confirmation bias firmly at work agreeing with those who claim it's all just a show, Kabuki if you will, with Obama knowing full well the R's will never say yes in the end and we'll be back to the so-called "clean" lift, some version of the McConnell/Reid "plan," what everyone knew was the end game but the process has left the R's looking like total morons to the general public, especially the general public that regards itself as independent voters.
A Huffpo report (they do report, sometimes quite well) says the speed bump was a matter of $400 billion disagreement, peanuts.
We'll see.
In the meantime, Amy Winehouse has died, presumably an overdose. I think I saw her perform on SNL. She was talented, lost and doomed.
And then there's the famine, of course.
Think I'll go to the market. Shorty will like that.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Stock I Should Have Bought Dept.

Apple. Yeah, Apple.
Wait, are they publicly traded? I dunno.
And Kottke, I'd lost track of him. Add him to your sometime knowledge/entertainment bookmarks. Les Twins are fun.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Comment O' Teh Day

Someone at MetaFilter has a post today of a somewhat amusing parenting blog/cartoon. But, as usual, the comments are better than the original topic.
From Daddy-O:
When my children were young, I would threaten them with NPR if they got too rowdy in the car. They especially hated Car Talk.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

I Was 15

on July 17, 1959, and had never heard of her.
Side issue, how come City Lights owns the rights to O'Hara's poetry? Odd. Ferlinghetti was amazing. Oh, wait, he's still alive, 92.

By Frank O'Hara 1926–1966 Frank O'Hara
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton   
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don’t know the people who will feed me

I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun   
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets   
in Ghana are doing these days
                                           I go on to the bank
and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)   
doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her life   
and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine   
for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do   
think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or   
Brendan Behan’s new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
of Genet, but I don’t, I stick with Verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness

and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and   
then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue   
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and   
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing
Frank O’Hara, “The Day Lady Died” from Lunch Poems. Copyright © 1964 by Frank O’Hara. Reprinted with the permission of City Lights Books.

Source: The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara (1995)