Half of me hopes he takes those officious overreacting officials for every dime — and thinks it’s too bad any judgment won’t come out of their own pockets. The other half of me is beginning to feel a whole lot less sympathy for “clock boy.” (Nicki goes even farther.)
I just came in from stapling some plastic sheeting on my back wall. I’m nailing it over the two-year-old tarpaper that isn’t keeping the water out next to the kitchen door. In some places it’s hard to find a surface for the staples because the wood underneath is crumbling away from rot.
I’m glad two sides of the house look good now, ’cause anybody seeing those back walls first would surely be thinking they’d walked onto the set of Winter’s Bone.
“I’m better than this,” I want the world (e.g. UPS drivers and my immediate neighbors, but not the tax assessor) to know. “Really. I’ve got class.”
Then I turn and look at my Gorilla-taped car … and I wonder.
What’s stranger is that I like it this way. Well, except for the rot.
My family wasn’t white trash. But we knew white trash and knew ourselves to make better choices. “Lace curtain Irish” would have applied (though my American mongrel mother wouldn’t have accepted that term). We were tract-house dwelling, factory- and switchboard-working, “buy it on sale and still don’t tell your father how much it cost” people.
Be we had some quality, you know. Mama didn’t produce no dummies, but kids who went on to get multiple college degrees and move up in the world. Or … erm, choose not to get any college degrees and to plummet determinedly down in the world, but do so for sterlingly well-thought-out philosophical reasons.* Mama also didn’t produce anybody without taste. We wrote. We drew. We created. Our minds could snap like angry turtles when we put them to it.
And I ended up here.
I’m really glad I bought that 100-foot length of very heavy-duty plastic sheeting. It’s already gotten me through two winters of damaged walls, unheated rooms, construction dust, and leaks. Here’s to one more. Totally without leaks this time.
* Or as the family liked to describe my philosophical choices in their typically nuanced manner: “What the hell’s wrong with you? You could have done something with your life!”
Brendan O’Neill of Spikedwrites of Paris one week after. About the lack of passion:
It’s the feeling you’d expect to see following a natural disaster, when tragedy is inflicted on people by forces beyond our control, rather than after a conscious, bloody, moralistic attack, on the citizens of Paris and the values of France. The flower-laying, the books of condolence, the exhortations not to give ISIS our hate because that is what it wants… this has all been good and decent and moving. But where’s the fire? The anger? …
What The Hunger Games movies say about feminism and war. I read this week that Jennifer Lawrence was initially frustrated with her character Katniss’ reluctance to fight and to lead, but eventually came to understand that it’s one of the character’s great strengths.
Newly discovered spider named after a Lord of the Rings character. No, not Shelob.
Well, I’m sure that’s one good reason to fire the head of the DEA. But somehow it hardly seems the biggest reason (to fire the head of the DEA, send all its agents off to work at McDonalds, burn the agency to the ground, and salt the land on which it stood).
Yesterday was the first moment after … ohhhh, 40 days and 40 nights … that it wasn’t either raining or threatening to rain. Between that and the end of the year’s big hunting seasons, the dogs and I were finally able to return to long, leash-free walks in the woods instead of annoying, leashed walks around town (annoying because Ava likes to gallop and Robbie barely moseys these days; I end up walking sideways with my arms extended in two directions).
It was glorious. Chilly, but blue and still.
On our afternoon walk, though, we came across a lone crow feasting on an elk ribcage. Ava — she of the killer prey drive — alerted and paused. Figuring the crow would fly off, I gave her permission to run at it.
It didn’t fly off. It hobbled into the weeds, limping and vainly flapping its wings.
The released FBI docs give the impression that they really weren’t much interested in Loompanics or Paladin. But as I wrote in this 1998 Wolfe’s Lodge “Sound Off,” I have a bit of evidence to the contrary. (Once again a big thank you to Bill St. Clair for keeping that ancient site alive in his archives. Thanks also to the anonymous designer; I was struck again by what a beautiful site it was for its era (and still). Even now it’s a wonderful place for a rainy-day visit.)
There’s a new poll up at The Zelman Partisans. This one does for the Dems what we did last week for the Republicans.
Normally those of you who signed up for TZP alerts would have gotten word by now. Carl-Bear had a very good alert prepared for this morning. Unfortunately the site got attacked by somebody from Ukraine and the alert function is still not functional. Rest of the site and the poll (which is on a separate server) work, and the alert will go out once the Ukrainians and their aftermath are out of the way. Strange times.
In this week’s installment of my ongoing plot to lure you into using my Amazon links for your holiday shopping, I’m focusing on the comforts of home.
Specifically, the warm comforts. It’s only mid-November and I don’t know about you but I’m already sick of winter. As I sit here typing this my fingers and toes are cold and it’s been raining so long I wouldn’t be surprised to see an ark floating by.
So yes, I’m thinking some warm stuff would be welcome under anybody’s Christmas tree this year.
For instance …
How about some delicious flannel sheets? One of you lovely readers bought me a set a couple of years ago and it’s so nice to slide into their comfort instead of shivering through those first icy seconds with standard cotton sheets.
Then there are alway DVDs and Blu-Ray movies made for some cozy snuggling. Speaking of warm things, Warm Bodies is, believe it or not, a perfectly delightful zombie chick-flick comedy to share with a special someone.
Well, I think that gives you the idea. The main idea — the great master scheme behind my entire holiday plot — is for you to please use any Amazon link you find on this site. Shop that way and you’ll help keep this blog rolling and keep the Wolfe dogs in kibble.