There are times, admittedly not often, when you might actually want to vote for an incumbent. This is one of those times.
Archive for Ventually
No, I’m not going all Trent Reznor all of a sudden. But damn, I don’t remember being this fragile.
Consider this a brief summation of what goes through your head as you desperately search for ways to keep this old clunker running for just a few more weeks. And by “you,” I of course mean “me.”
Shorter version: if “people” = “yes” than “it” = “not appropriate.” If it gets complicated after that, well, so do people.
If I understand things correctly — and who says I do? — it won’t actually be finished so long as I’m breathing.
Remember when the holidays weren’t politicized to a fare-thee-well? Well, I do.
Where did it come from? What did it mean? And why is it sitting on my desk?
There is friendship, and there is magic. And there are times when it might take the latter to bring about the former.
An insufficiently mild horror story of teddy bears and piano teachers.
There is a finite period between the time the leaves start to fall and the time the trees are completely bare. I have no idea how long that might be.
Young whippersnapper aspires to give advice to the old pro; the old pro declines, most ungraciously.
In which the timelines of Twilight Sparkle and Joe Walsh somehow are made to intersect. Admittedly, neither of them drive, but that’s not the important thing.
You think you’re having problems with that damned government health-care site? You should see what I have to put up with.
Yet another collection of things I don’t entirely comprehend because they’re so damned screwy.
Sometimes life is one damn thing after another; other times it’s several damn things at once.
In 1976, Cliff Richard put out an album — his twentieth, not including compilations and side projects — cheekily titled I’m Nearly Famous.
Which, coincidentally, is about the way I’d describe myself.
A Brit this week explained why he’d just as soon not see any more Page 3 girls, which prompted some thoughts, and admittedly unexcited thoughts at that, about the current issue of Playboy.
Maybe I’m getting all worked up over nothing — or maybe I’m not.
From yesterday’s tweetstream:
I do love the sound of the lawn mower (1) slicing up my grass (2) while being pushed by someone else.
— Charles G Hill (@dustbury) August 31, 2013
If that suggests mixed emotions to you, welcome to the club.
Not that I’m going anywhere anytime soon, but I wanted all this on the record.
Did you ever go back and reread something you wrote several years ago? And if so, did you feel compelled to make excuses for so doing?
The vast quantity of (relatively) low-priced downloadable music available these days is truly a boon to civilization.
Except, of course, when it sucks.
Two ships pass, but only one of them winds up running aground.