Holy ground

One of my favourite pieces from my two-year stint as Incite's political columnist dealt with my dismay at finding that the first time I went to visit a Muslim prayer service, I happened to have a pair of rather threadbare socks on. Well, it dealt with other stuff too. But that was the hook. And a damn fine one, at that.

I'm feeling a little better about that little incident today. I mean, it's not like I had a $400,000 salary at the time.

I empathize with Paul's plight, though. It can be really, really hard to throw the little bastards out. You feel for the little guys. I don't know how he chokes back the sympathy to, oh, I dunno, impose structural adjustment programs, or, better, still bomb people. What winning strategy have Paul's socks caught onto, as they look forlornly up at him in the morning? And how can we teach Iraqi women and children to do the same thing?

Perseverence

As someone reminded me again today, I'm sorta balls at updating this thing.

Meet Noah Kalina. Noah's, shall we say, on the other end of the perseverance spectrum. Noah takes a picture of himself every day for six years and change.


It's eerily compelling, watching the tides of emo wash over this guy month by month, year-by-year.

Plus, as a red-blooded male, I can't help but stand in awe of this man's mastery of puppy eyes. Especially towards the more recent end of the film. Teach me your magic, Noah. Render unto me thy power to moisten women, using only eyelid and corneal orientation.