Gah, remember when pop music felt like it meant something? Then we got old or something. (Actually, Vampire Weekend’s latest album has me over the moon, what with all the wrestling with the Old Testament God therein. But that’s just me.)
I like to think of a younger Cubeland Mystic humming this to himself as he swept his cave.
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
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http://thischarmingcharlie.tumblr.com/
Oh my Lord. I think I will have to start drinking early today.
Based on this comment’s time-stamp, I’d say you were already a little late.
It’s OK – the coast is clear – JOB’s not there.
JOB
Now my heart is full.
The best Police album, methinks.