Big Blonde on the left, me on the right. This is a detail from the Bil (that’s right, one ‘l’) Stout album cover of Firesign Theatre’s “In the Next World, You’re on your Own.”
Thanks to RobberG’s suggestion, I’ve opened a new section in the sidebar to the right with stories and I’ve started with “The Precipice of Angels.” I hadn’t looked at it in a long time and I’ve been so much writing about the American West lately that I’d forgotten that the kind of Euro style to it works. You’ll notice that I’ve drifted away from Good Writing. That last sentence is, as I’m sure John McCain would say, a doozy.
It’s suddenly Summer up here on Mystery Island. After three months of pretty constant rain, the sun is out again. It’s been three weeks in a row of great weather. We’re insane up here. Let the country collapse in sub-prime despair. Let the credit cards not work. It’s nice outside. By the way,
“You can put all the lipstick on John McCain you like,
He’s still John McCain.”
I said that.