Blurt blurt blurt. I wrote a lot here last night, so I'll take it easy now. Real quick: sorry to anyone who couldn't get here yesterday. According to my hosting provider, we were under a DDoS attack -- something I recently wrote about. No reason to beleive that it has anything to do with me though: I think there are about 100 domains on the server.

You'll note a new banner on my sidebar there: "Pussy, it's what's for dinner." My friends Jessica and Nicole have opened up a cafepress shop hawking various wares emblazoned with that inscription. I urge you to check them out and pass the link along!

Finally, I'm tickled that I got three "don't be a trator" votes on my poll there. I'm glad to have readers who don't share my politics.

But we all love America. Just now I was down at the Stop 1 (my local bodega) and waiting in line to buy half and half behind three Irishmen -- brogues so thick I thought they were polish at first -- and their black friend, loading up on buttered rolls before work at the latino-run market. That's something I treasure. Anywhere in the West you can see bourgeois internationals mixing it up, but only in America to the working classes so frequently comingle, god love 'em.