A small, sad note. I would just like to mark the passing of my betta, Clark. He was a very fine fish and kept me company at my desk for a couple of years. I’m not sure whether it was old age that got him or he just got tired of my bull@$%!, but I buried him in the back yard this morning with full piscine honors.
To my conservative friends and other Facebook folk: A bunch of us have tried to find any citation for the purported James Carville quote about “Democrats are like a herd of cows” and can find no record of its existence except on one quote site (uncited) and an obscure book on religion and constitutionalism (uncited) — everything else is a daisy-chain of conservative websites handing it back and forth. So I call shenanigans. Another apocryphal quote being summoned out of nowhere and used as ammunition as far as anyone can ascertain. Ball’s in your court, kids. If you’ve got it up, identify it as probably invented or back it up, otherwise I’m going to knock it down everywhere I see it.
One of my Facebook friends has a James Carville quote in which he is purported to say that Democrat voters are a herd of cows and that he started working for the Dems because they’re easier to fool than Repubs. It seems unlikely to me as a real quote, but I’m interested to know if anyone can tell me more about its provenance.
I had a moment of great nature-pleasure today. My daughter and I saw a bobcat on a hill near our house, sauntering along about fifty feet from us. We had a very elusive b-cat at our old house which we saw twice in years, very briefly, through the window at night. This is the first one I’ve seen in daylight. So cool. I think I’ll stake out one of the Chihuahuas as a little treat for him. (Just kidding, honest. One of the kids would make a better meal.)
7 September 2012
Never believe anything I say. Assume it’s fiction. If it turns out to be true — hey, my bad, it’s on me. Besides, you probably weren’t going to believe it anyway.
It took a village to raise this child, but this child may raise R’lyeh all by herself. And I was totally on your side all along, Elder Masters! Swear to Azathoth.
If you haven’t seen this before, it’s very short and it’s just charming.
Leaving the desk for the night. Be well, y’all. Sister Rosetta, won’t you please sing us out?
Enough politics — let’s dance! Okay, not dance, but sway and hold up lighters. The Faces, with Rod (back when Rod was Rod), including a first verse from the late, very much lamented Ronnie Lane.
I just went out my office door into the back and startled a deer. He (I’ve seen him before) went and hid among the blackberries. It got me wondering whether by staying out there I might be stressing him out. Then I realized that deer getting startled is not a rare occurrence, and maybe I was just helping him keep his startle-muscles in shape.
The only thing I could decide for sure was that one way or another, seriously stressed-out deer should be weeded from the brackish bottom of the gene pool in favor of more chill, laid-back deer. Then the deer and I would be nature brothers and hang out in the yard and just be groovy together.
A dispatch from the oddsmaker’s office:
I may be the only person in America sorry for Mitt Romney right now. Part of that is because I don’t think he’ll win the election.
Really it’s not so much sorrow as empathy for another ambitious person with bad timing. Because he had his best shot to become Republican nominee in a year when the Tea Party were driving the bus, the man who always tried not to be pinned down, to appeal to as many middle-of-the-roaders as possible, has now burned his bridges with moderate Democrats, and will not find the most conservative part of the Republican party either a comfortable or long-term home. So where does he go if he falls short of the White House? What does he do next? If he wants to stay in politics, I think he has to concentrate on Utah full time.
We’re very wide awake, the moon and I.
Frankie, the slightly chubby Chihuahua, has just returned after a madcap twenty minutes with his doggie brethren running up and down the fence of our property barking madly at nothing, making sure no falling leaves or squirrels have violated our borders. If he could speak (and had a southern accent) he would have proclaimed, “This house is clean.”
Joseph Hergesheimer (1880-1954):
“It was the dullness of pleasure that drove me to the pleasure of dullness.”
I’m with you, Joey. I am so with you.
Ooh, I have a hater on Amazon. Apparently after thirty years as a pro, I write worse than fanfic.
Actually, I don’t really mind idiots like that — there are always a few — but if you haven’t read the book, I suggest you avoid that 1-star review from him (or her) because it very deliberately spoils a major plot point. And THAT’S a d#ck move.