Where pretty dreams go when they die.
The Bubble
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
From my youth up I never liked the city.
I never forgot the mountains where I was born.
The world caught me and harnessed me
And drove me through dust, thirty years away from home.
Migratory birds return to the same tree.
Fish find their way back to the pools where they were hatched.
I have been over the whole country,
And I have come back at last to the garden of my childhood.
My farm is only ten acres.
The farm house has eight or nine rooms.
Elms and willows shade the back garden.
Peach trees stand by the front door.
The village is out of sight.
You can hear dogs bark in the alleys,
And cocks crow in the mulberry trees.
When you come through the gate into the court
You will find no dust or mess.
Peace and quiet live in every room.
I am content to stay here the rest of my life.
At last I have found myself.
— Tao Yuan Ming (Tao Qian) Chinese, 365-427
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The best sort of humor — allowing some of us to laugh at themselves, while others laugh at them.
Start a go fund me; I’ll contribute. Seattle, Portland, San Jose, Santa Fe, Detroit, baltimore. Bubble wrap the whole magilla.
Funny, but also sad to watch. A brief glimpse of when SNL wasn’t all straight Left propaganda.
Actually, funny but also astonishing to watch. “The last time SNL wasn’t all straight Left propaganda” was well over 20 years ago.
This vid, IIRC, is from last year. It’s almost like the writers noticed something outside their bubble.
Never felt I had missed anything by never having seen even a snippet of Saturday Night Live (which I presume this is). Watched a minute or so of that video. Still don’t feel I’ve missed missed anything by never having seen even a snippet of Saturday Night Live (until now).
Once in a while, BillH, they have a moment. This video is one of them.
Casey, Santa Fe . . . Well, yeah. But it’s one of those places where the worlds collide, too. I was doing a job there a couple of years ago in a hardware store. In the parking lot was a shack, about 8 x 8. It had electricity, but not water; that was hauled in and out. Inside was a grandmother who made burritos. The menu was in Spanish, she didn’t speak English, but I speak burrito, so we communicated. It was made from parts of the cow most people don’t think about, delicious and cost $3.50. A few hours later, about 5 p.m., I was unloading the car in the hotel parking lot. A coyote trotted by, five feet from me, giving me a “How you doin'” look.