Blegsight!

!TEST! I will watch United v Salt Lake after I get home from the fvcking Prairie Home Companion show Earthgirl (generously, joyfully) thought a good giftmas present last December (I knew, I just knew, the nanosecond I heard I knew I'd be fvckd out of a home game) and do game write-up Sunday morning, but can I, in what I know will be one of the five shettiest bleg-ping weekends of the year, resist other blegging until Tuesday earliest, maybe lose complete bleggurge by Tuesday !O! please?

Keep ringing my ping to find out!

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UPDATE!

STRAY

Wyatt Prunty

Only the very wise know how to sleep
In the sun, hunt in the dark, assume what's good
So with their claws they only knead, only purr
For those who, driven by that sun each day
And fearful of the following dark, barely
Consider dumb love's generous adoptions.

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• Hmmm, the World's Turdiest Human accuses Obama of "contrived indignation and phony moralizing," and the next day the World's Shittiest Human says, "If hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue, then the flip-flops on previously denounced anti-terror measures are the homage that Barack Obama pays to George Bush. Within 125 days, Obama has adopted with only minor modifications huge swaths of the entire, allegedly lawless Bush program," well, who's to argue?
• Hate Krauthammer FC.
  
• Obama is to Cheney as Carville is to Matalin?
• Read this.
• Read this. (h/t)
• UPDATE! Read this.
• Best games-player of his generation?
  
• Fuck. No, really.
• Titular Head.
• Bush's legacy.
• A message from Planet

• Time travel.
• Another fracking Yes song in my head.
  
• ICC: Here We Go!
• Up and down Wisconsin Ave.
• Exactly two of you will understand how this represents how truly fucking Olde Gaithersbleggers we are.
• Where we'd buy beer to and from the Appalachian Trail before, during, and after camp-outs.
• UPDATE! Star Trek Reviewed, Or: Ilse Allegedly Wrote Her Own Dialogue!
• Are kindle-bloggers Amazon's bitches? 
• Oddest Book Title Prize.
• This came yesterday (along with the Mantel). As soon as I finish Carpenter's Gothic, I'll flip a coin to see which goes first.
• UPDATE! Read this.
• New Carl Phillips reviewed.
• New Tortoise.
• No Eno Wave (and a new friend).
• Heh, a take down of Animal Collective (another in the series of "I Hate..."): "Animal Collective are not only a symptom, but an enabler of a contemporary American youth culture that is vapidly hedonist, politically uninterested, and libidinally solipsistic."
• An oral/visual history of Broken Social Scene.
• St. Vincent.
• Today's Listening Assignment.
• Today's Listening Assignment.
• Today's Listening Assignment.
• Today's Listening Assignment.
• And the greatest cover ever:

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BOUNDEN DUTY

James Tate

    I got a call from the White House, from the
President himself, asking me if I'd do him a personal
favor. I like the President, so I said, "Sure, Mr.
President, anything you like." He said, "Just act
like nothing's going on. Act normal. That would
mean the world to me. Can you do that, Leon?" "Why,
sure, Mr. President, you've got it. Normal, that's
how I'm going to act. I won't let on, even if I'm
tortured," I said, immediately regretting that "tortured"
bit. He thanked me several times and hung up. I was
dying to tell someone that the President himself called
me, but I knew I couldn't. The sudden pressure to
act normal was killing me. And what was going on
anyway. I didn't know what was going on. I
saw the President on TV yesterday. He was shaking
hands with a farmer. What if it wasn't really a
farmer? I needed to buy some milk, but suddenly
I was afraid to go out. I checked what I had on.
I looked "normal" to me, but maybe I looked more
like I was trying to be normal. That's pretty
suspicious. I opened the door and looked around.
What was going on? There was a car parked in front
of my car that I had never seen before, a car
that was trying to look normal, but I wasn't fooled.
If you need milk, you have to get milk, otherwise
people will think something's going on. I got into
my car and sped down the road. I could feel thos
little radar guns popping behind every tree and bush,
but, apparently, they were under orders not to stop
me. I ran into Kirsten in the store. "Hey, what's
going on, Leon?" she said. She had a very nice smile.
I hated to lie to her. "Nothing's going on. Just
getting milk for my cat," I said. "I didn't know
you had a cat," she said. "I meant to say coffee.
You're right, I don't have a cat. It's just a private
joke. Sorry," I said. "Are you alright," she
asked. "Nothing's going on, Kirsten. I promise
you. Everything is normal. The President shook
hands with a farmer, a real farmer. Is that such
a big deal?" I said. "I saw that," she said, "and
that man was definitely not a farmer." "Yeah, I
know," I said, feeling better.

*

UPDATE!

The poem Hamster left in comments scans better here than there:

Malcolm Lowry

Success is like some horrible disaster
Worse than your house burning, the sounds of ruination
As the roof tree falls following each other faster
While you stand, the helpless witness to your damnation.

Fame like a drunkard consumes the house of the soul
Exposing that you have worked for only this—
Ah, that I had never suffered this treacherous kiss
And had been left in darkness forever to founder and fail.

Untitled, written after publication of Under the Volcano.

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I don't know what ratio between yesterday's surprise email from an long ago love versus my compulsion to sabotage my music credentials now a few cool kids are reading me versus needing to ping brainchords only Kate Bush has ever pinged even after 30 freaking years of listening to everything I can since my loved one first played me Kate Bush, but...