Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
My wife, Catherine, says that the difference between this depression and the last one is that this time, we're entering the post-consumer society. It isn't going to get back to the way it was. There's no there there. We're zooming past mallworld, on a trajectory somewhere to a place Americans have never been before.
I agree. We can't buy enough bluetooth thingies and digital garbage cans to get out of the fix Bush et al. put us in by sucking every last cent out of the economy. We can't. Even if we had the money, which we don't.
We're in a post-consumer society now. And what that means is -- well, we are once again thrown back on our own wits, only the question du jour is whether we have any.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I probably have no readers left, and it's my own damn fault.
One thing about me: When I take the plunge, I take the plunge. Ever since I started rescuing stray and abandoned Dobermans on January 6, I've been doing little else. It can't be helped. There's learning, and transporting, and scrounging extra gear, and nursing the spayed and the neutered, and supervising the herd, not to mention picking up the leavings. There are adoption forms to the written and contracts to be devised and homes to be checked and references to be called. And if you're lucky enough to have donors and volunteers, there are thanks to be delivered. If you're new, there are lists to join for advice, and experts to call, and veteran rescuers to locate and network with. And shelters to visit. And shelter and pound staffers to woo. It's a full-time job and it's worth it all. Just to see the happiness on the faces of a new family and the mug of a dog who's found his or her Forever Home makes it all worthwhile.
So if you can, forgive me. I've got a life now. I'll write as I can.
And some things are irresistible.
New Balm for Persecuted US Christians
Now, in retaliation for Kosher salt, there's--wait for it--Christian salt. Don't trample each other in the rush to the grocery store.
Rush the Greaser
That picture of Limbaugh at CPAC, the recent gathering of adults born to cohabiting siblings, underfed in infancy, and beaten regularly at puberty (otherwise called "conservatives") was just the best. Someone said he looked like a bouncer on the afternoon shift at a Penthouse whorehouse. Who could top that? It was partly the shiny black shirt, partly the open collar, partly the Popeye the Sailor Man earring, partly the greasy curls at his neck. (Makes ya wanna . . . puke. Rush, there may be clues here about why women don't like you.) Whatta guy.
If you're somewhat at a loss for responding to the leaky crock the conservatives hoist aloft every time we get close to a sensible approach to healthcare, read this. It'll help you get started.