Cover to “Entertainment Weekly,” March 15, 2019

Variant (Cersei).

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I FED THE RABBITS IN ROANOKE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY HAIKU.

I’m just a poor boy — no bunny loves me.

As I told you guys yesterday, I’ve been trying to feed the legions of little brown bunnies that perennially invade my neighborhood.  They’re totally not going for it.  I’ve been out there two days in a row this weekend, and it looks like they haven’t touched my offering below.

Yeah, yeah, I know — I should be feeding them lettuce or something; rabbits probably don’t eat bread.  But I don’t really maintain a healthy fridge; the only green thing in there is a package of Mint-Chocolate Chip Klondike Bars.  (I have a problem.)

Cheese?  Will bunnies eat cheese?

I suspect I’m still thinking too much in terms of New York’s animal supplicants.  The cats there will eat anything, and then demand more.  You feed a stray cat in New York, he shows up the next day with five more cats and a lobbyist.

Even the birds won’t eat my bread, for some reason.  That makes no sense to me.  There was a single, dejected-looking robin outside this morning that only looked at me like I was some sort of imbecile:

Presented with bread,
one plumping, sullen robin,
indicates disdain.

[Update: that Robin has not left the yard.  Pretty sure she lives here now.]

 

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“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient …”

“The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum – even encourage the more critical and dissident views. That gives people the sense that there’s free thinking going on, while all the time the presuppositions of the system are being reinforced by the limits put on the range of the debate.”

— Noam Chomsky

 

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“The Tower of Babel,” Jan Micker, circa 1650

Oil on canvas.

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Today’s agenda — feed the bunnies.

Seriously. The annual influx of little brown bunnies has arrived. There’s a warren somewhere under my backyard.

I gotta get some video for you guys.  I tried last year, but those little fur-twerps are quick and shy.  I felt like a paparazzi last spring zig-zagging around my yard with my cellphone camera. Neighbors thought I was nuts.

[Update: a “warren” is a rabbit burrow, right? I can never remember my “Watership Down” accurately.  I don’t mean that a guy named “Warren” is buried somewhere under my backyard. This is Roanoke, not New Jersey.]

 

 

First Irish postage stamp, 1922

Department of Posts and Telegraphs, Irish Government.

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“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

[MINOR “GAME OF THRONES” SPOILERS BELOW. ]

This is what makes me worry over Arya’s fate before the show ends. I think a lot of people would think of Jon as the “lone wolf” of the family, being a putative “bastard” and being relegated to the Night’s Watch, etc.  I, for one, always imagined the prognostication applied to him. (I think it was a verse Ned recited to Sansa in Season 1?) But … being marginalized, vilified or betrayed doesn’t mean Jon has been alone.

Jon’s has always had friends near him.  He became a King, for god’s sake.  But more than any of the other Stark children, Arya has usually walked alone.  Her primary motivation is personal revenge, whereas Sansa, Jon and Bran are respectively motivated by their duties to House Stark, Westeros, and all of humanity.  (I myself am slightly befuddled about Bran’s importance, including during the Battle of Winterfell.  He’s … “the world’s memory?”  I thought we had books and maesters for that.  But whatever.)

Arya doesn’t exactly leave the Faceless Men under the best of terms.  Even when she encounters Nymeria in the woods on her way back to Winterfell, her own former pet turns down her invitation to join her.

Then, even when she’s back among her siblings at Winterfell, she keeps to herself.  Upon her arrival, she slips by the two guards who were supposed to escort her.  When Jon asks where she is, Sansa says something to the effect of “She’s lurking around here somewhere.”

Besides … [MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8 AFTER THE JUMP BELOW]

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Continue reading “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

Rest easy, Peter Mayhew.

1944 – 2019.

[Update: I didn’t create this meme, and I don’t know its author; I shared it from Facebook.]

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“Alas, poor Yorick!”

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it.

Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. —Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chapfallen?

Now get you to my lady’s chamber and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come. Make her laugh at that.

— William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act V. Scene 1

 

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“Hamlet and Horatio at the Cemetery,” Eugène Delacroix, 1835

Cover to “Batman: The Killing Joke,” Brian Bolland, 1988

DC Comics.

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