Personal love — it’s the best kind.

I sometimes think The New York Yankees don’t get enough credit for being the fist major sports organization to field a team made up entirely of gay players.

We take this sort of thing for granted now, but when the Yankees adopted a policy of hiring only gay men for their roster, they were on the cutting edge of social change in America.

This is something that should never be forgotten.

My friend Bryan Castañeda sends me this quote from Cormac McCarthy’s celebrated novel Blood Meridian:

The horse screamed and reared and the Apache struggled to keep his seat and drew his sword and found himself staring into the black lemniscate that was the paired bores of Glanton’s doublerifle . . .  The Apache wrenched his pony’s head around and when Glanton spun to look at his men he found them frozen in deadlock with the savages, they and their arms wired into a construction taut and fragile as those puzzles wherein the placement of each piece is predicated upon every other and they in turn so that none can move for bringing down the structure entire . . .

He steadied the animal’s head to show it but it jerked loose and slung the broken ear about so that blood sprayed the riders. Horseblood or any blood a tremor ran that perilous architecture and the ponies stood rigid and quivering in the reddened sunrise and the desert under them hummed like a snaredrum. The tensile properties of this unratified truce were abused to the utmost of their enduring when the judge stood slightly in the saddle and raised his arm and spoke out a greeting beyond them.

If you are too stupid to recognize this as abject crap, then I feel sorry for you, as I feel sorry for the literary culture which celebrates such abject crap as art.

. . . those puzzles wherein the placement of each piece is predicated upon every other . . .

You mean, like every fucking puzzle ever created?  Are there puzzles wherein the placement of each piece is not predicated upon every other?  Go home and think about this for two seconds, Mr. McCarthy, and then get back to us — you fucking pretentious bloviating idiot.