That time of year thou may'st in me behold
when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang,
upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang....
I memorized a lot of poetry when I was young, maybe because my father used to read it to me right before bedtime. I love how it crops up in my mind when I see something like this.
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From Popbitch:
One Popbitch reader was at a Texas dinner
party recently and sat next to a friend of
Barbara Bush, Dubya's mother. Over the meal
she confided that the Bush family only ever
called the President by his rather patronising
family nickname, "Junior". And that on a
recent hunting trip she'd asked Barbara what
George was like.
"Junior? Hmmmm..." Barbara apparently sighed.
"He's not like the rest of us."
Mrs Bush's friend leant towards our source
to explain. "Here in Texas... that means
he's stupid."
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Downtown Paris was full of Christmas-like crowds and the only sign of trouble was even more cops than usual. On the radio, I heard that the 400 cars that burned last night in Ile-de-France were the normal number that burn on an ordinary, not riotous long weekend night. A reporter asked a local in one of the banlieues sensibles why he thought that the French burn more cars than any other country. "What else are you going to burn?" he answered. To me, the burning cars, although a bit scary, are a sign that the jeunes are not as violent as I think they would be in many other countries.
Just some photos of the ambience near Saint-Germain-des-Prés this afternoon. Notice how everyone is dressed in dark colors (except the nanny).
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