While everyone works furiously this morning to out-do everyone else in sharing or structuring the perfect plagiarism meme, my takeaway from last night's proceedings in Cleveland is nicely encapsulated in a comment from the always-reliable Republican strategist Steve Schmidt:
"What we’re seeing tonight is the weaponization of grief.”
Sometimes, there is inspiration. Always go with it...
Seems legit, given the circumstances. (Thank you to my friend Jonathan Roses for the photo.)
In the words of Colonel Kurtz, "The horror. The horror..."
Election Day is on November 1. It can't possibly come soon enough for me.
Sadly, the message of Marvin Gaye's song still hangs in the air after all these years. Especially this morning. And I'm becoming less and less confident that we will find an answer to his question anytime soon.
Have a nice weekend.
It has been way too long. We all really need Max Headroom to return to TV.
1968 was a terrible year also. MLK and RFK assassinations, riots at the Democratic Convention in Chicago, racial turmoil, death and chaos in big cities, and Nixon. But at least there was music to escape to.
Welcome back, Kia Soul hamsters!
Nothing sticks to a Clinton.
"The Circus" resumes next Sunday, just in time for the Conventions.
Way back before you could take them with your phone, you had to pay for selfies by the shot. And before you took them, you generally got all spiffed up and checked your makeup. Posed, but not very spontaneous.
Have fun out there, but be careful that thing doesn't go off on you.
And still, the pink hats sang along to "Sweet Caroline" after the top of the seventh inning. Kind of like the way passengers aboard the Titanic sang "Nearer My God To Thee" as it was on its way to the bottom of the sea...
I think I'll apply for a job at Wegman's, creating the abbreviations for product descriptions. It looks like a whole lot of fun.
He is one of my favorite contemporary artists, and this is a unique insight into how he creates his gorgeous and sensual paintings. It is also another chapter in the eternal push-and-pull between commercial success and critical acceptance.
A Harry Chapin tune, for fathers. I'm grateful for all the love and all the times together with my kids, but this song has always resonated with me, from the very first time I heard it, a long time ago.
Sixty-one years ago, in 1955. The photo looks as though it might have been taken this week.
With renewed interest in vinyl sound recordings, perhaps a few more Millennials will know what this archaeological relic was once used for.
