I don't feel great about the past week in general, and very little was best about it. I got a cold (which I am now nearly over) was in an elevator collapse, and that's just the start of it.
Momento Mori. I don't know the source of it.
Well, every once in a while you get a well deserved dope slap from God. I probably need one a lot more often than I get them.
Anyhow, here goes:
Monday, November 26, 1923. Beauty contestants.
Why that one? I don't know. Perhaps because some of the girls look so forlorn.
And that one is for the photos of jungle fighting.
Social Snapshots
The 2024 Election, Part X. Your money where your mouth is edition, sort of?
And the below:
This is frankly one of the stupidest things I've seen recently. How self-indulgent. If you really want to get involved, get over there. But then you'd find that green haired yelling doesn't really cut it on the broken edge of the bottle.
I've never been keen, I'd note, about Dr. Kissinger.
Really hoping to finish out the year without a new edition of the below:
A university girlfriend introduced me to the Pogues. She's bought an album of theirs because somebody recommended it as punk. She didn't care for it much, but thought I'd like it as it was so Irish.
It was, frankly, great. I've been a fan ever since. MacGowan was great.
A Congressman gets the boot.
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