In times of moral confusion
I turn to prime time
where good can conquer evil
in the space of sixty minutes (minus twenty for 3.9 percent financing on Chevy pickups and softcore Viagra porn).
Once upon a time prime-time showdowns between good and evil came in a haze of gun smoke and rawhide
men . . . → Read More: We Are Prime Time; or, Change (the Channel)
After my tirade about sunsets and cowboys and the latter riding into the former, you’d think I would have stayed away from that shooting-fish-in-a-barrel type of analogy. I couldn’t.
Sun Setting with Cowboy (After Roy Lichtenstein) ©2009 cowboylands
As the current presidential administration draws to a close, I have to wonder if W is already practicing his squint into the setting . . . → Read More: Adios Cowboy?
If I’m going to battle a cold, I would want Ernest Haycox to write the story.
The Whispering Range, by Ernest Haycox. Wherever the hell that mountain chain is, it also exists in my throat, which is as raw as the dark borderlands and filled with rustlers herding my healthy cells through secret byways.
Night time: Coughs explode like . . . → Read More: Shoot-Out at the Viral Corral
Every start of the year I find some time to write out a few goals. I prioritize and create little boxes for checking off when I’ve completed them* and otherwise make curlicues and asterisks and bold underlines. This blog was one such goal from last year (alas, the Web site is still under construction–anyone know a . . . → Read More: New Year in Cowboylands