Friday Afternoon Confessional: 366 and counting
I confess that I prefer Madonna to Bob Dylan. I confess that I would take every Lady Gaga over any Radiohead. I suggest that a way to approximate the projecting of vomit over an internet connection would be to launch a pop-up playing U2 songs.
I confess to writing this on an iPod on a train using an usurperously priced internet connection. This because I have no other time available to do it in this week and because I am too lazy to get my laptop out.
I am listening to Bill Frisell. At least I have that going for me.
I confess that when I was seeking controversy I barely got clicks and that when I was not seeking it I got 366 (and 61 comments). I confess none of that had anything to do with what I wrote.
I confess,again, that I live in luxury and that I wish all would be able to live therein without ever feeling guilty about it for even the smallest instant. I am happy that The Kids have a cat that sleeps elsewhere and that they tell me is 15 years old which is, they tell me, a good age for a cat to still catch mice in. I confess that I am allergic.
366 and 61 and no answer on what intrigues me and has to do with Anscombe and, afaik, Habermas. Life is a bitch. This being so, not as much of a bitch as using the word bitch in what seems a genuinely meant way.
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