Nothing. Nothing’s been happening lately.
Oh, I wrote a three-word short story. This is how it goes:
“Hello! Nice shirt.”
I also did a pome (with magnetic poetry):
the miscreant trod nefarious ly
with gratuitous temerity
on stalwart s gild ing brazen ly
My hair is now a little bit red and a little bit purple.
And I’m still studying.
Lately, I’ve been reading articles written by a Theodore Dalrymple. I was very pleased to find this man–he’s both fabulously conservative and a wonderful writer, a combination that my authors’ matrix previously lacked. Excitingly, he appears to be against all things liberal or unconventional. He’s not only launched Jeremiads against transexuals (“Everything Professor McCloskey says [in support] of his sex change could have been said had he been a necrophiliac instead of a transsexual.”) and drugs (“One of the most striking characteristics of drug takers is their intense and tedious self-absorption; and their journeys into inner space are generally forays into inner vacuums.”), but he also has a go at the tattoo (“The tattoo has a profound meaning: the superficiality of modern man’s existence.”) and even (!) self-esteem (“Anyone who even asks the question of whether he has sufficient self-esteem is, ipso facto, a lost soul.”). What a guy!
You can get more Dalrymple by searching the New Criterion, the New Statesman and the City Journal.
One last link: this article, ostensibly about gooseberries, contains an extraordinarily sharp attack on his father. (“Heaven only knows what early wound meant that the tyrannical discomfiture of others should have been balm to his soul …”)