Plunder

The vast dozens of readers of this blog may recall the wager I made with my esteemed friend Will Smallman, in which we bet each other $20 over who would win the 4-mile New York Road Runners’ race through Central Park we participated in this past Sunday.  I am happy to report that I snatched victory (and a twenty-dollar bill) out of Will’s gracious loser hands.  I got up at 6:30, decided to forego a shower, and set out into the desolate, offalled sidewalks of an early Sunday morning in the Village - - more finally subdued Saturday night raucousness than early morning,

Experiment

I want someone I know to do the conservative politics version of Super-Size Me.  For a month, only listen to Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, read the Wall Street Journal editorial page and get all information and entertainment from Fox News roundtable discussion shows.  Let go of your instinctual resistance–trust and believe what you hear.  Don’t talk to your friends, don’t listen to public radio, don’t read the New York Times, and don’t watch Colbert.  And then,

All I ever wanted…all I ever needed

Last week the New Yorker had a short piece on the monk movie showing at Film Forum.  From time to time when I’ve considered it in the past, monastic life has had this off-the-wall appeal to me.   Part of this is probably because I’m not very good at conversation anyway; Oscar Wilde I am not.  I have a wet book of matches of a wit and, as such, am reliably a drag on whatever cocktail hour or birthday party is weighed down with my stultifying, taciturn deadness in person.  Seriously, if you ever get caught in a conversation with me you will know that the only way to understand the electric power of my charisma is

Template

Dear banner ad for classmates.com with the three 80s yearbook photos of girls winking at me while I’m just trying to read my yahoomail:

Stop it.  You’re creeping me out. 

 Bereft of joy,

B

MORE EWOK WIFE!!!*&^!

She does this like four or five times a week.  Is it my fault that I document it? 

Spinach Croissant

Sometimes I’ve got some real Fahrvergnügen going with my physical self, when I’m really at one with my sense of having a body that’s worth taking care of, such as when I’m bopping along the street in a good mood, or running out along the river in the sunshine on a pleasant summer day.  I’d never think of putting anything even with sugar in my body at those times, since that’d fuck up my natural, pure high.  And then there’s the disturbing plurality of the time when