"When I do not want to say things in real life I often say them here." — Mimi Smartypants
If thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought – George Orwell
The other night Jimmy Kimmel described Meryl Streep as an actor, and everyone carried on as if it was some kind of big whoop moment. But why should it have been? Every year I ask myself why we still call woman actors actresses, when feminine labels have vanished from other professions. When’s the last time anyone talked […]
My stampede string came and I attached it to the new sun hat. It’s western, braided leather with silver tips, and pretty long. I’m trying to figure out the best way to wear it when it’s not snugged up under my chin on a windy day. Should I loop it over the brim with the […]
Remorse, yes; major-sin remorse, no. More like mild feelings of guilt for neglecting the blog, and you, my reader. I knew this would happen when I took on a competing writing task, my memoir, which creeps along in the background, one painfully-extracted sentence at a time. The day before yesterday I sent out a Paulgram newsletter. One of the […]
I’m assuming everyone is up on the story of the Texas lady with the “Fuck Trump and Fuck You for Voting for Him” sticker on her pickup truck and how a local sheriff threatened to arrest her for displaying it, and later did arrest her on another pretext, and how she’s back on the streets […]
As Trump and his court crank up the volume of their attacks on “fake news,” their actual agenda is increasingly clear: they want news that makes Trump look bad suppressed, possibly even outlawed, like they do for dictators and royalty in other countries.
Lemme know when Kathy Griffin starts murdering people on the Metro. Then maybe I’ll give a shit about the message she’s sending. I thought the mock beheading photo was timely, appropriate, and well within the bounds of acceptable political discourse. And anyway, who’s to say HBO didn’t stage the whole thing … the photo, the social media meltdown, […]
Dude laid a tip on me after my tram tour at the air museum. He walked up, said “Thank you for your service,” and stuck his hand out. I shook back and felt a coin pressing against my palm. I glanced down to see what looked like a gold Rand and immediately thought to myself […]
Yes, the beard is gone. Like an infant discovering its tongue, I’d become obsessively aware of the hair on my face, touching it, scratching at it, thinking about it day and night. The symptoms were signs, and they read: “A shave / That’s real / No cuts to heal / A soothing / Velvet after-feel / Burma-Shave.”