An intellectual infatuation between a man and a woman is the beginning of lies. Big, throbbing, mind-wandering, 3-D rendering lies. Is such a dynamic tenable? Of course not. But it is a test of a man’s character to act on what is right in every respect and to abide by that standard at the moment of truth.
I’ve had Bow Wow Wow’s “I Want Candy” in my head all day.
It must be some measure of Ellas McDaniel’s power that he actually owns a particular beat. Thank you, sir. You are an American treasure.
Enjoy this fun little stroll through the music of the English language, courtesy of Joseph Bottum:
In a logical sense, of course, some words are literally true or false when applied to themselves. Words about words, typically: Noun is a noun, though verb is not a verb. Poly- syllabic is self-true, and monosyllabic is not. And this logical notion of autology can be extended. If short seems a short word, true of itself, then the shorter long must be false of itself.
But what about jab or fluffy or sneer, each of them true in a way that goes beyond logic? Verbose has always struck me as a strangely verbose word. Peppy has that perky, energetic, spry sound it needs. And was there ever a more supercilious word than supercilious? Or one more lethargic than lethargic?
Let’s coin a term for this kind of poetic, extralogical accuracy. Let’s call it agenbite. That’s a word Michael of Northgate cobbled up for his 1340 Remorse of Conscience–or Agenbite of Inwit, as he actually titled the book. English would later settle on the French-born word “remorse” to carry the sense of the Latin re-mordere, “to bite again.” But Michael didn’t know that at the time, and so he simply translated the word’s parts: again-bite or (in the muddle of early English spelling) agenbite.
The relative perfection of our language to all others is unquestionable. People who come to live in America should learn to speak it.
One of the most beautiful women I know is also a waitress at my favorite restaurant —a great Vietnamese place in South Austin— and, today, she told me that I remind her of her dearly departed horse because his name was also Toby. Because of the name. The name makes her happy, so when she sees me, it…uh…
I’ve been going into this place for years and I think that’s maybe the most she’s ever said to me at one time. Naturally, I’ve taken the time this afternoon and evening to completely zapruder the hell out of her completely unprecedented remarks and to contemplate polluting myself to their memory, but I am more bemused than anything else. If bemused still means horny.
Oh, and who cares that John Edwards endorsed BHO? Keith Olbermann, who is a miserable propagandist craphound, seems to think Edwards’ coronation today of the Southside Messiah is far more important than the 2-to-1 shellacking Mrs. Clinton gave to him in West Virginia yesterday. Get a clue, Olbamamann. People know what this race is about.
I am very sorry to hear of the too-early death of Dan Fogelberg.
His music helped to define a certain period of my life that was pretty painful, but I would never hold that against him, of course. I was a kid and he was a sad, but thoughtful, singer of some very beautiful songs. His music definitely had a big impact on my brother Jimmy, I recall. And one of the prettiest girls I knew in high school once told me that “Longer” was her most favorite song. It’s nice that I never forget to remember that whenever I hear it.
The horns from “The Leader of the Band” were the first strains of music to enter my mind when I heard the sad news tonight, so I should think that’s the power of art, my friends. Something noble and beautiful that survives and even justifies you.
What a good fate!
It’s funny, but every time I see a new photograph of Chelsea Clinton, it just makes me smile. She is such a pretty young lady —and I am glad that she is around to enjoy all the admiration now after living through the hateful opinions of vicious pricks in her youth.
Living well is the best revenge.
I’ve actually been a little bothered today by the news that the lovely Michelle Valles of KXAN was arrested and jailed last night on suspicion of drunken driving.
She’s a native of my birthplace of El Paso and a graduate of my alma mater here at UT Austin. And she is almost preposterously beautiful. If she’s on the TV when I’m in the room, it’s an automatic 100 points off my IQ. It doesn’t matter that she’s not particularly skilled at what she does; but it does matter that there should be women who are so perfectly pretty that they make you happy just to behold them. And, anyway, she’s a sweetheart. A truly good person.
I think I’ve emailed her three times. Like some sort of goofy-assed teenaged girl pawing through Tiger Beat while writing a perfume-soaked letter to Shaun Cassidy. On the second email, I asked her for an autographed picture. There was no response until almost exactly a year later. Bizarre. I have no idea if her backlog of requests from other pathetic 35 year-old men was that huge, but she assured me that she was going to send me one right away.
It never came. [cue the 50’s-era sitcom “sad horn” leitmotif]
Anyhow, I strongly disapprove of drunken driving. When I was a young man, I was guilty of much stupidity myself and other politician-like euphemisms. No one has any right to endanger the lives of others with the impaired control of thousands of pounds of metal, glass, and fuel.
I am grateful that Michelle is okay and that she hasn’t harmed anyone. And I am hopeful that she will succeed and put things right in her life. But I needed to say tonight that I am a disappointed admirer.
On two separate occasions today, I was essentially coerced into eating when I did not want to. A soft coercion, you may be sure —delivered by two of the women in my life— but bullysome, anyhow.
The first woman is a lady I know from work who very much wanted me to go get her lunch from a nearby hamburger joint. She had a two-for-one coupon and didn’t flinch when I reminded her of the wonderfulness of their onion rings. But it was early yet and I hadn’t really been done with my breakfast all that long before. I didn’t want to go, but what the hell? She could go and get it herself, but we’re already clear on the fact that I am Her Sap and have been for some time. Who knows why such soft sadism and somewhat harder masochism is the coin of our silly realm?
So I go and get the burgers. And the onion rings. It was her birthday yesterday, see.
The second woman is my mother. She wanted to meet for dinner after I got off work. But I had literally just finished eating my lunch when she called to make that plan and I didn’t want to think about food at just that moment. Amazing for a great big fat man, but it is so! And, really, I was thinking I might eat later on in the evening after a certain project around here got worked on. One way or the other, though, we were going to eat, even if we hadn’t yet settled on a restaurant.
And why was it so important for her to have dinner with her son? Just so she could share her generosity, even refusing to let me touch the bill! But I had already repaid her by interrogating her over a particular point and probably angering her a little bit. Not for long, though. I love my mother and I just want her to be happy. In fact, she gets a residual check every time that sentiment gets expressed to or for any of her boys, so I may as well get in on the racket, too.
As my Daddy used to say, some of us just can’t stand the prosperity.
It’s almost beyond belief, but there’s a report going around that
Dozens of Syrian military officers and Iranian engineers were killed about two months ago in an a chemical weapons accident, Jane’s Magazine reported Monday, revealing new details on the incident which took place in a secret weapons facility.
According to the report by the British magazine, the explosion occurred early in the morning on July 26, in a factory in the city of Halab, as the officers were attempting to mount a chemical warhead with mustard gas on a Scud-C missile.
A fire which started in the missile’s engine led to an explosion near a storage location of chemical substances. The blast spread lethal chemical agents, including mustard gas, VX gas and sarin nerve gas, which are considered extremely toxic and are banned for use according to international treaties.
If true, it will be necessary in the very near future for Nancy Pelosi’s friend to see his capital reduced to rubble.
It’s over, Assad. Know that, if this report is confirmed, it’s over for you.
The Devil was beating his wife today while I was at work. That’s always a very strange —and somehow counterintuitive— sight to behold.
“The summer of aught-seven was the damnedest one I ever saw,” they’ll say.
“I reckon so,” I’ll say.
(Last night was a farmer’s moon, my marmoset.)
