The American economy no longer exists to support a thriving middle class, or to help the weakest among us attain a livable wage for an honest day’s work. It is solely in existence to add to the pile of wealth for the unchecked at the top.
There’s a bit near the beginning of Virgil’s Georgics (in which the poet explains, at length, the art of farming; weird, but no weirder than, say, David Foster Wallace) where a peasant, busting sod on an old battlefield, turns up the bones of some of the slaughtered — and they’re huge; almost a different species. That’s how we feel contemplating Hemingway’s original instructions for this wicked potion (he claims to have cooked it up with some Brits after a spot of nautical unpleasantness): “Pour 1 jigger of absinthe into a champagne glass. Add iced champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these slowly.” The liver that man must’ve had!
This is a story of a woman who had to rip up a contract so everyone in her town would feel welcome. This is a story about a woman who came up with a Swear Jar for Bigots. This is a story of a woman who was faced with the weight of repeating history in a town known historically for its persecution.
This is a story about a woman who had to take over a building to make sure that didn’t happen.
So you have to take total responsibility for your dog. You have to make sure you don’t set him up to fail. You have to save his life, man. Because he’ll save yours.
As a dog lover, I urge you to take some time to read this article titled, The State of the American Dog by Tom Junod featured in the August 2014 issue of Esquire. It’s about “bully breeds” and the stigma, plight, and joy of having one as a companion. It’s very thoughtfully written, and I’m still crying from reading it. (via linusthecorgi)