In which noses are cut off to spite faces

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 17 Comments
Ow. Ow. Ow.

Blogger Kevin Drum passes along some dispiriting yet unsurprising news from The Washington Post: Voters in a poor Pennsylvania town cast their ballots for Oney I. Kinfixit “even though they depend on welfare benefits that Republicans have long wanted to cut back.”

Here’s 55-year-old Lori Mosura, one of the townspeople quoted in the piece: “He is more attuned to the needs of everyone instead of just the rich. I think he knows it’s the poor people that got him elected, so I think Trump is going to do more to help us.”

Cue Messrs. Simon & Garfunkel:

I am just a poor boy 

Though my story’s seldom told 

I have squandered my resistance 

For a pocketful of mumbles 

Such are promises 

All lies and jest 

Still a man hears what he wants to hear 

And disregards the rest

Sandy claws

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments
Weird-looking Christmas tree. Isn’t even decorated.

Well, our white Christmas finally showed up around 4 p.m. yesterday.

Better than never, I suppose. But 0.04 inch is hardly for the dashing through in a one-horse open sleigh.

Our “white Christmas.”

Ours was a modest celebration at El Rancho Pendejo. We broke fast with coffee, toast, oatmeal, and tea, went out for a short trail run, and lunched on leftover pasta with a mildly lively sauce of tomatoes, sausage, rosemary and olives.

Afterward, while I made the tee-hees here at the blog, Herself whipped up a giant cookie using a shortbread pan she scored from Goodwill. Background music was from The Chieftains, The Pogues, Mozart, Robert Earl Keen, Hozier, Tom Waits … you know, the usual holiday suspects.

Dinner was jambalaya with a green salad. Beverages included Guinness 0.0 and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

Gift-giving was restrained. I have this fine new MacBook Pro, and Herself has the green light for a getaway with a friend.

Gotta save our pennies for those tariffs, $50 cartons of eggs, and $20-per-gallon gas. Also, moreover, furthermore, and too, bribes for the guards at the camp. A fella can’t eat rat tartare three meals a day, y’know.

Ho, ho, ho

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Francis Phelan explains how he wound up a bum in Albany. (Apologies to Jack Nicholson, William Kennedy, and “Ironweed.”)

Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham, via Michael Corkery and The New York Times, gives Duck! City Mayor Tim Keller a little sumpin’-sumpin’ for Christmas.

The New Mexico governor’s mansion sits on a hilltop in Santa Fe, roughly 7,100 feet above sea level.

The air smells of pine needles and sweet meadow grass. An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting greets visitors as they enter the foyer of the elegantly appointed home.

Michelle Lujan Grisham, a Democrat entering the final few years of her governorship, has been spiffing up the grounds of the residence to showcase her state’s rich culture and immense beauty. But for all its splendor, New Mexico faces some grave problems, she said. “Have you ever been to Albuquerque?”

Hoo-boy. And you thought socks from grandma were bad. I wouldn’t expect a thank-you note.