I’ve met guys like Tucker Carlson before

Although they sometimes (very rarely) meant well, they were largely masters of pomposity, insecurity, and douchebaggery . Thankfully, none of them had enough clout to do this.

Support Freelance Genius, victim to Carlson’s rabid entitlement!

Uptd. :

I mean, come on! “Conservative pundit Tucker Carlson, host of Tucker and formerly of Crossfire fame, has recently gone out of his way to see that a D.C. video store had a cclerk fired after discovering the clerk commented on Carlson in his blog. The termination followed a tense encounter at the store, during which Carlson threatened to “f*cking destroy” the clerk.” Keith Olbermann and/or Jon Stewart really, really need to bring this one to the masses.

On a related note – what the chert is Tucker doing dancing with a beautiful woman like Lena?

“Киев, Киев, Только Киев!”

Blue and Yellow, originally uploaded by Little Lushie.

The two bottom rows here are representing the Ukrainian flag, which is itself a representation of blue skies and golden fields of rye. A bit like a cheesy Sting tune, but pretty and romantic nonetheless.

I took this picture on Kreschatik (the street leading up to Independence Square, in case anyone wants to test their Orange Revolution trivia skills) a very cold evening in December of the past year, with my brother and mother stamping their feet next to me, wanting to duck into the warmth of the underground pass again.

There is a United Colors of Benetton right below the flag-like windows, I think.

Monday Night Poetry Club… Sandwich

Parable For a Certain Virgin

Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine;
Refresh your recollection,
And sit a moment, to define
His means of self-protection.

How truly fortified is he!
Where is the beast his double
In forethought of emergency
And readiness for trouble?

Recall his figure, and his shade—
How deftly planned and clearly
For slithering through the dappled glade
Unseen, or pretty nearly.

Yet should an alien eye discern
His presence in the woodland,
How little has he left to learn
Of self-defense! My good land!

For he can run, as swift as sound,
To where his goose may hang high—
Or thrust his head against the ground
And tunnel half to Shanghai;

Or he can climb the dizziest bough—
Unhesitant, mechanic—
And, resting, dash from off his brow
The bitter beads of panic;

Or should pursuers press him hot,
One scarcely needs to mention
His quick and cruel barbs, that got
Shakespearean attention;

Or driven to his final ditch,
To his extremest thicket,
He’ll fight with claws and molars (which
Is not considered cricket).

How amply armored, he, to fend
The fear of chase that haunts him!
How well prepared our little friend!—
And who the devil wants him?

Penelope

In the pathway of the sun,
In the footsteps of the breeze,
Where the world and sky are one,
He shall ride the silver seas,
He shall cut the glittering wave.
I shall sit at home, and rock;
Rise, to heed a neighbor’s knock;
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;
Bleach the linen for my bed.
They will call him brave.

Both by Dorothy Parker.

Two very interesting aspects of femininity. I’d probably write something extremely profound in response – if I wasn’t so bloody jet-lagged.

I’ll content myself with spreading good poetry through the harsh world of cyberspace.

Swallowing it down

The humiliation of scraping out a very modest living mostly doing things I’d rather not to.

The fact that you can’t find Chernigivske in blyadskii Durham.

The fact that my brother is crying.

Being treated as though I’m not a human being by persons who will go unnamed.

The senseless jumble of highways and fast-food restaurants, and me, lost among them, because, once upon a time, my father decided a few things.

No more good bread, crosses standing crooked on the graves of the forgotten, the evenings in the kitchen with the purring cat, the hibernating grapevine, and the streets at night, taking me to tall buildings with damp stone, and among the stones, people I love…

No more Kiev, Kiev, Kiev – where Bulgakov once was a red-headed schoolboy, where there is always the best and worst of times.