Israel. Clearly. How can a person alive to-day not be distracted by the nonsense? My question though, is, when was the last time we heard talk about solutions? These days the talk is about whether one can criticize Israel and not be anti-semitic. The answer is yes, but that question then turns everything into an episode of Seinfeld. Only a Jew can criticize Israel, and even then they tend to become self-loathing. The Right has again taken away the discussion and turned it into something unproductive.
To-day was cold, everywhere I went was cold. The Swede’s place was too cold for morning fun. The gym was too cold to worry about being surrounded by yoga girls (maybe I’m just sensitive because I have a small mat). The Tin Fish was too cold to ignore the insipid kid and his whiny dad. My place was too cold to think about the yoga girls. Now I am at a chain sports bar for some cold sports, Stanley Cup finals, and am finally comfortable. In a national chain. *sigh*
The waitress just asked if I wanted some food. “Maybe after I sober up.” She looked at my just-delivered beer and laughed. Little cutie with a red-dyed mop on her head always laughs at my jokes.
I read a Lester Bangs review of Bob Dylan’s Desire. Holy shit! It was tight and, oh, so, devastating. I only wish I had the ability to be so mean. So, here goes:
“[Buttercup] doesn’t give a damn about [music], and if he spent any more than ten minutes actually working on the composition of [It’s ON: Cover Song Battle] then Bryan Ferry is a member of the Eagles.”
“At length I concluded that any [post] whose principal utility lay in such an emotional twilight zone was at worst an instrument of self-abuse, at best innocuous as a crying towel, and certainly was not going to make me a better person or teach me anything about women, myself, or anything else but how painfully confused [Buttercup] seemed to be.”
Bangs, Lester. (1976, March 8). Bob Dylan’s dalliance with mafia chic: He ain’t no delinquent, he’s misunderstood. The Village Voice.