In Which Your Humble Blogger keeps his memory on-line these days, like everybody else.
In Which Your Humble Blogger thinks it's somehow relevant that the major late-night television hosts like to sing with their guests these days, tho' what the exact relevance is might not be clear.
In Which Your Humble Blogger tries to say it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger recognizes the particular nature of Our Only President's genius, and its possible utility in the field of oh my lord we're all doomed just please don't start firing missiles
In Which Your Humble Blogger is pretty sure that in another twenty-five years, Angels in America will still be a pretty good demarcation line for before and after.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has progressive lenses now, which helps a lot.
In Which Your Humble Blogger does not even attempt a Top Five, but come on, Brain of Morbius is criminally underrated.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is unhappy all around.
Mametz Wood, by Owen Sheers
