That's right ... in the not too distant future, I plan to unveil a new blog. I am currently at work on the research. This new blog will return me to my curmudgeonly blogger roots. No happy memories or singing the praises of those I believe deserve it there! Quite the oppo, in fact. It will be a 96-installment, month by month history of the worst presidency in American history.
That's right! You guessed it. I am refering, of course, to the one we all cannot wait to see end. The Current Occupant, as Garrison Keiller calls him. AKA the dumbest shithead ever to walk out of Texas with his boots on the wrong feet. ("Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! I don't understand it, Laura. These boots is new, but they hurts like h-e-double hockey sticks!")
I plan to try to space the entries, so that my recounting (oh, if only we could have really recounted in 2000!!) of the high(?) and oh so many low points of the GWB years will end just as we all waken from the national nightmare next January 20. Join me, and please feel free to add to the fun with your own favorite memories!!
Meanwhile, I also plan to keep this blog going, hopefully on a more regular basis, with intermittent glimpses at the people and things musical, literary, cinematic and otherwise that I find fascinating and about which I feel compelled to share. Enjoy.
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2 comments:
I personally thank GW.
If it weren't for him, I'd probably have never started paying attention enough to become a liberal.
Of course, I'm not saying that it was a fair trade. I'm just ... saying.
Well, I'm glad that some good came of it!!
For me, it was Viet Nam, LBJ, the Kent State shootings, and good old RMN. Until about the middle of my junior year in high school, I was pretty politically naive and being raised in a very conservative, Catholic household, I probably still reflected the political attitudes of my parents more than any I had formed myself.
Once I woke up though, I discovered I had a whole different set of opinions. Made life at home a little tastier. To this day, I don't try to discuss politics with my Dad. It usually just winds up with us yelling at each other.
During my senior year in high school, I edited an underground newspaper called "The MASSES" with four or five other smart alecks in my class. We produced it using the school's own mimeograph equipment on the sly. (Mind you, this was before photocopiers were widely available.) Whenever we published an issue, we had to go to great lengths to distribute copies without the school confiscating them.
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