I Try to Teach Her Caution; She Tries to Teach Me Risk

Here's me later today in Sweden:





Now you know my real name. Like the shorts?

I haven't been outside for any outside fun in a month, it's gonna be 70 today, 60 tomorrow, and 50 on Sunday, when I can this putt to birdie Seneca 13D:

Saturday morning we put Planet on an airplane to fly to an interview for a scholarship to one of three colleges she most wants to be accepted into, and I can't imagine that school would be flying her in and meeting her at the airport and driving her the 50 miles to campus and boarding her and feeding her on their dime if she wasn't already in, whether she gets this scholarship or not.

This is the central tension re: why every post always has that one tag. 

Here's the guy who built 13D ace a 450 foot temp hole at Duck:

• Author of From Dictatorship to Democracy.
• Intellectual history of anarchism.
• Breaking unions.
• When the revolution comes.
• Why Liberals are lame.
• Teachers' pelt.
• The fabric begins to rip.
• Mobamafucker. (h/t)

• Bleggalgazing, of a sort.
• Bleggalgazing, of a sort.
• For all the intellectual snobs I've known before.
• Duh. Why the fuck is his hat gray?
• Did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team?
• Kornheiser! Heh.
• My future hell.
• Phil Andrews, MOCO asshole.
• DC from above.
• Official catalog of potential literature?
• All tomorrow's art parties.
• *!hEh!*

FATHER'S SONG

Gregory Orr

Yesterday, against admonishment,
my daughter balanced on the couch back,
fell and cut her mouth.

Because I saw it happen I knew
she was not hurt, and yet
a child's blood so red
it stops a father's heart.

My daughter cried her tears;
I held some ice
against her lip.
That was the end of it.

Round and round: bow and kiss.
I try to teach her caution;
she tries to teach me risk.