Christ, people, do I have to make every obvious sillyass Star Trek allusion around here?
I was going to rag on motherfucking professional Democrats, but first, the Tranya.
- I've'd my Tranya, sbit like Lemon Blend, bottles bought by my grandmother at the Webster A&P then stored in the hoosier until grandchildren visited.
- Bring on the flood.
- Nations and Nationalism since 1780.
- (I am slowly, one section per day, nothing more, working my way through Hobsbawn's great four Ages again.)
- Hobsbawn born 100 years ago yesterday.
- Redoing the Demos?
- The (non)lessons of Corbyn.
- Short story! Neerapodestawalshfrums. Fuck'm.
- I hate motherfucking Democrats, and so should you.
- Class resentment and the Center-Left.
- Please watch this video.
- Oaxaca in a Wyeth.
- Keen analysis of the Comey testimony from Washington Post: But there was no one at the Comey hearing who was more pristinely attired than Comey himself — all 6-foot-8 of him. He strode into the hearing room and unbuttoned his jacket as he took a seat at the witness table, staring unflinchingly into a bank of cameras, the sound of their clicking shutters rising to a near thunderous roar. (For the record, the photographers, God bless each and every one of them, looked like hell.) Comey was the consummate G-man in his black suit and pristine white shirt with its barrel cuffs and point collar. His perfectly straight burgundy tie with its discreet geometric pattern and rigorous dimple was serious, polished — and recalled the color of a scabbed-over wound.
- Flann O'Brien, for those of you who do.
- Had lunch yesterday with Rusty at One World Cafe. Good time, shitty miso.