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Blagodysseus

    Recently, Rod Blagojevich has trotted out several authors, including Kipling and Alan Sillitoe.  
    Just last week, good old Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Queen Victoria’s mild-mannered and myopic poet laureate, was invoked by the ill-mannered and beady-eyed Governor of Illinois to seal his impeachment press conference with what he thought was just the right tone of defiance and unconquerable will.
    Citing the closing lines of Tennyson’s “Ulysses,” which he had evidently memorized some time back for just such an occasion as this, Blagojevich intoned with school-boyish pride:

Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
The beginning of the poem would be more appropriate for one who has tried to auction off Obama’s senate seat: “It little profits that an idle king…”

A Boy from Los Angeles


I haven’t seen my father since I rabbit-punched him in February, 1994

The Agora: End Obama?s Honeymoon Now!


The Obama victory in particular brings a dangerous honeymoon, because the euphoria of his victory is so powerful.
 

Irish Bar: a Hopscotch Ballad

I swallowed like a graduate maudlin who auctioned off his degree on E-Bay and made my way to an “Irish Pub.”

San Francisco: Cabby, or Shots from the Hip

I was driving.  I was very feeling low.  It had been a rough day. It had been a rough month.  Hell, it had been a rough life!  It was very late at night, and the streets were deserted. I hadn't had a fare since I couldn't remember when.

FROM THE MFA FRONT

I stared at him, fighting back tears. Would it have been too much to ask for him to introduce me to his accomplished friends? After all, I had kept up my end of the bargain, providing him with sex and home-cooked meals.

Winter in Istanbul, 1996

The Turks said this on the streets of Istanbul. People should know. The Dutch stole the tulips.

THE NEWS FROM HOME

Every time I jumped in, I shouted, "Heavens to Mergetroyd!" and my older brother laughed so his freckles stood out.  I must have jumped for him a thousand times.  Later he took too many drugs.

Smugglers Train

Kohitoftun is the only real village one sees before Mirjawa, the border town where you must change trains for the short and comparatively expensive ride into Zahedan.