I'm missing the state of the union address tonight, intentionally. Seems to me based on the long line of amazingly poor decisions he's made, the president ought to be listening to someone else explain it rather than vice versa. I've really given up on any hope that that goldbricker would redeem himself, much as I'd love to be wrong about it.

Now a word from everyone's favorite surrealist, the fun-loving Andre:

Everything leads me to believe that there exists a certain point, a state of mind in which life and death, the real and the imaginary, the past and the future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions. It would be useless to seek in surrealist activity any impulse other than the hope of determining this point.

Thanks to the simplicity and incorruptibility of the written word, it's easy to see and nice to know a lot of us are on the same page without taking it into account. I quote some other guys:

A man must be very lacking in moral sense if he needs religion to make a gentleman of him.

Boo hidy.

If you see a priest being beaten, make a wish.

Thanks, books.

Speaking of, after reading Dave Barry's freshman effort at fiction, Big Trouble, I've decided instead to spend my time with the bleak prose of J. M. Coetzee, lamenting the shortage of licorice popsicles. I'll take a stab at some of Dave Barry's nonfiction once I'm good and bummed out, since it's the taste that built the brand.

That about catches us up.


At Wednesday, January 24, 2007, Anonymous robinkisser said...

back in the game huh? bet you were getting cold sweats and tremors....


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