It’s easy to dismiss a lot of pop or pop-rock as being just fluffy, but there are some quite good stories to be heard in some of these catchy tunes.
I promise to get back to writing about the Putin Administration soon.
I had a conversation about art and artists who are less than perfect. It was occasioned when I blogged last week about a Woody Allen film that I enjoyed. Someone told me he had to stop watching Woody Allen after Allen married Soon-Yi.
Of course he has the right to pick and choose the artists whose work he wants to enjoy, based on any criteria that matter to him. For me, though, if I could not separate the artist from the art, if I could not bring myself to enjoy a work of art made by a person I would never have dinner with… I think I would find myself sitting in a silent room with blank walls. And I would have nothing to read.
What a week it has been. Rethuglicans have made their intentions plain: fatten the tax-free offshore wealth of their owners at the cost of the lives of 20 million Americans who were too f*cking stupid to be born into families with mid-seven digits of net worth or more.
I need a break from this increasingly sh!tty country.
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