Sad day all around. Molly Ivins dying in the middle of her newspaper campaign. Listening to Brzezinski, Our Man In Afghanistan, once upon a time, speaking (for the moment I listened) of negotiation and sweet reason, while the NPR reporter tried to keep things "balanced", I guess, by asking what seemed to me were eager, seriously cast questions that merely begged war. The close surety the country of my birth, and the world, are in bitter shape, a certainty rendered boring and gray by repetition. Too huge and ugly to quite look away from for long.
But...I had a great conversation this evening, with someone I hadn’t seen in a long time. Only some of the story is mine to tell, so this is a mercifully short diary, but perhaps it will entertain in the early morning hours between the last bag of fritos and petit déjeuné...more, of course, after the fold...
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