Damn it, I caved (in) and bought the complete (automatically renewing) monthly subscription to the New York Times today:
Much as I do disapprove of the vicious, war-mongering Establishment Whore--and wary as I am of the likely (indeed quite probable) mendacity and bias of anything printed in her--She's got the most intriguing articles, written by the most talented (if hardly the most veracious or honest) writers. I'm not going over to the Other Side--merely getting a clearer, more comprehensive view of it.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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