This is the best photo I’ve ever taken of a bird, especially one of the flitty, tiny variety. It’s a gray catbird taken at Sawgrass Lake Park.
Reading this really well-done article about the newspaper strike of 1962-1963, and it struck me how much more difficult and expensive getting anywhere in life has become.
The Times newsroom, on West 43rd Street, was a bustling, self-contained universe. The managing editor, Turner Catledge, would sometimes stand outside his office with binoculars, scanning the immense workspace. The city editor used a loudspeaker to summon dozens of clean-cut reporters—many with college degrees!—to a breaking story.
Now, if you don’t have a degree from an Ivy you stand very little chance of getting a job at the New York Times or any other major newspaper for that matter.
Not sure why this is. Risk aversion? Surely the best journalists don’t come from Ivies only.
I did photojournalism for five years. I know a little about it. From what I’ve seen, I’m a better writer than many of those Ivy League-educated standard issue journalists and I have no degree in anything.
I don’t have any real idea why the entry-level requirements in so many fields are so senselessly high now. I’ve often seen receptionist jobs that require a bachelor’s degree, and even a few that request a master’s.
No idea why on any of this.
A burglar? Never saw him as a burglar. Maybe a rapist, as he was très creepy, but not a burglar.
This guy was a terrible, terrible bully. I beat the absolute crap out of him on the playground one day after he pushed me a little too far. I made him eat dirt. Another day in the principal’s office – nothing unusual there.
Ah, the memories.
And another! Wow. The last time I saw this dude, he was like five years old.
I grew up in a classy place, yes?
One area where I partially side with some of conservatism is that I don’t believe in the “feel good” mantras parroted by people like this.
“Sure, just eat whatever you want, it’ll be ok.”
Fuck. That. Noise.
That’s how I hit 200 pounds as a 5’ 8” guy with a small frame.
Even then if I hadn’t already been exercising some restraint, I would’ve been more like 300 pounds.
So, yeah, eat whatever you like and spend the last 20 years of your life with diabetes-caused necrosis as your feet rot off in a hospital.
Sounds like a good fucking plan.
Tell you what: you do that, and I’ll do the other thing.
All coffee tastes exactly the same to me – like something no human should ever drink.
Paying $7 for a cup of it seems like a Bernie Madoff-level rip-off.
I can’t tell the difference between a cup of instant coffee brewed with musk ox vomit and the most expensive, most artisanal yuppie cup.
All taste exactly the same to me: like foul poison.
The last three times someone has talked to me in public, a woman I did not know initiated a conversation with me.
While it is fine, and I don’t mind, if I did the exact same thing to a woman alone in public (as I was), I would be looked at much more suspiciously and might be accused of mild harassment.
I find this hypocritical and completely shitty.
I am not blaming women, as I understand the constraints under which many live under reference interactions with strange men.
It’s interesting to be really terrible at the things civilized society values most, and to be really good at those it values least.
I don’t mind being a misfit, but it does impose certain constraints.
And I’m a feminist with a big, fat, loud F U.
I don’t understand a great deal of human behavior as I seem to have either been born sans the compulsions that produce it, or they are channeled in such different ways that they bear little similarity to their typical expression.
Tattoos I don’t get. What’s the point, and the purpose?
Misogyny is another one, and any sort of status-seeking or status-confirming. You’re either superior or you’re not. Discussing it or “proving” it incessantly seems to me to be status-diminishing at best to status-destroying at worst.
Most human behavior at heart seems to be about status signaling, and to the extent that I have to do it to fit in, I utterly despise it.
I think it’s easier than me because I don’t have the seemingly-visceral and atavistic response to being alone that most humans do, while at the same time not suffering (I hope) from the typically-accompanying psychopathology.
I’m either broken or can’t be broken. I am not sure which, nor do I much care.
Female porn stars are psychologically as healthy or healthier than other women, according to a new study, which challenges widely held views about women in the adult entertainment business.
I’ve always thought "regular" work was as exploitative, if not more exploitative, than porn. It’s only our anti-sex mania that makes it seem any different.