The Corner

Koko: Apparently The Wire did happen, twice, and both times it made me feel like a middle-class tumor. Rather than talk about this stunning incarnation of conscience, I'll just tell you about my day, because, really, a tirade on twelve hours of mental wandering promises much more than some two sentence short-con full of slipshot sarcasm and ironic irresponsibility. So, what did I do today? Well, I googled an old front page of the Baltimore Sun and found a story on terrorism juxtaposed with a photo of Mr. Potatohead. So it seems Monsieur Pomme de Terre was implicated as head of an Al-Qaeda cell. My backhand approach continues to pop up like a corn kernel on the surface of the sun. That improbable orange button still owns my ass on Guitar Hero 3. I still live in a moderately Hispanic shit district when I should live in a hopeless, dysfunctional black one. I still don't understand Peter Gabriel, but fuck it. I still enjoy debting, not because I want anything or like to spend money, but just because acting like a financial delinquent is the only viable form of protest I can think of in this retarded post-puritan culture of criminal accountants and douchebag CEOs. Conveniently, it also promotes aristocracy, and I'm a privileged, hypocritical wonk. I still love my rabbits, admire Rafael Nadal (even though an upstart Serbian beat him in straight sets yesterday at Indian Wells), and congratulate everyone who tasks Roger Federer (Mardy Fish? 6-3 6-2?? What the fuck??) I still like looking at the stars. I still don't want to die.