a president's name with more than two vowels

"Dukakis". A name with more than two vowels in it running for President! The last time that had happened was Eisenhower (who looked good on a tank). Generally speaking Americans like their presidents to have no more than two vowels. Truman, Johnson, Nixon, Clinton. If they have more than two vowels (Reagan), they can have no more than two syllables. Even better is one syllabe and one vowel: Bush. Had to do that twice.

Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

Obama has more than two vowels and more than two syllabs!

Ismael and Queequeg's

Upon walking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg's arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been his wife. The counterpane was of patchwork, full of odd parti-colored squares and triangles; and this arm was tattoed all over an interminable Cretan labyrinth of a figure (...) this same arm of his, I l say, looked for all the world like a strip of that same patchwork quilt.

Moby Dick, chapter 4.

Leer

Leer, por lo pronto, es una actividad posterior a la de escribir: más resignada, más civil, más intelectual.

Jorge Luis Borges, prólogo a la primera edición de Historia universal de la infamia.

GATO POR LIEBRE

Estoy harto de los antipáticos que se hacen pasar por tímidos.


Descortesía del suicida, Carlos Vitale.

tiempos modernos

Son las 17:24 en la Oficina Gris.

Tras el reflejo de los cristales aislantes los barrotes de la terraza acaban en forma de corazón.

Los curreles llevan 9h mirando la pantalla. Teclean.

Currele A llama por teléfono a Italia, rompiendo el silencio.
Su conversación italianini a la española resulta simpática, incluso se lanza con un "habemus un problema" que hace que currele E y currele M suelten unas risas.

El jefe:
-"Si chillais no me puedo concentrar".

Los curreles siguen tecleando.

here's why you should vote

Here’s why you should vote: you are going to really love it, the whole strange procedure. You get to walk right into a building that you would never normally be allowed in, often an elementary school. You can pause in the hallway to look at all the weird school-art and feel the eerie vibe of hundreds of kids living their endless kid lives right nearby. Then you follow the arrows to the voting room and look at the faces of the volunteers - who are these people? There is a hush of secrecy, the voting booth is clunky, the whole thing seems fake somehow. You consider filling in all the bubbles, like you did on the SATs. But you don’t. You vote. You walk back outside feeling like you just gave blood or something, lightheaded from citizenry. You are wearing a sticker that says “I Voted” and you wish you could continue to get stickers like this throughout the day: I Ate Dinner, I Went To Sleep, I Got Out Of Bed, I Went To Work.
But alas, it is just this one thing that we all do together, savor it.

En http://mirandajuly.com/?mjpw=

Casablanca Mezquita Hassan II

Essaouira

Marrakech