I'm still fighting the urge to bleggalgaze - and this post signifies I'm still mightily losing - though I can offer this advice: posting post-classical noise, 20th century high modernist poetry, news of your cats and kid, and reviews of your favorite soccer team's latest games as a means of asserting your authorial independence over your insatiable pinglust at the cost of alienating all but your most loyal, patient, tolerant, and most forgiving readers is win!
Those of you left, as thank you gift, here: motherfucking professional progressives:
Liberal activists and academics displeased with the Obama administration’s handling of several issues popular with progressives say they are seeking candidates willing to mount a primary challenge against President Obama next year.
The group, led by consumer advocate Ralph Nader and scholar Cornel West, said it faults Obama for the escalation of military campaigns in Afghanistan and Pakistan, for extending tax cuts first enacted by George W. Bush and for his actions during the recent debt ceiling negotiations.
The group said Saturday it is seeking six “recognizable, articulate” candidates who would not mount serious challenges to Obama, but “rigorously debate his policy stands” on issues related to labor, poverty, foreign policy, civil rights and consumer protections.
Gah. Comedy gold. Meanwhile, more new blegs added left and right.
- Aldous Tyler for President!
- Social programs.
- Of course they are. So are all Attorneys General.
- Compassionate conservatives.
- On the above.
- Why are our revolutionaries only from the Right?
- Paper of record puzzled.
- On the Suskind book: A depressing book yes, but savvy and informative. And some of that depression will be temporarily alleviated by the doubtlessly entertaining circular firing squad that is likely to emerge in the next week once Summers, Geithner, Warren, Emanuel, Rubin, Volcker, Orszag, Rouse, Barney Frank (who does not fare well), and perhaps the president get their hands on it.
- Whore Ring Tone.
- Tea Party Zombie Game.
- Constitutionally deficient.
- Wikileaks, music, power.
- MOCO is 235.
- Darkblack's Sunday Overnight.
- Mists part one, part two.
BOOK LOANED TO TOM ANDREWS
Bobby C Rogers
I'd already found out that one of the secrets to happiness was never loan your books. But I loaned it anyway. We were all of us poor and living on ideas, stumbling home late to basement apartments, talking to ourselves. What did we own except books and debt? When the time came we could move it all in the trunk of a car. Tom knew what a book was worth—he brought it back a week later, seemingly unhandled, just a little looser in the spine, a trade paper edition of The Death of Artemio Cruz, required reading for a course in postmodernism we were suffering through. The book's trashed now, boxed up and buried in the garage with a hundred other things I can't throw away. When I moved back south I loaned it again to a girl I'd just met. At some party I'd said it was the best novel since Absalom, Absalom!, which may have been true, but mostly I was trying to impress her, and convince myself, still testing all I'd been told about the matter of a book is best kept separate from, well, matter. Months later it turned up on my front steps without comment, the cover torn in two places, the dog-eared pages of self-conscious prose stuck together with dark, rich chocolate.