A friend and I were recently talking about how we came to computers.
Seven short book reviews: fiction, science fiction, mysteries, memoirs, banned.
Got up at 5 AM to spray a wasp nest under the eaves over our breezeway, something you definitely don’t want to do when they’re awake and alert.
What I want to know is when do we start to see the episodes of Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune taped without audiences? I ask because I think the networks’ decision to delay putting them on the air isn’t helping.
So how’s your staycation going?
The second I clicked, a mental grail knight—the very one from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade—said “You chose poorly.”
But those who ban and burn books aren’t just know-nothings. A whopping proportion of their anti-intellectualism is composed of resentment and spite.
I want to tell myself we’re going to crush Trump and the fascist Republicans who’ve hitched their wagons to him in November, but fuck me, I didn’t think he had a chance in 2016 either and look how that worked out.