When I say I’m rigging at a circus, it’s not a euphemism. That little black spot kneeling on the ground spotting that silks act is me.

Morning thought arising out of conversations my wife and I have reading the Sunday New York Times…

Art always does its job.

The job of art is to make you feel something… Anything. Even indifference is a feeling.

Encounter more art and let it do its job.

The Hate Machine

I wrote this on Twitter about Twitter a couple of nights ago:

This is a pretty little hate machine.

Outrage packaged and presented as gifts.

Kindness and hope pushed out to the edges.

Teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Our thoughts and cares and dreams were once here.

Now we rage into an abyss.

This morning, John Gruber posted this.

I sense a theme here.

This is, perhaps, the most buried lede I’ve ever come across. Just when you think they’ve told the story behind the story, they drop a bomb about 5 minutes in. Amazing.

Beatrix: “This is just not my day.”

Me: “Why?”

B: “I didn’t wake up to my alarm.”

Me: “What woke you up then?”

B: “My second alarm.”

… The only thing better than having a plan is having a backup plan.