rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


My life continues to be as bland as our local weather, now clearly mired in a false spring. The fourth night hence the lunar eclipse takes place, so there's now probably not time for a storm to intervene and still clear out before the anticipated celestial event. So I must wish for at least four more days of false spring, which (if any wintry weather follows it) is enough to do harm to the real spring when it arrives. Stolen thunder! I do not appreciate weather playing tricks on me, or on my plants—not to mention on the geese I heard flying north this evening, or on the frogs I expect to hear croaking any night now. If I see birds nesting soon, I intend to file a complaint with... oh, wait. No complaint department for the universe. Right. I'll just have a meaningless conniption, or maybe only the fantods. Stupid universe.

Meanwhile, here's diversion in the form of webloggy links:

We kept ourselves spotless before those filthy hippies ruined everything!:
Welcome, New Neighbor. Here's a little kit to help get you started obeying the Good Neighbor Rules:
*No diarrhoea
*No disturbingly red eyes
*No body odor
*No unwashed hair
*No unbandaged scrapes, cuts or abrasions
*No unmedicated scrapes, cuts or abrasions
*No rough hands
*No body odor (we really mean it)
*No bacteria on skin
*No headaches
*No bacteria on skin (we really mean it)
*No coughing
*No stray odors in your house (optional, but don't expect company if you don't conform)
*No bad breath or discolored teeth.
Welcome to the perfect world of the mid-20th century (and let's keep it that way!)

If our Navy fails to create a bunch of new space junk, Canada will invade the U.S. (OMG!)

Somehow (probably as a result of not living in Buffalo or Raleigh or other such non-Californian places) I've never before read anything by Hal Crowther, author of this October, 2007 lament over the decline of the American newspaper. He belongs to that rare and fascinating species, the Southern Progressives (astonishing displays of plumage when angry), and though his biography claims that one of my least favorite blatherers, the ever-sententious Kirkpatrick Sale, has said that Crowther is "...the best essayist working in journalism today....", I think this just might be true. The Indy website has several more articles by the fire-breathing old fart (born 1945! Crap, but that's old!) I intend to read all of them. Wow, journalists! Weren't they something, back in the day?

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