Roy Cohn in Hell
In Which Your Humble Blogger should probably have brought a third handkerchief.
In Which Your Humble Blogger should probably have brought a third handkerchief.
In Which Your Humble Blogger also came across an essay that points out that there aren’t really Shavuot commandments, just traditions, and perhaps disagreeing with the Sages of Blessed Memory is my very own Shavout Tradition.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gathers some stones, if you know what I mean, and I hope nobody does because YHB sure as hell doesn’t.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has been finding Ecclesiastes kind of comforting lately, which is terrifying in itself.
In Which Your Humble Blogger feels, a bit, as if I am in a sense sorting the blocks that I might hope to use to build something, later. For the moment, though, it’s just a somewhat-organized mess.
In Which Your Humble Blogger writes another thousand words, this time about a nine-word verse. Honestly, I’m like a parody of myself.
In Which Your Humble Blogger talks about identity and tradition and all, and not about politics.
In Which Your Humble Blogger writes a thousand words about seven words. Typical, typical.
In Which Your Humble Blogger really likes the song, mind you, even if it’s still quite perplexing what all those people mean by it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger finally reaches the end of the second chapter. So, um, from Sukkot to Purim, we got through, oh, fifteen verses? That’s not quite one a week, but it’s, er, it’s slightly more than one every other week! At this rate, I’ll be, well, er, um, extremely slow.