The Last of His Kisses

The barking has stopped, but there is no relief. The last of the tumbleweeds have been swept.   The gentle tapping of the too-long nails, The happy thumping of excitable tails,   The last of wet kisses - now memories wept.   The barking has stopped, but there is no relief.   For Hapi, Buddy, and Chloe

Sokal-led Academia

Briefly, three academics could no longer understand the state of social discussions and the immediate dismissal of people through the labelling of "racist, sexist, homophobic" of anyone wanting to actually discuss issues. They followed the path from shouting moral certitudes back to sociological studies published in academic journals. They decided to create and submit 20 theoretical social studies papers for some of these journals. What they discovered is that even if you take a chapter of Mein Kampf , switching out specific references with sociological buzz words, a peer-reviewed journal may accept your work. What the New Sokal Hoax Reveals About Academia Dave Rubin interviews Peter Boghossian and James Lindsay Their own video of the problem of grievance studies This is neither a gotcha! moment, nor a prank to be dismissed. It should be a turning point in how academic journals consider their own objective: to further knowledge in their specific fields, or to fur

Dirge Without Music

By Edna St. Vincent Millay I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.  Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go;   but I am not resigned. Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost. The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,— They are gone.  They are gone to feed the roses.  Elegant and curled Is the blossom.  Fragrant is the blossom.  I know.  But I do not approve. More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know.  But I do not approve.

Old Lady Dreams

Is it just me, or do you also think about how when you get old, you can do amazing things?  And I'm talking really old, so I'd better lose some weight and get some sleep. For instance, I can see myself becoming a really cool old lady actress.  Movies must need really cool old ladies for something -- like portraying really old ladies -- and I can't imagine having a career in Hollywood and then wanting to see myself as wicked old on the big screen.  Since I've never been on the big screen . . . no problem. It's all gravy. Another thing I think I'll be really good at, and it's quite a valuable skill as well, is being able to decipher handwriting.  I just saw this meme and it reminded me of my living as Rosetta Stone desires. Or saying whateverthefuck I want.  I'm pretty damn close to that now, but still, there are some things that I just wouldn't say.  Someday, though, all bets will be off! You have been warned.   

Because This Cracks Me Up.

I got this little app called My Talking Pet and I can't stop playing with it.  My daughters have told me in no uncertain terms to stop texting them movies of their beloved pets talking. That such a practice is disrespectful and gross.   I cordially disagree.  This here is comedy gold.*  *Especially if your family often quotes the Beatles-like vultures in the original Jungle Book movie. 


The rippled and rippling reflection pool under the portal bridge to Point State Park in Pittsburgh, which is itself under a bridge.  Or two.